I throw these notes like I am smoking, and my pleasure is nothing but seeing them get lost in the air. To me, the grace to write seems to know the uselessness of words, knowing that they dissolve and fly. There is in art, however, something noble: the renunciation of life. Hitting the keyboard I abstain myself from the boredom of living, in genuine and utter disinterest. Life can not offer me nothing, and I hope nothing from it. I joke about the phrases, alternating the placement of words, thinking about images and laughing when talking to the computer. Beyond the window, the world proceeds as usual. But the world does not instill me but revulsion. I therefore take refuge here as in a cave, a retreat, where I find grace saying in silence, to no one, far from the unbearable rumor of life. I know I am building sand castles, but there is the substance that permeates these lines: disinterest.
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