a pot used by Japanese fishermen to trap octopi

me too, i was the same way

my illness was also in my heart. sadness — input after input.

but it’s okay, I wasn’t crazy, not about all this.

my countrymen insult me, they condemn me and banish me from home.

they may make a martyr of me yet, but that is okay.

everything is okay, it can all wash over me.

im surfing, im snowboarding, im gliding, i can’t be touched.

i cant be hurt, not really, not anymore, not in a way that matters.

i’m not crazy after all.

physically, in the literal sense, my heart aches, it’s painful, but that too doesn’t matter.

I’m turning away from the ruin.

thank you for reading so far, the end.