Dear stranger

Maybe we torment our proximal others because we mistake refusal for denial, resistance for rebellion, reaching out for anarchy. Maybe we’re already too used to living in an atomized world which doesn’t tolerate complexity any more than it is able to have access to simplicity. We don’t understand any language because we have taken life out of words; we have exorcised their way of coming into being and transformed them into things whose only rationale is their usefulness. We’re at best manipulating words. We’re so far from breathing them. We’re no longer able to write with feelings or speak with emotions. We live in an intermediated, distant world. I’m writing right now with words that are strangers to me and I can neither believe, nor feel what I’m saying. And, like any individual refused to believing, I feel I’ve stretched my solitude too far onto yours.