Your mind is feeble and unable to process everything that's happening around you. Your life: gone in an instant if you try to fully analyse every second. You just can't be everywhere: inside yourself and with your loved ones. Even them, you don't have access to. You can decipher, interpret, just like you do with the texts. Fragments of death as stillness is death. You think, yeah you think you know a thing about the world, because you can see further than one consequence, but no, sorry, you're just as lost as everyone else. You just know that you're even more lost. You mind just sees farther into the void and its emptiness. Alone, that's what you are. You can bond as much as you want, think you're in love, believe you're loved, you stay alone in your body, alone with your mind. Neither sex nor talks can change that. Even your image in the mirror is alien. If you have to learn to recognise yourself on a surface level, imagine for what lies beneath.

Derrière ce béret, derrière ces cheveux carmin, derrière ce masque et ces yeux dont tu ignores la couleur, qui se cache-t-il ? Que se cache-t-il ? Je crois reconnaître un semblable quand je ne fixe que mon reflet déformé. Solitude. Ce n'est pas ta main dans la mienne qui me fera croire que nous nous connaissons : il n'y a aucun contact.

And yet, I do believe there is something out there, behind the fog. Not meaning, no: life hasn't any. Not a goal: too limited. No, something more personal, akin to some heat, yes, a small candle that I can hold near my heart to enlighten my time awake: creation.
Art. Writing. Music. Games. Weaving a relationship.
All this brings me joy. Still no meaning. Mais il y a un certain grandiose à agir en sachant l'inutilité de l'action, en sachant qu'on ne fait que duper notre cerveau quelques instants, à savoir qu'on est seul et se croire relié, à créer dans le vide immense, froid, uncaring. Not giving a shit about all that deeper meaning and just living because it's fun.
Et aussi parce qu'on a rien connu d'autre. Ce serait con de gâcher.