The title comes from a quote by Franz Kafka. This book is a palimpsest, a kind of colourful fiction made of material on which later images have been superimposed over effaced earlier memories. It mixes collages made by the artist, pictures, and printings of vintage erotic images on an old cactus book — overprints and drawings. Helen, a character who recurs throughout, was the artist's young Cuban wife, who left him two months after the last images of her were made in Spain. The book is a living, vibrant process: the thinking of a period, a search for experimentation in the chaos of the studio. Tons of images spread everywhere — funny, colourful and crazy, maybe nostalgic or exorcist: imaginary diaries in the absence of hope but open to new desires.