Memory. My Poison, My Food.

I Am Astonished Each Time I Come To The U.s. By The Ignorance Of A High Percentage Of The Population, Which Knows Almost Nothing About Latin America Or About The World. It's Quite Blind And Deaf To Anything That May Happen Outside The Frontiers Of The U.s.

In His Life, A Man Can Change Wives, Political Parties Or Religions But He Cannot Change His Favourite Soccer Team.

And One Fine Day The Goddess Of The Wind Kisses The Foot Of Man, That Mistreated, Scorned Foot, And From That Kiss The Soccer Idol Is Born. He Is Born In A Straw Crib In A Tin-roofed Shack And He Enters The World Clinging To A Ball.

Each Person Shines With His Or Her Own Light. No Two Flames Are Alike. There Are Big Flames And Little Flames, Flames Of Every Color. Some People’s Flames Are So Still They Don’t Even Flicker In The Wind, While Others Have Wild Flames That Fill The Air With Sparks. Some Foolish Flames Neither Burn Nor Shed Light, But Others Blaze With Life So Fiercely That You Can’t Look At Them Without Blinking, And If You Approach You Shine In The Fire.

Our Defeat Was Always Implicit In The Victory Of Others; Our Wealth Has Always Generated Our Poverty By Nourishing The Prosperity Of Others - The Empires And Their Native Overseers. In The Colonial And Neocolonial Alchemy, Gold Changes Into Scrap Metal And Food Into Poison.