Almost no one writes to me by hand anymore. Even myself. My last sonnets, my last plays, or especially my outskirts or plastic poems, I write them with the Mac.
Only my drawings and paintings escape.
But sometimes I paste information from my Mac behind the drawing or canvas.
A current minister wrote to me (handwritten) in blue ink. I try to be at his level without success. So I carry the burden without answering him. A thousand pardons!
[El cuadro llegó a Madrid, según la agencia de transporte, el 2 de julio, con los otros dos].
The unforgettable and dazzling Jim Morrison He gave me a fountain pen.
[¿Por qué decimos cacho en este caso?].
So gigantic and useless that I have hung it in a plastic poem of one of his signed photos.
You have to see what he knew about surrealism. a thousand times more than Maurice Nadeau u obviously that myself.
To think that I took pity on the pleas of Alain Bashung (Cemetery actor) and I gave him three of his/my bibliophile books.
The president Emmanuel Macron he wrote to me in handwriting, and I was enthusiastic, on November 13, 2017. For his “tribute in living connivance” of the mother Mercedes: “her teacher and mediator, a praise for the emancipatory capacity of knowledge.”
The president Mitterrand handwritten and immediately (pen or pen) he responded to me with humor. Very seriously: “You are right to ask for the legion of honor for…, but I am only president and I have no power in La Grande Chancellerie de la Légion d’Honneur.”
And my friend was a legionnaire.
In Spain only the vice president Alfonso Guerra He took the initiative at the time to write to me in handwriting about one of my books. I responded and asked him please if he had news of my father’s death. He went to visit the Salamanca archives and told me:
–His father, a lieutenant in the Infantry, was a good friend of the socialist mayor of Melilla, Antonio García Vallejobecause they went out to paint in front of the Rostrogordo mountain.
Antonio García Vallejo was shot on July 17. My father, held in a cell by some of his classmates (insurgents) from the Academy, was asked by admirers of his paintings to reflect.
My father, half an hour later, He called his former colleagues to tell them that he had already reflected and that he could not break his oaths.
He was immediately taken to the Rostrogordo prison in Melilla. Days later, to El Hacho de Ceuta, where he will be sentenced to death. One year later, officers below the rank of commander will be amnestied. And the incommunicado confinement began until he escaped from the Burgos prison in 1941.
A prison official cordially informed me that he represents himself behind bars, for inmates, having a picnic.
***
Five pseudo-arrabalescos for manuscripts:
“Let’s not make stories, much less History?”
“How does the curtain shake with the remote buzz?”
“Does the ostrich in the face of the warning trance hide its head?”
“I divine specters in objects?”
“So rude and hilarious, honey?”
***
Three plastic poems:
Plastic poem 1 by Fernando Arrabal.
Plastic poem 2 by Fernando Arrabal.
Plastic poem 3 by Fernando Arrabal.
***
Until next week, if Pan will lend me life.