More than two months that I do not write anything. At least here. I can not share what I think in a piecemeal way. One of the reasons why this is happening is that the world seems ever more distant from each other made of atoms.
It 's like all of us for me now is not a world unto itself, independent and impenetrable. Unknowable. Unattainable. And 'the crisis of communication, is the purpose of sharing.
We are small creatures, dirty bodies riddled with bullets that do not give up as a zombie to death trying to fill the holes in every possible way. We're hungry, we are nothing but holes to feed. Everything we do is not that an instinct to be fed with something else, whether a feeling or a carcass does not make any difference. Slowly we caliamo more in this section (because it is only a part of it) and we are convinced that it is the reality. We're dying inside, all of our true instincts repressed and suppressed.
No wait, we are not to be so.
I am.
you do not know how you are,
and frankly I do not give a shit.
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