Monday, 17 March 2014


When loneliness is more real than matter, more visible and cheaper, it is not surprising that all the patients have it pinned to their shirts. Sometimes they shine, and I think "they are happy", but that thought is a stupid atomic particle that has gotten in my eye. What shines, I observe, is a reflection of the cold light of the consultation room.

They deny it because they cannot see it. Oh, the eyes, that by seeing so much blind us. Look, I say, your face smeared with mud that nobody cleans is loneliness. Touch the mud, it's real, it's on your face because you are alone. But my patients are concrete and want a object to spit on, to attack, to blame. And then I understand why man created God. To kill him and force him to save us. To put face and blood to this fear cowering on the left, which some call heart.

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