I write in a language I do not wish to speak - unknown, neglected, bitter, trampled like the few noble attempts in long centuries of slavery, invalid democracy, and primarily darkness. I write in a language I have failed to speak, to convince anyone, to see something remain in the minutes of the assembly before the mice gnaw it away and history.
I did not compromise, I fell upright, I have not regretted ten to one, twenty to one, thirty to one. I have failed miserably against the hairdressers and the makeup artists. I saw science being written by smugglers, I saw art being legitimized by notaries, I saw justice being dispensed by fraudsters. I shouted, I complained, I failed in my language and in all the languages of the world. I raised my eyes to the back of the room, I counted those who sat at the large table of sharing without speaking any language.
[Excerpt from the text on the back cover of the edition]
