Kameradschaft

Took a walk again. This time around the city wasn't at all deserted. But it felt like the lyrics for Fredmans Epistel No. 81. Like I walked through the shatters of broken lives, of broken people, of a broken and destroyed tribe. And I realized that it didn't frighten me or even make that sad. I felt like I knew these people. The homeless, the junkies, the whores, the police, the cab drivers, the people going to their night jobs, the insane, the people at their night jobs. The invisible people. I knew them. I know them. In a weird way it felt like home. That was sad. And it made me feel safe. I know they try. I know they try to be the best they can be, despite it all. The lumpenproletariat. And I wonder what it was I was afraid of? Was it getting in to a fight or was it always being prepared to fight? I don't know. But in that world I don't feel like I am in the way. But it is a world based on being on the bottom. As all classes in all class systems it can't function on it's own. It needs to be in symbiosis. It is not on the outside. Not really. It is on the bottom.



I feel... Something. Like I in some ways haven't grown up and that I in other ways have seen too much. Became an adult too fast. I don't know... It's once again the feeling of being too extreme. Of being a creature too strange. That I somehow ended up too far away from the rest of humanity. I find myself wondering how much I am the perpetrator and how much I am the victim. And if I am a victim, a victim of what? And the most fucked up thing is that I can't identify with anything and I am too far away from the world. And I doubt I can return. I want the world and yet I feel like I have seen things that will forever keep me on the outside (at least on the inside). I think that what I will need to find a place among humanity is hope, love and streangth. The ability have hope and to love. Hope and love for the world. To see what's good in humanity. But I don't. I don't think I ever have. They have always scared me, they have always stepped on me and on everyone else.

I'm getting that feeling again. The one that destroyed so much. I think. I think it did and I think it's coming back. At the moment I am perfectly pleased with being on the outside. And the outside is no place to live.

What's wrong with me? Is it supposed to be this hard to live? To be alive? How do you do to really be alive? I feel like I'm scaring the world of by just being me. And I thought that the "me" I'm talking about was just the walls around me, but I am starting to wonder now. What if it isn't? What if there isn't any walls but just a monolith of black stone with my face and name on it? What if? What if there isn't someone small and vulnerable inside, but just more stone? What if that small and vulnerable person has literally been petriefied and fossilised and made one with the monolith? If that has happened just by pure pressure from the world, from experiences, from everything? What if this is all there is? And the thing that scares me the most is that it doesn't scare me.

How are you supposed to deal with this when every word disappear? When the feelings you had just... Evaporates. When it goes back to "normal"? I could pinpoint the problems before and now... I can hardly see them. It worries me. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this.

I don't know who I am or why I am or what I am.

I feel like an old sacrificial altar that has been forgotten and buried by time and dust and now people just think it's a strangely shaped stone.




The thing with being hungover is that while it can make me feel miserable and depressed, it also puts a sort of blanket over my emotions. I feel like shit but it also feels like it's put under wraps.

And my toe hurts. That's no good. I like my shoes. They can't hurt me.

I just realized that I have no comfy shoes here... Well, that's alright. I'm not walking anywhere.