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I'm tired tonight. melancolic and tired.
Apart from that, I'm born in the year (counting from the wrongly
calculated birth of a guy named Christ) 1980.
At that very moment I was transformed into a number, labeled and fed into the
hungry system that is modern society, it's databanks and it's life.
It let me know it's demands and it's expectations, although in a vague way
to my infant brain, then we (me and my family) fled the land of all our births and ventured south.
That was 7*365 days from my birth.
We came to a friendlier country, perhaps. Poorer ofcourse, people's skins where a different colour...
A strange beginning on a life I still like to regard as strange, hoping it will someday be,
although nothing is new under the sun, the universe is still quite big.
After a time this family returned from that country, came back to where this is being written.
Time passed, unnoticed by itself, noticed by clocks both inside and outside our bodies.
I sit here, waiting for something new, and wasting my chance to create it.
In it's subjectiveness this text probably says more about my memories than my life,
but then there is no history except from what people remember.
Sofar I've seen two good movies in my life, and really fallen in love twice.
Everything else there might be to mention I'll let stay stored in the cells of my body for now.
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