As I puked on the washbasin I saw raindrops coming through the windows…
A gloomy afternoon. And I have nothing to do except sitting and listening to slow music.
I have never thought loneliness as the end of this world,
people become glorious in isolation.
I never had the nerves to outstand humanity…
Though surviving the days is not fun but I think I would have never made it without my disassociation and deserted strings.
Attentions, discussions, debates…I don’t like them…
I don’t like to be analysed like one tiny threads at a time.
I don’t think myself much of a writer…I don’t know Grammer…I don’t know the effervescence of languages.
I write like i speak and sometimes even that’s a hard work for me.
I wish I could be like this bubbles inside beer bottles…
They always seem happy and understood by the creator…
I wish like them I could start my journey from the bottom and in a flash I could dissolve in the surface,
a short life of truth.
I am sitting in this wooden chair…and I was conceived in a running a train,
huh! that’s a irony I have to take all my life.
If there’s anything I have known from this constant segregation from bushes and bunches;
it’s that the more you want to be taken away from this world the more the process gets delayed,
so now I just sit here and see winters, springs, monsoons, crazy summers passing by my woods and I wait for a beautiful comet to fall on me.

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Photograph: Thorn Yang.