At the end of the world, when the last great library is a forgotten ruin, an historic pile of architecture with foundations millennia old, I will dig through the rubble. I will find its summit, the monument of some dead queen rising from the colls of a rose and thrusting into the clouds an open book in her right palm, as faded as the idealism that built her. Inside, layers of books compress into fossils and the fossils of fossils, whilst the ghosts of fanatical librarians skulk around the book cases and data banks, behind full-moon glass visors, turned out in matching armour of black linen. There, buried beneath the carcasses of waste-lit, pre-apocalypse. I will find the last copy of my soul, bound in crumbling leather with pages that flutter like dust butterflies to the floor beneath my feet. It will contain my whole life. But I’ll bring new pages. jam them into the seams, offer my own prologue and epilogue, scrawl in handwritten footnotes. context, lies, if I must. In the end, I will close it, place it neatly atop the mess. And I will scream.<\/p>\n
[la data \u00e9s estimada, l’autor \u00e9s nascut el 1985. Vist a l’exposici\u00f3 Belonging al Manchester Museum. Quan considero el problema del lliure albir des d’una perspectiva d’antropologia determinista<\/a> resulta que per un observador extern, la nostra xarxa neuronal, les nostres experi\u00e8ncies es van configurant a cada pas al llarg del temps de manera determinista, com el llibre del poema. I no obstant, a cada instant, en una situaci\u00f3 donada, tenim una experi\u00e8ncia de llibertat ja que a l’hora de fer uns llista dels factors que hi tenen a veure, hi sortir\u00e0 el nostre car\u00e0cter, les mem\u00f2ries afectives, el nostre marc moral, les nostres expectatives, en definitiva, el que entenem com a jo.]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" At the end of the world, when the last great library is a forgotten ruin, an historic pile of architecture with foundations millennia old, I will dig through the rubble. I will find its summit, the monument of some dead queen rising from the colls of a rose and thrusting into the clouds an open … <\/p>\n