I laugh hotel welcomes you welcomes as a metastasis. But I'm still here. Geographically in another world - the most far away as possible from the wreckage Italian - to observe from a distance and enjoy my decline Tanduay Ice, while all around smoke polonium. One year is past, or nearly so, and my stories know prophetic, no? Insurrection? Not yet, but we `them, 'will come soon, but not unexpectedly. And literature is the last thing I have left. Everything around me is love, and my message is always and only love letters. Words behind which is beautiful to hide.
Matapolio October 2010
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