Are you afraid of dying?
It is you who are afraid of dying, not me. As a matter of fact, here in jail you cannot come in and kill me … but I can order to kill you out there…. We are human bombs. In the slum there are a hundred thousand human bombs… We are in the centre of the insoluble itself, really… You are the good and I am the evil and, in between, the frontier of death, the only frontier. We are already another species; we are already other animals different from you. Death for you is a Christian drama on a bed, a heart attack… Death for us is the daily meat laid down in a ditch… Didn’t you intellectuals used to talk about class struggle, about “be marginal (from law), be hero”? So it is; we arrived, here we are! He, he… You’ve never expected for these new warriors of cocaine, have you? […] I am intelligent. I read. I read 3.000 books and I read Dante … but my soldiers are all strange anomalies of the twisted development of this country. There is no more proletariat or unhappy ones, neither exploited ones. There is a third kind growing up outside, cultivated in the mud, educating on the absolute illiteracy, graduating in the jails, like a monster Alien hidden in the cracks of the city. A new language has already grown up. – Don’t you hear the wiretaps made “with the permission of the Justice”? Maybe so. It is another language. We are facing a kind of post-misery. That’s it. The post-misery generates a new culture of killing, aided by modern technology, satellites, cellular phones, internet, modern weapons. It is the shit with chips, with megabytes. My commanded ones are a mutation of the social being; they are funguses of a great dirty mistake.