Monday, dreaded. Where is my life?, I must ask.
Because I can't see much purpose, or better, reasoning in all that.
If my accent is the main trace that will be the parameter used to judge me, I better off be silent and accept whatever comes. The problem is that it is impossible for me.
With all this life pulsing, and pushing inside, being silent is unbearable.
I mean the silence that kills a person, the silence of ideas, of reason, of culture, or constant learning. The forced silence.
The silence of being is what kills, not the unuseful verborragic senseless words I used to say.
We all used to say at one point or another.
If someone could tell me how to stop my brain, maybe I could accept this quietly; but silence is demanded without shutting me off. Forget it.
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