“ Only God would adore his own death. ”
God is a book I can no longer read.
~ Floriano Martins
We live in the hope that life will be different. Just a little more substance perhaps in the intrinsic frailty of the days. Such resignation frightens me. Between gunshots I get drunk. In secret, all knowledge becomes anxiety.
A constant human error: to believe in an end to one's fantasies. Our daydreams are the measure of our unreachable truth. The secret of all things lies in the emptiness of the formula that guard them.
There is no way I can avoid thinking about the kind of world I belong to. The abuse of utopias disfigures everything.
