My life has been riding on the back of a gloomy mare for a long time now.
I find calm in fantasising that I travel among fabulous lifes, while I reread "Dubliners" (James Joyce, 1914), relisten to songs by Niños Bravos or rediscover such films as "The End of the Affair" (Neil Jordan, 1999).
Despite my allergy to waiting, I keep hope alive.
I expect a lot from this spring, while still being aware of the gloomy reality in which we ride. Is is so bitter that not even spring wants to visit it and sends its cousin, autumn, in its place. I keep it alive even though we live in cannibalistic times in which we devour the memory of people whom we had already condemned to an oblivion in which they were emptied by forgetfulness. And now, once dead, we miss as a playmate the one we had reviled for being a gambler.
Reality is sometimes hard and bitter; it is usually vulgar and boring. It is natural that we should try to embellish or sweeten it. Every one has his weapons in this daily battle, mine are my dreams. Thank you for helping me at keeping them alive.
