Everyday is a test in as much as I contemplate the way in which I relate to the world. Secretly I sense that this is not my place, that I do not belong here, that I must return home. Failing that – suicial mode – I am stuck here, until something better arrives, and so, seen as the Vigilantee Gatekeepers throw up so many obstacles to obstruct possible progress, I have to compensate with masquerade. People like myself are expected to indulge in consumption (obssession) as a means of covering up, but this only means they come to live with the lie. Indeed, there has to be something better than this, and yet, when people like myself express this wish, we are labelled as “mad.” It’s insane.