faraway prison Breaking out from a faraway prison...it seems that everywhere I go is a prison of some kind. I don't mean to have a grudge against the world, I just do. And then, situations tend to confirm my opinion. Did I ever expect to be in a room with footsteps on the ceiling? Maybe when I was young, then I forgot to desire this. Now the room and I have found each other, but what have I had to suffer just to get here? If I could believe this was my real family. If I could believe I had a family somewhere. Always problems, problems with relationships, but never enough to cut the cord. This world is occupied by people, and if I want to live here, I have to deal with them. Why couldn't I have come as a building, or a tree? Only people are able to act, and not be victims. Is this true? With this comes a fearsome responsibility...what are we going to do with our time?
	location: Paris date: March 6, 1992 average rating: 10.00 (1 vote) your rating (0-10):