Alone I sing and laugh. I dance. It is a cure. The only cure. Not all day but I manage in average possibilities when burdens are blocked awhile.
The child is always creative, it is a bubbly creature with nothing to worry about. It has ears that are full of stories pleasant and games joyful that it keeps running in a circular motion on the mother earth until it tires itself. It is a strong emotion against reality of now. Its days are limited as always. The circle eternal of Picasso ends. An adult you become, ears receive pain. Sensitive too much you have become, ears receive pain. Irresponsible being, do you know how to live in a society?
To aim for higher prospects living in a small town is a feeling of complete alienation. Why do you have to arrive here? There is world outside of blocks that are free. Why here? You compete with yourself but the eyes of others keep on looking at you as if you were someone else. As if you did not belong here and then you know you cannot belong anywhere. The meaning of home dies.
There is constant sorrow.
Having felt it too close, I remain. To belong nowhere. To not know what questions are allowed. To know what questions are not. To feel discord in the world and the self. To belong nowhere. To feel uprooted, being unable to belong anywhere being at home. Neither traditional community nor modern society, I become empty. What nation, what culture. Complete erasure. Black slate. Morality and vulgarity. In the middle you are lost. Choose one or the other. Do not stay in-between, say many.
How to rethread I ask and sound at once like an artificial person trying to learn things anew knowing that the results are the same. Loneliness. Loneliness. Loneliness. After. Solitude. I had met grief even before I arrived at home to know that it was and it was not. It allowed me to live and so I write here on this page on this very line that I leave with a dot now.
Visuals in text. Text on visuals one needs. What a wretched life it must be. Depart. Depart. Go. Leave. Will you?