Damn Free
I could write my hate all night, I've got a life of it in me. Can't you see, can't you see how you've done me? Integrated me into a life that's all wrong. Busy damn people everywhere making their own hell. Always words words words. I'm damn well sick of words and thoughts. Nobody gives a damn except for their own mind, their own little collection of beliefs, what they “know.” What does it matter what anybody knows, we've still got to live. We've still got to be men and women. Why do we attack ourselves, our one chance to live, with all our own thinkings and mental grapplings. Why always such great mental struggles. Why so much damn thinking. I only wish some land to be alone and free of it all, and the food I need, and the woman I need, who doesn't think, and forest quiet and night quiet, and natural days and a friendly sun.
Just keep the tools of man's mechanical/mental hell away from me, out of my sight and touch and smell. I want to be damn free of it.
How a man can fear death and eternal hell I cannot understand: he's here right now, and it looks eternal enough to blot out completely his short life.
