Compartimento 13

I feel comfortable in places where I don't have to act like a human. Like when you're in the middle of the forest, alone. And you don't have to talk at all, because words are useless. And you don't need a name. And you don't have to support a political ideology. And you don't need a specific music taste. And you're not required to have social suitable feelings or thoughts... You're just there. Breathing. Exhaling. Beating. Another living thing. Ethereal. As pure as the trees, the mountains, the water and the wild creatures. Just perceiving the warm emptiness and solitude of the universe and, at the same time, the absurdity of human life. Agnes Hightopp

Grita Chilla Llora Llantos y gemidos que resuenan como ecos cacofónicos En sillas ocupadas por sillas. Respuestas y palabras huecas que llenan como gas mostaza, Cegando y matando, Las calles vacías de ladrillos andantes y estúpidos danzando en patrones decrépitos, Saciados con fantasmas de pasado y futuro Que se drogan y beben para aullar chirridos estridénticos Que caen en agujeros negros. Y el ruido ensordecedor estremece el desconocimiento consciente De los que pintan colores en las nubes, cuyas lágrimas caen en bosques desolados Donde ellos Gritan Chillan Lloran Agnes Hightopp