<< back to Prose . next >>     February 2nd, 1991. I burned all my drawings and short stories today. I felt like a nazi, burning forbidden books. It was necessary, though. I will be forced to prove my point, now. … Fine arts are utterly incomplete and superficial, as all things deprived of the time variable undoubtedly are. You need time to relay a set of emotions, a sentence of feelings to a viewer. Using fine arts as the mediator is therefore useless, because the viewer absorbs the whole picture in a split second. Words, on the other hand, are not deprived of the time variable. Instead, they are clumsy, inaccurate and limited. And there's a million things in this world that there are no words for. But, more importantly, words are a fabrication, a man made abstraction. To be able to use them, one needs years of study. They are not universally understandable and given, like music.