Coughing, wishing

Coughing blood, I wish I were. Good advice: to read Saul Bellow when writing, avoid Eggers and remember that Foster Wallace still lives.

Nonsense.

Also, perhaps the blog that I like the most, of the few I ever read, is Batahola, by Lorena Mancilla. I suspect blogs are meant only to be written. Readers are pussies, writers, on the other hand...

Will 2666 ever be translated to english? I hope so. Why? I do not know.

My ear still hurts. As well as my back, my throat and my joints. And I'm wearing a suit, quite unconfortable.

Met Villarreal last night. Older than I expected, reminded me of my father, only funnier and less pragmatic. I feel I'm writing a telegram.

Yesterday I was told something I had forgotten. In the elementary school which I attended, owned by the Opus Dei, lived an old person who suffered a stroke a few years ago. He could no longer move or read and could only pronounce two words. One of them was "Pendejo". A male nurse attended him and strolled him into the courtyard so that he could hear mass or our pledges to the flag. I remember that. He used to wear a beret and whenever he got bored started screaming. I can't believe I didn't remember that. His name was Manuel and died last year.