- the world I draw is soft and silent like the day after the end of the world, when exposed lies become dazed smiles, but no one’s left to see
- in the world I draw, nothing is really extraordinary: like in an usual acid trip for the bored, weird stuff is bound to happen and is nothing but a routine
- the world I draw has no people looking any more alive than people in the one in which I walk. yesterday people were partying in the road, and I was looking at the beautiful patterns of shrieking swifts and clouds at sunset: I stupidly thought my soul was more alive than theirs, but, just like them, I wasn’t allowed to scream in awe. I wonder when people began thinking it was an unappropriate thing to do
- the world I draw actually has no real people: they bear resemblance to human beings, but they are actually more like the very idea of them, but at times they don’t look like them at all
- the world I draw is usually devoid of pointless words, and when there are words they are often to illustrate pointlessness
- the world I draw often experiences loss of interest in existing or being coherent to itself
- the world I draw is a survivor to my own dread and shame
- my world is somehow filled with the happiness which was stashed under a brick and promptly forgotten (I did that too).
