You have to have the nicest jeans, or the cutest purse, or say the newest thing so that catches on. You have to be skinny, you have to buy this, wear this, say that, be on his side, her side, be neutral, have white teeth, have straight teeth, your hair can't be frizzy, and you can't wear that because it just doesn't "work" anymore. You have to go to parties, be friends with everyone, trust no one, pose like this, smile like that, tilt your head this way, and put your hand on your hip, because that's how it is. And let me just say: FUCK ALL of that!

No duties. I don't have to be profound. I don't have to be artistically perfect. Or sublime. Or edifying. I just wander. I say: "You were running, that's fine. It was the thing to do." And now the music of the worlds transforms me. My planet enters a different house. Trees and lawns become more distinct. Philosophies one after another go out. Everything is lighter yet not less odd. Sauces, wine vintages, dishes of meat. We talk a little of district fairs, of travels in a covered wagon with cloud of dust behind, of how rivers once were, what the scent of calmus is. That's better than examining one's private dreams and meanwhile it has arrived. It's here, invisible. Who can guess how it got here, everywhere? Let others take care of it. Time for me to play hooky. Buena notte. Ciao. Farewell ...