The infinite space is not habitable, we live within limits, between edges and objects that look slow. The small fractal of existence takes shape, is embodied in the spatial dimension of writing:
"Writing: try to meticulously retain something, to get something to survive: precise crumbs start to vacuum excavation continuously leave somewhere a furrow, a trace, a mark or some signs. "
Because few There are events that leave no written record. Almost everything in a moment passes through a sheet of paper ....¿ And what now of everything we write in almost infinite loops in the network? Does the material to redeem sufficient weight to overcome the erosion of time on a waste space like sand between your toes?
page, bed, room, apartment, building, street, neighborhood, city, country, continent, world, and space, containing our limits. If none of them strikes us, surely we do not know watch:
"We must go slowly, almost awkwardly. Escrbir obliged to what has no interest [....] to get the impression, for a brief moment of being in a foreign city, or better still [...] and not even know that this is called a city, street, buildings, sidewalks ...."
Perec And we leave for a few days . We take vacations until the end of the year. Happy holidays .
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