All those details in the fabric

Cateodata imi vine sa tip. Pentru ca pur si simplu am o zi proasta. Si nu pot, pentru ca fac parte dintr-o societate in care lucruri atat de naturale sunt oprimate. Societatea asta imi condamna rabufnirea. Si-mi cenzureaza punctul de vedere. Ma eticheteaza si ma blazeaza. Isi ridica spranceana stufoasa  pana  si  atunci cand am tupeul sa tac.

Imi construiesc o lume-balon si ma irita reactia ta statica atunci cand tip. Si nu-ntelegi ce-i aia reactie  ingenua. Ma gasesc sfidatoare azi. Tu nu? Continui s-o construiesc folosindu-ma de toate zilele proaste si visele proaste si conversatiile proaste si toate acele lucruri ce la final, ies prost. Le comprim. Le aranjez derizoriu in panze si bucati de caramida. Si nu le dau nume decat din cand in cand. Arareori le numim amintiri. Arareori le scriem pe hartie. Orice fel de hartie. Chiar si cea igienica ar fi fost azi minunata. Perfuzie de ploaie, te rog. Si nori grizonati. Cu defect din fabricatie la fabrica de nori. Cu-n nasture descusut si-o pata mare de cerneala…

Expressing  points of view means somehow  asuming the consequence of being judged. It’s nothing wrong to be judged. And they judge us, don’t they? And that’s so important to Self, isn’t it?  Since always…we care what others think. And what  they wear and say and who they fuck. We care too much about so many irrelevant things. Yet, we forget the important ithems that should be taken as values. Forget to struggle… We act like we want to be different, something more than the actual  society made of fabric, but we end up the same. Buttons fading into random conversations, dreams, days..Who invented change and who the fuck’s still using it nowadays?

2 thoughts on “All those details in the fabric

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