I'm a troll on a social network to express opinions that are very different from the political position I'm showing in front of the public. I have given away and sold a book that was offered to me by a close friend in a second-hand bookstore, starting the page where the offer was read. I never told a good friend that I had sex with his fiancée, when the two were at home. I use the neighbor's WiFi. I have a picture of an important politician from Navarre with a Streaper, which I have not taught anyone, waiting for the right time to postpone it. I use the system to be able to read my boyfriend's mobile messages from my computer.

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It may be the conflict relationship with the truth that best describes today's society. In fact, any social change presupposes a paradigm shift of truth. From the model of the only truth until the 19th century to the plurality of faces of the truth, because everyone has their truth to the surprise, to put it another way, to the liberalization of the truth or, if you prefer, to privatization. But there are indications that we have begun to take a step further. To the extent that we are immersed in the event, we find it difficult to know what the new face of truth will bring (the post-truth, the literature of the self with the archaetism of authenticity).

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A paradox that has been given in the literature of recent times, in my opinion, is self-fication. The lack of space in truth in the relationship that fiction had built with reality allowed writers to have more space to be truthful, to bring out inner demons than in the relationship that now establishes self-fiction. Even when you describe yourself carelessly, the reader may think that there is cursed, suspicious beautification as an excess of justification. In my opinion, the truth of self-fertilization is that the surprise goes against him.

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In the previous one, it occurred to me that it could be the quantum path to establishing a new relationship between fiction and truth. It occurred to me to do the experiment. I would write two lists: in the first, shameful and fertile things that I have not confessed to anyone, raw truths, without adorning. On another list I would uncover the sins that are not mine (although they could be), attributable to a character, so that if I had done them I would have confessed equally shameful things that I would not have confessed. Make the two lists side by side, making sure the reader (in this case, you) that I have done each and every action of one of them and none of the other. It's just true.

This, if the experiment goes right, guarantees a real carrying writing, but without denying the field to fiction. The reader will not know more about me, will not be able to judge me accurately, question my testimony, or commit to the truth. To a truth like Schrödinger's.

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On the morning of my mother's death, I contacted a nurse from the same hospital through Grindra. I don't like Proust, at least as much as I do. I started learning Euskera thinking it was going to be useful to be a national police officer. I have plagiarized the core of this article from a blog that I think the average reader of this magazine will not read (in another language). When they offer me the drug I do as if I were going to enter, but I blow up with the gesture of frightening me. I think I am the best Basque writer who speaks Basque.