Sariputra and Void

Once Sariputra was attending a sort of book event: a dozen of young writers, men and women, met up on Wednesday of every week and read each other texts upon an actual literature. Sitting across a very open, a very red dress which sounded like reading something out of a story in a fantasy world, Sariputra was thinking about the void. "This kind of openness does not mean emptiness, - he thought, - particularly, if to take into account "the plunging V-neckline and Empire-line midriff inset in satin with pressed pleats that cleverly accentuates a lovely bustline*". The narrative, in an obvious way, buys its acceptability by its substantive emptiness. If here a form is a simply emptiness and an emptiness is a simply form, should it assume that they both could, say, provide assistance on morally sound bestseller technologies where I have left a void, or waste of a dream, or explain why naught is naughty and why a perfect look matches a perfect emptiness". The next reader was a girl in grey. Alas, her glasses, zits and her baggy turtleneck was eloquent testimony to her talent. Sariputra sighed and started to leave. * Unknown glossy magazine.