You removed the stone. Your name is Samuel Martinez Andrade. That is what they told you. You were born in Queretaro, Mexico, during the violet summer of 1993 and there you grew old. One day you wrote Y la luna lucía luminosa (2014, novel) in a napkin that you forgot in the desert. That same day you began to study a bachelor in Humanities (UAM-C) but at the end they only gave you another napkin. You wrote more things for some magazines in Colombia, Venezuela, France, but more than anything in your pink Mexican house. Your pages formed part of the Opción magazine’s 35th year anthology (2016, ITAM) and the short letter anthology Brief letters: I forgot to say with the Art Institute of Spain (2014) and, at dawn, you wrote Despliegue de lo real (Niño Down, 2016, poetry book) in a cacti. In the darkness, you did again the action: to remove the stone (2017, poem), just like when you were born. You moved away from the city, illuminated an HOLOGRAMMA (you are here since 2015), you wrote Saturn Thousandrings (2015, novel) on a stone and you threw it with all your strength into a little/big cosmic lake. Waves surged/roared [arrrrrrrrgh] and now you are here reading, appearing, describing yourself.
Blog: Gorge de Loup