that unbearable & strength, concentration and empty; were full of rage,
bottles filled with oil, magna gasoline, and the civil news in all screens of
cellphones and laptops, they have cut all lines of communication, the antennas
had been blocked, a brownout is enough; occupy the gas stations that are not flooded;
try to walk by streets where death does not catch you. Outside the bar, the
cold beer was guard by the commune, the noise of fires & ashes on burning roofs, tens of
men, woman and orphans, makeshift camps
outside the bar, they have arrived with hangover & molotovs of sand, glass,
pieces of metal; release valves that emerge gracefully in their heavy hands;
all blast bleeding, emanating from those bottles, the black threshold
intoxicates us in a strongly way, here I am with my beer and mexcal, I am the
invisible night waiter who serves to street traders and other dispossessed, there
was a prediction that hell will evaporate with the river; near here not too far
on a road beside towns, another contingent
burned the oil and gas pipelines
passing through a vast pasture lands, who belong to some politicians,
everything was reduced to a hellish
barbecue, they were long and grotesque zebu skulls, long beard, ivory beasts in
flames were dying embers of the grass that sustained life.
are flooded and under siege by boats from the marina, leaden helicopters and mud
soldiers, sweaty masses sheltering the imprisoned wall water, they afraid to
shoot; only 001%... Top way downtown, high above the city, the clients of the
bar roared; we are the generation of intellectual laziness and unemployment they
have been claimed; suicidal discontented marching from dawn to their own holocaust.
There are no
more commanders and generals in this land as before, said the wise old men; I
mean from the old days, with machete and a gun, huaraches & a blanket hat.
We are exiled from time, from underground slums & saturated salty lemons; we
are wind; dust, ash, coal.
so unbearable & strength, dropped itself to the wet ground, succumbed in
their natural sound of gentle aroma and bitter essence, a clot should go
swimming still on my head, I feel the pressure and dull atmosphere; heavy as
seeing blood; violently the truck stopped when my soul as unsuspecting deer was
hit directly to the pavement; calcium; skeleton, teeth, skull, everything
vibrated as a bad chord of a hard drum, my eyes went out, they run like fog,I do not recall having dealt with the driver, or
perhaps quickly he just ran away when he saw me lying face down on the street
and left me; maybe thinking that I was dead. I guess so I do not know, I do not
remember. But it's what they told me later.
tremendous concentration of alcohol in my blood was already burned fuel to my
feet that respondents to take me back to my dwelling place and origin,
accidents come and go, surely death with his watch in hand & empty jar, was
grudgingly expecting for me to serve him/her from the cold caguama. Lend me for a moment some of your breath just
to be stand. Bile my mouth, my dry esophagus and the fresh petting of stored solvent;
open the canteen, that is just I'm thinking about, although this optical
illusions whose play around me; delirium tremens tenderness.
stack of beer cartons as my room bed; humidity walls near the river, that who sleep
and threat to spill; the bottle rolled, sweeping the cockroaches awakening them
from their sacred lethargy, lying drunk on my aglow salty sweat; sacred foam,
saliva and delicacy to them, they slip away of my shadow when the caguama roll;
die & fall without breaking in its harmonious architecture; white & uniform
walls reflected the box. Little by little I'm infected. All mosquitoes have
satisfied from me. Then they will die.
First put some of your favorite
warfare tune; welcome bats to mexcalcountry, there was once a upon a time in
Tenochtitlan; sacred nopal, sacred bloody prickly pears, old gods of stone
& human hearts, under the obsidian knife; red cosmogony of living universe
use to rule those acts of sacrifices to complete the whole circle of infinity life
just to reborn continually; we are sons of just another sacred humanity that had
preceded us & refuse to die.
Then we were fucked by Spain & pirates, but shit, like I said we just reborn, some
of us are a medley of many indigenous & occidental races. The rest is just
history, perhaps by 1910 the journalism John Kenneth Turner wrote in “Mexico
Barbaro”, months before of the Mexican Revolution, Yaquis
& Mayas were enslaved on henequen plantations; their bodies, sick or weak even
alive, were just throw out to the crocodiles; he visited many of them in
Yucatan; brutal times that had had not changed at all; every event of brutality
and violation of human rights from this pig dictatorshit in order of hashtags
if you wanna research on twitter, my beloved reader, this new panorama:
#Mireles #Atenco #AguasBlancas, #Acteal
#GuarderiaABC #Tlatlaya and more
recently made #Ayotzinapa #AccionGlobalporAyotzinapa
#GlobalActionforAytizinapa are a few; people are just tired of the swine narcopolitic
system of these bastards.
Thousands in our cities & many other cities
around the world, are marching day & night; tears of rage, #YaMeCanse #RenunciaEPN shots of dusts, hordes of campesinos de maiz, riders of tha moon,
long live #Atenco #Revolution with this peacefull machete, spirit of #Zapata
saludos hermanos del mundo please follow the hashtag: #20NovMx and the others . . .
sangre y perfume aprendiz de nahual 3 times 3 those cruces are swimming but the fingerlings romp, the feathers that flourished were from canaries miners, nothing more 3 fingerlings 3 pens and clouds hell raising on midday sun 3 heart lagarto blood, 3 blue deer 3 fingerling.
Retrato, Pintura Corazon entre Tres Alevines Mixta on Warro 50 x 70 cms. 2011
I smell your ether pheromone
Like bitch monochrome
it´s time to come back...
come baby into my teeth & ties
in my house of flies
through dead skin,
because this heart hurts me like a sweet knife
into the flesh and very deep in my bones
just liking madness on the dirty floor...
... that piece of human being...
You most fly away…so far
There no promises here
we have to eat your flesh
I know there’s a promised
land but is not here…not in this crap
Stockton Thompson18 July 1937 - 20 February
gonna make it look like suicide"
know how those bastards think."
last shot of Gonzo
“Life should not be a journey to the grave
with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but
rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally
worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!”
shot ofDr. Gonzo against that old skull,
full of acid, a tired man, tired of every political shit that was happening, Nixon
same motherfucker as Bush, the Christian intifada, the depression, the old savage
shark, the violent teeth, the true words, too many cigarettes, too many acid,
too many mexcaline, too many ether, too many is not too much when paranoia
turns up; homicide?, suicide? Whatever, he was living from the old days, found
his own edge, the torment in all that neurotransmitters, a tough
drug warrior, those things that just is like the caffeine to us in mornings, a
true rebel that let us a legacy to all of us that cover up with the flag for
the free journalism, the other communication, but he maybe ignored these things; but passing years people look back to him,
& rememberlike he said that every
time that we lit a cigarette in his honor, we most think like he did”, the internationalization
of Gonzo, that stoned & subjective journalism against the classical politic
view of Washington, that main enemy who in these days it’s a political bloody shit that is already fucking nations &
towns all around the globe, that was the same savage beast that Gonzo was
already hunting, he felt that he lost that battle, but not the war, cause we
are here like a damn echo, stones that screw in the system shoe, all this
insane fuckers whose before him & then him we just choose those paths of
revelation & true, at least for the living of a good society, but maybe the
real fight where every man & woman, children; those that just not belong to the conventional thoughts,
this failed beast system, so if we are in this ride of awareness fight, break the ticket, meanwhile take a
mescal with orange & ginger beer, with your favorite drug meal, cause there
is a long road to keep writing; “Sleep
late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey and drive fast on empty streets with
nothing in mind but falling in love and not getting arrested.”