February 7. Start Making sense O blind poet

Imagine a crowded market, piles of vegetables, leeks, turnips, potatoes, onions everywhere, a meager dog with a fishbone in its mouths slips under a shaggy table. The sharp smell of overripe pineapples blends with the dustclouds between the stalls. Coarse voices reiterate their merchandize and their mantras feel comforting. An old hunchback offers dried fruits out of a braided basket. You are walking there, in that market, enjoying the clamor as you stroll past the stalls indulged in a pensive mood. Then you hear a strangely familiar high-pitched voice offering a somewhat odd product. You listen again and the voice repeats "the grammar of embarrassment". Of all the merchandize piled up here, that really strikes you like something special and you walk into the direction of the voice. The siren keeps repeating her remarkable offer as you are peeking behind turnips in the shape of elephants and big bottles of vinegar, but you can't find her. You follow dancing shadows that disappear when you reach them. You stand still for a moment and hear the voice resonate in your head. What could it mean?

The internet is only for the promotion of ideas, views, news, propaganda, projects, narratives. It is in itself a publicity machine