These handwritten manuscripts, that I fully intend to transcribe with non-interference, living blood of felt intimacy and of lyrical thought, dived in a sort of dream-like and in a passive madness, are near creation, and I present them as an artefact of the soul, they are a record of subjectivity and how subjectivity generates and establishes an objective singularization, a self-identity, aggressiveness lacking. Exposing frailty to the world, the deliverance of the internal to the outsider would be an act of beauty, showing strangeness, like touching ugliness, and an act of truth, delicate fiction of self in its genuine time. I understand is something totally different and unexpected. Unused. I decided to deliver them pure: the moments of revelation and inner revelation, in their ruptures and in mystery of their happening, create the internal eye that ponders the most enigmatic visions collected for memory as seashells and rocks are documents of eart&hacute;s history. The registration of a self-intimacy will be as a dreamed science of salvation, a special geology, hurting the wing of forgetfulness that walks around self with its menace of disintegration and around memory as if we were disappeared or beings never aroused in our selves. These diaries of the mind are a sort of spiritual-geologic history of that one who inhabited the land of the self.