SOURCE

I am often like one who bears a strange wound, and weeps with pity, which, if I say a word or an insult, suffers and suffers - it still aches and hurts. I bear my fears in this divided time, in the everlasting turmoil of the perpetual turmoil, and in the Janus-faced tumult of man and time.

Otherwise, my heart is forever anxious and restless, when I see even infant mothers irresponsibly cooing in indifference, love-seeking babies in incubators. On the wandering and desperate canvas of my mind, the Orwellian close-up seems to unfold: human wrecks trampling over each other in the interest of a single idea, thought, interest.

My brain was invaded by a different cloud of revenge. Who in this world of interests will get the chance of redemption?  - On the thin edge of my sleep and wakefulness, I feel such infarcted vulnerability - a more acute than vulnerability, and a glowing, agonizing perplexity if my CV is rejected by occupational HR employees - my ticking atomic bomb, silently killing in my beating heart, grows even more ticking.

I should be sniffing out leaping possibilities; the holy bliss of love found in the yoke-clins of roboticized servitude, the intolerable sinking of human evils in self-serving turncoats. My mouth is often condemned to silence by my selfish morality - I often rather regret my alamusian fears. Would that you were here with me, my Angel, and like an anxious child, would put away my rooted fears of my mortal life!