Here the readers gather to watch the books die. They die suddenly, as if thrown from an airplane, or from spontaneous cardiac arrest. They live, and then suddenly they die,
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Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes ... Yo no sé!
— César Vallejo
They sniffed us out of the holes with the animals
they had programmed and there are blows in life so
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They took my body to the forest
They asked me to climb a ladder
I did not want to climb a ladder
But they forced me to climb the ladder
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"This is my last communiqué from the planet of the monsters."
Roberto Bolaño, Distant Star
When I watched the Barbaric Writers defecate on my
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There should be a writing of non-writing. Someday it will come.
A brief writing, without grammar, a writing of words alone.
Words without supporting grammar. Lost. Written, there.
And immediately left behind.
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