Those who really suffer don't form groups, don't go around in a gang. Those who suffer suffer alone.
I consider myself fortunate for no longer having family, as it relieves me of the obligation to love someone, which I would surely find oppressive.
I suffer from life and from other people. I can't look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.
Let's act like sphinxes, however falsely, until we reach the point of no longer knowing who we are. For we are, in fact, false sphinxes, with no idea of what we are in reality. The only way to be in agreement with life is to disagree with ourselves. Absurdity is divine.
Everything belongs to someone else, except the pain of not having it.
I'm beginning to know myself.
I don't exist. I'm the space between what
I'd like to be and what others
made of me. Just let me be at ease and
all by myself in my room.