Woe is me

...because I seem to utterly fail at keeping this updated. But then again, I do not wish to post uninteresting and irrelevant things here and life isn't too exciting right now.

I have been spending a ridiculous amount of time packing. Sisyphos has nothing on me.

Last week I finished George Hunka's "Word made flesh", possibly the single-most difficult book I have ever read so far. A quote from it, which made me laugh out loud and with which I agree whole-heartedly:

"Especially the question, "What does it mean?" Which is attempted homicide and should be prosecuted and punished as such." (p. 95)

With this thought about the 'meaning of art', I take my leave.

So long!