Nothing here is mine. Nothing here is mine. Everything is so far away from me as if it doesn't exist at all. The house I live in, the streets I walk, the people I talk to. Everything seems to be just an vague illusion, like a half-existences, like ghosts. Ghost-houses, ghost-streets, ghost-trees, ghost-people. Even food is not real, even the food is just a ghost-food.
So, I made a tour. I made a tour through my area. You know, I left my ghost-house, 1 o'clock in the middle of the night, due to my routine / I always return my movies at 1.am/.
I went stright to my blue post-box at the corner. I visited my blue-ghost-post-box , 1 am. sharp, due to my routine. You know, one need to be faithful to his routine-otherwise chaos could gorge everything around.
But tonight I decided to to something new during my trip. I decided to make it mine. To make mine this ghost-area. To look deeply into this decoration, to touch those props, to make this falsification a little more real, a little less dead , a little less fake-- talking straight-- to believe in that.
I looked intensively, as much as I could. I pirced my eyes into the decorations. I touched some of the props. I squeezed really well done / I must admit / beautiful pink petals of the flower-prop.
But nothing. Raining started, so I decided to go back, into my dream-house, full of ghosts. Now, I'm back and thinking--maybe this rain was real? Maybe at leats the rain wasn't intended?
But maybe the rain was real indeed, maybe those houses are real too, maybe even the people are not dead. Maybe this flower I squeezed wasn't just a prop? Maybe it felt something?Maybe it is me? Maybe it is me what is fake, maybe it is me--this terrified falsification?
Fear. Fear.