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"Have the figurines and books that I lost over the years dissolved into
the air of Mexico City? Have they become the ash that blows through the
city from north to south and from east to west? Perhaps. The dark night
of the soul advances through the streets of Mexico City sweeping all
before it. And now it is rare to hear singing, where once everything was
a song. The dust cloud reduces everything to dust. First the poets,
then love, then, when it seems to be sated and about to disperse, the
cloud returns to hang high over your city or your mind, with a
mysterious air that means it has no intention of moving.”
Roberto Bolaño, Amulet
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