literature
By itself, any idea is neutral, or it should be; but man gives it life, projecting in it all of his passion and madness; impure, turned into belief, inserts itself in time, takes the shape of an event: and so the passage from logic to epilepsy is born___
And so the ideologies, the doctrines and the farces stained with blood are born... Idolizing by instinct, we convert in absolute the objects of our dreams and interests.
When man looses his "faculty of being indifferent", he becomes a virtual assassin. Even Diogene was searching for an indifferent...
Men who believe in nothing leave you in your indifference, in your despair and in your uselessness; the humanity recognizes in them those who have saved her from the fanatics. They have no doctrines, only caprices and interests, tolerant vices, more bearable than the disasters caused by the despotism of "principles"; for all the evils of life come from a "conception of life". In fact the human spirit dreams of a provincial cover at universal scale, of a History so "stagnant", that "doubt" would be an event, and hope would be a calamity. The human spirit doesn't want to live the sublime or the massacre - the spectacle in which we die for an idea.
.................(there's more...)
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poetry
My tears are dropping from my eyes
And I can't believe my pain that dies
And I watch falling on my shoulder
'S a little drop of salty water.
And then I watch the mighty sky
And see no reason I should fly,
It rather seems to me that lies
A canvas blue upon my eyes.
And though the canvas is so large and warm
That eyes can see not what's behind his storm,
Yet my poor tears are so small and cold
That pain of mine a sky could never hold.
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