I’m alone...Syntatic incoherence? Semantinc mistake? Philosophical impossibility? Unless I myself anything be... While I scaveng the nauseas of being someone I gather a thought...Oh! This existence fraction reveals that the loneliness is the exact moment in which I with myself I talk, with myself chider, with myself I feel the happiness of being a worm! It is the moment in wich the mask falls, the farse dies, the lie runs away from. I with myself...Perfect communion, crystalline lake of exacts reflexes, absolute purity and I, blind Narcissus, I will not drown me in the illusion of being what I do not be!
