Monologue with the night [1]

Is this really a country with nearly 90 millions persons ? Why is it to me a desert with no life ?

It seems impossible to have a meaningful conversation. Always want to ask : Is that really your experience ? your opinions ? your memories ? what did you say ? you sure it’s not someone else who’s doing your thought ? If not, why do I constantly feel like I heard this before. Let me tell you your life, from the beginning to end, from the inside out, from the past you didnt quite understand to the future you certainly reach. I want to shout from a mountain’s top, echos through seven seas, how predictable it is.

But of course you don’t want any of that.

So I have to talk with myself. I find myself strange and in the same time, boring. Who am I, really ? Then I bring a mirror. That man in the mirror is actually a stranger. Do I look like this ? A man in black, thin body with big head, a lip which has a downward sarcastic smile. Behind his glass I see two tired red eyes, his face looks like young man who’s aging very fast. I don’t know him. Nevertheless, I try to talk to him.

-Hey, man, I want to do a good thing.

-Monologue is useless. – He answers, voice comes out between his teeth. He has no charm.

-Yes, I know. But I want to do a good thing.

-That’s hard. Very hard.

-Tell me how to do it.

-Ok. If you do something, don’t stop. You always stopped, one centimeter to the goal.

-What goal ? I only stopped so I didn’t fall into a pit.

-I see, so you sure what you’ve done is to do good ?

-Yes, I’m sure. At least I think so.

-So don’t stop. Go all the way.

I listen to him. And here we are. Here we go round the prickly pear.

 

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