Bird on the Head by Clara Sanchis Mira



For my work, I have to remember 9,076 words from a very lively writer with whom I occasionally communicate. Not much, I’m moderate in it. Something tells me that the plethora of dealings with the person who pulled it out of his skull, so to speak, the words I put into myself, can scare me somewhat. danger. Memorizing words feeds a mirage of an isolated intimacy with its author. An actress who lets herself go can see her as a mother. And the public of an imaginary future, if you pay your ticket, you don’t deserve it.

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