In the current socio-political climate, he said to himself, committing suicide is absurd and redundant. Better to become an undercover poet.

No one pays attention to these killings, but the secret of the world is hidden in them.

It's strange how things happen, Mauricio Silva, known as the Eye, always tried to escape from violence even at the risk of being considered a coward, but the violence, the real violence, can't be escaped, at least not by us, born in Latin America in the 1950s, those of us who were around twenty years old when Salvador Allende died.

Dreams fade with morning light, Never a morn for thee, Dreamer of dreams, goodnight.

Bright colours in the west, giant butterflies dancing as night crept like a cripple toward the east.

Being alone makes us stronger. That’s the honest truth. But it’s cold comfort, since even if I wanted company no one will come near me anymore.

Nothing happened today. And if anything did, I’d rather not talk about it, because I didn’t understand it.