These days I am just writing and writing and by now I lost track of the core of any discourse. I should just destroy everything and start over, but I am too bored with writing to do it and I don’t have the time. Sense slowly leaks out of the sentences as soon as I add words. Even when I try to describe things, the description becomes more and more nebulous. And the logical arrangement of the sentences is non-existent. Disjointed paragraphs are all over the place, phrases with holes everywhere. Something I thought over begins, but then is interrupted by a plethora of silly diversions. Why all these talks, in the first place? I look at these photos and my imagination is set in motion. But when I am asked to define them, to know where they belong to, why they were put on paper, it becomes trivial somehow, and the words I write are just trying to patch this feeling of triviality.
