FERNANDO ARAMBURU
Updated Sunday, December 29, 2019 - 10:33 pm
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Induced by the greats of the genre (Fulano, Mengano and Groucho Marx), I write aphorisms. I do not look for them. I do not submit them to the disciplined effort of the desk. Like the birds, if they want them to come. And they come. They come to me sometimes. In the shower, in the pleasantly obnubilating caloric of the wine, in the sporadic moments of carefreeness that one is brought alone or during the brave conversations with the wall. It is not unlikely that they have been hovering quietly around the head or behind for a long time
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