St. Monday and the Ignorants

Why am I writing this blog? Because I realize it's imperfect. Dreamed, it would be perfection; written, it becomes imperfect; that's why I'm writing it. And above all else, because I advocate uselessness, absurdity, [ ] -- I write this blog to lie to myself, to be unfaithful to my own theory.

The awareness that a work is perfect, the satisfaction of a work achieved ... --soothing is the sleep under this shady tree in the calm of summer.

Thank you, Bernardo Soares.