" Fragments of Alí's words, writtings and transmitted adevertisements...".

"They will never will be able to understand, that I am hardly a physically vulnerable bit, but spiritually strongly certified by what my people has always been ... and the song after all will never die..."

"I can swear you that I have never written aby song deliberately. That I have never sung a song as visceral assignment of my ideological position. Some times my song is skipping in the stony pamphlet road; other, it has the humble flight of a simple poetry, without more pretension than that of to communicate my solidarity with the human being"

"Sometimes I succumb before anger with the same force I do before tenderness, but always as a spiritual response and not as an endocrine reaction before reality. Both, anger and tenderness stimulate my desire of combatting and lie's merry-go-round, I have always liked love's little blue horse and freedom's white, I will always ride in combat's red horse , by them..."

"If there is no truth in the singers; then there will not be truth neither in the song nor in my hope... People said in its dialogue with the trees and the birds. We should not avoid just by singing the beautiful duty of being present in the definitive barricade... Thrush is small but it faces the chiriguare..."

Suddenly, singing becomes a vital action, inexorable, songs settle the world... cornered the beasts, they launch ferocious claws to avoid singing and the hands raised with it make possible the most human of the barters: THE PUMP BY THE PLOUGH ...

"With the sun in the sky...".

With the sun in the sky I write an Epitaph to the sorrow.
I give life to the singing and this gives me the life to live it
singing... it is as simple as this way, brothers.

When I receive blows, I raise the brow and I sing...
Those who dream and combat encourage me to sing for them and yet,
those who, in fennels, are enamoured of meekness, snatch me
a painful singing from the soul...

Oh!, I really love those who lacking in love, weep.

My God!, Y really love those who with so much love, go full of faith
in the human beings, there is a deep impulse in my hope...
Some day we'll all go to Fatherland's injury land and
we'll close it with a huge kiss...

Beacuse of that, I sing and I write an epitaph to the sorrow.

I am militant of the dreams ...

"The necessary song...".

Perhaps I will not arrive to direct battalions but I will help to form it.

The necessary song is on everyone's lips, the necessary song has so many forms as flowers cover the skin of the fields...

They say that the necessary song is horseman and mount. The horseman is the verse, they say that this horseman has stout hands but his heart is as an opened rose when the roosters sing their last song for the night...

The mount is our identity profile, in its hulls all the June holidays drums resound and they are pulsateed in its bridles, as in magic cords, all the air that move the the musical tree of our land ...

They say that horseman and mount go in search of the song of the victory.

The necessary song is people's language...

"It's true".

They ask me why I say that my people is brave and I answer: because it's true...

But it not practices it, they say me, and I answer: it's also true...

The four-string guitar cords are different in their sound. That is true, and it is truth that in the jangle the four-string guitar is heard stronger and more resonant than in the high...

May be in the jangle all the cords sound together and at the same time.

They say that the best way to defende love is loving; they also say that the bird doesn't quit of flying just by being small. Damn! It's also true...

From the Mayans land, from Farabundo Martí and Monsignor Romero comes a hot air...

"I believe in singing...".

Because my people has always survived singing... so that they do not fill us hope with silence... because it has always navigated this land veins...

For the need of multiplying and the humbles yell... because it will not be truth if sinfergs are not truths... because singing song is not an accessory but brother arm in peoples fights...

Because I do not believe in poetry degradation if this seeks the people... because those who hold the contrary are not more erudite than comedians... because their essential element has its root in people's sensibility...

Because the man is indivisible in his revolutionary and human parts... because we must go willingly and without bitternees to fight ... because he has the river's sonority, wind's sonority in the mountains and opened gizzards of dry land...

Because he will never be a martial prisoner within himself... because he has helped to grow this land abdomen that waits the Great Birth... so that they do not remove us the memory...

I believe in every solidary and luminous singigng In the name of people, of its calloused hands...

"September".

Sometimes I think if our songs are not excessively wary.

I have also thought if we have not been more than men, moved by instinct, to survive in a stable cosmos...

It's already enough of trying to know the people just as one more anecdote, as who fills a prerequisite in order to enter to the "divine left" gatherings, dead easy...

Solidarity is a weapon!...

We've got to explode our conscience. Without silencing the poems in the throat let's seek with our hands the best song against beasts...

September, 1973: A tall people, our people, brought down violent metaphors from the Andes loin to forge a gallards poem...

Thin, love, is beautiful the song that sings us the "gallá", isn't it?

Guitar and aim tuned...

"May my singing doesn't lose".

Song in song, fight in fight, we will go forming the song that sings to the people that has always sung us...

Meanwhile, we should put our hands and voices so that the heart of the men who go in their own search does not fall in the fight toward the definitive barricade... Take your guitar, fist your conscience and sing.

Note your commitment against those who cause the existence of persons of our people living only a little better than animals...

"Not singing is losing ourselves" wrote a poet friend of mine, make million bullets...

Suspecting that some songs (the new ones) could be stopped in a mere "epidermic reflection". We will have to arm our songs with our own conduct. Not with gleaned phrases in interviews, falling in poeticization is losing ourselves.

May my song doesn't lose...

"Not only of life lives the man.

I have always enjoyed with deep thankfullness the fact of living it. Happy beacuse of performing fully and honestly the beautiful task of put singing in the hands of man and his combat, the song I learnt between birds singings, the hits of the weeding hoe on the dry land and the red and wild "semerucos" harvest in my loved Paraguaná Peninsula.

That song has increased its force and sense in so many years, arising for the defense of the life. That song is driend of the peoples that in the world's latinamerican part, fight for free from the age-old shame, poverty and underdevelopment to which they have been condemned bu their star sprangled predators.

That song is friend of the african peoples that fight for their cultures lifesm dignity and their rights against the colonialist and "civilized" boot. That song is friend of Vietnam that still fights to be "ten times most beautiful" as the sweet and wizard Ho Chi Minh dreamt. That song is friend of the Palestinian people and its fight for recover what has always been the lovely place of its Fatherland.

That song, I say it with sincere devotion, is friend of the jewish people, though it faces with all its forces, the genocide and zionist politics that rules it. That song is friend of the man who dreams and fights for its dreams, of the man that loves with deep faith in the human being. That song is friend of those who have not quit their hope and that in a small church, pray in order not to build a world based on the skeletons of those who die by hunger, the big cross where they want to drive the man again.

That song is friend of the poets and also of the "dirty-mouth" singers who impotent of breaking crystals with their voice, go around, opening holes to the hopelessness and to the "achanta, pana" with which defeatist want to stop it. That song is Nicaraguan and it is Salvadoran being be profoundly Venezuelan, with all the force transmited by the people that feeds it, with sweet and bitter words and with the music originated in the steps of our first inhabitants walking barefooted on dry leaves.

That song is not neutral nor I sing it to myself, therefore it has friends and enemies of course. It has enemies in those who enjoy beating the prisoner man, enemies who deal with drugs that convert into desolation nightmare and death the youths dream of our young people. In those who convert into lie the beautiful truth of democracy. Enemies in those who arrive at the stoke of dawn with tractors and drawn machetes, and convert into huge bonfires the humble housings where thousands of Venezuelans shelter the sublife permited by a corrupt and inhuman system as the one which we have.

Enemies in those who fill with ashes and filthiness our rivers and later say that fish mortality in Careneroit was a "casual trifle". Enemies in those who have built a undernourished people over the immense wealth of our soil. Enemies in those who believe in Bolivar while they could earn his thought.

Enemies in those who believe that the working man's cells that works, they are cents that can be hoarded in the Switzerland banks. Enemies in those who believe that with lies our people's dignity can be fulled forever with shit. Enemies in those who say that it is "due to a caprice" that people lives martyred in our hills.

Enemies in those which believe that a whole people, owner of the hill "Galicia", can enclose it in a Sybarite club, built on an ecological crime. Enemies between those who speak and pompous slap about human rights, while our indigenous are persecuted with pellets if they were "chiguires". Enemies in those who "link" that the current government is disastrous and bad so they are able to win "the next elections". They have been shuffled this way during more than five five-year periods, and our people noble and open-mouthed, allowing this.

Of course that that song has enemies, damn and if it hadn't them, I would sing anyway.

Most recent revision: Feb. 28, 2002.