As if we are moving from slavery to another, the apparent is different, nothing else, the deep essence is the same, and if we do not notice the matter, the web of events is so perfect that it produces from the quiver of reality real names and glamorous titles, I will not pretend that it is fake but it is decorated with what comfort our souls so we live in the chaos of its stinging glow, and we sin when we possess us.
It is true that work is a human duty, which we lean on to support us on the pillars of fragile life, but it has become a battle for existence and an end rather than a means.