Pandora's Box is a golden rope when unplaited and unfolded it totally covers your face and mine. Like a mane under the summer's sun, amongst pine woods, mingled with weakening shadows while our heated feet playfully meet on the yellow sand.
Note: Yellow stains on broken notebooks, likes strands of long hair
Pandora's Box teaches us nothing is eternal, not even eternity itself, not even all the words we could invent to express it, it and its variations. But Pandora's Box is the freedom of knowing precisely that, and to go on, and to say it everyday, even though doubts come to assault us, and we suspect; useless.
Note: Slightly traced sketch. An open box?
Pandora's Box is crystal clothing covering us like traveling rain since the beginning of time, conveying us by air in minute particles, traveling across snowed places and mountain ranges, rivers, jungles, deltas pouring out on crowded cities, upwards and downwards, outwards and inside, like a minimal region or space that has forsaken its own name.
Note: A crystal space, work on the glass which covers...
-The dead don't return, my daughter Icíar, four years of age, suddenly tells me. She says it just like that, with no warning, while walking on a street in Madrid from school to home- There's no doubt about it-, I think. And yet, somehow, they are always our peers. That's what Pandora's Box says to us.
Note: Shape of coffin, a closed shape
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