People make filthy things with the freedom they regained.
We are like snails, each stuck to his own leaf.
Behind every glorious facade there is always hidden something ugly.
How do you expect to communicate with the ocean, when you can’t even understand one another?
I felt myself being invaded through and through, I crumbled, disintegrated, and only emptiness remained.
Either something is authentic or it is unauthentic, it is either false or true, make-believe or spontaneous life; yet here we are faced with a prevaricated truth and an authentic fake, hence a thing that is at once the truth and a lie.