Solitude and the wasteland

Sometimes it feels like a curse to be yourself, to be honest, to want to live truthfully and live among people whose life is nothing but fear, faking and lying. The curse of eternal solitude.

Genuine contact can never be established with fearful people. It just doesn´t work. In the company of Fear, Conformity and Cowardice, whatever truth, whatever sound self-expression is going to be scorned, reduced and dismissed as meaningless affect, obstructed, ignored, annihilated.

In this society, it´s not so popular to be alive, oh no. Feeling, passion, beauty and love have to be subject of books, vaudeville stuff or items in museums – expressing feelings in everyday life, is emotionally incorrect.

Really, it sounds really twisted, but I have the distinct impression that people refuse to live life.

They refuse to feel, they refuse to express their real feelings. How could you otherwise explain that the moment you say something nice, something amiable, true and sane, they feel uncomfortable, they give you some polite bullshit, but run away like sparrows and never want to see you again…?

In the nearness of most people I feel superfluous. You kind of read their puzzled gaze – you see a mixture of fear, secret admiration but at the end of the day what they tacitly say is:

“You remind us too much of what I refuse to see, so you better get lost!”

I have no problem being on my own, going out to a cafe looking to people, reading or writing, but, like today, I really feel tired of this masquerade. It is beautiful weather and I have no one to go out with, that is, someone with whom I can be myself. I know people all right, but with them “you have to behave right”, and I AM IN NO MOOD TO PLAY THEATER AND BEHAVE…

I want to be myself, and the exorbitant price for this, is being ostracized.

Real people seem to be only in books, in museums, or maybe…in America.