was born in Lota, I arrived at eight years and lived in Temuco Santiago, 98, 99, 2000 and 2005 . This residence was advantageous and opened my perspective. For example, not having lived in Santiago would not have participated in a collective art recited poetry on the subway (something truly revolutionary, but that's another topic), and film have done almost nothing with my friend Robert Flowers. At the crossroads of centuries I lived opposite the Arcis and was a painful experience, but also extraordinary. I met the cream of Santiago of artsy left: individualistic to leprosy, hyperventilated until saturation fraught with cliches and informed-trainers do not know if cultural offer, with or without bulls through, plenty to overwhelm .
a gesture that can condense that burden is impenetrable and silent face of a young handsome and elegant style, which he decorated my nightmares for years, "I saw once in the Goethe Institut as both, though separate, are enjoyed (the name is misleading) of a work of Brecht, was the quintessential lonely and vicious selfishness and self-destructive, which is a gloss of our times.
Among the gesture of that illustrious unknown and good-natured attitude and somewhat provincial artist Mongoloid (I mean small towns), appeal to a kind of balance. It is true that if you are in the literature with some claim to seriousness (or rather contrived joke), must be fed by many stimuli (especially reading) and have a broad cultural background as possible, but then the suffering snobbery that girl certainly offset Excess mediated art, I prefer to leave to bathe and defecate in the street to return to original purity. also comfort and laziness of the provincial artist, in Villarrica, Collipulli or Birth, say, who yearns to travel to Saturn in citroneta, I think one of the forms of mental handicap, or at least disguise the neglect of contemplation (Proverbs 13 : 4).
remember that a while ago, amid a controversy that will outline, a reputed homosexual poet, rebel spirit rather fatuously courtier, I decried as "huaso." With this qualification misused (the huaso lives between five and eight regions), the illustrious sodomite appealed to my condition temuquense, perhaps knowing that my experience Santiago was considerable, and that my battery multi-dimensional readings and trips have allowed me to scroll through centuries and latitudes that my feet have not trodden. And it is not denying the importance of travel or movement: it is weighted in these times of internet and information (music, pictures and written) up in the soup.
What about the contacts and the brothel scene and everywhere in Santiago? Well, we live there then (and in New York and Brussels and Barcelona as well), but not forever, let alone thinking that the mere gesture rozaremos excellence. Propose rather a return, perhaps perpetuated and even at the expense of our happiness, and also propose to live in Chol-Chol, Oak Huacho and Yerba Buena, to feel the fear of determinism, or to build a warehouse and a woman marry legs of glorious and generous laughter.
Finally, I must clarify that Temuco, right or wrong, is asantiaguinando by leaps and bounds. Their disproportionate growth, and growing desire to centralize cultural and education (there are six universities) are somewhat unnecessary by Santiago hair swinging, their plight and perhaps self-mutilating literary overcrowding. And they want a final figure? Someone told me that here in Town South is plotting the best book on Chilean narrative, written in the national territory in recent decades. Want to bet? Or prefer to bored with the same numbers of a circus that is falling apart?
a gesture that can condense that burden is impenetrable and silent face of a young handsome and elegant style, which he decorated my nightmares for years, "I saw once in the Goethe Institut as both, though separate, are enjoyed (the name is misleading) of a work of Brecht, was the quintessential lonely and vicious selfishness and self-destructive, which is a gloss of our times.
Among the gesture of that illustrious unknown and good-natured attitude and somewhat provincial artist Mongoloid (I mean small towns), appeal to a kind of balance. It is true that if you are in the literature with some claim to seriousness (or rather contrived joke), must be fed by many stimuli (especially reading) and have a broad cultural background as possible, but then the suffering snobbery that girl certainly offset Excess mediated art, I prefer to leave to bathe and defecate in the street to return to original purity. also comfort and laziness of the provincial artist, in Villarrica, Collipulli or Birth, say, who yearns to travel to Saturn in citroneta, I think one of the forms of mental handicap, or at least disguise the neglect of contemplation (Proverbs 13 : 4).
remember that a while ago, amid a controversy that will outline, a reputed homosexual poet, rebel spirit rather fatuously courtier, I decried as "huaso." With this qualification misused (the huaso lives between five and eight regions), the illustrious sodomite appealed to my condition temuquense, perhaps knowing that my experience Santiago was considerable, and that my battery multi-dimensional readings and trips have allowed me to scroll through centuries and latitudes that my feet have not trodden. And it is not denying the importance of travel or movement: it is weighted in these times of internet and information (music, pictures and written) up in the soup.
What about the contacts and the brothel scene and everywhere in Santiago? Well, we live there then (and in New York and Brussels and Barcelona as well), but not forever, let alone thinking that the mere gesture rozaremos excellence. Propose rather a return, perhaps perpetuated and even at the expense of our happiness, and also propose to live in Chol-Chol, Oak Huacho and Yerba Buena, to feel the fear of determinism, or to build a warehouse and a woman marry legs of glorious and generous laughter.
Finally, I must clarify that Temuco, right or wrong, is asantiaguinando by leaps and bounds. Their disproportionate growth, and growing desire to centralize cultural and education (there are six universities) are somewhat unnecessary by Santiago hair swinging, their plight and perhaps self-mutilating literary overcrowding. And they want a final figure? Someone told me that here in Town South is plotting the best book on Chilean narrative, written in the national territory in recent decades. Want to bet? Or prefer to bored with the same numbers of a circus that is falling apart?
EVERY MAN SHOULD BE ABLE TO ALL THE IDEAS, AND UNDERSTAND THAT YOU WILL BE IN THE ARISING 
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