es esmu nogurusi no taa ka es esmu tik ljoti nogurusi no taa cik pat visdziljaakais mans existential despair ir tik sekls un paredzams. es varu iedomaaties ka visas manas emocijas un domas un idejas in an endless loop ir katru reizi ljoti paarliecinoshi groteski izspeeleetas miljoniem reizhu pasaules veesturee caur miljons nelaimiigiem cilveekiem. kad peec vairaakaam dekaadeem es nomirshu, varbuut kaada saujinja man zinaamu cilveeku kaadu nedeelju neerti klusees un paardomaas, bet tad atminja par mani izzudiis no pasaules un es nekad nebuushu bijusi pasaulee. tas kas man shodien shkjiet lekna pasaules kulminaacija tad buus tikai gaistosha ruusa. liidz ar to izzudiis mans existential despair, manis radiitais lietuveens atkritiis un izpleenees gaisaa un spozhi spiidees saule riita agrumaa pasaulee bez manis. un kaada bija starpiiba un noziime jebkurai no manaam domaam? kaapeec nepaarveersties mazaa kauchuka bumbinjaa un ljaut lai pasaule tevi svaida un dauza. pagaatnei nav noziimes, naakotnei nav noziimes, tagadnei nav noziimes reiz bezgaliiba. visi objekti ir vienaadi, total singularity, mana most elaborate eksistenciaalaa doma nav labaaka par saplacinaatu koshleni uz trotuaara.

es biju miermiiliigs un laipns, bezgaliigs, gaishs, gluds tukshums. un samezhgjiita, reecosha, mutuljojosha, netiira, smaga pasaule mani sagraaba zhokljos un sevii iesuuca lai mani tormenteetu un pazemotu un izmantotu un lauztu un zhnjaugtu. vienaa briidii, kad tu saproti ka esi uz muuzhu ieslodziits, tu paarveerties par kauchuka bumbinju kurai viss ir pohuj, pat savas vissveetaakaas sirds juutas un visgauzhaakaas skumjas, tu vienkaarshi skaties ar tukshaam aciim tukshumaa un ljauj lai pasaule pabeidz

'I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.' - Silvija