lunes, 30 de junio de 2014

"...at noon at the edge of the field"

" 'Down from our heads veils fell,' said Rhoda, ' We clasped the flowers with their green leaves rustling in garlands.'
' We changed, we became unrecognisable,' said Louis. 'Exposed to all these different lights, what we had in us (for we are all so different) came intermittently. in violent patches, spaced by blank voids, to the surface as if some acid had dropped unequally on the plate'"

The Waves - Virginia Woolf  

Pencil on paper

*

"It is an illusion that we were ever alive,
Lived in the houses of mothers, arranged ourselves
By our own motions in a freedom of air.

Regard the freedom of seventy years ago.
It is no longer air. The houses still stand,
Though they are rigid in rigid emptiness.

Even our shadows, their shadows, no longer remain.
The lives these lived in the mind are at an end.
They never were…..The sounds of the guitar"

I. Seventy Years Later - Wallace Stevens



                   



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