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The Book Of Uneasiness
(Fernando Pessoa)

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If I have wanted some time that another was my father, someone that certainly to have abominated of that idea, that al that I to have desired how father and with the one that there was, if it I have not done, assignment incest, that is Bernardo Soares. Me I have not walked through the Rua two Douradores, never, and nevertheless he will know to see that there I am waiting for that descend the guard (if that is possible) and direct me some cordial words (for certain), colloquial, bland, after the ones that the large enigmas can be deciphered, with the ones that I will knock down the physical walls and there will be an encounter, if do not there was it already, under a constant rain. I remain seated in a saleswoman of lottery, in some corner, to be able to see to pass al holder of books with the saudade that to belongs him, not me. In those moments, while I expect, the skies become of a magnificence inmarcesible with a will barely felt, and I see to pass al assistant that returns to its land, that disappears, while Soares cries inconmovible. He has been a king, philosopher and vagabond without nobody could dare to snatch him none of his titles, without showing off in his small books holder life, without importing him that or not to believe him. He is slow and discouraging to try to crush him, to him or to its spirit, I expect with patience, therefore I elect the such saleswoman of lottery therefore is an accumulation of her, to that the chill be given, the transmigration, the satori humid entangled in the nostalgia. When that occur, they will have to forgive me, I am not going to count them nothing, I am not going to explain how do I gain the conscience, how him sudden attack a smile to the death beyond every life, how there is a cat in the alfeizar of the window that do not have that carries eyeglasses of shortsighted person and how I confuse a silhouette with another and al final I realize that the one that passed was a Kafka Less it graced, but in line with beautiful and anxious, if not more.if I have wanted some time that another was my father, someone that certainly to have abominated of that idea, that al that I to have desired how father and with the one that there was, if I have not done it, assignment incest, that is Bernardo Soares. Me I have not walked through the Rua two Douradores, never, and nevertheless he will know to see that there I am waiting for that descend the guard (if that is possible) and direct me some cordial words (for certain), colloquial, bland, after the ones that the large enigmas can be deciphered, with the ones that I will knock down the physical walls and there will be an encounter, if do not there was it already, under a constant rain. I remain seated in a saleswoman of lottery, in some corner, to be able to see to pass al holder of books with the <I>saudade</I> That to belongs him, not me. In those moments, while I expect, the skies become of a magnificence inmarcesible with a will barely felt, and I see to pass al assistant that returns to its land, that disappears, while Soares cries inconmovible. He has been a king, philosopher and vagabond without nobody could dare to snatch him none of his titles, without showing off in his small books holder life, without importing him that or not to believe him. He is slow and discouraging to try to crush him, to him or to its spirit, I expect with patience, therefore I elect the such saleswoman of lottery therefore is an accumulation of her, to that the chill be given, the transmigration, the satori humid entangled in the nostalgia. When that occur, they will have to forgive me, I am not going to count them nothing, I am not going to explain how do I gain the conscience, how him sudden attack a smile to the death beyond every life, how there is a cat in the alfeizar of the window that do not have that carries eyeglasses of shortsighted person and how I confuse a silhouette with another and al final I realize that the one that passed was a Kafka Less it graced, but in line with beautiful and anxious, if not more.



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