I’d rather go blind than be, be this misunderstood. I can sit there on my chair, trying my utmost best to explain myself. How the world relates to me, to all of us, to every little gem around of me. But I can only closely observe it, can’t I? There is really not much I can act upon. And they don’t understand. Understand the meaning of it all. The x number of feelings one can feel, all at once, the x number of things one can think, all at once, no matter your age. Brother knows: I ain’t no wicked child. Whatever I do, I do it out of good intentions – but these never come through. I explain it simply, but my words are only turned into complex pronunciation. Complex thought patterns in someone else’s head. I’m eating dirt all day long. Dirt in the form of small talk. Small talk no one every really listens too. Small talk to fill up your time and your energy. Stupid things people say. Stupid things people do. They’ve got to see it through. And when I finally think ‘yes, I’m finally gonna come through’. I’m doing this. I got this. I’m gonna act. So I act upon myself, day in, day out. I act. And act. And act. I keep on acting what I believe to be correct. Yet, no one understands – and all that’s left is my wicked treachery and how one shouldn’t come too close to me. For if you do, there it will suddenly reveal itself to you: utterly disturbing, deeply disturbing, complexity. But if one could only open up one’s mind. Then thorough understanding might come true.