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Henry Barthes: I am money, I change hands like the dollar bill, that has been rubbed by a lamp; Then a genie appeared and cried loudly, with volume; But the tears were all for myself, and that's where it all went wrong
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Henry Barthes: [In nursing home] Grampa, you doing any writing in your journal?
[Thumbs through empty journal]
Grampa: I don't remember much, I lost the habit. You can't think in this place, you can't make new memories.
Renée Felice Smith
Extended Reading
