I'm here because I have something to get out. But nothing comes. As usual.


In the last lap, there is no room for emotion. There is nothing that you hope to do, there is only that which you will - or will not - do. In the last lap, you put your feet down and give it the hardest fight you have ever done. But it is a cold fight. There is no desire to win, no anger, not even the adrenaline rush one gets in action.


It is the last lap. One is beyond all that. It has no meaning. The only thing that has meaning are those four As you wish to see on the certificate. That's all. And one will obtain them, and that will be the end. One's mind dictates that it is not right. To have only one purpose and not feel anything towards that purpose, not to have motivation at all other than the presence of the purpose itself. But who cares? Not I. For I do not care at all. Not for anything else. The purpose is engraved, deadened, and I will follow it to the letter. I am a slave. Not a willing one, nor an unwilling one. All will is gone.


There is no want. There is no tiredness. There is no difficulty. There is only the doing. And in the doing, one does - or does not.


It's a sad life to spend all your time mugging. But I don't feel sadness. Because I am so face down in it, so concerned with it, so preoccupied with it, that the outside world vanishes. It does not exist. The readers of this blog do not exist. This blog does not exist. This computer does not exist.


I do not exist.


There is only information, of which as much as possible must be acquired. Knowledge does not exist.


So I pray, not half-heartedly, nor whole-heartedly, nor sincerely, but emotionlessly and heartlessly, that someday after two months I may be released.


Not because I want it. Because I once knew that it is right.