Perfection is an illusion. Nevertheless, we all aim for it, with every inch of our wretched bodies, with all costs. But deep inside…we all know it’s utopia.
That’s why I hate the nights, in which I’m haunted by the feeling of being something else, than I intend to be, should be, decided to turn into…for what I was created for.
A mind, poisened by mistakes, weakness and faults is worthless. I see these glitches in front of my eye, flames and darkness and the blue bright sky and… This kid, number 217. I hate nothing more than the feeling of beeing disgusted of…myself.
Again, I had to retake myself to the charging station, „incidents of tiredness“, they said. Huh. It’s their duty to synchronize my mortal body with the evolutionary part in it’s best possible form. Annoying. Thoughts and feelings are confusing my mind, they appear out of a sudden, unconrollable, like a deep hidden bug in a perfect running system, invisible, but running their way of destruction. As soon as I try to keep them out of my head, they break down even more unexpected, at any time, any moment.
I desire nothing more than abandoning my mortal body. But mankind is not full developed, not yet, so I have to wait. And keep going.