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In 1926, the gray snow of Vienna clung to the boots of Sergei Pankejeff, now a middle-aged man marked by melancholy. He was no longer the young Russian aristocrat who had arrived at Berggasse 19, consumed by phobias and the specter of white wolves. Now, he carried the burden of being the Wolf Man, an enigma in psychoanalysis, whose analytical journey would lead him into a labyrinth of interpretations made by brilliant and distinct minds.

This essay examines a radical perspective: the construction of a truly autonomous poetic vocabulary, composed of "ideal objects created by convention and intended for poetic needs." Such a vocabulary would not be parasitic on common language, but rather an independent semiotic system with its own rules and aesthetic purposes. The originality lies in the postulation of signs that do not aim to represent the world, but to constitute it in the poetic act.

In the bay where time dissolved into salt and melancholy, Isadora lived in a house that defied the laws of physics and reason. Built upon the wreckage of sunken ships and anchored by chains of black iron, the floating structure swayed with the tides of memory. Its walls were a living library: pages from 1847 Webster's dictionaries, Larousse volumes worn by humidity, and Aurélio with definitions that changed according to the wind's mood.

This essay proposes a tension-filled reading of Aristotelian justice, highlighting not only its theoretical merits but also the internal contradictions that arise when confronting principles with applications. It is argued that such contradictions, far from invalidating it, form a conceptual laboratory. It sheds light on perennial issues: the relational nature of justice, the limits of practical rationality, and the dangers of the naturalization of hierarchies.

Leo’s apartment smelled like an early hangover: spilled alcohol, sweat of anxiety disguised as fun, and the sweet vapor of dying Juuls. It was the scent of an end—of a night, of a love, of an illusion that refused to die. He leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, the dead Juul weighing in his pocket like a revolver without bullets. He needed to leave. The party was a corpse still writhing to the sound of a random playlist.

This article proposes practical strategies for artists to recreate aura and terroir in their productions, resisting the standardization imposed by the cultural industry and digital dematerialization.

This essay explores how dematerialized authorship challenges our deepest notions of art and examines whether the absence of the human element will radically reshape our relationship with the artistic phenomenon.

The tale is thus a speculative philosophical journey, born from the collision between Talleyrand's practical maxim and radically different visions on the purpose and power of language. It is an impossible meeting in a timeless space (the "Garden of Words"), where four masters of language (or its disdain) debate its essence, revealing, through their contradictions and complementarities, the many faces—and dangers—of this unique human gift Talleyrand mastered and mistrusted so

This essay briefly explores the theoretical foundations of this dynamic, correlating psychological, sociological, and marketing concepts with empirical data to understand how the artist's persona becomes a more relevant object of admiration than their works.