22 01 2010

Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

Perched on the eaves, without balls to fall onto the cuban street, or stabbed by a fellow citizen due to envy or political fight (violent death is always political).

Digitalized ipso facto by an amateur voyeur or a DTI expert, totally-dead@revolution.cu, orbiting around a virtual planet that we never had a chance to connect to while alive.

Killer desperation. Terminal boredom. Flashings from a future that stinks of the past of our worst country. Don’t talk to strangers. Protect your loved ones from these rickety memories. Pretend to be a foreigner at every opportunity. Leave, with its two nationalized meanings (fool the imperative mood): leave or go crazy…

Repressed reality like a pressure cooker. Atrocious baby sitter. Lymph Rice wants to marry a widow with capital: who can cook, who can tack, who puts a bullet on your head…. Exorcism of the democratiphobic demons who sit at the door of a belated or moronic transition.

Not a civil, but a somatic war. Who will upload the anonymous dead onto the world wide morgue? Which of us will rot in the cold in a madhouse, first state owned, the privatized? Which of us will overdie ourselves as victims and which as our interchangeable executioners of the truth?

Posthumous peace, post-motherland.

Let the TV broadcasters sharpen their lenses. Who drum from already sufficient epitaphs of the announcers of (cut) neck and tie. Now let the decapited tie- fitted announcers type their epitaphs. Whoever has a body, save it from local warming.

I am also standing at the end of the cliff.

The power police hand me their mobile phones with free credit (during tricky times, freedom takes refuge in details like these). The power-police’s police hand me their impersonal proceedings and, just as a matter of courtesy, at the same time they demand that I sign them, and exempt me from signing. Everybody without exception, you and you included, wants to extract the amorphous mass of my heart without anesthesia. Everybody wants to taste social insolence in the middle of zoo-cial discipline.

I can’t abandon myself, I can’t abandon-cuba. However, I can’t also disconnect myself from you or you. I am everybody, I am you, and you.

Digitalized ipso facto by an amateur voyeur or a DTI expert, totally-resuscitated@revolution.cu, I orbit around a viral planet which I never had the chance of contaminating while alive.

Translated by LM



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