My behavior is beyond control. I shouldn't even call it mine, it's a bad habit. The body wakes up, lingers around, chew on a piece of stale bread, take a shower, sit on a chair and I can see through its eyes. Now it reads a book, now it looks at pictures… It won't move beyond the house, it doesn't seem to care we're getting dragged to abject poverty. I try to think "I should be doing this", "I should be solving this and that and that". It's useless. The body stretches over the carpet and stares at the ceiling for hours on end. I wait. I wait, there's nothing else to do. I sense the hand that senses the carpet, it's all. Its intelligence is not mine, nor its movements my own. I'm inside an aquarium and the whole day I have my face pressed against the glass, staring the outside. Some times the glass is in one position, another times is in another place entirely different. I never know how big or small space is going to be. A constant guess, a game. I don't mind.
People might say "Yes of course, you're a person, a human being. Human Being." They make the same mistake I would make at first. I might have started as a person and the exterior can fool even the most observant but at this point I know better. I am the period at the end of this sentence. Not the sentence, not the words, not the voice reading it or the mind feeling it, but the very signal of an ending. I am an impulse that uses a pair of eyes to look beyond the glass and the thoughts aligning inside the mind are also obviously not mine. I have never invented a single word, nor a language, not even an emotion, nor gesture. I don't know who invented all this things but I'm sure many people will be ready to claim all of it for themselves. They never get exhausted, it's intriguing.
No no, it wasn't me at all, I barely just arrived you see? I just use whatever comes floating by. The language, the feelings and everything else. I'm so close to being nothing I can almost taste it. It tastes like it's no big deal at all. This strange configuration of life, almost tempted to say it's a dream. I'm dreaming I'm a man though even that dream is not mine. It just happened that I was standing exactly where the dream flew by and my sleeve got caught in some part of its surface. That's all it is, really, it can happen to anyone. It's a little odd however, that I don't remember why I was standing like that, so unaware to the point of getting caught in such an accident. I try to remember it, but I just
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