"Are we by chance a lie? (…) The characters in a literary work (…) a film that lasts barely an instant (…) the thoughts of a madman? Perhaps one of us is real and others, his hallucination (…) Perhaps we are a printing error that has inadvertently slipped by (...) Perhaps we are a premonition - the image formed in someone's mind long before the events in which we participate in real life take place. Perhaps we are a fortuitous event that has not yet occurred, which is barely gestating in the cracks of time, or a future event that has not yer occurred.
We are an incomprehensible sign drawn on a moist windowpane on a rainy afternoon. We are the memory, nearly lost, of a remote event. We are beings and objects invoked by a magician's spell. We are something has been forgotten. We are an accumulation of words, an event told by means of illegible writing, a testimony no one hears. We are part of an entertaining magic show. A bill sent to the wrong address. We are the fleeting, involuntary image that crosses the minds of lovers as they meet, at the instant they lust, at the moment they die."
Salvador Elizondo - Farabeuf
