On straight lines, gremlins and soap bubbles

I envy people with linear lives, no curves, potholes, u-turns. They move in straight lines, these people, satisfied. No questions, no doubts, no furies. Always satisfied, these people. I, myself, am crooked, confused, mutant. I feel imeasurable angst, restlessness. I have uncountable urges. Insomnia, I have insomnia. I worry about the flapping of wings of a butterfly in Tokyo. I travel through time and space. I have dreams of lightness and transparence. I have desires and fears.

Infinite fears reside in me. I face them, I hide them.

They multiply, my fears, as gremlins. You know, gremlins? I breathe with difficulty, a lump in the throat, a scream that I can't let out, choked in. Threads of thoughts intertwined, feelings, entangled in such a manner that I cannot tell where one starts or where the other ends.

So, I create stories. I make them up, I exaggerate, I do not stop. I come and go, I come and go. I do not sleep. I count stars, I hum songs, I do not sleep. I feel, I suffer, I know nothing of myself. Everything, too much. Everything, too little.

A giant, light, beautiful soap bubble floats. At any moment it can burst, the bubble. The soap will sting my eyes. Momentarily blind, I will be groping around, aimlessly. All because I dream, awake, of soap bubbles.

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Inner Babel / Babel Interior

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