Fate is bound to determinism; freewill doesn’t exist when we believe in fate, when we let effects gently touch us, when we prefer to let something or someone else decide for us, simply because it’s more simple to live like that, that is to walk on roads that have already been built. Not everyone has the time and patience to challenge their fate, but as I had the time, and enough guts to do it, I tried. And though how daunting, alienating, and hard it is, I love very much walking on this road, where it is writing and fate versus writing and freewill.
Specimen I am not a simple person — I rest my mind in other dimensions Housed by some kind of alienated specimen That talks to me as I sleep And that disperse as soon as the light shows its face I swim into some seas That look like seaweeds and algae Of some sort of sandy paste That sticks into hairs and skin, I play around on my paddling wheelbarrow boat Spun like a thread in the hands of the Moiras And my soldier of fate installs bitter thoughts Into my heart, as if a reminder Of my cruel designation as a mortal Which imprisons gazillions of old atoms Which travel in their own space universe Aware of the tricks they play Of the trouble they cause for a cause And of the fear they instill inside hearts and soul As they childishly play with that skin I despise, And as soon as when the light comes shining On that part of my earth, I wave them goodbye Where I go back right at the beginning And we become mortals again, until then.
