I leave you all on the sides. I’ll let you run without rising the wind in my hair. I don’t really have to let you anything, I see you pass, grab what tastes good, leave what’s bitter to my tongue for you to saviour.
My march is different than yours but your scalp doesn’t allow you to know that your march is not the only march. Not your history, not your story, to you it’s just your scalp. I step back and watch, you don’t know that I watch more than I talk because I talk a lot, but you also lack the eyes to see the invisible. You are obsessed with visibility, your are blinded by the need to make sense of who you are according to who’s around you and that is why you set thick grids around yourself and play fit the pieces with ideas, triangle in triangle hole, square in square hole.
You aren’t able to see beyond the surface and you have a crutch that says you went deep because you’re connecting dots and making drawings like seeing animals in clouds. That’s what you call the big picture. All your sayings and all your words are disgusting to me, your language makes me cringe, it’s cheap it’s unpoetic it’s easy it’s vapid. Your work is stupid and stupid is a word is a concept that is so much stronger and means so much more than what you’re doing. Stupid, suddenly, gained a whole new density. Words and concepts go up and down back and forth like fashion, the hordes give them new meanings every once in a while, maybe decades. Hate is a word is a concept that so little can understand. In my heart 3 have a permanent place because they know what hate means. They can say hate without jumping 7 times touch wood and scream peace. Say hate without fear. Feel hate, know what it means, live through it. No intelligent mind lives in this world without hate. But you need to know so much more to know that, you sickening piece of old bread. Emotions shouldn’t control you, they are yours, you move them, not the other way around. And that is to you who call yourself sensitive. Those 3 in my heart know that they are so whole in all that they could lack, they are so full because they know. They know to let the masses pass without caring if they know or don’t. And that makes them so grandiosely powerful. You raise your voice to say this and that, to be seen by those you look at, you are so fucking dependant of that! But if you’re told something you don’t understand, you’re whole foundation shakes and you rise your gates in protection because you think you’re being attacked you weak little grain of sand. We, we let them pass. You aren’t built to know that there’s a whole fucking vast landscape behind an advert billboard. You don’t know you loser fuck that a slogan doesn’t make a truth no matter how strong, meaningful or connected to a good cause as it might be. A sentence is a sentence is a saying is an expression, it is true as much as it is changeable and it’s a slogan most of the times.