Since weeks I am trying to write a text about the present, about how I feel right now. It‘s happening so much, that I have the feeling I need to have some emotions I can write down. But I am starting text after text and after five sentences I recognize, that I have nothing to say. The only feeling that I have is emptiness mixed with a bit of anger. But not that type of anger, which is leading into much action. It‘s more this type, which makes me frozen.
I am prepared for the eviction. I am prepared that the home I‘ve loved most will be destroyed by the the executives of the state and then turned into luxury apartments by a capitalist asshole. Because he has still not enough money, not enough power.
Nine sentences.
Maybe enough to write down.