A Room Far Away

Years have gone by and I still don't know if

and when I've done something wrong - direction-wise. It

feels as if all roads lead to here, a solitary truth, or

true solitude, but that's as depressing as it sounds.

One gets pulled in and then it's hard to come out, or

to come out in time, anyway. Is life harsh, does it

need to be so? No, or at least I feel this is true.

Sadness has a strong grip, though. And one keeps

repeating the same mistakes. No rule of three, no end

of the tunnel, at times. I will continue though. But

maybe I'll let go a bit, accept some of the horror as

normalcy, my lot, like others. Maybe it's time to turn

the engine off, completely. That's the way out,

maybe - though that doesn't sound... I don't know how

that sounds. Maybe I don't care and there's nothing

wrong with not caring about the inevitable, that which

is normal. Not sure that will make my head stop,

though. People work their way into a hole.

Perhaps it is necessary to work oneself out. Or

justement pas, because if I knew the way out I

wouldn't be here. - work more with others, said Brian.

Why be afraid, at this point? One must thread

carefully though, and that is hard work, a constant

vigilance. It must be an effortless task. There

is a lot of...

- Riyadh, King Someclown-who-

ran-into-oil Airport, 12 January 2015

India is alive, to say the

least. So is the road there.