sisyphus speaks part 1

"Poisoned is what i am, in the heart and infected in the bloodstream. With sorrow and fatigue. My actions become inhibited, my words drop loosely, my fury and tension increase. All because of lack of fulfillment, my particular curse, my culdesac, an isolating cell. It's a disease that cuts off connection, severs the red thread, a babe neglected in the cradle. So that i react with dismay at life, not being able to respond positively. This is not self-contempt, i am writing of desire and its refutation.
The appaling frustration of the energetic mind, of the adventurous desire instincts finding no outlet. Faced to ponder the recurring events, leading to similar conclusions, banal and grey-toned, no rich soil for the passions to thrive in, no extravagant loves to be cultivated. Instead, my reflections morbidly stray upon the same barren earth, cruelly barren, disgusted with the bitter taste of weeds. Stolen, uncertain weeds of delight, shaky and loose in the ashen soil. And yet now and then, to my surprise, while shifting agitated fingers through the weeds, i uncover some jewel-like flower, some blazing fruit, a token of love solidified and pleasing. In the bottom of my heart though i can never be sure whether these blooms are like those carelessly enjoyed by other men, or are deceptive and ersatz, too easily crushed or disintegrating too readily at the slightest touch...."