The madness implied by the prefix "loco" is not the madness of decay, but the madness of overflow. In the ordered cities of the Rational, madness is a pathology—a leaking pipe, a faulty wire. But in Locofiria, madness is a topography. Here, the boundaries between the internal dream and the external world dissolve. The "loco" is the one who has stepped out of the line of march, the one who sees the fissures in the concrete reality. To reside in Locofiria is to suffer a hyper-lucidity. It is to see the strings of the puppet show and to find them unbearable. It is a state of feverish revelation, where the symbols of the subconscious rise not in the safety of sleep, but in the blinding light of day.
Locofiria doesn’t hit you like the flu. It creeps in. Look for these signs: locofiria