Just do it. Be your stupidest, ugliest self. If you don't sit on a high platform, you will fall into the dust.
My brain was protecting me, or itself. It is now like a running machine that has stopped running, but it is still emitting endless waste heat. It is still, but I can feel the running shadow still covering it like residual heat, shrouding him, as deep as nails, but this anxiety is given by me, I am afraid, mostly afraid, afraid that it will stop.
When it is empty, it is too empty. It must be filled up and taken action. Race against ruthless time, at least when I can recognize time, race against time for a little bit, I understand that most of the time time ignores people, whether I notice it or not, it is passing by, and in the passage, the dust of the times is placed on my body like withered building blocks, but I don't know it, I can only know it when I look back.
It's like looking at time like a spy. Of course, this is one of the reasons why it appears in this book. It is not a novel with a beginning and an end. It is just a memory of my life.
Conception:. . .
