The Human Rainbow Had Been Mutilated By

I Am Not A Historian. I Am A Writer Obsessed With Remembering, With Remembering The Past

Reality Is A Magic Lady, Sometimes Very Mysterious. To Me She Is Very Passionate. She Is Real Not Only When She Is Awake, Walking Down The Streets, But Also At Night When She Is Dreaming Or When She Is Having Nightmares. When I Am Writing, I Am Always Paying Tribute To Her - To That Lady Called Reality.

In 1492, The Natives Discovered They Were Indians, Discovered They Lived In America, Discovered They Were Naked, Discovered That The Sin Existed, Discovered They Owed Allegiance To A King And Kingdom From Another World And A God From Another Sky, And That This God Had Invented The Guilty And The Dress, And Had Sent To Be Burnt Alive Who Worships The Sun The Moon The Earth And The Rain That Wets It.

And One Fine Day The Goddess Of The Wind Kisses The Foot Of Man, That Mistreated, Scorned Foot, And From That Kiss The Soccer Idol Is Born. He Is Born In A Straw Crib In A Tin-roofed Shack And He Enters The World Clinging To A Ball.

Almost All Wars, Perhaps All, Are Trade Wars Connected With Some Material Interest. They Are Always Disguised As Sacred Wars, Made In The Name Of God, Or Civilization Or Progress. But All Of Them, Or Almost All Of The Wars, Have Been Trade Wars.