Explosives

My most vulnerable point is
the emotionality with which I direct myself more blindly than consciously through life
I have left the world of ideas and grandeur , maybe long ago, maybe some years ago
Ambition has been replaced by weariness
Dreams have been replaced by sleep
Knowledge has been replaced by buzzwords
My most reliable companion for a while now has been a file converter and the google search engine: I am the copy of a copy and I wonder who is in the possession of the original? The HR-departments of the companies of this massive planet are wondering as well. Work hard, play hard.
As long as you live, he says, there is hope. And only at the very end, he says, you know if things have been okay or not. Maybe I stand where I stand because I have not realized my own focus: To track beautiful minds. Am I a profiler, a voyeur, a spy or a shaken mind ? La vida se esconde en mí o yo me escondo en la vida? My focus is no focus, it is a U-turn. Ready to roll? Running away from a catalogue of footnotes to myself, I catch myself again and again looking for a task which a system very far from my own sets me. No mission and no vision, just the rewinding of a cassette with the ghost voices of memory. And then, when I go back to a random beginning, I see how I neglect the puppets, how I cut their hair and abandon them in a dark cupboard. But in the light of the days my own hair is growing so I free the puppets and desperately I try to make them alive, The collection of objects is growing with the desperation that all of them will lose their meaning in the end. They kill the ideas, ideas are not welcome, but puppets are. They have a function and I carry it out. The more I carry the more I am trying to lose that weight and I start to love the risk in its different shades. I welcome destruction, loss and ambiguity. I cry and smile and yell and laugh. And I open that dark storage room where I keep the freak versions of mine. I might not cut their hair this time.