There is value in his prologue to the Ayacucho edition of Vallejo. I have a photocopy of this prologue in a file that I never look at, and the Chávez government (apparently) put all the Ayacucho books online for free, but I do not trust the permanence of that. I may buy a used copy of that Ayacucho edition. Part of what is valuable, for my purposes, in that prologue are some comments about the relationship between the self — subject of enunciation, but also biographical self — and writing.
And I can think clearly now; I understand everything as soon as I look at it. The shadows roll away as I open things up, as opposed to gather. I still feel anxious when reading because I was always taught it was a way of procrastinating on writing. If I were seen reading, I would be accused of not understanding how the profession worked. I would rather give up reading than be lectured again about my unfitness. And I feel yet more anxious when doing anything that has to do with teaching, because I was taught that time spent on that would lead to immediate banishment. So often I tried to have a conversation on anything, anything at all, and only getting these two admonishments: reading, and any activity related to teaching, would lead immediately to inquisitorial levels of torture as well as certain execution. And writing is what I like most, but all the admonishments about how I could not and surely would not make me want to throw every word ever written in a certain direction, light a match to them, and move to another planet.
It was a professor who admonished me in this manner for so many years, and this is why I do not like professors. Topics here are not being seen, but being projected into in a very negative way; negative counter-transference; the oppression of girls; and terrorizing children. I was terrorized as a child and knew nobody would believe me; I would not be surprised if none did now. I also think my mother knew what they were doing to us. I think that is why she did not trust our good will. And it will be considered unkind of me to say these things, to write them down, to allow them to be read.
Others will ask why I analyze such things, should I not be out running? These events are in the past. But the unconscious does not know time, and it is important to look at things as they are and have been before beginning to moralize. One of our parents kept threatening suicide. The other, committed to sticking things out, had an inherited fear of abandonment. He was never really leaving but withdrew, and he would rehearse the idea of never seeing us again. This was a fantasy our parents had but as I have just discerned, it was also a fear they experienced.
People would like simple judgments, things were good or bad, black or white; if the judgment is not simple they prefer to say the answer is unknowable. They do not wish to sift through the layers of things, do not see the benefit of that, but I do.