Book Mail1






“Logic is a sin. I despise reality, I choose opera. I want the audience to stand up and faint. I demand an ovation.

Simplicity is also a sin. I despise the effortless. One word flashes in my head and doesn’t leave me alone: “complex”. Despite my efforts for finding a simple route, I bite my lips until they bleed, carving new trails with my nails and making the grass grow on those paths, with my saliva and my breath.

I write about myself because I don’t know anybody else, or anything else. I went far away from everything I knew and ever loved, to embark on a journey that although has a clear end in my mental map, it is a now an endless net of roads built as they are walked by a blind man.

I’ve just said I know myself but I haven’t got the slightest idea of who I am or what I need.

I thought I was a dancer with a story waiting to be told, looking for a bridge between the secret essence of the words that lay in the darkness and the indiscreet and curious lips of the appropriate narrator. But I am the blind man who draws those roads, I’ve opened up and the blade has touched me.”

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