there's no way to know when, exactly, one will be left just with one's self. there's really no way of predicting how the turn of events will, well, turn. life seems perfecly unpredictable in it's own peculiar regularity of cause-consecuence driven events. it's like water in one's hands. as soon as one thinks a strong grip is the case, all that was held vanishes, simply drips out of control and conscience. people are equally unpredictable, or perhaps more. it seems really really hard to know whether someone exists activelly in one's life or not; all we may have is this instant, with these representations of happenings and of persons. blink and it changes, breathe and it vanishes. but it is just as usless to hold one's breath, to keep one's eyes wide open, or even shut, for there is no reason being followed by the presence of happenings and persons in the succesion of instants. things endure as easilly as they perish, or is it the other way around?
maybe it is too little precise to speak of myself as "being here always", as being the one constant 'thing' here; he stays aswell, and he is him, not me, not i; at least not in the same sense as in which i am me. i'm confused. maybe i'll finish this a bit later.
coming in through my ears:: Sweet Head//David Bowie