The More You Lose, The More Is

I Have Two Homes, Like Someone Who Leaves Their Hometown And/or Parents And Then Establishes A Life Elsewhere. They Might Say That They're Going Home When They Return To See Old Friends Or Parents, But Then They Go Home As Well When They Go To Where They Live Now. Sarajevo Is Home, Chicago Is Home.

I Cannot Stand That Whole Game Of Confession, That Is: Here I Have Sinned, Now I'm Confessing My Sins, And Describing My Path Of Sin And Then In The Act Of Confession I Beg For Your Forgiveness And Redemption.

One Of The Many Conditions That Have To Be Met For A Brain To Become A Mind, And Therefore Have Consciousness, Is 'the Analog I' Around Which All The Simultaneous Inflow Of Sensations And Stimulations Are Reflected And Organized.

I'm A Dilettante By Temperament. I Don't Have Any Expectation.

I Suppose I'm Interested In Sorrow, Which Is Very Different From Depression Or Despair. Sorrow Is Continuous With The World; It Allows For Creativity.