Rudy Martinez, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, January 2019. This is the third book I’ve read by him. The first was a novella about a priest who taught Pinochet the ins and outs of Marxism and hid behind criticism and poetry, it reminded me of The Death of Ivan Ilyich, these pathetic old men, repenting.
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A year ago, I was sitting in a room in San Marcos (TX), on what I remember was a somewhat comfortable bed, writing aphorisms for an ex-partner. Had 1 a barely recognizable me from 2018 knocked on the door of somewhat comfortable me from 2017, he would’ve shared an odd vision of the future:
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Six months ago, I graduated with a philosophy degree from Texas State University in San Marcos, TX. What was promised to be a day of jubilation for my family, as I am a first-generation Colombian and the first in my family to ever attend an American institute of higher education, was instead welcomed with a reluctant sigh of relief.
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