"No man can say what he is. But sometimes he can say what he is not. Everyone wants the man who is still searching to have already reached his conclusions. A thousand voices are already telling him what he has found, and yet he knows that he hasn't found anything. Should he search on and let them talk? Of course. But, from time to time, one must defend himself. I do not know what I am looking for, cautiously I gave it a name, I withdraw what I said, I repeat myself, I go backward, and forward. Yet people insist I identify my term or terms, once and for all. Then I object; when things have a label aren't they lost already? Here, at least, is what I can try to say."
That's from "The Enigma," from the collection of Lyrical and Critical Essays by Albert Camus. And with this comes a declaration of hiatus, in an attempt to search whatever is left of my soul of meaning and other sorta fvcking petty bourgeois bullshit amid the offensives that sparked from blood and oil and water.
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