Nothing

I have nothing to write and nothing to do.  I play into anyone’s whims, liquid as something…a liquid, never thirsty nor hungry, sad nor content, comfortable nor completely relaxed.  I’m never completely anything — I’m completely in Bologna.  I’m completely wearing shorts, or rather I’m incompletely wearing pants.  I’m certainly not old, nor am I young, never in a position of total comfort and security: I feel as if someone else has control over my life, a quiet monster, perhaps a million different ones in cahoots.  One is telling me that no one has any credibility – none – and instead we’re all hidden by countless moving parts before our core, hiding like the bad guy in a video game.

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~ by nearhelsinki on January 19, 2012.

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