Let the world of silence and the silence of the fish come!

Oh the banalities! Oh the bullshit! Oh I'm fed up, but I'm so fed up!

It stinks; it stinks; your bullshit expression at the station going right into your bullshit microphone that you're holding. Shut the fuck up once; shut up; shut up; shut up; shut up. Comedian, writer, artist, politician, sociologist, psychoanalyst, worker, trade unionist, poor and rich, but shut the fuck up and don't let us hear you. We. Me. The world of silence. Cousteau without his hat and the sound turned down and just the fish.

Not even television.

Just the fish and not being there to see them.

Let no one relay what we already know. Even what we don't know. Nothing, nothing can be learned from this way; from this way, always the same, of speaking, of transmitting, of expressing. Don't they know that everything is contained in the intention, the style, the manner?

Shit, do we have to teach these media and writing people that it is immoral; that it is dangerous and barbaric to make these clumsy caesuras at the end of a sentence, just to breathe or move on to another subject, when they are talking about deaths; hundreds of deaths; sometimes thousands of deaths and so on, every day.

A false suspension, an inflection that he or she doesn't mean; it's the news; it's the radio. Learn to play properly, for God's sake, since it's a show or else... Yes, just know that fish exist. Let a dull and dreary culture live; invisible in the abyss or under the slime of the seas. Unknown; rich? It doesn't matter; it is enough that it existed.

How about that, huh?

Fortunately, making a website is also a way of telling a story.