This Is Not A Story Of Heroic

The Spectacular Landscape Circling The Fortress Supplies An Essential Backdrop, Inspiring Dreamers To Wander Its Ruins For The Sake Of It; North American Tourists, Bound Down By Their Practical World View, Are Able To Place Those Members Of The Disintegrating Tribes They May Have Seen In Their Travels Among These Once-living Walls, Unaware Of The Moral Distance Separating Them, Since Only The Semi-indigenous Spirit Of The South American Can Grasp The Subtle Differences.

A Revolutionary Must Become A Cold Killing Machine Motivated By Pure Hate. We Must Create The Pedagogy Of The Paredón [execution Wall].

The Stars Drew Light Across The Night Sky In That Little Mountain Village, And The Silence And The Cold Made The Darkness Vanish Away. It Was - I Don't Know How To Explain It - As If Everything Solid Melted Away Into The Ether, Eliminating All Individualtiy And Absorbing Us, Rigid, Into The Immense Darkness. Not A Single Cloud To Lend Perspective To The Space Blocked Any Portion Of The Starry Sky.

Hatred As An Element Of The Struggle; A Relentless Hatred Of The Enemy, Impelling Us Over And Beyond The Natural Limitations That Man Is Heir To And Transforming Him Into An Effective, Violent, Selective And Cold Killing Machine. Our Soldiers Must Be Thus; A People Without Hatred Cannot Vanquish A Brutal Enemy.

Our Youth Must Always Be Free, Discussing And Exchanging Ideas Concerned With What Is Happening Throughout The Entire World.