Death of a composer

The vulnerable individual clings on to fragments of what might resemble love only to learn again and again that it is gone in the moment of conception.
As a mirage will move when you approach it As life is assured only after death has made its entrance.

In times of personal independence and immense opportunities, relationships have become non-relationships.
The nature of being human a complex navigation over murky waters where everyone feeds on their neighbor.

The possibility of love is blocked by emotional distortion. Boundaries are a thing of the past.
The field, an infinte number of crossroads. The individual loses sense of direction.

Amid confusion, time. Amid time, future as distant as it may seem, irreversible. Amid future, happiness, dressed in the vulgar grin of a swein.

Gender and class now circle one constant only: The fear of being anihilated.

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