Sometimes, what is seemingly unbearable in life holds the key to the Truth, as a liberating agent for the human mind to transcend from the absurdity and cruelty of this world. (— Danny Castillones Sillada, The Sensation of Not Being Dead)

What’s imperceptible yet obsequiously felt is more disturbing than the gnawing presence of loneliness or pain or sorrow, a trenchant sensation of melancholy without any cause or reason, like a dark shadow that perches on the palms of one’s hand, but there’s no shadow, only the perception of an elusive memory, wafting tenderly inside the mind of a stranded soul. (— Danny Castillones Sillada, Wings of the Fog)

When I saw myself in front of the mirror without a mask, I feel like crying with forbidding melancholy and embarrassment, knowing what secrets, hurts, and longings lurk behind my soul.— Danny Castillones Sillada, The Confession of a Surrealist

If they can do it, let them do it! If only a handful can do it, forget it! If everybody’s doing it, either you fake it or walk away from it! If no one can’t do it, neither you can do it! But if no one’s doing it, for God’s sake, be creative and inventive, do it! (Danny Castillones Sillada, The Existentialist Homo Technologicus Manifesto)

I’m not looking forward to seeing the glorious sunset, albeit catching up the redemptive sunrise beyond its descending darkness. (— Danny Castillones Sillada, Here & Beyond)

If only I could anesthetize my inner suffering, bleach the guilt of my conscience, and surgically remove the ugly scars of my soul, perchance, I’d look blameless and beautiful in front of the mirror even if no one’s watching. (— Danny Castillones Sillada, Here & Beyond)

The deeper the awakening of man is, the nearer he is towards the Truth in completing the task of his transitory existence. And when his time is up, it is, by intrinsic necessity, an inescapably irreversible condition that he should no longer wake up! (— Danny Castillones Sillada, The Sensation of Not Being Dead)

The world is full of shit, inestimable horrible shit, and I have no intention of participating or drowning in that shit, so I transcend from it by creatively making my own shit meaningful, purposeful, and, as much as possible, sublimely beautiful.

Never have I felt this cavernous loneliness, where everything's so close and accessible at fingers' touch through the computer keyboard or mobile screen yet impalpably cold and removed from the organic world. (Danny Castilllones Sillada, Homelessness of the Soul in the Digital World)