‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ second part

by walterdoege

well…I keep writing my useless writing…useless for me..I am useless cause I am a human being…the human being is not a machine nor a piece of a machine…each person is destined to love…few get this way…I see sad…what can we do?…what can I do?…what can you do?…far away from a narcisistic practice blogging is great way…I know…I live my life…you live your life…what is important is our living…changing this imperfect world…building and reinventing the future…I sing that song of Mary Poppins…today…in my solitude…with my useless love…solitude is the only I have…a good company…the courage of the human being…for that…I keep confident too…in my solitude…writing is my distress…play piano too…friendsship…a word…relationship…a word…I see that when I sing this song with my dear child…a brand-new world I feel…I want to share that…I feel warm feelings when I feel the persons that touch my blog…my blog is uselees for me…my blog is someway useful for talk in the written form…my voice appears in a sequence of written words and words and words and worlds and worlds and worlds in each word…a trial…I want to keep blogging…my writings not published are worthy…my new book is done…eleven years after the first…book of fiction…romance…a hybrid style…no award…no competition…I don’t like competition…some form of stress…my distress is also my hope…perhaps all writing surrounds the death and the loneliness…the unique writing theme…the unique heme of art…performance…I keep improvising…from the sailing boat…the helm is help…hope never dies…my dear child…children: keep confident in the mistery of live…keep confident in the futility of love…my unique matter…my unique useful writing aim and scope…I have nothing to say cause I am a writer…I just write with love….just…I read a lot…every writing may be good…there are writings that seems me empty of emotion…I don’t like any manifestation without emotion and feeling and good will…these so many manifestations are full of nonsense, rubbish and foolishness….it seems a desert of human signs…when I reach a point of sadness I keep going on with you and I write… just…I work hard, just…the futility of love, the only way