Flavio's notes & aphorisms
Small Poems
“But out here, the map is but a blank expanse of nothingness. In the City, we live by our representations: our maps, our clocks, our languages. They are woven deep within the fabric of who we are. But here, where I choose to walk, the hills need no names. Time is nothing but the steady transformation of all that is into its next state. No word is spoken, for no word is needed. And what a shame: there were no dragons, after all.”