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A socialist, a christian writer and Led Zeppelin walk into a bar...

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A socialist, a writer and Led Zeppelin walk into a pub What happens when you're innocently minding your business and sipping a ginger beer in a pub, where Tolkien use to go? Probably nothing. Or maybe bizarre, illogical connections start pouring out of your imagination. And they're so arrogant, they claim their epiphanies make perfectly sense. "The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born".  "All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king." They insist that, in times of change, when heroes face challenges and temptations down to the bottom of the abyss, exactly during this process, they don't look like heroes, don't eve...

Damn, I cannot draw or the limits of my world

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When I say that I can't draw. I mean it. How is possible that my eyes see beauty in every flake of dust while my hand is not able to reproduce anything on a piece of paper?  How is possible that my mind grasps infinity and my fingers stay still, unable to give shape to such a wonder? If the limit of your language is the limit of your world, I guess this is mine. 

There's a crack on my wall

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"To muse for long unwearied hours with my attention rivetted to some frivolous device upon the margin, or in the typography of a book", says Egaeus, describing his condition, that has become extremely unpleasant for him.  I rather enjoy these brief moments of pointless focus.