[The Revolt of Psyche, LluÃs Gràcia]
Alone, on his pedestal of smoke, the fool utters impossible oracles.
Isolated in his broken shell, he builds castles of thoughts that the wind knows As he goes, he builds a house of unanswered questions, and sinks into an ocean of disordered perceptions.
Madness inhabits another world.
The world without return of an exile without a passport , a sailor caught in the gale. Without points of reference, sailing in an always unknown sea, at the mercy of a wind that does not dominate, intoxicated by a liquor that obfuscates it.
¿How should he travel the path that separates him from others, how should he integrate into life, separated as he is by an abyss of thought that surrounds him, among the mists abysmals that blind him, embodied by an infinity that surrounds him, dragging him to unsuspected limits that have no bottom, no form, no substance?

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