My boredom with everything has numbed me.
Friends: not one. Just a few acquaintances who imagine they feel something for me and who might be sorry if a train ran over me and the funeral was on a rainy day.
But do we really live? To live without knowing what life is - is that living?
There are no norms. All people are exceptions to a rule that doesnโt exist.
To know nothing about yourself is to live. To know yourself badly is to think.
I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect