Who can I go and see? No one. Where can I go? Nowhere.

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Time passes, stands still, moves on again. Sleep is oblivion, annihilation. And even when I wake there are spaces of time that are blank to me. 

Who can I go and see? No one. Where can I go? Nowhere.

The days merge together more and more, each one like the other. You wake, rise, look for drink, fall asleep again, staring into darkness, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, hearing nothing. Time passes nonetheless.

Who can I go and see? No one. Where can I go? Nowhere.

Everybody’s talking as if they had something really important to say. All of us bursting with life. But in the mornings there is only sickness. Shit, piss, talk, laugh; the only thing I wanted to do was sleep.

Who can I go and see? No one. Where can I go? Nowhere.

Looks fade quickly. Hair turns grey, teeth fall out, wrinkles appear on top of wrinkles, sight fails, bodily functions fail, the mind deteriorates, memory goes, pity goes, to be replaced by aggression. 

Who can I go and see? No one. Where can I go? Nowhere.

Fear plays a large part, it compels us. Everyone and everything is full of tension. There are no tomorrows; tomorrows can’t be relied upon to come. 

Who can I go and see? No one. Where can I go? Nowhere.*

 

*The text above has been taken and compiled from John Healy’s “Grass Arena”.

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