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272 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1989
"There is so much that I still dare to want to change. Everywhere I turn there is somebody who is innocent, who is doing good and who is being crucified for it.
I see myself going nowhere, running constantly, wishing to hide in a different personality, behind a different mask. Moving, but in circles. Trying to run away from life and from its eyesores that only the truly brave can face and attempt to change. It will go on and on: somebody being battered by rain down on Skid Row, on any street in any city, and people walking by. You give up after a while or else you go crazy.
Some people do beautiful things, once or twice in their lives, and create something for somebody else—a freedom, a glimmer of hope. Each of us measures happiness differently. If all of us could just be brought down to the lowest rung of existence, wouldn't we understand better what happiness is about?
Another move. Barren walls. Going nowhere, leaving behind (now it seems, as it does each time) everything. The ashtray sitting lonely on the windowsill, smeared with ashes. The closet with one T-shirt hanging. Suitcases and backpacks waiting for morning.
I want to do something good in this world. I want a life for myself, a life not chosen at random and too easily disposed of, but a life that will create something concrete for people. It isn't enough just to have visions but nothing in my hands to give.
I don't know how to live reasonably. I don't know how to stop from being hurt at the most insignificant things, from being overresponsive to people, except by shutting and locking doors firmly, checking them twice to make sure no one can penetrate. How does one manage?
I want people to be good to each other, but I don't know how to begin changing anything because I myself can barely cope with other people and with being alive."