Rants of a modern lunatic

 There is no "I" when the thought arises at the end of a drunken night, the meaning of "I" is dissolved, there is nothing inside you, there is nothing inside us, only a few words remain for a saddening submission to the universal silence, days and nights pass like simple meditative states when people hear their favourite songs, blue sky melts into the blue horizon of the sea, blue afternoons live between us, but love is compromised, peace is a romantic dead end, you are a flower into my life, and that is everything that I know, that is the Truth of existence, the simple guesswork that everything looks as it seems, and I rediscover a self, probably that illusion is a necessary condition for living, help me live, help me be a normal human being, help me to live, to live and laugh within this sickness.

 The sense of never belonging anywhere, the sense of alienation that stabs quietly every night, I am living through this, this pain that never subsides, and when there is pain there is doubt, doubt about the origin of the self, I retrogress towards death, an unholy movement through time, but the self is unmoved while everything else moves towards intellectual and moral hibernation, I try to sleep the night out, but words travel with the intensity of light indeed, words with no consequence, words that reverberate with the same rhythmic destiny, I never like to be myself, I never like to be but I am, I never want to be myself.