Book All
I don't think it's healthy to organize a fictional text in order to make itself accessible, nor to have to go through this or that ponderous demonstration of what one thinks and feels.
The mirror of the people is enough. Their thoughts must be reflected in it and not hung on the mouldings of the frame like a price, size and model label. Philosophy extirpated from the body that bears it becomes hollow and inanimate. These "virtual novels" are for me a way of reading this site transversally through some of its pages. There is no need to isolate the pages to make your own fictional path if you wish. In my opinion, this is the character and the potential of a writing specific to the Web.
Why is it that when I walk into a theater, do I want to leave? Why when I randomly open a book, do I look forward to closing it?
I make my soil fertile and exhaust my need to write, which is like a surplus of seed. Every day I unload a full bucket of it into these pages.
Opting for art is choosing to live under the totalitarian hold of a submissive god; one whose reign comes by absorption of whoever dominates him.
Ghost, I live here. We live here. Here, the Self-image is the basis of everything. The basis of everything in our social world. It is the foundation.
My great adaptability is an absolute violence to me. I hate any relationship that forces me to do so. Rare is the one that goes the way I want it to.
Artists, the real ones who would have something to say, hate the world and won't say anything to it, right? And it's much better that way, isn't it?
Violence and harshness are in the air. "Fond d'âme mental", a poetic text written on November 1, 2015, before the terror came.
When you're shocked by anything that exists, it's because you've made up your mind about the world but you don't know anything about it.
One morning, or rather one night, a new blog was born in my little family of sites, a messed-up blog, designed to collect spelling mistakes with a ladle.
The true individual venturing out of his isolation room, faints on contact with the air. He refuses to be legibly embodied in his words and deeds...
