When A Writer Is Born Into A

Religion Used To Be The Opium Of The People. To Those Suffering Humiliation, Pain, Illness, And Serfdom, Religion Promised The Reward Of An After Life. But Now, We Are Witnessing A Transformation, A True Opium Of The People Is The Belief In Nothingness After Death, The Huge Solace, The Huge Comfort Of Thinking That For Our Betrayals, Our Greed, Our Cowardice, Our Murders, We Are Not Going To Be Judged.

Do You Know How It Is When One Wakes At Night Suddenly And Asks, Listening To The Pounding Heart: What More Do You Want, Insatiable?

Our Memory Is Childish And It Saves Only What We Need.

They Used To Pour Millet On Graves Or Poppy Seeds To Feed The Dead Who Would Come Disguised As Birds. I Put This Book Here For You, Who Once Lived So That You Should Visit Us No More.

We Have Become Indifferent To Content, And React, Not Even To Form, But To Technique, To Technical Efficiency Itself.