to: Francesca da Rimini
"... But to that second circle of sad hell,
Where 'mid the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm."
-John Keats
juego: copiarte a ti misma
maderas, cuerdas, metales... un diálogo.
se cree "la muy muy"
a piece of cake
how it would be to be molecular? to have no identity? to be disembodied? to be ether? to be nothing?
para el arte... humildad :)
mujer que da vida antes a ti misma (no sé donde poner comas) así que mejor aquí: ,
a serie of silences,
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