Just because

A few days ago, someone told me they had read my nonsense and wondered where I get so much lunacy.

I didn't know how to respond then, and the only thing I could think of was the overwhelming ignominy of my naked soul.

Ramble writing is not about achieving the correct articulation of words. Much less about aiming for exquisiteness in organizing thoughts (I think no one should even try that).

I write occasionally and do so because a dried idea or feeling that once settled in my mind germinates without notice, and a timid green sprout appears and yells at me.

His voice is so tiny that often it's hard for me to hear, and writing acts as a megaphone.

This accident occurs for various reasons, almost always as a consequence of this life that I lead out of obligation and physical survival instinct and derivates in a spiritual survival mechanism.

As an untalented scribe, I am condemned to type about thoughts that are often considered insane becoming from unfamous music, dark movies, parenting, unrecognized and unrecognizable poets, photography, funny garbage and an endless amount of nonsense that charges relevance thanks to old neural connections, and also existential references from co-workers, friends, spouse, parents, siblings or even a dog showing empathy on my last walk in town.