What a Strange Creature We Are, Aren't We?

It's like nobody knows, it's like everybody knows. All lifetimes are lived as if there is no end.

How strange.

How strange that sooner or later he will die, maybe even

knowing it could be tomorrow, yet out of nowhere

hurting someone for reasons. Turning away from the blessing of the sun and closing the curtains tightly. Crashing into a chair, getting stuck in grief that you won't remember tomorrow, or.

How strange to forget that you are naturally lonely

in the world. And to be treated individually as if someone is not doing their duty in this regard.

That he was thrown into the garden haphazardly, ignoring

root yourself.

Finding a corner and trying to take root, knowing what a weird fading it would be.

Worms are weird. Then the moles aerating the soil. Rain and other elegant things. The sky is strange,

earth more. The strangest thing is human, all this

in the middle of the oddities.

Really, do you understand what we are looking for here?

It's weird trying to find meaning in everything. Call,

to seek, persistently, to the wing, to the wing. With an absurd enthusiasm as if he were doing a new job, he picked up sharp-pointed pencils and scraped the veins of his heart.

start looking over

What a strange hope to find

Finding it when it's so similar to losing.

How strange it is that no one ever comes and you wait

arranging the unexpected like colorful beads.

Sacrificing great longings to small whims

what a weirdo. What a strange person to see the splinters that hurt others the most.

It's weird how every murderer is someone else's victim.

What a strange heart's supply and demand and its tremendous imbalance.

We do not love others as much as we are not loved by others.

What strangely worn out telephone directories.

No more dialed numbers, torn pages, forgotten

names...

How strange that even those guides with red covers have not been seen for a long time.

How strange that the telephones themselves have turned into a directory, not only guiding numbers, but even life itself.

Crows come to mind.

But he still wants to cry when he thinks of names he can't remember.

'Cause they're in your own name

be forgotten elsewhere

proof after all.

What a strange fragility of eyes staring at doors and telephones. The dread of waiting, the knot in the throat of understanding...

Yet the curtain

to take a look at the street as a whim. And of course no one came.

How strange, while other curtains are drawn for you, maybe like this, busy waiting

probably, not to go to nobody.

Trains that leave from points A and B and never meet,

mean they didn't collide

What a strange tragedy of one life

just the detail. The revealing extravagance of us mortals in each other's lives, Rarely

dismantling, even tearing apart the leading roles we won.

something of us by bleeding, definitely being taken from us.

Then what we give to others with the tip of our hand

side roles. We do not turn to look at them.

Our disregard for the fragile games they engage in on a whim. To us

offering the full pain given to others when it is their turn

How strange that we do not refrain from committing crimes,

We're always talking about our broken hearts, what about ours?

what we broke

What strangely tired wristwatches. always the wrong time

pointing scorpions, wrists they softly sting. Interrupted pulse. Flowing time and dripping blood.

Believing that someone is always late for something and

that someone always comes early.

How strange never

unreachable stations. Fleeing trains, ships leaving the port, how strange

people and pressure cookers who are set at a certain time and have a habit of waiting for that time.

The long silences

Big explosions are weird.

What nonsense are pressure cookers

and my god, how many people

alone. what a terrible thing

This is our loneliness.

Or maybe we're just a big crowd believing we're alone.

How strange that we cry when we are born and try to smile when we die is like a shameful apology.

How strange it is that we pass out of this realm screaming and disappear into nothingness without leaving even a tiny trace.

Majestic and miserable, honorable and miserable, but man, that's man, just our human existence. complete

Perhaps our humanity is the only thing we can take shelter in the face of our stupidity and mistakes.

But still, what a weird copying and pasting. All her pain. To all lives. first time

as. It's like it's over. Forever. How strange.