Samo is onto something.
Autumn nineteen hundred and seventy-nine, eighteen he is, twenty-one me, he poems, I poems, he makes noise music, fake-punk-jazz me, a blind window has our chamber in New York’s Lower East Side. He played with a synthesizer, borrowed from Michael Holman, a saxophone, not borrowed, I. We played with words and ideas and read to each other. He writes SAMO© ESTA EN ALGO in my suitcase, as a farewell. There will not be a reunion, as promised to each other. Spanish by a young New Yorker. Being from Düsseldorf I doesn’t know Spanish. Thirty-two years later I see a picture painted by him in 1980, title is his writing in my case. Years later I found out that his words with the line through ASNG is an enigma. And the reason why he smudged the two-line MAN MADE with his saliva. 2011 the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung reported about our past in 1979.
An explanation for Spanish is offered by Dr. Kellie Jones, Columbia University, in her essay „Lost in Translation“ Catalogue, 2005 Retrospective, Brooklyn Museum.