I see "time" running faster ... opening short roads to knowledge. What do you think? They don't leave us without work ... it seems that the "road" has been accelerated ... so that we finish with the "small", which of course are big! Big, for those who know how to observe. And now we are in this phase where we don't miss a beat.
I move absent-mindedly as if whatever moves me fully controls me. Everything I do is a repetition without an apparent reason and everything I think is scattered images of some other person who, finally, is me.
So much have I mixed up the moments and times which have marked me, that an effort is needed to make sense of it. What were ultimately the most beautiful and what the most bitter?