“Once this tin is bought, i thought, i am fucking on mortgage budget”. First thing I reasoned about in the morning. Sleep is not a thing. My mind in this third-hand low-level pakistani shop is basically numb. My heart is caged, my brain is the gaoler.
I am out of the shop stuffing my mouth with this dirty unbecoming glop. What that brat I am deserves is this : squalor and dark solitude. Frog spawn would be joyful red and yellow beautiful flavours compared to the monotone grayness that grips my sense of taste.
Could I ever doss right here now? Slyly falling asleep like a freaky bum who never found his way home and never will. My wit has gone long ago; it now lays on the filth that I renamed “bed”.
Here the utter Berlin is closed under the strict cupola of the indifference. The wit is relinquishing the air for a costipated sense of fetishist productivity that takes down the mood and the pristine enthusiasm of the human race.
What have we came to ? Inflaming ourselves for earning loads of pointless paper money while we are just a little carving on the immense oak that is the earth history. From a merely natural perspective we are just a tiny little blip in the natural way the things should go. We, arrogant, blaspheme specie that evolved from simple apes to economy and god slaves. What a development from the tree times!
