The great intellectual is a lost mount of structure in the way wild them, crystal bomb and supositrios. The reason and the capacity if lose in the way liquid them that they are lost in go of the fingers. Literature for some is a source of life, culture, development and progress of a civilization. It is not something reinsurance would like to discuss. To others it does not pass more than what a burrice, a hypocrisy, a vagrancy. Government none wants more to support literature, this in the whole world. from there our culture each more meager time. The man studying and working in such a way, to live the same life of a horse, of a pig that nothing makes, nothing constructs.
It dies and disappears as those. Later later nothing more he remains not to be podrido and esquecimento. The writer of our century dies of hunger, the industrial of infarto. That ways follow the two after the death, we do not know. I mainly know that in the hell much people fit, the ones that die empanturrados, the ones that are if apodrecendo in money. Science teaches in them to be complicated and incompressible. How many explanations, theories, justifications for simpler things.
is enough any modification to knock down any scientific theory. the more the man studies, more falls in complications, doubts until discovering that it really does not know nothing. Nowadays if of the value the sprees, folias, wars and cachaa and everything how much it is anarchy. What valley this for the nation, the people, the culture? our values are for there lost in the way the ones that nothing make not to be critical destructive. Many until think that the writers, the poets, the teatrlogos are wild. In the way of insane people squatting with them. In Brazil the problems are worse still: the bookstores if close, the libraries do not buy books, publishing companies have stocking dozen of writers (only the proteges), the people do not read (nor they can buy books), badly paid writers (10% only), and with this who suffers is the writer and the nation. Matuto is the one case it said that me: I plant potatoes, as potatoes, you I write books, therefore he eats books. Not I know what to make more. I believe exactly that optimum it is to close the publishing companies and to open plants of drip, to touch focus in the libraries and to open boates, to burn books and to plant potatoes, at least the production will exist, nor that are of roots. We go to live as the ox with its buoys or the bull with its ' ' tora' ' if the language will not have literature also will decay. The illness cure everything and the death brings the tranquillity.
