How to Exist?

Crying, dancing, tears, happiness. Fullness, anger, sadness. With all of this, I pierce the bubble of fetishization. I’m not that person who’s always smiling, and I don’t need to freeze myself in that image.

How to exist? It’s an empirical process. It stretches over time.

I like to observe—it’s curious. For me, it’s an investigation. A materiality that’s not quite tangible. It’s close.

Of all the sensations: may they be full.

Existence, baggage, emptiness. Strange.

Why don’t I feel this touch? It’s not an empty chest, but some kind of freezing.

How to exist, identity… I’m not a fetish. And I can’t be one.

Expansion… sliding, and the faces. The faces in every moment.

And then everything returns to the simple.

To exist, existence… being here.

So much the same and always different.

I don’t know.

How to exist?

It’s an empirical process. It stretches over time.