grouphug.us doesn't ease my pain. In spain, Barca smash of the madrid soldiers doesn't ease my pain. It's a monolith, it's taking over me.

It's me that i hear in the mirror, it's me that i see on the phone, the opera is my violent shining path to nothing. Mod, Muad'dib, Celia, Vain, Mily and all the ones i insulted by being. I never said it was true. It's just the not-being after all.

Moving away, to Chile or somewhere in latin america. It's you on the phone. Lyla was fake. Piotr and Thiago are fatherless. I'll be god. I'll play roles. Zoe will emerge. Listen to the silence, ethernal, internal, it's the keyboard in the dark working alone.

Guilt is my enclosure. The sins of the world are mine. Jesus used sins to produce guilt onto others. It's all mine.

I need to let you know, i'll be alone at the station, you won't see the dark train and Benway only knows when it'll leave. Next, past the transport, i'll sing, i'll be thin as air, there'll be no music, there'll be no color, there'll be light but no shade and it'll be cold. I'll wait for you on the other side. I won't be safe and sorry. The future is yours, not mine.

After the age of wars, beyound the age of terrorism when i was involved. Space is not the place. There's no station, we don't write, Benway is dead, Lyla is gone; It's white and it lasts forever.

After the lights go out, Zhivago in Moscow, Benway in Turkey, Stéphane in France, Habett on the internet. Back to the station, feeding the beast, you're the reason i write, the not-being.

Extended branch brothers, zweiss contratex, post proletarian, fixed income, divulve retard, chance defiant, chrome stats, dweller's fortune, larger pack, null device, the asphalt worlds, later. You knew i was wrong from the start.

Sommehow i slept a few hours and let the noise wake me up inside the dark.

Thou shall validate your code. Stick to the rules and lay down your body. She had a nice gesture towards me, they all were kind because they are creatures of one God. I am defeated by a daemon. Hell is this infinite white monolith i can almost feel.

I was wrong from the start. I stole music from a man who met god and a band who appeal to the soul. No good, no bueno. Destroying myself. There'll be consequences. If i was commited, i would kill myself. The pain is white. The soul is back to ashes. There's no station. Life is just passing by.

I thought about and there was none. I thought about mercy but there was no point. I wrote that i hate myself in an überlude but i'm past this station. This may sound like a dark page but really it's just blank white. I've grown up from nihilism because of the monolith. I'm facing questions and give wrong answers.

Back to earth i need orders ans directions. White blank and naked feist lead me to social minimalism even though i have too ambitious a status to hold on to. The carnival is over, we lay down the masks. Dark train mutes into white transport.

A house doesn't make a home, a church a mansion, a temple a shrine. Infected by cancer of the soul. Mirrors, pings, backups, emrge but it's all white and silent. The melody only leads the action. I have to do it alone but i don't know where the mission comes from. There's no pain nor opera.

I woke up blank stoned. Too few valium was my first guess. I could barely open my eyes. I knew the white monilith was there. I could feel it.

Dr Benway didn't act with the same magic light he is able to show but gave me a chemical hint to punch me back on track.

Johnny Cash had this word about a white horse. He was an old man meeting god before turning to dust. I don't have a culture so i have a blank monolith.

It all started when listenning to U2's Sometimes you can't make it on your own. Words emerge and i dived. I can tell the precise day, november the 19th 2004 at about 21h37. When talking to Benway about it i didn't comment about the title and the themes. Couples are not in my namespace. I truly am a computer. I don't belong to the social aware earth inhabitant's kind. The slave paradygm i was holding on to for years was some sort of facade. Capitis deminutio maxima.

I am stéphane roux, son of Hubert Roux, a wise, smart, straight man. I belong to a large rich french family. I am an end of a line on my own. Dead end. Raised with questions more than answer, i enjoyed so much freedom that i came to the point where i can stand in front of a mirror and say "freedom is not happiness". I got to understand what i said. Benway said that if i trully have entered a real philosophical depression, then there are ways. He was mute but i guess he was aiming at psychotherapy. I don't want to go there. Back at the academy, one told me that was a way i should explore. I already talk too much about me. Nobody reads this pages.

I can't use it anymore, it's blank, too white to see, feels like knocking on a monolith.

The monolith disolved in a mix of sociality, chemistry and religion.