I’m just feeling lonely from time to time since I don’t know when.

Well,
actually, I do. I have had this feeling since I can remember. Anyway, doesn’t
matter. Probably it’s something that happens to everyone. Everybody feels
lonely. Anyone does not really know where belongs, where he is or where is
going. So... I’m not special, as anyone does. As anyone will never do. I just do
exist, I just do breathe, I just do look for evasion, I just do want to not be, to
not exist anymore. I just, you just, they just.
The rain has been falling heavily, wet, persistent. The rain has, but not now,
but I’m wet, I’m wet to my liver, wet to my bones, wet to my feet. My stomach
is spinning, the music sounds hard, it’s more a noisy river than a song. It’s
more like the singer were spitting shit through his mouth than singing, but
everybody is an artist, isn’t it? Even I could say I am (but that’s a lie).
Actually, everything is a big lie. Reality is just a broken dream wrapped in
fancy glittery gift paper. Nothing is different here or there. Everybody
pretends to be and everything it’s just a really well made illusion. That’s it.
That’s all. Even I do, even you. Boys chasing girls, girls chasing boys, junks
chasing drugs, drugs chasing junks… Everything is the same and that’s
nothing. Who cares? No one does, they just feed the machine. They just follow
the rhythm. We are just breathing this dusty air once and again. In the end,
we do and don’t care about it. We pretend to not to even if it’s the bare truth,
and yes, I’m just yelling. I’m yelling cause all of us have a hollow soul hungry
to be feed up with all the experiences in the world, with all the feelings ever
described, with all the vital truths. We, you, they… I want it all and expect
nothing at the same time (cause that’s all I can get). I first met met Neal after
my father died… Such a lie! You never met Neal. Neither I did. No one did.
He never did exist but everyone did believe you.
I’m feeling tired these days, I’m feeling tired to exist but, who doesn’t? I have
the feeling that everyone does, that everybody is just here, that everybody
around me is just alive cause they are not brave enough, or either shellfish
enough to killing themselves, to put an end to our miserable life, to worry our
families and friends. That’s the deep truth. That’s all.
Anyway, I don’t care. I want to swim deep into the big truth, I just want to
know it, to feel it deep into my bones, to keep it far away from my mind. To
forget that, at least once, I thought about it. To forget it all. Otherwise I could
accommodate it into my soul and, eventually, get used to it and get the task
completed. To be honest I don’t care about anything around me, I just do care
about the people, about those I consider my family. Fuck anyone else. Fuck
me! Why not? In the end it’s the same. I just want to dance, I just want to get
high, I just… want to get my dramatically end. I just want to disappear and
not to let a trace…
And the violins, the trumpets, the songs, can go and fuck themselves. I wanna
pigs and goats, and carrots, and aubergines. The sweetest but also the darkest
flavours and smells directly into my throat. A clear white moon in a sky
crowded of stars and silence and the sound of crickets in the night. It’s a truth
that ghosts at that time can be so dangerous, but also is a truth that whisky
can kill them all. So I’m not afraid of ghosts, I am afraid of myself.