Time had gone, and my memory did not exist, and I was unable to distinguish between what I had invented and what I had known, and I knew that what I had invented was all false.
Doris Lessing in The Golden Notebook.



067 Manoscaracol

Dicen que los ojos son la puerta del alma
pero las manos,
como mariposas en el estómago,
la antesala del paraiso.
Manos de poeta.


Musica Variación 19 cannon a la sexta de J.S. Bach por Glenn Gould

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