I don’t need wisdoms, I have them; I come to them through my own experiences and observations; they are compatible with me, my wisdoms; they may have some common sense and more often a lack of such inasmuch as they were made in other words, in another world, at different spans of time; sometimes, afterwards, when a similar one appears casually in front of my eyes or like a haunting melody spins in my head, I evaluate it and, and endeavor to see what I feel about it and why; and if I feel the same at the moment, just at the moment, then I make an ad lib, imaginative dialogue with an invisible interlocutor, singer, writer, artist to appease my hunger for the saturated conversation, for the sake of, of  the conversation that is likely to have certain purposes, but seemingly blurry at the beginning. My wisdoms have social and sensual nature, now coherent and then rambling, immediately or later they can be slopped over on white papers and canvases and only there acquire the semi-shades and the saline or the sweet colors they seem and are sure to deserve.



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