Doomed to live

Some time ago, one of my friends recommended this series on Netflix to me – Gomorra: La serie – an Italian crime drama series. Thanks to watching this series, I ‘discovered’ this music by this band Mokadelic.  Especially one of their songs is one that kind of resonated with me : Doomed to live.

Doomed to live. That’s exactly how I feel sometimes.

I don’t seem good enough to make a decent life. I’m not bad enough to have a very miserable life. I’m not even good or bad enough to be in between. I’m not good enough to make it in this world and keep things spinning, and not bad enough to be really sick or disfunctioning or whatever you call it.

I’m not even in the middle. Somewhere that falls everywhere in between.
I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose life. Nor did I choose death.

I am just stuck, and doomed to live. Because I’m here. Because I’m there.

That’s what it is. Doomed to live.

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Overwhelming sadness

Brick by brick. It falls apart. Brick by brick. Falls apart.

Repairing.

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I did not draw for a long time. But what I drew, long ago, seems to be still accurate.

Maybe I never changed. Maybe I didn’t make any progress for a long, long time.

Maybe I never made any progress, and all I seem to do, is picking up the pieces that have been falling apart, pick them up together, rebuild it, and then the same story continues.

It falls apart. I repair it. It falls apart. I pick it up. It falls apart. And so on.

When the sun goes down

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Sometimes,
or maybe just once,
all the colors of the world dissapear,
and you sink in to the deep
where there is no light

You sit on the bottom of the cave
and can’t fall deeper,
but can’t climb – you’re completely stuck

I don’t know what is worse,
but all I know is
that even if you’re on the bottom of the cave

and when the sun goes down
it does come up again
even if you can not bear the light.

Not everything is possible

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Outside the window,
I see fog, the traffic, the sky
trees saying goodbye to their leaves
they turned from green to yellow to leafless
but there is no rain

A deep sigh, it’s my own, and I don’t even hear
Staring to the outside world,
I’m a statue on my own couch
Frozen, where silence remains

After all
Sometimes the world is just living its life
no matter if you want to be part of it
it plays its game, dead or alive.

The fire

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Why do they even call it the fire, when it’s not something that is literally burning?
Is it about the light? The warmth? The flame?

For a little while, life was so simple. All I had to take care of, was to get through the day, to find water, and food, and a shelter. To make it to the next place, or just make it through the day, but it’s a different making through the day as it is here. It’s kind of hard to explain, I don’t know how I can explain it with words, because they never have the load or the real meaning they have when it’s reality.

What is the fire inside of you?

What is the fire inside of me?

Can you answer this question for yourself? Can I answer this question for me?

The weird thing is that sometimes you think you know, but you are never sure. Or maybe you just assume. Or it changes, from time to time. I don’t know, I guess sometimes it’s just rather confusing.

Fire. What’s your fire? What’s my fire.

Is it the fire that keeps you moving?
Is it the fire that keeps you warm?
Or is it the fire that melts your heart?