Count the present days until today arrives ( A CERTAIN CHARACTER TO BE NAMED)

 

(I need to get better soon, that's why I traveled here --- I think about how every hour, every day of my life, with all the suffering I escaped in Spain, searching in the sleepy tropical beauty of these mornings, with extreme self-care, for a rough, sunburned mask --- my lower lip still trembles, in these first hours in the hotel, leafing through my book of prose poems filled with red pen highlights and my notes in the margins, with a grimace that is simultaneously frightened and malignant, a remnant of Moorishness and fertile pride, of literary conception to the thin sound of the vihula, followed by an inarticulate mental sound in my head --- my slow, heavy walk across the balcony is like the walk of a librarian lost in a Borgesian sky, abstractly holding a cup of coffee. Perhaps I still imitate my walk in that small room in Ávila, cluttered with books and folders, stacked papers and clippings from weekend literary supplements, in which I I furiously researched the genealogy of poetry contest prizes I hadn't won, the public honors and notoriety that had eluded me, perhaps due to some stupid oversight, some ridiculous detail in the last revision of the book, I thought: that characteristic smell of an old library expressing the totality of my hesitations in a totally abstract framework of indignation --- how disappointed I was! Lygia and I, for example, have been friends for years, she has always behaved like an intellectual disciple of mine, and yet she fixed me with a mischievous little face, when handing me her prize-winning volume of poetry; and by God! : how beautiful she was that afternoon, she had just arrived from the club, the bookstore, the launch cocktail party, where probably, absorbed by the silence, my half-forgotten NAME, and all those movements of my soul in writing, in a space eager for publicity and self-promotion, eager with hunger to exist before others, had been completely neglected between glasses of wine and chunks of pâté --- the core of my origin reduced to the non-figurative, the unnamed, the Luciferian "non-con-sided", expelled from the heavens and the stars --- unremembered, uninaugurated, necklace of discredit and desert to cross ---

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