Note

I always write the words for someone else, the reserve of memory indicates that there will be poetry in the event of truth.

In short, the conversation is of two, of many, of one to the same one, the turn that the word takes in itself is really a whole turn. I reside entirely in the skin of yesterday - memory is that image that, when traversed, slows down the eye. I print the substance of the I, the Geraes that meet, the concentrated permission of mine, I love it all or I am everything I love and am, what is the final word that fits without being chewed in the mouth, in the end and not in the end of text, but.

I follow, I tiptoe the door, I really hold the door with the tip of my foot. still is, love. And I remember: “What is at stake in every encounter with the work of art is never exhaustible in use, but necessarily presupposes the possibility of following the interpretative indications present in the work and assuming, to quote a famous position by Gadamer, the comprehensive dialogue with what she fears to tell us."

Reference: CASANOVA, Marco Antonio. Heidegger and the poetic event of truth. In: HADDOCKLOBO, Rafael (Org.). Philosophers and art. Rio de Janeiro: Rocco, 2010. p.151-180