I try to get rid of addictions that have made me very happy and very unhappy, always in extremes, in the name of survival. But there are some that I don’t want to get rid of, because they give me a lot of pleasure and no hangover. They are the cartoons of El Roto and the articles of the cursed Fernando Savater.
The second, stigmatized by the powerful, stupid, insubstantial, predictable and disgusting sign of the times, is qualified as crazy, reactionary, traitor, inconsistent with what he defended or criticized for so many years. He is a heretic, he is a facha, he is a provocateur, the author of Pamphlet against everything. But what did you expect, correct idiots, from a being so unpredictable, so deeply anarchist, so Voltairian, so unique, so wise, so authentic?
I fell in love with your writing infinite years ago with an article called Culture as a form of boredom. Fernando Trueba and I invented an interview with him without having anywhere to publish it. He narrated and thought with a priceless style of everything. There are two of his books that will remain on my nightstand until the day I hit it. They are childhood recovered Y air creatures. I don’t need to agree with him to admire his talent, it happens to me when he fervently positions himself on political parties or sheikhs in which he believes. But that fervent support, although unsympathetic to me, I don’t care. His work shows me that his intelligence remains as free as it is powerful. I love the writer Savater. It seems to me a luxury for culture, thought and the art of transmitting things that are worthwhile.
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