I've always wanted to write something that would make a difference. Looking back, my life always seemed so full and yet it's emptiness scares me to death. Sometimes I feel like Alice falling endlessly in the rabbit hole, reaching a world of plenty and yet void of any real substance, a world which is disappearing at a blink of an eye. I never understood actually if that was a world of wonder or one of nightmare. I use to think about the power of the mind, about our own will and so much about God, trying to find my place in the world. It smells of dust. Of very hot dust, almost melting in my nostrils when i breathe. It's the loneliness who becomes like sharp glass in the moment it reaches my heart. It cuts deep in my lungs and swims faster and faster with anger to drill and hide inside my chest. And after that it is not a foreign object, it is becoming myself and i can understand daily that i am allowing it to take control. Sometimes i struggle and then i am getting tired and disgusted of my own pathetic flight and more disgusted by the lies and the masks around. They melt together, breed into a monster looking as charming as the modern prince charming may look like.

"i like to see how creative they get", he was saying when he wanted to push my buttons and make me explode, as if, i am the dullest person ever. Or as if, him, the "god" of creativity and smartness, came to earth to distribute the honour of paying attention to us, the normal beings. If he would have truly been a god, the contempt on his face would have faded in front of the idea that we are his creation. And if we are not creative it is probably because his "holy" perspective of the world and of creating us was not good from the very beginning.

You will probably wonder what i am talking about.
The answer is not easy. Not as much as i would have wanted it to be and my silent scream, hidden here in between some lines nobody will read, is the proof of my weak will and shaking spirit. I am talking about loneliness and disgust, the lethal combination of these days of my life. Inter(action). Maybe this may save my day, generally speaking. don't stay hidden, talk, go, smile, inter(act). I like the sweet ones and lately all seems so aggressive. Interact (act together or towards others or with others) means mostly bitterness, means relating with masks, having the acute sensation that u are the real person in the moppets show. My reality versus the reality of other people, because i am pretty sure that there would be plenty to tell me that i am wrong and that life is beautiful. "Find comfort in pain", a song screams in my ear a reality i hoped i would never feel.
I can look at the man across the room. We should interact. The logic says so about people who are getting married, living together. and every time i reach to this point of conversation my words die. There is too much to be said and it is as if the right words cant find the exit, the ideas are hiding or maybe the sharp like glass loneliness cut them to pieces, slices. Blood. Or something similar. It starts like a warm sensation, of something melting and dripping, all together with my will to do something about it. Something. Something like putting myself together. again. what would i be? My life seems black and white, a sort of cheap animation i sell for the mobile phones...the characters are moving artificially and i wouldn't pay even a cent to get it...it's not even fun to watch it. and yet i am forced to look at my own life, see it under the magnifier in all it's "splendour". or maybe that the splendours are only on the screen of the computer in the cyber world of the almighty, full with colours, where naked is everything else but the truth. The truth fails to upload, to download, to exist. it's not so vivid as the flash, as the whips, as the high heels and the presentations of the rewards u might get. It's all in there, on-line, all, minus the life itself, with the cruel truth and the small moments of joy or peace. sharing means maybe a photo of a naked woman masturbating or of an older man trying to prove that there is still life on his "planet". And i am asking myself again: where is the life? where is my life? in the plate i am always serving around 7.30 in the evening? in the mask i am seeing daily near me? The silence blinks fast and i crawl, burning the desert with tears. i long for the snow of pure white, for anything that may be qualified as a genuine sensation generated by a genuine gesture.
My rage can melt stones and break the sky into pieces or maybe it's only my imagination fed by the headache and the fight against the destruction. How can i survive in here? what is more exactly this here? the land of non existence, of being off-line when the rest is on-line; being off-line to the sun and the moon, being off-line. I guess this defines it better, better than anything else, the life is being off-line in this dimension. the trees are alone again with the dogs barking at the moon. is the moon real? or it's just a huge yellow emoticon of another dimension?

only hope may kill the loneliness? is this the light of all lights? or are we meant to be alone?
The pain pushes us to hope as an absolute lie of all lies or is God the one trying to make us see that we are not so alone and He is the only stone we can trust to build something more than the sand castle of life.