LUCCIAN LAYTH
Bio
L.LUCCIAN is a writer, poet and philosopher who delves into the unseen. He produces metaphysical contemplation that delineates the line between thinking and living. Inever write to tellsomethingaboutlife,but silences aremyway ofhearing it.
Stories (34)
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What in Me Refuses Silence
On Earth, what seems earthly — a place and a being — appears logical. Yet what could it have sworn to remain, if even words eventually change? What seems like solid land may slide away; the earth itself may become none — not absent, but nonexistent in the way only believed things can become nonexistent.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH6 days ago in Confessions
Diaries to Nietzsche. Top Story - January 2026.
Quotation from Friedrich Nietzsche "He who wrestles long with monsters should beware lest he himself become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. Man is not destroyed by suffering, but by the meaning he makes of it."
By LUCCIAN LAYTH10 days ago in Critique
Letter III — On What Reorders Us Without Asking
Letter III — On What Reorders Us Without Asking The Void, beyond the 22nd century Aida, I am not writing to explain anything to you. Nor to convince. Nor to teach. I am writing because some encounters do not add ideas to us— they rearrange us. Most of our lives are built on a quiet assumption: that we are the center. That we read, choose, enter, and exit meanings at will. That texts stand before us, waiting to be interpreted. But there are words that do not stand before consciousness. They relocate it. The Qur'an does not position itself before your awareness. It repositions your awareness itself. It does not offer itself as an object of reflection, but acts as a force of gravity. You do not move around it untouched. You are moved. What I have learned slowly, unwillingly is that human beings do not live inside ideas. They live around centers. Every self revolves around something: a desire it cannot release, a fear it cannot face, an image it must protect, a future it keeps postponing itself toward, a past it secretly obeys. These centers shift. They compete. They collapse. And when consciousness expands—through thinking, ambition, imagination, abstraction, it often mistakes dispersion for growth. It believes it is becoming freer, while quietly losing its axis. Expansion without a center does not liberate. It fragments. There is a reason instability feels modern. Not because we think too little, but because we orbit too much.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH14 days ago in Confessions
Why Most Productivity Apps Fail to Improve Focus
Why Most Productivity Apps Fail to Improve Focus Productivity apps promise clarity. They offer systems, dashboards, timers, checklists, and endless customization. Yet despite their abundance, distraction remains the defining condition of modern work. This failure isn't accidental—it's a design problem rooted in many, though not all, productivity tools.
By LUCCIAN LAYTHabout a month ago in 01
The Painter of the Void
Dedication To the unknown creators, the artists who spill their blood upon canvas, the writers who pour their souls onto pages, the musicians who translate their inner torments into melodies—this book is dedicated to you. To those who understand the exquisite pain of creation, the terrifying beauty of exposure, and the persistent pull of the shadow-self that lurks at the edge of every masterpiece.
By LUCCIAN LAYTHabout a month ago in BookClub
What the Rain Told Me
Emotional fragmentation I want to talk about the rain. I do not know what has happened to me, why I opened my note and began to do this, to manifest in order to write about raining. It must be a rainy day. It was cloudy when I got up earlier although I appeared happy as well. When it cries it tears up the sky. I hear each and every drop drop. All of them were stories, a fact, a betrayal, a sorrow, existing in a world in which the clouds grow blacker every time it has seen something. I hear it grumble, and cry, though screaming. Thunder , A bulletproof song a blur in your head is seen. A world is revealed in the scene, a situation of a drummer who was making me nod my head, and listen to a plan. I would hope we might live without so real and too seen a dream. Watch brothers and sisters drink water, praise God on that branch of life. A group of idiots has to be killed or cursed with internal pain. The light penetrates the heart, and in between there are roses. To the beat and the movement, a stream in the ground soon moulds the figure of the new living. it must be a leaf, a loop.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH3 months ago in Poets
