miércoles, 18 de junio de 2014


My Dear Tod Browning, if only you could see, if only you could know how much damage your film of 1932 has done. Just for a while I would be pleased to know that people understood your message, but I realise that over concepts the shadow of a name has flown. 

Neither Poetry nor Maths are for monsters; neither people without legs or arms nor people low minded could be considered nature fails; neither any of the creatures that in this moment are sharing our room, our time, our age could be considered freaks, except those who have taken the straight path to evil or those who have preferred to forget those things that are made with heart, and heart, too.

So, please, clever people, you, who can play and run, you, who have the sacred gift of enjoying life without suffering; you, damned happy and beautiful people, call me freak. Call me freak and name me friend of Poetry, Theatre, Literature, Physics, Maths, History, make me friend of forgotten people, make me companion of a Legion, that one composed of hearts and souls, heavy and damaged hearts, light and eternal souls.

Llamadme Friki. Call me Freak.

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