Jesus Is The Masterpiece. The Thieves Are

I’m Seventeen Years Old, My Name Is Juan García Madero, And I’m In My First Semester Of Law School. I Wanted To Study Literature, Not Law, But My Uncle Insisted, And In The End I Gave In. I’m An Orphan, And Someday I’ll Be A Lawyer. That’s What I Told My Aunt And Uncle, And Then I Shut Myself In My Room And Cried All Night.

Death, In The Eastern Tradition, Was Only A Passage. What Wasn't Clear ... Was Toward What Place, What Reality, That Passage Led.

Drink Up, Boys, Drink Up And Don’t Worry, If We Finish This Bottle We’ll Go Down And Buy Another One. Of Course, It Won’t Be The Same As The One We’ve Got Now, But It’ll Still Be Better Than Nothing. Ah, What A Shame They Don’t Make Los Suicidas Mezcal Anymore, What A Shame That Time Pases, Don’t You Think? What A Shame That We Die, And Get Old, And Everything Good Goes Galloping Away From Us.

Metaphors Are Our Way Of Losing Ourselves In Semblances Or Treading Water In A Sea Of Seeming.

The Truth Is We Never Stop Being Children, Terrible Children Covered In Sores And Knotty Veins And Tumors And Age Spots, But Ultimately Children, In Other Words We Never Stop Clinging To Life Because We Are Life.