I talked to that guy, it did not feel right. I talked to other guy, it did not feel right. I talked to a lady,she was fucked up, I felt fucked up. I talked to older and younger guys. First ones were slaves of their cocks the second ones were victimized. I talked to more intellectual ones, they thought they were God, it was still there. All I knew was something was hurting inside, something around my pancreas or guts.

I watched the moon and she cried...

I watched the moon and she cried…

Being an immigrant from a third world country was hard. There was no love unless it was commercialized. Brits were harsh and they could politely beat you up with their smiles.That was how they were in London somehow.Oh,those politely rude souls in the crowds.There was no place offering you a piece of peace. As if everything was designed to make you feel lesser than who you actually were,lesser,lesser,less. You were never good enough, never fast enough, never smart enough, never pretty enough, never idiot enough, you never knew enough,you were never bitch enough, enough, enough, enough!!! Every state of mind was fucked up, circuses, parks and squares were packed up! It did not matter,I felt whatever was not verbalized.

The pain in my guts went up, up and up! Fuck! Wasn’t that enough!
I went to a gallery of art! I took a trip to somewhere dark! Quiet, creepy and dark! Everywhere was another question mark!He, too, must have been having enormous pain in his guts! What was light and what was not! What was being what was not! What was something what was not! What was an artist what was not!
The pain in my guts stopped and moved somewhere in my heart. I went to a bar before it was night! A man was  right, a woman was right, gays were right,straights were right,lesbians were right,non-lesbians were all right, they had all done their jobs, sure they were right, because it was night.Everybody was right until another trial started up and ended by the next night. But for now, everyone was safe and everyone was right, because it was night.
I watched the moon and she cried, I cried…

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Comments
  1. toobee10 says:

    I can feel your loneliness in this and it’s good as it happens to me too. Especially women, they cannot seem to be able to speak to me. I was once bothered. Now I cannot be bothered. maturity or freedom. I prefer it this way.

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