I am the essence of a world that sees me as a mere element along its edge, but is itself a mere element in my world. As a stranger, I’m trying to find my way. I don’t know the dangers and my enemies, so I know not to defend myself. I don’t know my benefits and my favor, so I know not to get my bearings. I’m defenseless in my weaknesses, fears and doubts, I call and no one wants to hear me I cry and no one wants to comfort me everyone is engrossed in his dream world I’m lonely and depressed. Official site: Donna Summer. Between all the deceptive notes, my sufferings are the only truth. My freedom is a small exception of my restriction.
My free action is another face for the deterministic Consequence of external events. I suffer the nagging urge to know the insatiable thirst for sheer replies to and suffering. Yes, my life is a sad suffering of suffering. Who comforts me in my losses? Who gives me back my stolen justice? Who accepts me in my absolute truth, as a bunch of mere facts, and not full of expectations? As so-be and not as a can-be? Who owns my secret and kept it? I trust who my wounds, to care for them? I’m always misunderstood, and my existence, I can not capture, always encounters no appropriate recognition. My special moments, my dreams, my desires and hopes, my frustrations and memories are my own true and most valuable possession, however they are meaning – and worthless for the world! The world and the nature of stop because of me and because of my sorrow not, because they hold none of this, what do I think of them. The world contains me, even though I actually does it! Maybe I can do my sufferings subjectively minimal decrease, the suffering as objective absolute truths in the world remain as always and unchanged, therefore is my fight in the world, which includes me, a meaningless illusion, a vain nonsense without beginning or end.