Humankind Is Never What He Is But

Loving Means Getting Rid Of Names.

Light Is Time Thinking About Itself.

Death Is The Mother Of Forms.

Modern Man Likes To Pretend That His Thinking Is Wide-awake. But This Wide-awake Thinking Has Led Us Into The Mazes Of A Nightmare In Which The Torture Chambers Are Endlessly Repeated In The Mirrors Of Reason.

We Pursue Modernity In Her Incessant Metamorphoses Yet We Never Manage To Trap Her. She Always Escapes: Each Encounter Ends In Flight. We Embrace Her And She Disappears Immediately: It Was Just A Little Air. It Is The Instant, That Bird That Is Everywhere And Nowhere. We Want To Trap It Alive But It Flaps Its Wings And Vanishes In The Form Of A Handful Of Syllables. We Are Left Empty-handed. Then The Doors Of Perception Open Slightly And The Other Time Appears, The Real One We Were Searching For Without Knowing It: The Present, The Presence.