A thousand times the mysteries unfold like galaxies in my head.

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I was told that in order to truly live your life, you have to do something you fear each day. Writing is, for most, not really a big deal. It's just like leaving a post-it note on the door of the fridge -a comfortable and immediate way to communicate something to someone in the near future. A means to trick time, if not necessarily for your own selfish sake. But I fear it.

While seeing Eugen Ionesco's play The bald singer I had the grotesque feeling of slipping away. As if I was no longer there.. as if the unveiled theatrical mechanism, its absurdity, has taken over my emptiness too. I would have burst in a supreme laughter if I hadn’t...