|living a 1967 fugue
||[9e jan. 2005|01:59 pm]
|||||Bach - Canon éternellement remontant||]|
I found out a month ago, wandering on the web, an eponymous book, written in 1967 (I was 3 yo and 3000 km far from it).
This book spells out (with excruciating private details) my current life. Some events are somehow romanced but every detail (name, job, home, family, inventions, ...) conforms with my reality.
I'm actually living the last but one page.
One can guess how anxious I am to find out how the final allegory will occur and whether I'll outlive the book's end