In an unusual encounter, the Dot and the Comma, very old friends, greeted each other effusively after a long and circumstantial separation.
Hello, my diminutive and fine friend! As always, you look neat, distinguished, and refined.
Tell me where have you been hiding for so long, your countenance denotes that you have not seen the light and your frock coat smells like a granny’s closet.
I have the exclusive pride, replied the Point arrogantly, of living on select shelves, inside a work bound in fine leather and written by distinguished experts in various disciplines from all over the world.
It is an essay ordered by the highest Parliaments to sociologists, psychologists, litterateurs, artists, linguists, philosophers, and all experts in the sciences related to the world of letters.
World in which the new generations are crudely analyzed and stigmatized for their apathy and aversion to the ancestral culture of our ancient civilizations and classical periods of the arts.
Very interesting, commented the Coma absentmindedly while shaking a spider’s web from the lapel of his haughty friend; it must be a much consulted and coveted work by all.
Not so much, sighed the Dot with resignation; to tell the truth, not even the authors themselves have read it in its entirety. On the contrary, you look very worn out, it seems that you lead a very intense and busy life, dear Coma.
That’s right, I was rescued from oblivion by an apprentice writer, who refuses to accept the precepts of the great masters and disdains the dogmas of the royal academies.
That is considering that orthodoxy causes allergies and causes disbanding and little use to the current creators and consumers of new literary expressions.
A bench scribe who threw a letter to the wind, and equally seduced a romantic teenager and a subversive leader; he inspired a young literary man and a rustic farmer.
Here he evoked a memory, there he awakened a passion; in some, he provoked a reunion, in others a revolution.
An artisan of letters, who with ink and cellulose modeled a sculpture that enraptures equally the mother who breastfeeds a child and the businessman who generates jobs; that extols the effort of the worker and the quiet hard work of a nurse.
He inspires the teacher who educates, the soldier who defends, and the minister who guides.
A painter of words who steals the red of the violent notes spread by poisoned newspapers. The yellow of the tendentious lies spread by gangsters and mercenaries of the pen.
The intense black with which economists cloud our uncertain future, and with the fruit of his thefts, dyes a rainbow of colors that gives life and beauty to the daily actions and the multiple emotions with which our reality is interwoven.
A disruptive leader who still believes that culture and literature should be democratic and within the reach of the masses, of all ages, of all beliefs, of all majorities and all social minorities, of civilizations and urban tribes.
That the new generations are no better or worse than those of the Middle Ages, they are simply different and have different needs and ways of expressing themselves.
A scatterbrained scribbler, who writes when the muses touch him, who writes a period when he runs out of steam, a comma when he is short of breath, and ellipsis when he runs out of ideas.
Learns spelling with his high school children and provokes embarrassment in his stale teachers of literature and writing.
This simple soliloquy had the ungainly Punto in raptures, who, unable to contain himself, threw himself into the arms of his effusive friend, asking her to accept him as her companion and consort for the rest of her life; the sensitive Coma succumbed to the detachment and disposition of the Punto and accepted such a surprising proposal.
And since then, the Dot refuses to be the end of any finite and expiring work, always aspiring to be the point and followed by endless stories; while the laborious Coma, always remains that brief pause that awakens the desire and the promise of the next installment.
