The beginning and the end of one's cheating are confused in the cyclical nature of a babel that is always... Read More
The beginning and the end of one's cheating are confused in the cyclical nature of a babel that is always the same as itself. Carried away by the winds of this abyss, we slip into the mists of our inner labyrinths and while we are busy losing our way, life reaches us like the light in the summer undergrowth, fragmented by a tangle of branches and leaves. In the labyrinth we are alone, chasing an answer that recedes the more we enter the bowels of our life. "This bird had flown" speaks of bewilderment, of those who have left their holds, of those who have left the track in search of an untapped road and are lost, convinced that the meaning of the labyrinth will be clear only when, once they have exited he will sit on the grass of the highest hills to observe what was our prison.