Drowning in the constant, circulating fight for pointless longings and temporary pleasures, observing or rather ignoring the small, pathetic and repetitive lives of me and the others. There used to be dreams somewhere in the quick hours of youth, which had transformed into surviving the day, making ourselves believe that one day in the future we would be able to believe in those dreams again or at least find a reason to create new ones. Not now. Not yet. And possibly never.
Existence is such a drag when you are waiting for life to begin. And we wait all life long for a click that would turn things around and magically save us from loathing. Those clicks only happen in bad novels and bad movies, made by the same loathing people who can’t stand the idea of life being the way it is that they try to create something to hide behind. Those are the same people who indulge in bad habits, hiding. We all have our bad habits, sometimes disguised in the forms of a goal, career, love.
Life is very distant from all of us. We always want something, someone, somewhere. Nothing is happening right now and we are missing everything. Even those deluded creatures who think they are “living now” are only avoiding the harshness of reality, running down the hill blind-folded to the ugly face of the world that only seems to be beautiful during a sunset, which is often missed because people have a way of blinking in the wrong moment. We waste time for pointless jobs, money-making, rushed sex and grandiose plans. Everything’s nothing without a soul. I am nothing. You are nothing.
I can’t write any more. I am only a servant of popularizing life in its lack of connection, in its apathy and focus on everything that empties us.