La linea que separa a un valiente de un cobarde está trazada con cinismo.

noviembre 09, 2007

Gringo feelings (for gringos)

It's all about Aura, as it has been for the past 4 months.

It's funny because no one understands why on earth my world happens to be so broken right now. The gentle part is I don't really "have" to give an explanation on that. I can be broken just because. And I can stay broken just because my just because is good enough. But there are some people that can't take a no for an answer. So them, and only them, have been the ones who had been making me work my ass this very hard. But I don't really blame them, not really. And that's because humans, way more often than they'd like to, tend to become annoying, and blamy, and way too fucking needy for useless explanations like those we could ever deploy when it comes to your death, my dear Aura.

So it's almost around christmas, yeah, but they're not even trying to give us a happy new year. They wanna know why (can you fucking imagine?), but -if that wasn't uncomfortable enough- they also wanna know who. I keep telling them that there is no why and -obviously- there is also no fuckin whom. But not only they don't believe me. They also dare to get fucking angry, and they start getting suspicious about the details and the fine print of your death, which is -i dare to say- the stupidest thing they could have landed their fucking asses upon. It's kind of understandable, i gotta say, and that's mostly because losing you and having you being on the dead side of this universe was something i -myself- didn't really believe in until i realized you were really gone, and there was nothing i could fucking do about it.

So, they got angry. They started with this jerk-off point of view about you being dead for some reason. Then, they started blaming people. Frank, at first, then Fabiola, then Frank, then themselves, then Frank again -whatever- until then, they couldn't live with themselves. And they started blaming the very same people for that self-inflicted reality. How lame. How pityful. How stupid.

But this is not what i wanted to say in the first place. I only wanted to spit out my anger, my hatred, my profound despise for the so-called reason some assholes name as God. There is no fucking god, and there is no fucking reason for anything. And if there was any fucking reason -the same that is very unlikely to exist, but that still has a lot of followers and lamos behind it- i wouldn't hesitate to call it CRUEL. If God is a concept -like John Lennon said- he's a very cruel one. He doesn't know shit about life or justice. He's just there -fragile as any other asshole who has to live through this life- and therefore he doesn't have the slightest fucking clue about anything. He fucking sucks. As we all do. He fucking sucks, and then, he dies.

I might be exaggerating. I might be wrong. The thing is: I don't give a fucking damn. I'm sure this is happening. I'm sure you're not here anymore. And I'm sure Frank is grieving -and he's doing it in the greatest fucking way there is to grieve: regardless of the pain, strongly around dignity- yet, you're not here, and this is fucking happening.

It's all gone. We're all doomed to this fucking not-so-happy-ending which happens to be death. And there's nothing we can do about it.

I think, and i re-think, and I fucking re-re-think about a mild solution. There is none. It's all gone. You're gone. We're gone. And yet -but only maybe- we'll meet again.

And even if certainly hope so, i sincerely doubt it. I think you're long gone. And i'm gonna be the same.

No matter what we think, or what we do. Life's not giving any payback time.

So I better stick around, as much as I can, and if i kiss anyone back, i better not feel regretful.

Cuz life -this life at least- is all about one chance.

So seize the day. If you can.

"Estos son mis principios. Si no te gustan, bueno, tengo otros" Groucho Marx.

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