mid 90's made a grave sin of idolatry, much worse while the idol was not to shoot rockets: the final stage of the Tour of Spain that ended in Valencia Melchor Mauri saw around people, I approached him and, without any attempt to console or congratulate him, I touched her back. The penance imposed on such depravity wine served, of course, and ran straight to a source to wipe sweat from his hand. That has been my most visceral contact with what might be called elite. Years later I exchanged a few sentences with wrestler MVP ( 're the man, he said, and I am the best , he replied) and others with no less combative Arcadi Espada, who was in While grateful thank mail. Baths of glory, as it looks.
Luckily, fetishism walks toward its end. Disappearing relics, souvenirs are degraded , manuscripts are extinguished, the nations dissolve ... Gradually, by dint of his own wrong (which has been and remains our own), they consumed irrational cults based on blood and other metaphors shared. Fetishism increasingly sell less. Even art has left the side of the superstitious and has been for investors. Those who feel protected by a stepfather to San Andres or justified for a first edition of Orlando Furioso constitute a negligible minority. "Desecration" and looks like a medieval term, even pagan. The acts of atonement contribute to cult sleaze. What does it matter when the pleasure latex invade the faces? Happy days when the words are not meant to say less of what they say and ideas can reliance on the sidelines of the media.
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