I’ve got to find a way to be true t myself. All these other peoples visions. All these opther lives. The waay we live in the cities, in our boxlike homes, in our heartds and our minds.
I can’t do it fpor an externl goal. I can’t do@it for a result. I do it for being the human I am, for having the experience of being true to myself, gto this self, not me, but supra me, the genie, genius, daemon.
So mnay boxes we try to fit orselves in- so m/any ways we bend and pitch to fit into this world, thbis world we don’t evden like. Why? Who are we on the other side? What odes this look like feel like function as when rhis world is built for us, and not thed other way?