”I collected these texts as if I was collecting my body parts. Here are my body parts rolled into a paper bag, unordered. Their randomness is quite true within their devastation, sometimes bloody, violent, honest, fictional, personal, they look like me in my full craziness and illness, they look like a part in me that became mature by the revolution, and they look like what the war broke in me, and the exile uprooted in me.
This collection could be identified nothing more than a set of texts that would bear a name, so it could be given any name. I tried through it, without prior decision, to turn over the ugliness into beauty by putting make up excessively on it, to recreate a, so called, ”creative”. When I wrote these texts, I haven’t intended to put them together in a book, neither to be used as a testimony, nor wrapping them into a mold. So, let us have mercy on them and skip classifications, since they can barely handle the oppression of their author. “