You are so conventional, she said.
It is soul-destroying, but well-paid, the undersigned replied.
*
I will not allow any more of your interpretation problems. You must grow up before you are allowed to touch anything from my beautiful pen. You now think that I am dealing with a kind of return to something outdated with an element or two of
I... (You react over the word I as if it were an exaggeration and evidence of morbid egoism.) I am more than enough and you have nothing of value in your inner. Learn to acquire a life of your own, then only listen further if it may interest you.
A bit of social realism: See the environmentally damaged imitate what they see on TV and the internet what seems to give them the least resistance and problems. See the musically damaged who live on inside the age of thirteen until their stupid and hollow-eyed gazes fade. That should be discouraging, but they find nothing else since everything higher is taboo and unattainable for their beaten lives.
If you seek to feign away reality, the big loser will be you yourself.
*
I'm going crazy, she said.
You can't become what you already are, he said.
The tiresome and almost incomprehensibly disturbed have automatic responses to everything after several years of repetition. Anything outside the expected is considered strange and not a sign of an awake and functioning intellect.
You came here with the intention of misleading, now leave openly praying.
Cure your non-existent exaltation.
Show your signs of a dignified age.
Prosa av 1 SIGFRIDSSON
Publicerad 2026-03-13 20:27