An Interview (Part I).

Interview by Cassandra Dolores.  

Vienna 23.12.2014. 

An Interview in the waiting for Christmas it´s not very usual, but here we are!  Only one day to Christmas evening and Gabino stays alone in his home and accepted to be interviewed by us. Since a couple months, I was searching for an opportunity to meet him and make a couple a questions, that our public is waiting for. Repeatedly he has refused our demands to have an approach to him, but finally and suddenly at this morning i received a call for him: “I don´t have any particular plans before Christmas, so go ahead and come by to my place in the morning”. And so we´re here for the first time in his place, in his “little gloomy, spurious and home place”, like himself describes it.  At the begging, I´ll try to be cautions, but then we'll see, where the conversation head us.

Me: Hi, Gabino, or should i pronounce it  like “Gavino”?

Gabino L Martello: Well, man. I don´t care any more about it. I mean, I really feel connected with  my , so speak, “Italian roots”, but in reality is more like a organic thing, you know. I was raised in Mexico-City with my lovely parents, some working class, some middle class family and my first language was always Spanish and always it will be my first language. The Italian thing, like I said, is more a organic thing. It just a feeling that you know is there, living in some corner of your life, but it doesn´t exist really.  It´s that feeling that I always had , already as kind, to search something in the fog , some mysterious thing that is behind the tree. You can feel it, you can hear it, but you can´t see it and of course, you can´t speak  with him. So, I don´t care, if you call me "gavino”, at the end, you know, it´s just a name and it´s not what it´s behind the words.

Me: All right! So maybe I´ll call you Gavino for this time, because we´re now - I’m feeling-  entering in that fog of your life (laughs).  So, please tell me, what is all about this writing , all this blogs that you sometimes keep “in secret”, but , you know all the information is in Google and eventually the people get into it.

G:  hahaha, Google tells the truth, isn´t it? It´s amazing, it´s terrifying!  The last couple weeks I was searching for a winter jacket and made the mistake to press “I like it”. Now, I always see this fuckin` jacket in every search or whatever in my computer. It´s just nuts. Secret agents everywhere, but you can´t stay out of there, can you? I mean, is some of that. I should keep my texts for myself the whole time. Don´t share them, because, you know, they´re crap, man. Sometimes  I can laugh out loud with them. Sometimes I can remember the process of writing of that moment, but you know, they are just words that they´re always fighting each other. Sometimes come some persons in there, sometimes just feelings, sometimes dreams, fantasy or tales of friends of mine, I mean, a translation of their experiences.  I began with all this stuff of blogging like four, or six years ago?, and I just write in them in certain months, periods of the year.  For me is like a workshop, you know. Or is like a bullfighting to die, if you want to put it so.  That stupid duel, that massacre, where people pay to see the blood and all that horrible spectacle. Well, at least I don´t get any money of this spectacle (laughs). The bull is like the words and I supposed to be the bullfighter, who attempt to dominate them. I can stay there like 4 seconds, 8 seconds on the bullfighting. I can scape sometimes of that furious bull and eventually one of both has to die. Sometimes the bullfighter is the winner and he retires like a hero, sometimes is the bull really the winner.  But In the end, you know that it´s a horrible spectacle , that we´re sharing with everyone.

M: Come on, that`s a little bit exaggerated? Don´t you think? I mean, I read some histories from your first blogs and i find them very interesting, not always in that agressive tone, that bullfighting that you`re  now describing.

G:  Well, the thing is, that my whole life I wrote texts. I began with 10 years or something and unfortunately , I think,  in that age I wrote the best texts already of my life. They were just natural, simple like a childhood life, you know. But now, every time it´s more complicated. More and more, because I can´t even describe a simple emotion without the need of giving a simple context. A story should be more lineal sometimes.  I don´t know why are they these days so complicated. 

Ups (my laundry! ) I forget them. Please wait for me like 20 minutes. You can drink some tee in the meanwhile.

(Then he goes out of the room).