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I desire companionship more than anything, sitting alone in a coffee shop. I have dressed up, after 8 days in isolated solitude. I live the life of a hermit. It just happened. Since 8 months barely leave the house, have social contact, drink alcohol or take any other substances to escape. Now I feel claustrophobic with half of the world staying at home, at MY home! I put on one of my new shirts. There are two, take two, pay for one. I chose the one with the brighter color. Black trousers. Too short, but with my consumerism antipathy and being in Southeast Asia not an easy exercise to accomplish. And who cares. I change the shirt to a washed out Converge t-shirt, which is a present of friend. He reminds me of myself when I was his age, a version of myself which I didn’t accomplish. Smarter, better looking. The t-shirt feels like a second skin. Neon yellow socks which my ex cohabitant brought as a present on her last visit. Girlfriend sounds immature even our relationship was in some ways like any relation is, complicated, but I like to remind myself of the maturity which has grown in it and out of it, which though has to be proven still. Maybe I won’t see her again. I guess in the end the different cultural backgrounds haven’t found reconciliation. She needed a samurai, and I an emperor. I should think about the metaphor again, but for now I need to move on and I put on my black sneakers. I shaved my head. The water pressure in the morning was low, I couldn’t wash the tiny hairs from my body hair, which makes me feel itchy now the daylight is heating up and sweat is pouring.

More than life I fear, once death is near that I will still fight for life, haven’t exhausted my self and found the treasures of human existence everyone but more everything is talking about. It can be assumed that I think I deserve better, surely a better world. Not having to wish for someone, a better me, who would safe me, be my cure, my place of healing. A world where healing is part of life as vulnerability is, but not only suffering and even if only with others, and being furious with the sufferers committing harmony – another vulnerability – with a sheer impossibility, yet an idiocy. Happiness is the only desire a lunatic, who can not bear the whimpers of pain anymore, can escape to. I despise happiness.

I have found beauty. I have experienced pleasure and spiritual highness, and other delusions. I have fucked, maybe not as much. I have loved when I should have fucked and fucked when I shouldn’t have fucked, because I was seeking love. I have bled, most of the time, self inflicted, well it usually is, either way. I have traveled. I have seen parts of the world most people don’t even see on a postcard. Postcards never interested me. I have never possessed anything of great value. It would have required too much attention or care. My penchant for fetishisms is rather undeveloped. Religion or popular less in-corporated superstition is a rather absurd contrast in a modern world where commodity itself engages people to kill. Where we follow murderers rather than seeking clearance. Ethics is given and only something we can relate to, like a bond if there is solidarity, but can not be taught or forced, though tricked. All this and other complications and accomplices I don’t want to investigate further here have dragged me further afar from what I truly desire. Human nature. And having said, named, titled, proclaimed, I diverge even more. Maybe death is truly the only solution, and salvation from this burden. I fear less knowing that I fear.