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.

Monday, June 11, 2007


Who is the sun shining for if we are all locked up in schools, offices, homes and prisions?

1 comment:

John said...

The sun shines outside of the boxes we exist in because when we gaze out of them we need something to look toward. Humanity lives on the desire to become something greater -- to inhabit a better place. Flowers grow beyond themselves, slouching toward the sun, because they want to become something greater than they already are.

If it speaks to you...