It's after a long 'time' I got myself escaped from the 'black holes' of the 'conceptual remaking' and 'simulation of memories' with the quantum of 'events', the junkyard of linguistic parameters and literary absurdities. I've been writing junks and scraps. They were not taken from nothingness of my blank spaces waiting for the refilling, they were the 'quantum of my memories'. i live in each of the syllables and sounds. Memories, thoughts, dreams and every conceptual creation and simulation of the brain is real- i call them reality. out of nothing, nothing happens. I have written prose, fiction, quasi-fiction, flash fiction, memoirs, thoughts, poems- romantics, classical, existential, modern, postmodern, 'supramodern', scraps, shits, bullshits, and many. Ever since I started to think, I felt a cage around me. when i grew up, it began to grow with my growth. now, I have broken it. I fucked the damn academical, form...
“To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour…”