every picture is a story

Maybe the only moment i really enjoy… I am leaving my home jail and going to my work jail. Free on my wheels, or somewhat free. Is freedom a function of time or being free if only for a moment do qualify. I don’t know, people like to talk about those things without definition. Define Freedom, Love, Angst, Fear, Melancholia,.. those are only words to me, but somehow they do matter for me. One day i heard someone said Nostalgia is wanting the past to be now, while Melancholia is about knowing it will never happen. It is beautiful but I don’t know why. People are smarter than me, this is why I am driving unprotected on wheels, while the rich ones – the ones owning me – have shields on the top of their wheels. But I look at those shields, and they look like prison wall to me. They don’t know the smell, the temperature, the noise of life. They condition their own life in those little cans. One day my slavemaster took me in one of his cans, and he can choose the noises around, the smell and the temperature. It didn’t feel right, it was the life he wanted not the one I have. I didn’t like it, I like the surprises, the sudden sights of beauty, the smell of real life, the noises of other people life. Yes, no can for me please… I am not demanding, I will take from life what it gives me, it’s beautiful enough for me.