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February 1, 1922. “ Visions of neurasthenia “, published in ABC. (Premio Mariano de Cavia). Thus he said, the principle: “I’m going to allow me to defend a theory that I have been recently revealed: neurasthenia is not an imbalance, but a natural state of man, during which point the perceptions and influenced the world as it really is”. This article is my coat and my pride. The glory desired by any writer or journalist. But I am surprised that my theory has drawn so much attention. The critique considers me a master of humor. What am I? Because the truth is that I started embracing the drama.

“I will Confess that in my teens, when I had nothing to say to my fellow-men, I was attacked by the mania of making them cry … it seems to Me that the idea that I formed then of the glory of the literary was to have before me the whole of humanity shaken by sobs convulsive”. I know that it is not easy believe me but I suggest you do so. “There is a vast conspiracy” for that in the prime world the optimism and the joy. I can hardly understand it. “Well I know that there are many vested interests around the joy and the State, and society as a whole, are doing everything they can to preserve these appearances, since by arranging the works to brothers Quintero , indefatigably optimistic.” To know where to find them reasons to stay in that state. “(…) there is established an irritant regime for those who insist on believe or say that it is charming this world.”

“A neurasténico seen everywhere, boredom and sadness. Then the people ensures that it is a sick one. However, there is men sempiternamente optimistic and cheerful , and no one says of them that are devoid of health.” I explained to a doctor these ideas, which for me are “a philosophical investigation of the truth”, and he suggested that I shoot cacodilato. The last straw. “What so you want to tamper with chemically my ideas, estropeármelas? That is to say, that because I now, thanks to a miracle that was accomplished I do not know how I see the world in all its true ugliness, comes to you with a syringe, I hit an arm and it collects in puddles on a joy vulgar and conventional pharmacy. Never! I don’t want to drown out the reality in cacodilato”.

Goodbye to Galicia

Five years before winning this Mariano de Cavia, I was awarded the prize of Fine Arts for my novel, ” Volvoreta “. In the jury were the countess of Pardo Bazán, doña Emilia, what an extraordinary person!, gift Ramon Perez de Ayala and mr. José Ortega y Gasset . Defended the tenderness of the story, that caused me to wonder, to such an extent that I asked them if they were sure that it was my novel, and not the other, that they had been awarded. In order to…

As if I pre-empt the time and oblivion I’m going to imagine, in a kind of memories that I will never write, what life has got me booked. To see if I’m able to surprise me. Say that I was born in 1885. But also in 1879 or in 1880. The case is that nobody knows for sure. During a meeting of friends told me Louis Bald that there are men who before would chop off one hand to confess his true age, and that I am one of them. “Nor shall they know never -answered-. After I have died will continue discussions on the matter, as you’ll see if I sobrevivís”. Ah… the vanity,,, a man loses more than hunger and misery. Speaking of dying, apparently my death will happen in Madrid but will transfer my remains to La Coruna. Seems good to Me. Tell me that it was “a great gentleman, friendly and folksy” ( José Luis Bugallal , ABC, may 1, 1964).

Remember, then, that I came to Madrid with a novel under his arm, “ the procession of The days ” (1915) and a target in the ministry of Finance, to be in charge of the accounts of the Customs of Ortigueira . That couldn’t work, how was I going to monitor the accounts of my roommates, and more being galicians like me?

Galicia… no-one told him with what ink I wrote my good-bye when you leave. As neither wanted to tell, when I was appointed director of the Diario Ferrolano , which I installed for my exclusive use in the first station for wireless telegraphy which existed in Spain. What a naive! Knew the other newspapers in a matter of hours. But during that time I played with my treasure as if it were a boy. That says to me always my mother, that I keep looking like a child. Will miss my friends of my everlasting singleness. I have not been required to marry, being my mother, the great love of my life. I will travel a little, because any place will extend the distance between the two. On a certain occasion I asked a Foreign minister if I would like an embassy as a target. “Very much,” he replied. But in reality I would separate from my mother for anything in the world . There is No embassy in the world that can compare to it.

I get excited thinking that there will be a day, I hope very far, in that the death of mom will be a memory. Now the laughter and the humor -oh, my humor – are mixed with crying, the only thought, but it passes quickly. Although it continues to resonate his voice in the chasm deep of my heart, ” put the scarf, that there are relente, son “, “today not call me to advise of your delay”… My world is her. If I’m going to slow down to eat the notice by telephone, as it does a student to avoid a reprimand. I know, already, that I don’t have age for that, but it is, in the end, I feel like a boy with her. And it is a comforting feeling.

But don’t you think that as long as with my mother, I would miss more! is a Few things I like more than a good desktop with friends while I smoke a couple of cigarettes black long nozzle, which I do with a little machine to that effect. Then work until mid-afternoon and I go out to search for a work of theatre that is worth. The next day I don’t get up until eleven, yes, I have no remedy!

Skeletons in the Cavia

In my article, which, by the way, for a lot of prize that they have given him I don’t know if you understood it, called “great thinker” to one of the authors of the crime of the cherry garden, condemned to death, who is credited with the phrase “Within one hundred years, all bald”, that the edge of the scaffold. “ He saw a skeleton to all the crowd ” who would witness his execution. “What you can’t see people living as if they were skeletons? I yes. It is another advantage of the neurasthenia”. In fact, he was walking one day by the street of Alcala, when I saw full of skeletons. “One, sheathed in a coat, ran behind a tram strides absurd. Other, desmoronados on the couches for a coffee, let him pass the hours. A skeleton of a man was spent in dialogue with a skeleton of a woman. She looked angry and he’s sad”.

February 18, 1922. “ Visions of neurasthenia “, published in ABC. (Premio Mariano de Cavia). And said so to the end: “(…) the skeleton reminds us most of all our brotherhood, our like brotherly, and also our sad ugliness inside, our misery is substantial. When you are on the verge of succumbing to anger, to vanity, to greed, to any passion low, remember your skeleton”. Do you see how I reason? The vanity… always the foolish vanity . “I have this great moral principle from which I mastered neurasthenia”. Well, that, within a hundred years, all bald.