A World Apart

Those who are different, non-mainstream that is, are expelled, either physically or socially...

Recently, I have realized how disillusioned I've become. The other day, I did absolutely nothing, I spent several hours outside under the sun without accomplishing anything, besides reading about South Africa, which for me, as someone who loves history, is a country that epitomizes that entire history of modern times. No other history can open your eyes in such a way as South Africa. Anyway, the point is, that I feel so apathetic to the world and my own life, or maybe I should be more accurate, and say, that I feel a great deception. I no longer derive any satisfaction or can't find the motivation to move forward. But who said that life is a straight line in which you must move forward. I no longer know if I have the energy and desire to go to graduate school. I don't want my life to be like the past three years. I don't want to learn more facts and ideas that others don't consider important. I don't want to further alienate myself by acquiring new and more complex ideas about our little lives on these societies. All I want is to belong, to be embraced by not just one person, but a whole group of people. I want to care and know that someone cares for me too, instead of just giving and caring and not receiving anything.

I have always envy those who know less but fit so well into this world. Knowledge is a curse, you became aware of every little detail, you read too much into things, you relate things that seem completely unrelated to others, you make connections, see beyond the surface, but all for WHAT? To feel alone like the actor without an audience. I don't believe in many things, I just know that the Collective is the overpowering force that defines reality and its boundaries, and those outside of them suffer; free but alone, which nullifies the freedom. That is the feeling a call the deserted Island.

Rolling a Boulder up the Hill

Why dream when the world, in act of absolute mercilessness, humiliates you as it tells you to wake up. So I ask every morning when I wake up, why dream? Today, or better said, everyday there are clouds in and outside my mind, I wish life could be so kind as to let me go. my life is a blank page, full of absences, fictionalized memories, where the only voice I hear is the echo of my words. I've met only ghosts, characters that rarely appear, who speak but aren't palpable. The soul dies before the body. Everyday seems to be the arrival of a train to an empty station, or the entrance to an empty house, where there are no witnesses to confirm my existence, with whom I might be able to create narratives of my living history. If I depart, I would leave with no record left behind, except for some shameful occurrences. I was a shadow on the walls, without a face or memory, which left no imprint in your life. but escaping from the deserted island is more difficult than staying...

Alfonso