As a brief introduction, I list below ten particularities, or generalities, about myself from my very self that I myself very self…

My greatest skill: the immediate interruption of reality. Art, sleep, and my countless fainting spells have the pleasant ability to erase terrible disenchantments.

I add that perhaps this is merely a matter of primitive intolerance, rather than any kind of skill. I believe there is more truth—and more charm—in art than in the world.

I prefer Malu to Marilú.

I only discovered the pleasant unpleasant taste of avocado a few years ago.

Like Rimbaud, I also believe that love must be reinvented.

The sea and darkness are the same, in this case, sleep. Two extremely dangerous situations. I sleep with a light at night.

My phone is always on silent. But I swear I'll answer when my eyes meet your incoming call on the screen.

Despite being a woman, I have some machismo, perhaps that's why I've been surrounded by gay men since I was a child.

I still can't find the taste for alcohol, although I try to forget, something that my damned strict memory still doesn't allow me to.

Books, like love, in disarray, in fragments, stacked, waiting. Books and love, with repetitions and recollections, never far from the bed, and always close to me.

From a canine intuition, almost beastly, almost witch-like, of mourning my losses weeks before losing them.

And even if all this is a story or a hoax, I invariably tell the truth from the lies of my fiction.