Utter hopelessness. It is good to
imagine a voice, a dialogue, dialogism. It is therapeutic. Genius rebuk’d?
Comforts of the flesh. Atavistic
selfishness creeping into every pore. Since words don’t signify what they
signify, what’s the use? Empty signifiers. A world to delude people.
Order and method. Comforts of the
flesh. A theory to prescribe what to like? Aesthetic theory of fine art.
Simulation/simulacrum. What’s the use?
Am I a reductionist? All things
meaningless, hence no point in engaging in fruitless endeavour. No fruition.
Word fetishist.
Deep syncope.
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