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Postuar nga darke datë 22 Maj 2004 - 04:30:
Citim:
Po citoj ato që tha lorie
what is wrong being torn??? BEING Torn apart ?
I saw the movie TROY , (a nice one by the way) and Akile was a complete torn man . He didn't know where his place was. He fought without any purpose for god's sake ! When one doesn't have strong convinctions ,that person is capable fighting for everything and still not be happy. Pity..
and what about this honey? this monolog of yours that as soon as i read it made me upset.
I am what the society doesn't want.
I am pathetic, sad, dramatic, melancholic, tragic and upset and torn, sitting down thinking of people, places and situations… it doesn't take me to anywhere. I run away to nowhere, and I tremble of pain… my look, fixed in the wall of bricks, free. Some day.
I am magnanimously pathetic. I will take a camomile with a lot of sugar to sweeten what is not able to be sweetened. I will mitigate my torture with a swig loaded with sweet endrinas and fallen leaves of other plants of soft, soft, soft, soft essence...
Don't these words sound very sad to you?
Well it does to me. I once felt like that , i am not willing to feel like this again .
No more wars within, no more duels.
It drains your energy out .
sad? Not at all… this is what my states of solitude give me… a short cut where to know myself… inner wars, inner duels, these are what make me to feel alive, … even sometimes withouth strong convinctions as Aquiles, I am capable to fight for everything and not be happy yet… I have everything and I have not nothing… but it’s the only way to feel that you are alive, conscious, that life exists and can be experienced with passion… I remember now a verse from Walt Whitman that I love… “Oh me, oh life”…
Oh ME! Oh life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
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