what I am the most is tired. Tired of reductionism, of pity, of milk of sorrow and separation from the Earth, of detachment from the surrounding and inner cosmos. Tired of a blind denial of the unknown, of pseudo-intellectual and social enlightenment leading to darkness. Tired of edgy postures and their thousand paper cuts. Of persistent trauma and drama, underlined so many times the original words have long ago faded and only liquid see-through highlighter remains. Of placing more stones on my chest rather than digging my way out. Digging my way through.