Tsutomu Yamaguchi

Tsutomu Yamaguchi (born March 16, 1916), a Japanese man, is one of the few people who survived both the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombings. He had already been listed as a hibakusha (explosion-affected person) of the August 9 Nagasaki bombing, but on March 24, 2009 the government of Japan officially certified that he had also been in Hiroshima on a business trip during the first atomic bombing. (source, source)

More on Hiroshima. More on nuclear weapons. More absurd human rights violations.

My life has been changed because of this video.  It is a fantastic reminder that we have joy within us at all times, and we can access it at any time, if we only allow ourselves the permission to be joyful.

Just to help pad a month of posts shortchanged by computer woes…I’m publishing some recent finds of mine at the Falls of the Ohio.  I found these objects (and more) the last three times I visited the river across the way from Louisville.  Something about the lay of the land and the prevailing currents push all sorts of floating stuff onto the park’s shoreline.  I found the colorful gourd above about two feet away from this neon yellow-green softball that was losing its cover.  Here are more recent gourd images.

First, here’s a round, variegated gourd…followed by a knobby, elongated, variegated, squash.  Perhaps they are Thanksgiving decorations?

Although it looks like it could be some kind of strange seed pod, the “laces” give it away.  It’s a novelty American football…with “French ticklers”?  Definitely, one of the oddest balls I’ve come across and worthy of being added to my “Balls of the Ohio Collection”.

I came across this tiny smiley-face ball lying face up in the sand.  Another tiny find was this toy hat.  I added a walnut to give you a sense of its scale.

I kept the hat and don’t be surprised if you see one of my Styrofoam figures wearing it someday.  A few months a go, I did a post about “sea life” in the Ohio River.  Well, I recently came across another candidate for that story.

The pincers on this sand toy crab pivot back and forth.  My last image is a flattened inner tube.  Usually, I find tires, but this believe it or not is a rarity.  The way it is just laying there all sphincter-like in the light, caught my eye.  I’m working on new categories of objects seen in the Falls context and I will include them here as they develop.

smile check machine in Japan

If the workers at Japan’s Keihin Electric Express Railway Company seem unnaturally cheerful for drizzly autumn mornings, it is because they are being watched. The firm has installed cameras with special scanners at 15 of its stations to measure employees’ smiles, ensuring that harried commuters are always greeted with a grin, however forced.

It may seem extreme to Western eyes but it is just one example of a business that is booming: employee monitoring. Companies have long kept a close eye on employees to maintain productivity and guard against theft. But the economic downturn has prompted some to redouble their efforts—and advances in technology have given them the means. …

Managers trying to decide who to make redundant can use forensic software to catch that slacking YouTube addict red-handed. … Monitoring software can also be used to spot “presenteeism” – employees who turn up in the office every day but then do nothing [a kind of absenteeism]. (source)

On the technical aspects of the Japanese “smile check machine”:

Workers will be required to smile into a camera and have their mug subjected to software analysis of their happiness. The device analyzes the facial characteristics of a person, including eye movements, lip curves and wrinkles, and rates a smile on a scale between 0 and 100 percent using a camera and computer. For those with low scores, advice like “You still look too serious,” or “Lift up your mouth corners,” will be displayed on the screen. Some 530 employees of the Tokyo-based railway company will check their smiles with Smile Scan before starting work each day. They will print out and carry around an image of their best smile in an attempt to remember it. (source)

More on privacy. More on Big Brother. More on the related topic of free speech at work. More absurd human rights violations.

Broken is my soul.

Gave everything and not more.

It was all rehearsed, all understood.

Never so close to be able to loose.

Nonetheless lost is how I became.

You broke me.

Challenged my life, challenged all my tears from all my years.

I stopped, but you broke me again.

Always a new disdain.

Took advantage of it.

Have to pick up of it.

To be able to be.

But I am as you left me.

Broken.

In fata camerei mele am o gradina, stapanita de o haita de maidanezi. Vreo 5-6 sunt. Nimic anormal, cam orice apartament din Bucuresti are in fata o gradina in care isi fac veacul niste maidanezi. Ghinionul meu este ca peste straduta se afla o alta gradina, stapanita de -ati ghicit- alta haita de maidanezi, dusmana. Deci am sub geam doua haite rivale.

De fapt, de-a lungul anilor in care au crescut impreuna, rivalitatea aia ancestrala imprimata in creierul primitiv s-a diluat intr-o semi-prietenie, care se rezuma la “eu nu intru in teritoriul tau, tu nu in al meu, dar ne latram tot timpul, sa ne mai distram si noi”. Evident, un caine nu are prea multe de facut, cel putin nu in oras unde are foarte mare grija sa nu calce prin teritorii “vecine”. Asa ca haitele astea doua sunt foarte fericite ca se au una pe cealalta, ca sa se latre. Se latra sporadic dar si sub forma de ritual. In fiecare dimineata, candva intre ora 8:20 si 09.00, cainii din planul secund vin la gardul care delimiteaza teritoriul astora de sub geamul meu. Si unul dintre ei face invitiatia “ne ham-ham-uim?” Instant incep sa curga javre din toate directiile, si vin la gard. Si dai si latra, si latra, si dai din coada (aproape a fericire, jur, se simt bine facand asta) si dai din picioarele din spate (aia cu “asta e teritoriul meu bah!”) si latra, si latra. Si o tin asa vreo 30 de minute, inainte sa se plictiseasca. Pentru moment.

Evident, nu le ajunge doar aia de dimineata, pe tot parcursul zilei din cand in cand li se face pofta sa se latre. Si evident, noaptea, care e bomboana de pe tort. Singura diferenta e ca doar atunci la ritual dureaza mult, juma` de ora, in rest, te sacaie la creier doar cateva minute. Este lesne de inteles ca m-am imaginat cumparandu-mi pusca cu luneta. Ca m-am documentat care sunt otravurile 100 % garantate. Din pacate, cel putin pe scara mea, toata lumea stie ca eu as jupui javrele cu mana mea. Asa ca babele aschelopatice (cel mai probabil surde complet) care s-au dus in fuga mare sa ia maidanezii de la ecarisaj, sa le puna zgarda cum ca sunt caini de casa in grija lor, curati, parfumati si vaccinati, ar chema politia animalelor pe capul meu daca li s-ar intampla ceva “sufletelelor”. Si se mai plang ca nu le ajunge pensia, ca sunt amarate, da` sa hraneasca atatea javre reusesc (am renuntat de mult la speranta ca o sa moara de foame).

Si aici, intervine Romania absurda. Romania in care un caine vagabond are mai multe drepturi decat mine. Un caine care poate sa te streseze o viata intreaga, pana moare, si tu sa fii nevoit sa accepti asta. Ma intreb, cat de mari ar face ochii un neamt daca i-as spune “stii, eu sunt stresat continuu de latratul cainilor vagabonzi, care au garantat prin lege dreptul sa ma streseze in siguranta”. Ca doar nu poti sa omori saracutul animal. Eu zic ca neamtul m-ar intreba “dar unde traiesti tu, in Africa?” Raspunsul nu ar fi prea departe de adevar.

W końcu “potrawa”, która zdetronizowała osławiony duet masła orzechowego (funt za słoik) i kremu podobnoczekoladowego! Nareszcie mogę z pełną odpowiedzialnością stwierdzić – tak, tak poszukiwanie idealnego wypełniacza tostów z bułkowatego, brytyjskiego niby-chleba dobiegło kresu.

Wiktorze, słyszę pytacie, ale czy fakt ten może mieć istotny wpływ na życie, zwykłego, statystycznego obywatela Uni Europejskiej?

Owszem, odpowiadam, o ile starczy nam odwagi i wiary by ugotować cztery jajka na twardo, kupić dwieście gramów sera topionego, wycisnąć pół główki czosnku i podziugać wszystko dokładnie widelcem (doprawiając do smaku solą ziemi, pieprzem i łyżką majonezu)!

Dodać tylko należy, że ten wyrafinowany przepis nie jest w żadnym wypadku mojego autorstwa.

E’ il nome della seconda perla più grande del mondo, scoperta nelle Filippine, che andrà all’asta da Bonhams il prossimo sei dicembre. Pesa 2,25 chili ed è larga 15 centimetri: la stima è di 275mila euro.

Sarà la seconda perla più grande del mondo, ma fa un pò schifo.

U ergerde zich ook al aan het feit dat er te weinig politie op straat is te zien? En dat de agenten alleen maar bezig zijn met snelheidscontroles en boetes uit te schrijven? Nu weten we waar dat aan ligt…

Lees en huiver wat er zoal met uw belastingcenten gebeurt!!! Het is te zot voor woorden, dus laat ik het hierbij!!!

Sjees!!! 1400 euro per dag!!! Waar laat je dat geld?!!!

Het kan allemaal erger:

Op de provinciale zender van Noord-Holland valt te lezen: dat de plaatsvervangend korpschef van Amsterdam, Cor Gorissen, jaarlijks bijna 12.000 euro ontvangt voor het draaien van piketdiensten, waarbij hij 24 uur per dag bereikbaar moet zijn. Klik op de afbeelding… U weet niet wat u leest!

Met dank aan:

Rel om declaraties korpschefs

AMSTERDAM -  Hoofdcommissarissen declareren massaal. Zeker zestien hoofdcommissarissen en plaatsvervangers krijgen duizenden euro’s vergoeding voor representatiekosten, maar declareren daarnaast ook nog eens bonnetjes van stomerijkosten en etentjes.

Foto: Marnix Schmidt

Interim-korpschef Miriam Barendse maakt het wel erg bont. Volgens onderzoek van RTL Nieuws is zij één van de best verdienende korpschefs van Nederland. Opmerkelijk voor een hoofdcommissaris van een relatief klein korps.

€1400 per dag

Tot en met juni werkte ze als tijdelijk hoofdcommissaris bij het politiekorps in Twente. Drie maanden lang liet ze zich inhuren via haar eigen adviesbureau en rekende hiervoor maar liefst 1400 euro per dag, met een totaal van 60.000 euro, zo weet RTL Nieuws.

Momenteel is Barendse interim-chef in de regio Brabant Noord. Ook daar diende ze een factuur in van bijna 4500 euro voor tweeëneenhalve dag ‘voorbereidingswerk’.

Hoewel ze voor een relatief klein korps werkt, ontvangt Barendse maandelijks ruim 9968 euro, bijna evenveel als de Amsterdamse korpschef Welten, die leiding geeft aan het grootste korps van Nederland van 6000 man. Het salaris van een korpschef is mede-afhankelijk van de korpsgrootte.

Stomerijkosten

Hoofdcommissaris Kuijs, de korpschef in de regio Brabant Zuid Oost, ontvangt €8685,6 aan vaste reperesentatiekosten, maar declareerde voor nog eens €3887,67 aan onder meer stomerijkosten en de huur van een smoking.

De voormalig korpschef in Zeeland, Goudswaard, heeft relatiegeschenken in de vorm van manchetknopen met daarop een vingerafdruk, voor in totaal 1350 euro gedeclareerd. Verder schafte hij allerlei producten voor ‘persoonlijke hygiene’ aan zoals haargel, op kosten van het korps.

De politiebond noemt de vergoedingen ‘buitensporig’.

Since Americans eat an astonishing amount of turkey the last week in November, do you think the chickens are doing celebratory dances like this?

(Ugh…now I’m lamenting the conditions under which chickens are typically raised in this country…no room for dancing at all).

Source

Ha fatto scandalo notizia la proposta del deputato del Carroccio Maurizio Fugatti di introdurre un emendamento alla Finanziaria per ridurre a sei mesi la cassa integrazione per gli immigrati. In realtà ormai siamo tristemente abituati ad affermazioni deliranti da parte della Lega (Borghezio docet), ma stavolta la sparata è stata talmente grossa che perfino la Carfagna, nota per non avere delle opinioni proprie, si è sollevata! Inutile sottolineare che come ogni volta chiunque ha parlato di razzismo (ma va!), e infine stamattina è arrivato anche il commento di Avvenire, che ha definito la proposta “aberrante”.

Ma la cosa più divertente è che l’illuminato Fugatti non ha capito di aver sparato una cazzata (come potrebbe, considerando chi gli fa compagnia nella Lega), ma ha affermato che, pur “restando convinto delle idee espresse ieri”, vista la contrarietà del ministro del Welfare Sacconi, fa dietrofront, non essendo sua intenzione “creare problemi alla maggioranza”. Attendiamo con ansia la prossima cazzata, certi che ancora una volta riusciranno a superare sé stessi.

It’s a sad but true fact that people abandon their pets at the Falls of the Ohio.  I have come across many stray dogs and cats in my wanderings around the park.  Of course, it’s hard to excuse this behavior when there are organizations that will care for and find new homes for unwanted animals. 

This is a story about a recent encounter I had with a most peculiar “dog”.  I came to call him “Rat-Dog” because of its diminutive size.  I was walking among the willows on a day that felt so much like winter.  I even heard the calls of Sandhill Cranes migrating, but the clouds were low and I couldn’t spot them.  As I was walking past a certain willow with a cavity at its base…this little white animal came running towards me.  For about an hour the little dog tagged along with me and I photographed it in various places of interest.  Rat-Dog would not let me touch it, but it was nevertheless playful.  Following are several of the images of this animal.

He seemed to like to play fetch.  I gathered a few walnuts and pitched them into the brown, curling leaves and Rat-Dog was very good at finding them.  I wondered how long he had been out here and what was it eating?  I surmised that like other strays, it probably ate garbage and handouts from fishermen.  I regretted that I had nothing to feed it.  Usually, I have something to snack on, but on this day, I hadn’t planned to stay long.

Along the sandy trail, we came to a patch of yellow Horse Nettle fruits.  I photographed these plants months a go when they sported lovely purple and yellow flowers.  I have since learned that these fruits are very poisonous.  They look like little tomatoes.  Rat-Dog fortunately did not eat any.  He seemed content to just run between the clumps of plants.

As another good indicator of scale, I shot this image of Rat-Dog by a plastic bottle.  It was at this moment that the little animal heard some distant sound and ran as fast as it could towards it.  I thought to myself that perhaps this was the dog’s owner who feeling twinges of guilt, came back for it.  Maybe he wasn’t abandoned to begin with and had become lost during an earlier visit?  Either way, I hope he finds his way home.

Rat-Dog was made from bits of found Styrofoam, coal, sticks, and pieces of plastic.  The collar around his neck is the top from a disposable salt shaker.  The dog is held together with little sharpened pegs.  He was created and photographed at the Falls of the Ohio State Park.  The part about pets being abandoned here…is sadly true.

This is my 1ooth post!  I was really looking forward to writing this about two weeks a go when my computer crashed!  The real horror was that many of my Falls of the Ohio project images weren’t backed up.  I do have stuff on flash drives, CDs, memory cards, and yes, this blog, but the hard drive of my computer has the majority of my pictures.  That’s about three years worth of this project.  I still have another three years that’s completely analog-based that I could scan at a future date.  I’m not certain I have saved all my digital work, but I think it may still be there.  I’ll find out tomorrow, because it was a bit of an ordeal to get the family computer going again.  In the meantime, I was visiting the river and making sculptures and images from them.  Here is one story that takes place after the willow leaves have fallen and turned brown on the sand.  Winter’s chill isn’t far behind.

In my collecting bag were several small bottles the size used to serve alcohol aboard airline flights.  I decided to use them together on a single figure.  I found a piece of Styrofoam that could serve as a head and a few elements to create features.  Acorns become eyes, a plastic bottle cap serves as a mouth, the nose is some plastic electric insulating cap, the ears are Asiatic clam shells, and that tuft of hair is part of an old broom.  Those bottles mentioned earlier…I decided to string together like charms on a bracelet and I wrapped them around my polystyrene figure.

I conjured up this figure and imagined that he was a magic person with the power to intercede between worlds.  He wears the small bottles as amulets and as symbols of his office.  Bottles are important vessels because they mediate between exterior and interior realities.  The JuJu Bottleman comes to the Falls of the Ohio because he knows this is a really good place to find bottles of all kinds.

Strewn among the driftwood are plastic bottles that rode the last high water to this spot.  To the JuJu Bottleman, this is exactly what he is looking for.  It is uncertain what he intends to do with these bottles, but they serve some kind of important purpose that we may never know.  You can, however, feel a certain kind of power emanating from the collective energy of similar objects being grouped together.  Perhaps they serve as a battery for the imagination?  If one is good then more might be better.

Yes, I’m going to ask Santa for an external hard drive this year.  I have always intellectually known how fragile this data is, but my recent computer problem has accentuated that.  Pixels are like tiny beads of Styrofoam that are subject to fragmentation.  The notion that what happens to images in the electronic world finds a correspondence with the objects I’m manipulating and photographing in the physical world is an idea of interest to me.  The internet is a river that abrades and changes images as they appear in different contexts.  If I’m unable to retrieve my images from the old hard drive…I will accept that and think of it as a lesson learned.  I have other new discoveries and images from the Falls that I will post soon.

I could have sworn I posted these last year, but it doesn’t look like it. The one (and only) redeeming quality of parades, in my opinion, is the collection of bizarre, surreal and kitschy props.

Here’s a collection of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Floats from the 1920’s and 1930’s.

Source

Every absurdity has a champion to defend it.

Anonymous

Ceea ce contează şi-mi pasă

este că ţigara rămâne aprinsă

şi-n ploaie.

Sunt fericit, văd luna ca o troacă spartă

şi câinii vagabonzi cum latră…

şomez cu vântul şi cu ploaia

iar de ceva zile m-a lăsat şi… aia..

sunt atât de fericit

încât o să mă sinucid;

greierii borfaşi latră la mine în cor,

cred c-o să mă spânzur cu lătratul lor.

"Ayer fui a pasear por un gran bosque de las afueras de Trieste. El maldito y monótono verano se había acabado y la lluvia y la suave brisa me recordaron el bello (lo digo en serio) clima de Irlanda. Odio el maldito y absurdo sol que vuelve a los hombres de mantequilla. Me senté a kilómetros de distancia de todo el mundo en un banco rodeado de árboles altos. El "bora" (el viento que sopla en Trieste) bramaba por las copas de los árboles. Aspiré con ganas la fragancia de la tierra y ofrecí la siguiente plegaria (diferente de la que Renan ofreció sobre la Acrópolis): ¡Oh, vaga Fuerza que estás detrás de Todo!." De Cartas escogidas. James Joyce.

Un nen, que tinc identificat perquè sempre actua d’una manera força estranya, va fent via cap a casa seva. Viu al 112 o al 114 ( ara no us ho puc dir exactament perquè del número 96 fins al 120 tot són casetes clonades i de vegades no situo els meus clients) del carrer Sant Jordi i  avui camina de costat saltant a grans gambades. A cada embranzida la motxilla li colpeja amb força l’esquena aparentment sense molestar-lo. Vaig darrera seu mirant de no perdre el fil de la meva feina (98 Josep Garcia, 100 senyor i senyora Mas, una postal, a veure… Jungfraujoch, espectacular!, 102 carta urgent, on és el timbre, ah, bon dia Joan li deixo aquesta carta) mentre segueixo el fil del meu pensament que ara mateix el nen estira.

Què pot empènyer a una criatura a complicar encara més el camí de casa: una pujada amb un desnivell, no sé, del 12 per cent, per dir una xifra (104 res, 106 Llaurador, cartes del banc, una revista pel 108 ). No fa gaires dies pujava amb un gos de mida considerable, pels nou o deu anys que deu tenir ell, als braços i un cop al portal de casa vaig veure que amb senyals li indicava a l’animal que ja podia marxar, ni tan sols era seu; divendres passat em va passar pel costat seguint els murs de les cases amb els ulls tancats. Vist des de fora no té cap sentit.

Arribo al 112,  la casa on ell està assegut (no tenen correu). El pit se li infla sota la jaqueta, suat i vermell treu un quadern i es posa a escriure. Li dic que si es queda allà fora es constiparà, diu que espera la mare. No acostumo a preguntar coses a la gent -no sé si per educació, per falta d’interès o per por de que després les preguntes m’ataquin a mi – però deixo les objeccions sense efecte l’una darrera l’altre, al capdavall és un nen, per demanar-li tot seguit el motiu del seu comportament. Arronsa les espatlles, no sap, diu que de vegades li agradaria ser com els altres, quedar-se a la plaça i jugar i jugar. Abaixa el cap i continua escrivint, apuntant el temps que ha trigat avui a pujar el carrer, el nombre de salts que ha hagut de fer abans d’obrir la porta del jardí.

Just allà on inicio la davallada, al pati del 125, un cirerer ha deslliurat dues flors en ple mes de novembre. Tot aquest esforç, penso amb una certa ràbia, ha de servir per alguna cosa. (Sisplau).

If life were not only absurd, but comically absurd then it would make everything a whole lot better. If absurdity really is “everyday life taken to the illogical extreme” then we are living in absurd times. I don’t mean that in a hostile way, it is merely my observation. The only thing that I am concerned about is that things are not as funny as they could be.

We find ourselves laughing at life’s extreme behavior. For example; when a simple intent is blocked by ridiculously inconceivable obstacles and then the hero experiences a myriad of ironic adventures, finally leaving us at least chuckling if not laughing out loud as they bumble away. This is true of any and all things that we witness; love, war, politics, philosophy, etc.

It is particularly amusing when conflicting philosophies meet. The warriors will set up the most meager of camps, abandoning all that can weigh them down; logic, compromise, empathy – listening and hearing. These are not useful when you’re on a one dimensional battlefield where the stakes are high comedy.

What I am wondering is, why is everyday life, which is as absurd as anything we can imagine on stage, screen or in text or song and which we now are bearing full witness to, not generating the laughter it so deserves? The bottom line is that you really only need two things for this absurd farce to work. You have to be able to see yourselves in the story and you can’t forget that you are NOT in the story.

I just figured it out. We are the absurd.

Hollow

Kamu sudah mulai berdebu teman, dirimu semakin usang tak lagi tampak garis-garis yang membentukmu.

Samar.. apakah hanya seredup ini cahaya yang bisa kau pancarkan, atau hanya warna coklat kekuningan itu yang menyuramkan, bahkan warna abu-abu dilangit saat ini tak kalah seperti warna pembungkusmu.

Tak layak kau terus mencaci dan mengkambing hitamkan waktu dan semua intuisi kebanggaanmu.

Berdentum, berdetak, muak !! kau terus mengais kalimat untuk kau coba keluarkan, tapi apa?

satu kata pun tak pernah kau berhasil tuliskan dengan rata, terbata.

Seperti apa yang ada di dalam otakmu saat ini? jangan lagi kau tunjukkan seringaimu saat dalam dirimu mulai terkikis dan kau biarkan cairan di dalam arteri itu mengering.

apa yang ingin kau rentangkan? apa yang membuatmu terus tertanam?

Bahkan kau pun tak mengerti betapa aku ini ingin hanya berjalan selangkah.

Tiap kali kau sayat aku dengan senyummu, tiap kali kau seret aku menuju diammu, kenapa tak kau biarkan saja metamorfosa ini gantikan kamu menjadi aku, kau suram, pucat dan abu-abu…

Inikah yang kau sebut dengan manifesto hidupmu, kau tak halnya seperti sampah terinjak.

Inikah paradigma sabar yang berhasil kau telan mentah-mentah, cermati.. kau bahkan tak tahu apa arti kata itu,

apakah cukup dengan satu kata itu hidupmu ini, atau itu hanya sebuah atmosfir yang kau ciptakan untuk hidupmu.

HEY !! aku selalu berteriak di dalam mu, aku berputar di tiap merah di tubuhmu, aku yakin kau mengenaliku tapi seperti biasa kau coba melawan dan mengabaikannya, kau hiraukan semua kenyataan tentang eksistensi adanya aku dalam dirimu.

Sadari teman, kau dan aku itu satu. “I will reap your existence”, Blaaahh.. tiap kali kau memikirkan kalimat itu, tiap kali kau coba menguburku, apa yang kau dapat? Nihil !!

Kamu, dirimu sendiri yang sengaja atau tanpa telah mensketsakan aku, membuat tiap lekukan maya hingga terbentuk suatu aku.

Aku muak dengan senyummu, tiap kali cermin itu menceritakannya, tiap kali cermin itu me-visualkan senyummu itu, hanya satu kebohongan besar yang aku dapatkan.

Kenapa kita tak berusaha mengerti, aku berada di dalammu dan terus terpompa menuju tiap sudutmu.

Theres no more fear than me self

Aku hidup teman, aku dan kamu satu, kamu berdebu dan aku muak.

Semua hal tentang hidupmu dan semua yang kau rasakan aku merasakannya berkali lipat di dalam sini.

You always pronounce your word about love, you always proclaim that this is your life

I’m a prisoner.. yes I am, in the back room where the water leaks.
Command me on what to do, but we both know that neither you or I are in control.
Now it’s become apparent that you’re not the person that you say

You pray for love, and that’s your biggest fear.

They call it love.. We call it a lie
We’re both right this time…

When You’re sad and alone, the only one you can truly depend is Yourself.

Hope, Faith, Reliance, those are spoken by the weak, you don’t even need it.

Preached your self reliance !! do not be the inferior