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A writer writes his writings. And when he writes about himself: the blankness that is self: without any context, that becomes a non-rectilinear array of scattered letters. Letters that build up words ... paras ... texts ... myth ... reality. And, at times these letters were in letters, mails, missives. Letters that he wrote to the others. But where are the others, except in his own head? In all these scattered letters he tries to write his self, himself.
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