Claudio Ferrufino writes in El Dia:
The Nobel Prize and the uncontrolled
When Morales raging with the screed that they want to speak ill of the Evo, damaged the image of the Evo, Evo here, and the Evo beyond, and his second in command continues with President Evo, Evo Christ Messiah, Virgin Evo, it gives me the creeps.
It is a habit to friendly treat someone by their first name, it is an error that must be removed from Bolivia, because even the opposition falls in the refrain of the “Evo”. Thus spoken to a friend, not an enemy. I understand that the “antics” of the above give a childish aura that it encourages the condescension and smile, but no mistake, there is no child in the authoritarian and tyrannical excesses of Mr. Morales, who should be called by his last name or his position, although the ignominy of coca growers, already named him Commander, wonder what dark battles will be in reference to? Whims that we pay in society; them, the masistas do not pay them. On the background I hear chords of old music: Caprichosita and Mentirosita… [whim and liar little woman…]
The nameless has just said, about the writer Mario Vargas Llosa’s upcoming visit to Bolivia, that he is coming to “speak out against the Evo”. Expected, predictable, hysterical and hormonal. Of course add the nonsense of rigor, listening to his own voice as if it were of the history that hurl it at the time. Jealousy is a primary factor in the life of the character; it could not be different if his birth and stardom seem to be on discussion, although the son have rebelled against the parents and now expelled them from their neck of the woods (I talk about the NGOs who invented him). How it won’t be jealous if the Peruvian Laureate is someone who has made himself, whose talent may not be overshadowed by any political opinion that he has, or is in agreement with it or not. The appearance of the author of the unforgettable novel “Aunt Julia and the scriptwriter” makes shadow over Cinderella. As Cinderella is going to have to accept or commit the madness, as the late orate in Caracas, make it stop. How someone who is false, Frankenstein built of multiple parts and various parents, homunculus, golem, is not going to be overtaken by an original human being. Logical, understandable.
The megalomaniac increasingly accepts less. The filthy and ignorant hosts feed him, love him. Intellectuals offer their women, hoping that the magic wand of the master holds them and turn dust into gold. We live in a world between Carnival and Bewitched, elderly Annals, many assumptions and facts to measure, and modern technology that puts ekekos on the Moon, machines violating the Pachamama in the Salt Lake, and more. The new trujillato, or the neobarrientismo as rightly defined by a politician [in reference to the governments of Trujillo in Peru and Barrientos in Bolivia]. Something with no feet or head, with a reversed Sun which serves as Inti, but with a trigger which tends to destroy the Inti and the past in community never viewed before, which will continue until no more coins fit in his pockets and foreign banks, and that the country make rubble and their native cultures also. Wicked, malicious, damn. People begin to wonder if Vargas Llosa will respond. I don’t know it. That smile that always accompanies him, will undoubtedly have to expand. It is not for less. If only to contemplate the judgemental finger of the cacique, warning to humanity and history with any nonsense that pleases him, it gives to cackle, despite the tragedy of his significance. Seems removed from the pages of Grimmelshausen, of the Spanish picaresque: medieval, ludicrous. Runaway.