They Thought I Suffered From Lack Of

Literature Is Greater Than Any Of Us, Dammit.

Disease-carrying Thoughts Swarm And Multiply In The Dark And Twisted Labyrinths Of Our Minds, And All That Is Needed Is A Mob And A Good Political Slogan For The Epidemic To Be Spread Once Again, With A Burst Of Automatic Weapons Or A Mushroom Cloud.

A Writer's Subconscious Is One Of The Filthiest Places There Are: As A Matter Of Fact, You Can Find The Whole World There.

Sometimes I Have The Feeling That We Live In A Dubbed Movie And Everybody Moves Their Lips But The Voices Don't Correspond. We Are All Post-synchronized And Sometimes Is Very Accomplished And Looks Natural.

I See History As A Relay Race In Which One Of Us, Before Dropping In His Tracks, Must Carry One Stage Further The Challenge Of Being A Man.