when did I become an honorary Carthaginian?

This is my mind… my world. As I write this, I feel fatigued. Life sucks and it is the only rational thing now. Perhaps I can assist in my recovery and tell myself, deceive myself into believing that it is a user phenomenon. Must I say to myself “No. Néné, life does not suck, it simply seems to suck. But the truth is otherwise. It is hidden from you. You have to see the pattern, see beyond the superficiality of it all. Then you shall realize that it does not suck!” Oh should I also include a bit about how I still have my health? But you see my dear friend, we are afflicted by other maladies. Health takes a different proportion with us.

I do not find solace in my loneliness. I find it absolutely morbid and I find myself losing control. When shall I fall, or should I be asking, how hard will the fall be?

I am on ecstasy and I feel the rush. But I know that the moments of rapture shall end only to leave me abandoned with an all-conquering sense of self-hate and an indispensible feeling of sin that I shall then try to extirpate at all cost.

The sun is shining and the wind is flowing. The world is rent with vivacity. Mine is all gone; it has escaped, jumping through the threshold of my fingertips. The skies are clear and blue. Ah such lovely days, long and sweet. The sun is shining!

I want to stay hidden and hide my confusion. Nothing makes it better except for that motion. Oh glorious sublimity.

So I find myself saying, upon having set a foot across the door, ‘Oh what was it of the sun?’ which translates to ‘Oh what a horrible person you are!’

I am at the threshold. It is that point of awkwardness, a Janus-sided perplexity. And I think, am I priviledged to see beyond?

It is all rubbish! I’m going to take off my hat and shout! I shall do it, I know I shall!

Why don’t you stop talking? Why don’t you stop talking? I was thinking something, standing somewhere … trying to feel something … but … why don’t you stop talking? Why don’t you stop talking?

Ah! To-day I was asked at work about my friend, the one that used to always wait for me after work. I was caught off guard. What to say? I quickly made up some response while I felt my heart jolt and my mind quiver. No he is no longer here, no he shall never wait for me ever again. It’s better that way. I belong here.

You’re going to get fat Juanito! You’re eating cake all the time! Ah but don’t you see? The emptiness is so vast, the void so bleek. I need to get my bearings and the only way is to satiate this haunting emptiness!

So what am I to say or feel again? It’s all rubbish. What a fool! Pauvre Juanito.

Funny, I think I have come to hate the word ‘in’ … I hate it absolutely. I know that defining terms is essential in dialectics. Alas, it is all pointless and insipid. Oh how I hate this ‘in.’ Its mere presence makes my stomach turn and my heart beat. Oh how I abhor it.

And for all the displeasure, the pain and the hurt, I still love. Eros has played me a fool. Oh!