Lament for something or another.

What was there? Nothing but unproductive emptiness conferring no economic advantage; I mean, there were never certainties, I was always confused, but once I believed in that, worried about art, so Christ, I'm superstructural, got no base, stumble from nothing to nowhere, get lost in the margins, become a useful member of society with no ideas or actions. I dream of production, creation, coherence, beautiful dialectics, leftist transcendence, but when I examine my mind all I derive is uncertainty, sadness, fragments of ideas I no longer understand.