0-2

I’m such a sick person, always in search of objects to fill the never-ending hole I could name after a Finn. I keep falling over, I keep passing out when I see a face like his, and I’m the only one to blame. I don’t think it matters what’s wrong and what’s right and I don’t think I should believe in such things… All I’ve known from my own, personal, subjective truth is that… it all seems wrong. If I’m part of everything, then I must be wrong too. Or perhaps I’m right, for noticing is wrong. Or is wrong right? Or are wrong and right bullshit concepts to control people? People, who are so easily controlled. Us, the domestic animals. Light at the end of the tunnel, a bright side, a way out… You name it, all sons of the same idea. All rotting the same fruits – us – into thinking bright, thinking right, thinking big, acting happy, fucking chicks, buying cars, polluting our corpses, smoking cigarettes and sucking cocks. Oh, not me.
I’m not happy, I’m not sad, I’m just bitter and faithless. But who’s to say when happiness ends and sadness begins? What’s the line between faith and faithlessness? We’re imprisioned by these words, by this duality that leads us nowhere, and still there’s almost nothing else we could use. I’m going mad, and there’s no one to help me. There couldn’t be, for I’m focusing on what really matters whenever I can, whenever it’s possible. Food for thought, anyone? Philosophy for a living, yes. Maybe. Who knows. It’s all in your mind.

Perhaps I could express it in a song.
But it’s best expressed in silence. Absolute silence.

troubled water over bridge

The train is coming, but she’s all alone.
‘Breathe’, her body says, ‘it’s not intoxicating, it’s relaxing’.

It’s a long story – which is short for ‘I don’t want to tell’.