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On the cover:
All things are words of some strange tongue, in thrall To Someone, Something, who both day and night Proceeds in endless gibberish to write The history of the world. In that dark scrawl
Rome is set down, and Carthage, I. you, all, And this my being which escapes me quite, My anguished life that’s cryptic, recondite. And garbled as the tongues of Babel’s fall.
Jorge Luis Borges (1921- 1986). "Compass" translated by Richard Wilbuur