In his solitude, a man dreams, imagines, fumbles, eructs. In front of his computer, he writing, he sends e-mails, like bottles at the sea. Robinson, he tries to escape, not from a deserted island, but a world of appearances, deserted, empty, inconsistent, mirage of a mirage.
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In his solitude, a man dreams, imagines, fumbles, eructs. In front of his computer, he writing, he sends e-mails, like bottles at the sea. Robinson, he tries to escape, not from a deserted island, but a world of appearances, deserted, empty, inconsistent, mirage of a mirage.
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