If The Past Has Nothing To Say

We Live In A World That Treats The Dead Better Than The Living. We, The Living Are Askers Of Questions And Givers Of Answers, And We Have Other Grave Defects Unpardonable By A System That Believes Death, Like Money, Improves People.

The World Is A Heap Of People, A Sea Of Tiny Flames.

I Am Astonished Each Time I Come To The U.s. By The Ignorance Of A High Percentage Of The Population, Which Knows Almost Nothing About Latin America Or About The World. It's Quite Blind And Deaf To Anything That May Happen Outside The Frontiers Of The U.s.

I Would Recognise Myself In Each Of His Translations And He Would Feel Betrayed And Annoyed Whenever I Didn't Write Something The Way He Would Have. A Part Of Me Died With Him, A Part Of Him Lives With Me.

Reality Is Very, Very Contradictory, And So I Try To Write Just Perfecting What I See, What I Read, What I Feel, In A Feel-thinking Way. Not Only Giving Ideas, Or Receiving Ideas, Or Trying To Explain Something, But Mainly Feel-thinking, A Feel-thinking Language Able To Tie The Heart And The Mind, Which Have Been Divorced.