Many of the most shocking memories I find inside my head relate themselve to the universe. Somehow the most trascenedental moments in my life make me want to look up. It doesent have any religious relation anyhow, but maybe the deepness of that moment makes me feel part of something, something big,  And strangely everytime I bring back my memories, I just visualize the black-white spotted sky instead of the moment itself. I just find it so beautiful so unchainable, so overhwelmingly deep and mystic. It doesent form part of any of my most bizarre dreams to travel to the moon, but I feel completely fascinated by its spectacle, the insignificance of myself, the power of emotions, the power of sensations that make you feel so close of feeling up there, ¿where? there, in the place I just can describe, but that I definately had to mention in one of my posts. Maybe when Im 80 Ill discover where is that place of what is the freaking place, but for now the feeling is enough to embrace me. Maybe Im too tired now. Sometimes I feel tired of trying. Trynig to make it through in a world where everybody rejects its own personal traits to be homogeneus, to be classifiable, understandable, and just standard. As the phylosopher Lyotard said, society is a big, black beast, looking for something, looking for nothing, crawiling around the absurdness of its being. An empty soul, a soul in pain. The beast should be awaken, the beast should be transformed. Transformed deeply from the core. But how. I would say one of the greatest things that can trnasform it is art. But well that is a subjet for another blog. Still, I love art, and yes, it reminds me to the universe, the undiniable effect of an unsolved mistery, It is fair to argue that Ive been transformed by art, Ive discovered through it my real essence and my real role in this small insignifact world full of small infignificant countries, and overcrowded by tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny people.


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