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The idea for this book arose from reading the last notes of a suicide:
"Every night I hope death will save me from the next night. Every night I sink in the silence that smothers, in the silence that upholsters the walls of my room, in the rude tones that peek out the window when the day opens up. Every night I try to run away, when the first light puffs announce that the morning light triumphed over the darkness of silence. Every night I expect death to come."
From that, I felt that many of us have been suicidal at a certain minute of our existence. Perhaps our own way of being has been the perfect trigger: maybe the rebellion, perhaps an excessive passion, maybe the belief and practice of the forbidden inside or outside of us.
In this way, I tried to capture in this book, time and death, two words that lack of awareness. Unlike some suicidal, which are time, which are consciousness, which are life, which are space. At least they are their time, their consciousness. They are their death, their life, their space.
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