Writing is not cathartic, even though its feeling of release is present; it is not enlightening, however, it provokes critical thinking; it is not, above all, entertaining, nonetheless it transports you. I write in order to rationalize interiority, to catch emic experiences with a net. Everything, however, revolves and remains inside.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
A house cannot have more than two or three stories.
(__) played the accent that swims in my mouth.
(__) dreamt a path I wouldn’t have treaded on my own.
Adored, because I cannot reward.
Loved, because I don’t know the rest. The reaping of the field.
Alarmed or Disarmed?
Even if it is the end, this is where I begin.
- ► 2007 (23)