importance of living: an outsight

by walterdoege

as a writer I have nothing to say, so I write…I am thinking in stop writing, but I can not…I don’t know why…with my akward english I write from a personal insight: I realized that I don’t want a long life…I want living well my life…I don’t know what is this ‘well living’…my intuition relates well living with loveliness…and I live my life well…but is so painful and hard to see outside my life…i don’t know what is ‘my life’…I feel my life as my lovely friends and fellows…fellowship resembles some special meeting with someone with whom I can be myself…I can be what I am…and I don’t know what I am…perhaps who am I…cause I am the loving relationship with you…yonder the arythmetics of the sum of my friends, the people I love, the people that share love with me…as if I do not deserve some warm and kind moments with fellows…I can perceive my self through the relationship with lovely friends…through this in between me and you…I don’t know who are you…but through staying close and talking is my way of surveillance and surviving….and more, living…this well living I mentioned above…being older each day, however, is feeling joy with simple things, completion with good news and lovely acts, sharing my love, sharing my pain, sharing these writings…and feel the love people share with me…but being older id also surviving to losts, disapoitments, disagreements…indeed, this apparent double sight watch double aspects, or two things, as living is lost and living is joyful instants in a moment…few moments perhaps…yesterday I see people on the streets without a home…as I see ebery day…but a deep feeling of closeness I feel with them…these people living on the streets keep on living…and it is wonderful…this will of living is wonderful…living is a hard one, not only for the dangerous cities, even facing inner sentiment that the world is behind me, and after me…each instant of joyful and lovely moments in daily cotidian living push myself to keep on living, in this way I can help people…I can ask for help…and even if in my life I have one moment of deep joy and love, it’s worth the living efforts…even if a meeting is always a farewell, this is important, the meeting…it’s important living because my life is not of mine, is not my property…the art and the literature  I feel as a struggle against non fiction…non fiction does not matter for me…each lovely word is a step against silliness and dangerous non sense…alive I be older…alive I can stay together with you till the last goodbye…no matter if the last goodbye be tomorrow or after many years…but if I can choose, my choice is keep on living, just for living, just because of living, just with no motif other than living…as my fellows living on the streets of these dangerous and non sense cities…my life is not of mine, my daily living trials of well living my life comes from the core of the soul of ourselves…I keep on writing against the silliness, empty, non sense non written words and not talked or expressed words…a kind gesture with no words is the realm of any lovely writing…utmost, I keep on living not willing a long life…longer moments of closeness and truth and confidence and lovely share is well for me…no matter how long is my life…solitude is my sweet home, our building