¿Quién elige el NEW?

El tico commons como opción multiversal

I thought it was a categories game. I was wrong. There was something more. There are always many ways of complicated the expected result. The overall outcome. The output. The strategy. The vision. The mission. The idea. The business model. The stakeholder crew. The value proposition. The values. The narratives. The impact. The management. The map. The KPIs. The citizen engagement involved and committed to the noumenal NEW idea. That’s how much it takes if you were to expand the categories in which you will unleash your own personal story as a succesfull story of not just your economic success story. Please. We are impressed and all. But status quo of the Ritch & Famous shines and all but still does not cover the entire crew. The unfair story. The uneven field. The priveledges you and me have foster. And kept. And not even think about.

I give you time now.

To reverse it.

And take control.

With a plan.

Or a blan, rather.

Seems the same; AIN’T.

I’m a neyer; and a sayer.


Of course.

We will.

We are.

We may.

We did.

We do.



Those two brands, welo and welov, are bigger than Apple and Google.

It’s raising the bar above the possible reacheble state of nature. Don’t panic. Please. Enough. Enough of your macho ways you fucking white dickheads you make shove your «official tale of what we, the people, are according to the white old NEW américan faggots: the nazigunlovingrightlythemansthemanandmoralwithabibleandprostitutedmalescumcalledalphamachos.

It’s a long name. I just love to go against the common stupidity. Not that I am that hot shit, nor I would deny the outskirt of my imagery. Be that a story, a poem, a performative futbolartistic happenning delivery, el gol del gane, el orden del día del webinar, la ilustración de justo lo contrario, la idea a debatir sobre la comunicación social de una emergencia colectiva del pueblo unido a un novedoso concepto al margen de la razón, el consenso social en la dimensión en la que nos encontramos atrapados, y la alternativa de irnos a tomar por culo justo a las antípodas de toda esta sinrazón. ¿No sería ese el lugar más adecuado para ir a reflexionar cómo no hacer lo que hacen esta bola de pendejos a los que que el foco todavía les ilumina con la gloria que se da única y exclusivamente a Dios Padre, hombre sin duda, a Jesús, Dios Hijo, hombre también salvo que Él expresamente nos lo viniera a confesar en la carta que nos mandó, a su pueblo-hermandad-porlossiglosdelossiglos………ALLS.

The truth is interpreteded in the NEW mass.

This is radical shit.

Get ready.

The ark my holy Father send with me is a NEW internet. A NEW network. A NEW narrative. A NEW system. God allowed this by sending his second son. Wait for the girl, he send me to say. That will kill of the shit still remaining. From Jesus to Golman is a closed loop still already open. The transfer of time-space relativity NEW approach: Golmans PhD nine-pager-model was the key to a nine month exhibition of the NEW thesis statement.

I’m an actuary.


I did the five years only ITAM can warranty.

I know the quality of the agents that studied this thing I was taught to be.

Don’t renounce anything quite so fast.

Hold on to your dreams.

Bring them here.

Let’s put them in a happening bit.

Let’s make this show a market.

A NEW uno.

A NEW one.


That would be my other brand name. This is the birth of a NEW place. A NEW community. I was born before UNONE was a thing. But now, here, written, it becomes a thing. And I become a slave. I’ve been powered by that idea. And I have to serve to the purpose of helping that idea come out. Let’s put together our brightest ideas.

That’s still silicon valley shit. And so is saying start from the problem-provide solution.

And at the end, they are right. It is that. It is that simple. It is that complicated. It’s a minefield. They still play the NEW américan capitalist storyline. That’s what we are. Puppets from the past. A cast in a play. A movie we imagined possible. And we are just ponds. And serve the strategy. That’s what working class people provide. Workforce. For somebody elses intention. A person capable of putting afloat a business idea and provide the product and the market transaction to actually keep the wheel moving. We are actors of this capitalist interaction going on in our daily activity. Somehow status quo is what it is. There is no way to tackle this shit state of nature we got stuck with. The shit is off the roof. It’s landing gently as we stare up to wittness the collapse of the nine pillars that sustained our low-energy pitiful capitalist neoliberal life.

Some of us lived elsewhere. In the world of literature. In the simplicity of making it through the day. The stability of a job. A good looking scheme to live connected to the world. Already providing an online revenue stream flowing your way. When so many people do. Secretely. In their succesful comercial interexchange of automatized monetary transactions through one of my nine paying channels. Payer and buyer. I’m an investor. An inventor. A philosopher. A futbolartist. A poet. A dick. A moron. A dumbass. A speak. A paki. A mexican. A tico commoner. A feedbackloopper. An evangelist. Jesus’ brother. Son of Father God. Sent by the MAN himself. Choose thy name, HE said. When I just a spirit at the table of eternity. Where I’ve already been. I come from a holiest nature. The preexisting space where there was something before ME: ALLS.

ALSS is the divinity. Even when apparently spoken «innapropiately». They are still holiest. The still connect to the standart ethernal motion of the NEW vibe.

The vibe if core of the NEW faith.

You ought to believe it.

It’s NEW only rule.

Believe it possible.

Believing was mandatory.

Only 99 books.

All written by the Son of God who would in a live happening will reverse time-space as a happening should, in the backard notion of time-space as we now it: forwards.

Fuck forwards.

Let’s back up.

Let’s step off.

I did it before.

I’ll only do it again to be the NEW history.

Not the end of the past one.

The going towards it.

Closer to Jesus.

My brother.

Our brother.

You are holiest.

You are here.

Here’s the NEW deal.

This is bigger that the Beatles + The Clash.

Brexiters vs Golman rethorics.

I don’t expect to be liked. And I expect a nemesis to be as way out there as they can. As they have shown their faces when they execute their hate. Those macho dicks ought to open their eyes. But I’m talking to the mirror. I am not throwing rock to my own cribb, I ain’t no fool, I’m just trying to pull a safer altered reality to lift you up as an artist who writes to reach you to a NEW place no artist has ever taken you, a bit of what the rappers before Kayne West brought with his perseverance. It’s how you come out into the world. As the world is so ready to take a good NEW story. I am just a lame storyteller. The best one inside. I’m failing to run away from the sense we need to make to write something worth having someone go over the word we spit with the tips of the nine fingers doing all the work. Morse code is not as relevant as your agile fingers on a keyboard.

Writers know how to write properly. Or type with one or two fingers in an Ollivetti.

Google está de fiesta. Sabe que es el penúltimo día del año. Del último año. Imagínense que este es el final del tiempo. Y que aquí el tiempo no se frena. Ni se acaba. Sino que se regresa. Se repliega.

Se trata del momento de volver. De darle la vuelta. Como si de pronto el símbolo de infinito se diera un voltereta. Y zaz, de vuelta le cambia el flujo de la eternidad y se transita ahora hacia el otro lado.

El tiempo atrás.

El momento de atravesar el tiempo.

La necesidad de hacerlo.

Cada vez más seguido.

Como si los ingleses dejaran el idiótico sistema de medición de unidades que utilizan y se adhirieran al sistema decimal.

Pero asumámoslo. Somos tan farsantes como ellos. Los amos de UK tienen razón. Y un morro que se lo pisan. Sólo hay que advertir sus elecciones. Nuestros némesis históricos. Nuestros brillantes hombrecillos de las bording schools de magos y wakers de nueve generaciones atrás.

Wankers; 9 generations.


The Wankers. Family sitcom.

Premiering on the 1st mirror day: January 1 2023

Imagine 23 never existed.

We need to start giving important shit up.

23 is a prime number.

Well, take it.

Remove it.

From the collective memory.

We are going to have to give it up.

The profecy anounces: if you all collectivelly give up 23, you’ll all enter to through the doors of heaven as they will come flying from the sky and project a NEW light into the meaning of this heaven on Earth atmosphere of the event. The concert lights ups and you and me and ALLS: ALLS; ALLS; ALLS: ALLS: ALLLS: ALLLLS: ALLLLLLLS; ALLLLLLLLLS………

La extensión de las nueve dimensiones.

Las libertades que se nos permite modelar en los modelos sistémicos del álgebra lineal aplicado a las matrices de nueve dimensiones en la que satisfacemos la prevalescencia del tico commons. La eterna pura vida. El instantáneo ALLS que recordamos ahora del segundo hijo de Dios Padre, al subir su copa y declamar la culminación de un preciso momento de iluminación: el tránsito de los mundanos divinos.

La búsqueda de mi olivetti azul. Spoiler alert! Resultado: not found.

Not found.

The end.

Let’s go back.

Bouncing back day.


Last/first day.


Ethernally loopping.








Deja una respuesta

Tu dirección de correo electrónico no será publicada.