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As more as I am losing myself in adventure – as a more epic term for the permanent craving for restlessness – I find man, the human. I approach man. There are not lots of rules to survive. First rule, money. Second, manpower. Third, invest both wisely. And keep floating on the wrathful edges of the system seems capable, mind the sharp ones. I feel less rules strangling me, every day, stiffen my routine, cutting my choices. I feel independent, still as caged as a bird – who never learned to fly anyway – and as man always will by nature, but the spacing between the bars unbolt, welcoming the inciding bright cone of maturity and ambiguity, as free as a cynical hydra. A feeling, which let me be stronger and weak, because I am loosing my crumple zone, a like routine is a decent chubby one, friends, family, tax accountant, lawyer, in case, personal point of contact at the shopping center, telecommunication company, your insurance agent, who is jsut sitting next to god, the locksmith, who provides the universal key, nothing is lifeproof. If something gonna hit me, it will be harder, heavy with consequences, like an old iron steam engine. Before it might have been a trike for kids. Can´t remember, finally it is all subjective. And feeling as a subject of your subjectivity is just wonderful. The more patterns and masks don´t work anymore, the more it reveals, life, as boring as it is, as supernatural, meaning very natural, it spoils, ruins and arises again. As time gets such as relevant, that you just blank out, you leave the transmission. And you are vulnerable, poor, corrupt and honorless, you are dismissed. You are not working anymore for them. For them, who always reminded us, pleased us, forbid us to change, to leave, to search, to express, to find. For them, who are always good for an excuse, but not enough to live with them. With them, whom we don´t feel connected to, responsible for. With them, with us. We escape from us. We are seeking shelter from judgement we stabilize with our hardiness, supervised by us, not them, with our selfish careless bearing, comfort zone, created by them, for us, by human beings, by being human. I fear most I have to crawl back, bruising my head back through the rusty bars, back into the corner. I know I am fighting aside the line, not by-the-book, but as far as my moves keep me roadside, I bite, I scratch, I laugh away, I spit it out, this piece of a plastic paradise. I am an adventurer, so fuck your guidelines. I am here, I am you and we are them. Just catch me when I am falling – we are not supposed to fly.