CZRO®

Journal

"I mean I get it. It's not something I'd want for myself but I understand why they do it. I'd love to think that, as a species, we could retain the lessons we learned in past lives, hell, even in our own past. There must be something beyond survival; work, sex and status. Something we know to be true deep down but never express in fear to be right.

MB

But that's the genius of it.

MC

What is?

MB

To forget; that's the whole point. It's not a lesson it's a joke. We're the joke. The only one that can never get old."

MC

☞ Make an Enquiry

☞ Collaborate

Back in the Saddle

It's 2025. Has been for seven months now. I somehow always come back here. Maybe there's a lesson that needs learning from me journaling online, again.

I remain convinced there is an unlimited amount of beauty in the Universe. I think that’s what we’re here to uncover, in a sense.

Bliss & Other Disappointments

Unaware telepaths. Your minds are easy to read

Ford Truck FaceTime

I talked to my father this morning.

An inspiring poem about the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom.

Death serves no purpose.

Another week has begun without a real sense of urgency.

They say the best way to understand your own thoughts is to externalize them.

I had Voodoo by Frank Ocean on repeat this morning.

art has no intention; you spill yourself carefully like the sun sheds its light.

Neither Praise nor Worship

I thought it was okay for creative people to lack in discipline.

It's not Impostor's Syndrome when we really are impostors.

I thought about you today. You. Really? Really.

I hate the fact that my creativity is wanking itself theses days. Really, there's a thought that obsesses me and the very concept is self-aware.

Blue light refraction

Six Hundred Ninety-Three tulips and a thorn

Je suis assis dans le train, deuxième étage, en direction de la métropole.

Je sais pas comment rendre un hommage

Substance, form

A contemplative poem on the nature of time and its impact on our lives.

Once were a time where I obsessed over relevancy.

In a world filled with doubt and open-ended truths, it sometimes feels like a curse to know something with absolute certainty.

I'm worried about how authentic I truly am. I mean, I know how to lie. I'm used to lying and worse, I got pretty good at it over time.

And just like people read shampoo bottles while they take a shit, I became my own prophet; out of boredom.

Most of us fail to understand how much it takes to create a spark.

Next opening ☞☞

Back to Poems ↩︎

Nous

22.7.2025 3:25 PM

September 9, 2022

Time

min. Read

Imagine-nous.
Frustrés par une story.
Sans notre tag en mention.

Imagine-nous.
Commencer une conversation par :
“T’as-tu vu l’TikTok?”

Imagine-nous.
Penser partir un podcast,
Sans jamais savoir quoi dire sur Tinder.

Imagine-nous.
Cachant notre paresse parce qu’un
Syndrome de l’imposteur
Ça sonne mieux.

Imagine-nous.
Passer nos soirées au resto.
Payer aucuns impôts.
Dire tout haut : “Eat the rich”.

Imagine-nous.
S’expliquer nos moods
Parce que Mercure est en Gatorade.

Imagine-nous.
Majeurs maybe vaccinés.
Spirituellement distanciés.

Imagine-nous.
Créateurs de contenu.
Créatures de contenant.
“J’fais juste des reels pour l’algorithme.”

Imagine-nous.
Tomber pour les femmes que l’on chasse.
Ignorer les femmes qui se cueillent.
Les DMs pleins, le lit vide.

Imagine-nous.
Mourir de rire.
Enfin comprendre la joke.

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