On those situations when I pretend not to see someone, and they pretend not to see me: a deserter scatters and divulges himself out of fear and in spite of it. In the surrender to himself, he will be ruined and wrecked.

What’s my narrative? I don’t know. Today I abhor the turpitude of my dreams last night, which were crowded with syrupy specters that were burning my eyes while I was trying to escape the puppet theater of my bodily existence. But tomorrow’s narrative, who knows? In fact, everything may change right after breakfast.

The time has gone through the garbage disposal, and with it the corrupted memories. I turned the switch on so the detritus goes down the drain, all the way to the sewage, where it belongs, washed away with someone’s putrid bodily fluids. it has slipped through without a trace. I don’t even remember what this writing is about.

I confronted a stranger once on the street. I noticed my blood rushing to my head and at the same time I got frozen. I didn’t have any mobility. Right after I felt pain in my heart. My lungs hurt, my chest was sore. I felt I needed to inhale as much air as possible and retained it for as long as possible.

Me and them. There is so much that is not learned in school. Knowledge is not free and it’s not a choice to acquire it.

I have lost my place in the book of my remembrance too many times. I feel it happens more often than it should. Sometimes entire chapters get lost. Sometimes I lose memories purposefully.

I did it.

We hoard our existence with so many chores and routines that we reach a point when we need someone else to do that tedious and mindless job for us. But once that happens, it is practically impossible to ever take that ability back. We become less and less functional, more and more dependent. It’s a way of aging quickly.