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Few know it, but this dusty place full of fantastic gadgets, anonymous people, and reports critical fabled pilgrim is not what could be considered "open access." Yes, soil referime to him as "my cachivachero", and indeed I am the only one who gets to register your drawers with the ideal of showing the odd object of here overnight, but the truth is that the very , place (or maybe the creatures that compose it) seems at times reluctant to step on it very often. Needless to say that cachivachero has no idea what a blog, and still have some dusty attic and basement even as much mysterious, as it certainly is a place that could be up or down in my own mind. What

how it is possible that the cachivachero, still in my mind, a place that resists my presence? It also has an explanation, I think it pertinent to now that I myself have found, after a desperate search. And I must begin by saying that like all stay in a house or building, the cachivachero has a gate, one of which only I have the key, and I was given when I was born, perhaps noting that I would the guardian of such futility. I repeat that the fact that you can see it does not necessarily mean that insiders, rather than watching from a window that I have made available. Anyway, continue.

cachivachero The door is so rustic and flamboyant like him, I do not know which tree comes from the wood of which was carved, because although I dare say that carob is, perhaps varnish which betrays its appearance. But that door, crusty and old, it is most important about the entrance to cachivachero, but rather a lock, although at first sight seem that of a monastery medieval, indeed is itself also a very particular gadget.

Rusty and unfriendly, the lock that opens the door cachivachero has the quality (I would say only, but I'm sure in some other dimension that is very normal thing) to change at will, getting into trouble with the key tired (and this server) every time we enter the sea of \u200b\u200bboxes that dwells within. One day, for example, can be represented by the simplicity of a traditional lock and another day this lock may have recorded a double-headed eagle that continues to laugh aloud when you enter the wrong key, and only when it turn has taken the exact shape is that the mocking bird spreads its wings and allows the door creak with his dusty melody.

And yes, the key belongs to this same line of objects that change at whim, but rather in this case should be "at will" from other objects. Once the key whispered that she was tired of obeying the follies of that lock, and if it were not for me, had long been drained out of my pocket to rest in the depths of a sewer or lift shaft, you know, those places that they like them to keys. I thanked the soul that was so faithful a key, as others have touched me very little lead from honorable adjective.

So far no big deal it may seem the case: a lock that takes many forms and a key that fits her. But you do not have pondered on the fact that it may take days, weeks or even months, before the key has been my faithful not only to analyze the mechanism of the new shape of the lock, but changed his so that its physiognomy produce the desired tingling who crave all locks and that leads to opening of a door.

In this I have spent the months that have not been free of anxiety and sadness of not being able to show new gadgets, the eternal waiting that precedes the smell of sage and solemn pages dust off my memories, that it allows my mind is not a square, minimalist office, and every moment of the day I want to visit. For now, I've done: I have gone back to cachivachero. When you lock the capricious will to change? I do not know, I've never known. But meanwhile, try to show how many gadgets I can, lest the fidelity of my key also want to go on holiday.

Welcome, again, I cachivachero (which is also my junk, of course).