I don’t even remember when I started my first journal. I don’t know how old I was. I used to fill pages after pages about things I lived or I wanted to live, feelings I felt or I wanted to feel. I have not stopped writing on journals ever since.

For some people, the passion for the absurd is the only thing that gives meaning to life. They love the absolute useless, they enjoy the poisonous things, every surprise is a painful surprise, every experience is a new chance for torture. They are usually nice and sweet, fun to be around, but lonely. I think I’ve been one of those people in the past.

Why raise questions, throw lights, or see shadows? Why should I bother?

My grandma used to raise turkeys. Sometimes, as a treat during the cold months, she used to give them bread crumbs soaked in wine, and a single peppercorn each. They were not sulky or booby birds. They were happy turkeys. I created this page in her memory.

Please donate to my campaign to save Miss Havisham: http://www.fundly.com/saving-miss-havisham.

Are brutes ignorant because they are brutes, or are they brutes because they are ignorant? In any case, my way to dealing with their bullying has always been to get around it while helping others. They eventually self-combust with bitterness and dumb decisions.