"Perhaps we are writing the same book, changing accents, reorganising barely forgotten perspectives, revisiting similarities. Certainly, we did not have to be so different; all we needed was a certain escape from our surroundings, from certain obsessions and memories, from the poorly dictated phrases of our past. Perhaps writing was not a matter of knowing where this or that phrase should end, but rather a safeguard against the temptation to want to escape, it was a matter of accepting a certain defeat, acquiring a new skin, moving, for a moment, to here, where we are now; it was a matter of escaping. But perhaps, in the end, despite ourselves, despite our desired trajectory, we are all fleeing to the same point, to this point and end, to the same position from which we will see that we were constantly formulating a desire to be read; perhaps because we knew no other way to be seen; or perhaps because there was never any other way, even if it had to be poorly dictated, because we do not have to be different, but rather reach the meeting point and see that we had always set out from the same origin, where pain and love are synonymous with the experience of being alive, which has no particular perspective or end of its own, but rather reminds us that we were always the same, identical to each other; a fact that we never knew how to recognise until we reached this final point, rediscovered, at last." Historia de las personas, Yoel Santana "We need a country, if only for the pleasure of leaving" The Moon and the Bonfire, Cesare Pavese

When I was a kid, I believe 11 years old, I wrote a collection of essays, a book. In one chapter, I wrote this: "Have you ever asked yourself: What am I doing here? Why did Jesus die on the cross? Because I don't know. But I think the future is written, you know, it's already known what's going to happen." As I am translating it, as I am writing "I think the future is written", I do feel that somehow I wrote my future; that's it, that somehow I was writting about this future me that I am now. I kept this book with me for years, from home to home. One day I decided that it wasn't worth it as a souvenir. I never kept my own old pictures as matter of fact. Anyway, my mother had made a copy of it - after having it corrected a bit. Eventually I got rid of the original, forgotting there was a copy at all. Once I heard that parents are meant to protect their children from themselves, maybe because they are not yet person(a)s. Nevertheless, I always remembered the book, the fact of just writting thoughts, of searching for a word, and so on. Later I would pursue poetry and rap, but somehow the will to share was already there, even if my future was already written. Maybe what is worth is not the novelty itself, but the fact of sharing it, the care of given something, and the expectation of that gesture or thing to be valuable for someone. In that case, my mother valued it, it meant something for her. Whatever that was, now, in my future, I know there wasn't anything else more valuable than that: to share meaning, something that may be meaningful for somebody else.

"If I succeed with thought in building a fortress from which it is impossible to escape, this thought fortress will either, be the same as the real one - and in this case it is certain that from here we will never escape; but at least we will have attained the tranquility of those who know that they are staying here because they could not be anywhere else - or it will be a fortress from which escape is even more impossible than from here - and then it is a sign that here a possibility of escape exists: it will be enough to locate the point where the thought fortress does not coincide with the real one to find it." Vulgar Latin *excappāre (to escape) from ex- (out) and cappa (cape, cloak), or literally “to get out of one’s cape; to leave a pursuer with just one’s cape” "Verum index sui et falsi." (Truth is the touchstone of itself and of falsehood (Spinoza, Ethics Part II, Prop 43)

"In the absence of a universally valid religious system, the representations of the world provided by the oil industry are the aesthetic equivalent of Christianity at its medieval apotheosis: distant crusades have liberated strategic reserves of crude, cathedral-high platforms stand on the seas, safe routes have been established around the globe and giant refineries flourish at their ends; in every village a filling station delivers the precious substance, which engines finally transubstantialize into motive power." L'Aménagement du territoire, Aurélien Bellanger Religiō f (genitive religiōnis); third declension 1. scrupulousness, conscientious 2. exactness 3. piety, religious scruple, religious awe, superstition, strict religious observance 4. scruples, conscientiousness religious obligation, sacred obligation 5. (of religious objects) sanctity 6. an object of worship, holy thing, holy place /wiki/religio#.Latin "Who said we killed God; who thought he was the corpse we thought he was?" Historia de las personas, Yoel Santana #aurelienbellanger