there is no reason to imagine that i am somebody so very special.
i am not.i am only special if somebody who is important to me sees me this way.
somebody who loves me.
i am but a contemporary man rooted in his own story.
just now i watched a crime story on tv.
it does relax me.
philosophy bores the shit out of me.
psychology, analytic thinking, de-construction and construction,
abstraction, interpretations of my person and my life, it makes me only one thing:tired.
intellectual games make me angry.
i tried to fight these things in communication processes, but i don't see a reason to do so anymore.
i am me, if i change i change,if i don't i don't.
my own quotes, ruminations, paintings,
it is not my life.
i like to live, see, listen, relax and sometimes share.
i have quite common needs, food, sleep, comfort, warmth.
i have a few talents, but they do not much increase my pleasure to be alive.
at this moment, i don't even know what i feel.
i wish it could be more simple than this. but it does not only depend on me.
even my desire is more floating than flowing,
and i need to be silent about it, it is more memory of my self than
hope and projection.
i am in a process of involution, throwing a cloak across my shoulders,
feeling the wind of fate, quietly.
i feel left alone, and it must be good.
i remembered the stillness of solitude.
it is good.
i hope i will not be buried under
my own ship.there are still seas to sail.
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