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.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Centuries spent
for progress,
towards progress,
so that we can continue to despise our lives and others',
in different ways
but with the same intensity
as yesterday.

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