Busted

So, we decided to drink soft drinks, eat pizza, smoke and work on the first issue of El Inquilino. And there we are, laughing and making ourselves believe that something real and good was being made with our hands, minds and talents. I felt alive. Almost, but not in the same way, not by a longshot, as I did later on that night. I will not discuss that here. Instead, I'll say this:

Walking Hernán to the door, he asked me: How come you never mention my blog? I have a link to your .blogspot from mine, you should post one too.

I remained silent with the intention to transmit this truth: "I do not wish to refer to other blogs. Otherwise, we'd be like the Ourobarous, the Mouebius circle, or something; we'd be like cannibals, zombies that eat their own. I refuse to be a comment on a comment, a common parasite; I refuse to talk about the blogs of my friends; I will not fall on the trap set by Derrida; I will not be a part of the network of references in the world; I'll contribute only to myself, I will not become an estadistic, I will not--"

Instead, Hernán saw right thru me: "You don't know how to do it, do you?"

"What?", I said.

"To link a page to yours"

"No, I do not", I said and opened the door for him.