This world is a giant ball. Of people and things. And garbage. A heap of feelings that turn a person into a pile of garbage.
It is a giant ball, that rolls and rolls and as it does, it gathers more garbage and feelings and things. They all get stuck to it. They all get stuck.
They don’t let go.
So it is a giant pile, a giant ball of so many things that mean something and they mean nothing. It is all a pretext. But not forgetfullness.
It is a rolling mass. Of so many troubles. And so many dreams and fantasies. It is a rolling ball of dirt and in this dirt we sleep.
We don’t have any way of escape, we can’t go anywhere.