2011-01-21 to 2011-02-04
In a deserted place in Iran there is a not very tall stone tower that has neither door nor window. In the only room (with a dirt floor and shaped like a circle) there is a wooden table and a bench. In that circular cell, a man who looks like me is writing in letters I cannot understand. A long poem about a man who in another circular cell is writing a poem about a man who in another cell… The process never ends and no one will be able to read what the prisoners write.
Jorge Luis Borges. “A Dream”, The New Yorker.