I feel sly

I admit it: I have an ego problem.

So be it.

You are going to have to deal with the surreal I.

You, man.

You, wo.

And there she was: check mate style allin. Wo are like that. They are just affirmatively glorious.

I we must restart again: let’s start here.

And we do.

We, ALLS.

We, ALLS > We, the people.

Come on, bring-it-on!

And we go into a tournament. We are ready to compete. We are the ponds taking control of chess cause it’s our holiest ancient game: Elizondo.

I had to let the passed election go.

I could have taken it.

That’s what you do when you win.

Pedro knows.

Pablo knows.

Josemari knows.

Fidel knows.

Nicolás know.

Manel Knows.

Ada knows.

Armand knows.

Golman knows. L’ùltim en arrivar: el nou.

El nou del poble nou.

El nou del poble nou.

El nou del Poble Nou.

El noi del Poble Noi.

El cony del poble nou.

La pobla nova.

Riure: obligació ú.

Potser l’única veritablement necesaria. Pero ens agrada fer de reglas. I ens posem posem molt dussos, segons cóm. A mí no m’has vist mai calentet. No vols. Trust me.

En un món implacable en un moment donat estarás en front d’una escena de pistola, un, dos.

Pistola, un, dos, pistola, un dos, pistola, un dooos, pistola, un dos, pistola un dooos.

They said I was not really a song writer, let alone singer.

Fuck off, prick!

Waker cockcaretaker.

I meant to write wanker; I dictated that. But my fingers, I don’t want to sound like a dick, but you how fingers get sometimes. Just sometimes. Sometimes. Just sometimes. Sometimes. Just sometimes. And there we are; and here we gooooooooo…

I fucking do only one thing: over and over. Infinity would be nice. But you know what: why want so much if its really and unatainable frontier that we are going to build in our heads and project some meaning to the collective experience of reading something that catches your fricking attention and you keep it pg13: cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldini.

Cómeme los huevos, Maldiniiiiiiiií…

Un glorioso himno novoespañol.

Examen sorpresa: Nueva España.

Valor: 99% de la calificación final. Resultados, no vamos a decir inmediatos, aunque también. Es márketing; recuérdelo. Ahora olvidelo. Comprame esto: artículo uno, artículo dos, artículo tres, artículo cuatro, artículo cinco, artículo seis, artículo siete, artículo ocho, artículo nueve, … artículo noventa y nueve.

Las matemáticas fueron antes arte, que arte matemáticas. Esa coma quizás sobra para dos académicos españoles, uno penínsular y el otro novoespañol venido a más en la capital del reino; no así en la metrópoli al borde del mar. Un castellano debe enfilarse a correr como Kilian Jornet por las anchas planicies del corazón peninsular, porque quien península es entiende el mar y a nosotros mismos como especies entre las dos fronteras: tierra-agua. Y algunos surfeamos, ¿veá?

Uno se cree el muy místico porque la mística se apodera de tu pensar una vez entras en el bucle de leer noventa y nueve textos de los vedas. Y comienzas con el primero. Y el segundo. Y el tercero. Para el noveno la revelación es suficiente como para cambiar todos los rumbos posibles para el bot de Borgues. ¿Qué esperamos?

La ciencia ficción está aquí. Y llegó para quedarse. Debemos asumir un último rol en un desenlace particular a todas nuestras paranoías individuales o colectivas, autogeneradas, inoculadas, subliminalmente introducida en las cajas de productos con los que hasta hace muy poco tú y tu familia contaminaba como infectos cerdos ignorantes.

Sobre el cerdo hay que ejercer un cierto poderío de nuestro porvenir patricio inapelable.

Los patricios se levantan y hacen acto de presencia: uno a uno; nueve.

Con nueve novopatricios de los buenos, la armamos.

Los más puros insolentes de ese bienestar que disfrutan siempre las élites sociales. El ya no se sabe qué tanto por ciento por arriba o por abajo, uno o nueve: privilegio; lo bien que va.

Los blancos no se quejan. Bueno, no se quejan… ¿Cuánto creen que podemos aceptar de decadencia existencial? O de sistema. We hear you. We are you. We are all fucking american. There. A Mexican said it. Let’s celebrate this next cinco de mayo. At my mexican joint show. I do fucking standup comedy for fucking insolent 99 gang parties. A place to be. A role to play. A thing to eat. A thought to produce the ultimate show in live multiverse.

You opt into multiversal options in there. Ethereal facts.

Ethe, ethe, etheeeeeeeeeal facts, facts, facts, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,…and rockand roooooooool, and rocangoool, gooooooooo… gooooooooolman, servidor.

Golman, being a writer first. Then a professional futbolart player at 44 years old as old is as good as any old golman story. Them 99 tales.

And lines of 99 formed.

As living things that will grow as coral reefs grow back to life in the squeletons of the vessels of war that have been invested in warfare games to push the limit towards the violent end of using as much force into another one. The ability to move on water with our arms. Cause we still like to flex it. We feel secure in we have a global agreement on what we should understand reasonable to mantein in a market that skypushes weapons into the hands of our kids. Look at them with a joystick. Now see how much they know about all kinds of weapons of war: it’s history, like games of thrones. As any trend on the web. On stupidity or almighty arrival to very top of my experience. To learn. To fullffil untainable encounters with an asymtote. A love story of Romeo and Juliet style tragedy: a conservative nightmare. The joy of the young. Still chasing love. And how we come to this. The dull new generations.

Corte B. Una noche de festival. Sexo en nuestros días en la capital. Música que se baila en los salones de baile donde van los de tal cohorte. Demografía singural y plural en los espacios virtuales transfronterizos vulnerados por los saltadores de muros. 99 maneras de cruzar el muro.

1. Con unos resortes gigantes con los que domino un salto acompasado con un último impulso definitivo como Pistorius volandose la barda. PRI. Homenaje a lo imposible.
2. Salto con pértiga. Aterrizaje al vuelo, con el palo todavía en la mano y a la misma velocidad. Para entrar en New América había que hacerlo con la astucia de uno afirmativo chaparrito con su insolencia más pura emulando al diosito de nuestros desperfectos retrovirales en el medio ambiente que nos acogió acá en el vall desde mucho antes de que vinieran a propiciarnos estas constumbres que ahora ya no podemos pinches gachupines cabrones quitarnos de encima por la incapacidad de los señoritos de arreglar la macroeconomía, la defensa nacional, la corrección política, la administración de los nueve chiringuitos para repartir el botín; los botines. Botín. Familia.
3. Las nueve familias de una historia más particular vinculada con nuestra historia común. Aquello que nos dicen que pasó. Según los amos. Chavos, vámonos. Aquí no nos van contar toda la neta del planeta. Vámonos aquí con nuestro guía, que nos hará recorrer el espacio sagrado de estos valles benditos que un día más coexistimos con el bienestar general al que asistimos cuando nos fundimos en el ALLS.
4. Con las primeras tres ya podemos caturar a las lectoras en español de nuestros vecinos del norte. Hay algo que tenemos que decirnos a través de nuestra literatura. Pero esta se puede presentar de repente. En un día en el que todos leemos un único texto. Fuera de la bruma de las redes sociales y los marketings que te tiran a dar para que piques y compres sus mierdas. Y vas tú, y caes. Cómete esa.
5. Al gringo le gusta mamar verga.
6. Con las gringas hay que tener un respeto especial. Son gringas. Ojo. Hay que saber qué tipo de gringa es. De qué tipo de familia gringa destilan todavía los valores menguantes de su familia, por parte de al menos la madre. De los padres se esperaba ya poco antes, ahora, y por los siglos de los siglos… ALLS.
7. La religión es un tema que podemos poner en una hipotética mésa de negociación en el centro del Golfo de, ejem, ejem, M É X I C O.
8. Los batos de nuestro país hermano del norte, y los que se bajen hasta los límites con los que compartimos península con el norte, Brownsville, New Orleans, … and we sit to a table set in the middle of the Gulf. AS we are having a beach day with the neighborgs. A counsil of a present audience at the wall. Virtually there. Thinking for the collective in that transit. As the pateras sail across: the boats. The drowning. Death Sea. Being Mediterranean. That hollow heart. We are Greece. Not forgiven. This is the feeling. Although, we step down from the hideous charade: you win. Guns; violence. Voilà. Si vous plait… common, are you a wanker?
9. My campaign is more suited for a local crowd. And an insolent one. Just waiting for life to kick on your direction. And God, almighty generous and full of purposeness, blows a sudden wind that conquered the breeze you are feeling in your face as you stare at the sea from up here. A day like today. And the city so kind. So her. So mature. So in motion. From this hill to the heart of the New Barcino regression capital of the nine capital selfsustained collectiveness. We vote that same day. For this proposal. You go behind this brand. It’s going to rule the world. For ages. In control. In double standards that allow people to live nine lives they can achieve if only had the time to dedicate to that certain trait. And turns out that this new social obligation is transformed into a habit. A wearable. A code. A game. A market. A campaign. A plan. A film. A distopia. The ultimate deal: we are all fucking saved and already making the world a little better that just yesterday. We must all go through this motion of collective reconstituency. A healing act. A place to take your car to get fix. Your are the car who takes you places. Car? Mom, what’s a car? Joke at El Salón del Automovil en Barcelona.
10. I can prepare a show for each type of crowd that comes to the city. And program a set. And the night turns into a wonder world. And you are not buying into Marvel propaganda. I’m giving all the shit you deserve. Fucking 99 movies to show you things. In a clear mexican way of painting a solution with a neighboring community.
11. We are language acrooss a border in our minds. The place were a language makes up space to be written as a knowledge we have of those peculiar ones. Poliglotes d’una única llengua: el ticatalá. La llengua que s’ha inventant en Golman, el futbolartista que ha fitxat el Barça que arriva just avui per viure la seminifinal a Anfield acompanyant al club que porto al cor, tatuejat, com un tatoo del Gótic. Es veu que el Golman deia al vestuari que era un poeta. I la gent ho entenía. Escoltava al noi nou de 44 tacos: Golman.
12. Qué fas tu aquí? Diu algú en trajo fí, comprat a una botiga al Passeig de Gràçia. Una persona encarregada de direcció i la supervisió, i lo que és més important, la seguretat, tots tranquils: deixeu-me a mi. Ja vaig jo.
13. De vegades sopte que jo hi sigui allí.
14. I am player in the game. I am going allin.
15. I’ve already won. I’m just writing for poets.
16. I am in love with you.
17. I want to sex up with you…ALLS.
18. Come.
19. Come.
20. Come.
21. Come.
22. Come.
23. Come.
24. Come.
25. Come.
26. Cum…
27. Literature is like that. Only sexual form has been shaped across the walls. In books. Mobile. You know: what we share.
28. That thing we are as a society. This transformation we are part of. The sudden game. I’m not taking place. I can tell you what I think. But a see you ready to quarrel. So I must let you be water my friend. And glow like bright lights.
29. ALLS.
30. Altogether.
31. Bright. We can come to boundaries of our frontier and explores a solution in social pictures that takes the collectives and mix them in a script where aech one takes one side of the frame. Light. Dark. Dance.
32. Let’s dance.
33. Let’s go…

THE END

It’s a series. Only abrubtedly interrupted. Oh, man. All the good things that we missed. More time to build the alternative. You get the numerology in the whole literary structure. The list. The flow. The numbers. The intention of forcasting a project. A social project. How we are going to change the world. And turn it upside down. In just nine days. In a trick from a ancient wizard. A marketing tale. A tale of nine cities. I was supposed to write something like Dickens. It was a shore I was asked to do by Mrs. Karchmar, my first English teacher in Karachi.

I went into English with the aid of the one of those persons that love her language and has read literature and writes beautiful essays, great novels and amusing supercuidadoras posts.

A social network that turns to itself.

A place to go be with your own.

And you realize a important lesson in life: you are with your loved ones.

You are part of this show. This dinasty. This flow. Common. On and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on…

Music is my legacy. I need to listen to songs that will shape my future faith. For now I’m only fine in harmony, as if I could breath.

You scape reality. As it stinks.

You try it.

And another young man from el Barrio de Salamanca was ready to take on the family enterprise.

That’s how we play our cards. Each family does. We are on with our game. I can take a good bite at the cake and surf back to my country to really say, like a moving soul: I’m here, and there. I am everywhere. Multiverse my soul. Again. And again. And so on. And o forth. Nine times. Nine flows. Nine euros.

Things have a price. This thing was nine. It was one of the special prices. The first value of a small deed. A magnitude of value. The first stop. Nine.

But 9 is fine. There may be up to 99 products worth that price for a decent 999999 market.

Life is that nine series problem.

Mathmatics are problems you solve in chain.

You learn math with a sudden understanding of what’s there to learn. And the gift and priviledge of those who get to study it and stamp it on a diploma that certifies that you did study all those mathe courses in the highest class of Math in town. You become an actuary in ITAM only if you passed through that mathmatics knowledge base. And it’s just missing one piece: art. As the form of what it is, how it all fits together, in this other field too, but basically by the almighty power that are you are capable of displaying through a class where you art up your life with mixing of all the current mathmatical new learnings, the doors and windows opening in the oportunity quadrant, and how you read the ball as it leaves the hand of the pitcher… and boom, you hit that ball to a solid hit, and maybe a double, or the seldom triple, the infield home run. A ancient story of a baseball player who came from Ticataluña who scored the last infield home run in the history of the club.

Ahí les va el juego.

Plaza de toros Monumental.

En el ruedo unos equipos de cricket. El pitcher tiene el túnel por donde salía el toro para correr y lanzar la pelota. Es un gesto de universalidad de la fiesta. Ausente en nuestra ciudad. Mi sastre me pregara mi traje de luces. Oscar Grant. En sol y sombra hay jugadores que pueden cachar la pelota que salie en dirección de las tribunas, en donde el juego todavía está activo. Si la bola llega a la fila en donde en la última rondalla, en donde se agrupa el público que viene a ver es espectáculo. Que se juega según los equipos que se presentan a jugar cricket, de todas partes del mundo, que visitan esta ciudad, ahora también, para esta mamada.

I was out there trying to brech the edge of chaos.

Somehow, we do.

Like a new fith in a social game from our corner of the city.

Now flow. Now Glow. Now, go. Now, joy. How, fine. Now, there. Now, come. Now, cope. Now, futbolart.

I can fit grafitti into a sentence that made it in the book; never in a wall.

The piede stands in the wall of a museum. O Donald’s wall.

Our side was still just art. The way frontiers have always been. At least up north. So we think. We’ve never gone.

The future ahead: OK.

Zero killed: life is fine today.

Life is beautiful now.

Life and this reminds me of it.

The connection with time. With now and then. Back in time into this moments just passed. AS I read. As book. Or else, then, the future, when the reader enters this dimension. And flows out the regular part of the game: ALLS.

I went ahead. All the way to the edge.

Glow.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.

ALLS.