“I exert all the young poets, painters, and sculptors of Mexico, those who have yet to be tainted by the coffered gold of government sinecures, those who have yet to be corrupted by the crooked praise of official criticism and the applause of a crass and concupiscent public, those who have yet to lick the plates at the culinary celebrations of Enrique González Martínez, I exert all of them to make art with the steady drip of their intellectual menses. All those of good faith, all those who haven’t yet crumbled in the sad, mephitic efflorescence of our nationalist media with its stink of
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