I was raised by women. The men were mostly silent. And the women *did not* have it good. Call it a remnant of a patriarchal system that was made a thousand times more painful than it should've been because of immigration, arrogance, and lies. Call it what it is. A thousand cuts. A thousand failures. So what kind of effect does this have on me? Not being able to stand the second-hand pain, young me became something like a clown for these dear women and soon was addicted to their laughter. The momentary relief of their suffering is where I defined my self worth. *Momentary* relief. Experience taught me that the World and its Systems were here to stay. Fighting with humour, then with logic, and then with force, only caused the universe to pull away reality from beneath me and leave everybody unhappy (how beautiful a *sense* of the world had been, an *interpretation*, that allowed me once to decorate life in geometric ordered patterns. I guess the subsequent floating over nothingness had it's benefits too, in that it caused me to *read*, to *learn*, and to *thirst* for another, whole, *interpretation*. In this process I learned to create within a *mess*, using the different strands of improvisation that fell my way, but it was never with the same pure creativity, until....) Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I think I'm finally being led me back to laughter. That *pure* laughter which had been forgotten and replaced with a (very successful) imitation. On a few occasions this year it's snuck up on me and i've *laughed*, let me tell you. Laughed mockingly at the absurdity, laughed warmly at the friendship, laughed nervously at the love. And it is odd that this occurs at a time where everything, finally, *breaks*. Like an arrowhead meeting its destination on a concrete wall. I think I have met an immovable object. And I know this: As you grow older, detachment becomes necessary to experience joy. --- Leaving a ghost here... ![[Glass woman.png]]