by Jorge Aulicino English translation by Silvia Camerotto. The original version in Spanish was published by Ediciones del Dock : Buenos Aires, 1999 Book I / Confutatis A sudden feeling of dizziness and grandeur, in the street, you must have tasted it, Wolfgang, have you? All that breathing which comes out from inhabited bays, warm daybreaks, sounds of the jungles and excavators. Look at that man in a bar from an aloof distance. He has understood amid a maelstrom of braking, of sirens and rough engines’ chirps that debts may be forgotten, and the painful awakening, the withdrawal of the tide of things, the historical instant of the substance: is eternal now; and he fears it. Who would have known it? Just as each man carries his own secret cancer, when the delirium of knowledge absorbs him, nobody gets onto. Wolfgang, every now and then assailed by the vertigo, would nevertheless have done lightening appeased by violins, an alibi. The man in the bar has paid for...
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