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The necropolitics - XXIX

XXIX

“hic iacet lepus” [12]

was only one person I expected the unexpected visit with absolute confidence. The only person who probably was at the height of mental disorder necropolitics.

P. Brotons knew the only hobble to confront the threat that he himself had created. Of no use brute force and therefore had ordered the police to stay out of contention for many desperate calls you receive.

As the old villains from the comics, Brotons, had trained your mind to get optimum results with minimum effort, even if he had to sacrifice the lives of some citizens.

saw Efren appear in a van flanked by cafe tables, not so white, which in turn had joined a couple of corpses dripping. The bread crumb that had sown the road Brotons bore fruit. Ephrem was right where he wanted and welcomed himself to have hatched a plan so effective in only 30 minutes which was available after the news of the escape of deranged swamp.

With his powerful arms opened main balcony of the consistory. Inside the office, his assistant Dyango, except would witness the total destruction that had been his most important work as a professional psychologist.

Efren spotted on top of the fortress as a huge blaze incinerated twenty meters from the central balcony doors.

" Is it a dragon? "mused Efren while clung more tightly to Mary. I was anxious to discover how the devil would have taken on that occasion and, as expected, decided to shoot the stomachs of those who, stunned, surrounded the vehicle with disbelief.

His coach was elevated a few feet above the ground for warring angels who were his particular army. He kept shooting at the time the choir of cherubim he spiraled flying off. This time the melody was sung a unique "twist and shout" very appropriate for the occasion: "twist" to Ephraim, "shout" for the people.

said a voice suddenly filling the entire plaza de Baix. Efren stopped her dancing with a pair of explosions that dry on the office, on the second floor, were now at their height. Approached the vehicle to City Hall.

Leaving the sunlight, Brotons, raised his finger, pointing to Efren from above. Then said - Martinez will return to regurgitate worms - releasing a wide somewhat forced laugh.

The ragged figure who was driving the van of the City Council amended froze for a moment. One could guess that under the noses of a sudden pallor subject of genuine terror. Efren Martinez had returned to their school days with a simple phrase. The voice came to cry

- Martínez, remember who I am?

The demon crossed the threshold of the door. The nebula appeared shapeless and while the sky growled throwing glowing meteors. The earth trembled at the hideous sight of the devil in its original form. Monstrous tentacles packed with waving arms trying to hit the winged companion of the savior.

The many mouths that emerged again and again shouted fleshy block - Martinez will return to regurgitate worms - . Something is definitely stumbled into Ephrem. Several images came rushing to support so great affirmation ("Martinez?). Put aside these thoughts by giving them a blow with his elbow and focused on the evil beast, absolute focus of evil and filth. Mary struggled to shed the sticky liquid that ran through the rotten vital veins of his opponent. CLAC, CLAC!

Brotons Ephrem saw how blatant dared to challenge him, as he was loading his gun, ignoring the mental barrier that just launched. Dyango looked fleeting and mentally questioning him: "What the hell is happening? Why not come down? ".

terrified Dyango went on the balcony, opened mouth to explain, "this ... but ...." An unexpected burst of lead snatched the ability to speak, being extended to the feet of the council. Brotons knew that the next would be for him. With a rapid movement at all was a credit to their size, their guides took one of the three flags that adorned the balcony. Of course Spain. Kissing the badge is perched on the railing and prisoner of sadistic fury leapt clutching the mast to Ephrem.

The pain was expected to cause suffering and was too strong to ignore. The doors were open pleasure.

The viscous fear grew its huge, elongated horn from the depths of his heart, while increasing its volume. Ephrem was entrusted to God before the supreme moment of martyrdom, for he knew that he must die.

The sun was totally blocked by the bulky mass overflowing the balcony. The devil had jumped at him. Mary received a frantic succession of thunderous shock. Ephrem was prepared for the butt end and his own salvation.

"LET THE SUN SHINE,

LET THE SUN SHINE,

THE SUN SHINE IN ..."

---

[12] "Here lies the hare." Expression which means "this is the mother of the lamb."

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The necropolitics - XXVIII

XXVIII

Ephrem was happy. His dream became reality. The punishment was administered with mastery and sense of serving the sky filled his wet crotch in a growing waves of viscous liquid flowing. Although behind the Glorieta was , was in heaven. Would once have been suppressed by many effective law enforcement, but at the time, not a single policeman or civil guard's face loomed over there where he spent his particular "VUATIR" rammer. Anyway, its purpose was so clear I could not stop to ponder other ends that were not: kill and destroy. But ... was not his work of SAVE ? Everything was very confusing. The bloodbath had disrupted their already confused thinking.

" things I wonder? Yellow sheets are turned by the syringe. "Leila? Forgive? "Fists and lambs bastards? The ox and does not spit before and terrify their wings without pens. "

went back to Ephraim, the Brokerage was packed to infect. Brumm, BRUMMA! Retained the fury of the vehicle with the brake pedal and enjoyed an excellent view of the flock of sheep that was to lead the bloody fold. Laid the foundation and did not stop accelerating until impact with the first bodies. Again, the devilish smile lit her face Efren, if possible even more terrifying to those who already knew long ago that the end was near. A complacent gaze directed peers, white angels also distributed a great time. They had dug a slender arms, dragging hundreds of dying and bruising. A tire burst, but this was no impediment to Ephrem, but on the contrary, as the bare aluminum rim proved itself to adverse situations: not only allowed the advance of the van, but decapitated and mutilated bodies with much more easily than did their Rubber three other sisters. Efren not understand why they chanted around him were being killed. Have not thanked him for his tremendous efforts to free them from purgatory?!

smashed the car into a shop with two floors. After walking on various bodies and finish the destiny that God had given, was to bump against the testers where Foul dreamers trying to hide behind the curtains, which, once were then stained with dark bright spots. Increasingly larger with each new attack. He went back quickly despite the bumps and kept going. The City Council stood ya en lontananza.

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The necropolitics - XXVII

XXVII

A large crowd of distinguished citizens of the ring walked calmly through the streets of the Brokerage . The "buy" or "shopping" had become for some years, something of a sport and had real experts on the subject. Even rumors of the possible inclusion of this activity as an Olympic discipline in the coming games, given their wide dissemination and acceptance (and the size of the wallets of those who practiced).

A van City White emerged from the carrer Ample, and almost like a shot, went to the Glorieta sidewalk. hooked several tables wore white terrace behind, in front and sides. Just a few moments after the brokerage was invaded by loud cries. That truck driving in the opposite direction. And run over every pedestrian that crossed his path!

The "Help!", "Help!" And "So!" That "shoppers" uttered, apparently did not reach the driver of the vehicle, which was still stamping bodies that intercepted the floor or wall. Some were pinned to the bars of the tables. Other people could see the face of the murderer, just like a beggar, but there was something in his eyes ...

In Massimo Dutti, the window shattered moons had severed the body of a girl who bled to death while watching how Zara plant below was taken by the destruction. Dresses, sweaters and mobile flying with arms, legs and ears in a ballet gory and cruel. Revelation will come to a haven of VISA GOLD!

began to hear explosions.

The subject of the van had gone down the window and through it to spit fire was a terrible great shotgun. All died in agony under the wheels or under the bullets of the executor unexpected moments before had burst into the quiet and burdensome lives of the inhabitants of the city center.

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Bukowski and

I've always heard Bukowsky hear, but never read. Now that I've been a few I can assure you it is probably one of the funniest writers I've encountered. However ... no But nobody told me about him in high school. Teachers continue to teach poetry of Garcilaso and slabs as Lazarillo de Tormes, which have nothing to do with the reality of a teenager century. I'm not saying they're bad, I say that if the purpose of literature courses at the institute is to promote reading, create the embryo of a future reader, then you are following the exact opposite way. And I refer to the evidence, I think it is no secret that illiteracy is growing concern in Spain. It is already very difficult to find a university to write without spelling mistakes or knows comprehend a text.

A teen wants sex and violence, so let's give him sex and violence if we want to keep reading. Someone may think this is crazy, and would have the same effect as television. But my theory is simple: if the way in which we give sex and violence is the book, the monster we have created is a monster smart, not stupid monster that is generated by television. And is not the same. It is known that more dangerous than a wicked man is a fool. The monster of the books know how to distinguish their reading of reality, since you have developed in him the ability to reason and imagine. Once accustomed to reading, will eventually leaving aside those texts and becoming interested in things of more substance.

Here I talk about Bukowski, but there are many writers who would be infinitely better than continuing the current system of forcing students to memorize the works of Manuel Machado. It is an act of infinite cruelty that a person knows these things and instead I've ever heard of such a Benedetti, or of such a Borges, or the best love story ever, "The Invention of Morel" Bioy Casares. There is a English writer, I live, which fits perfectly with the young reader, called Ray Loriga, and I hope one high school teacher lost deign to read it and recommend it if need be.


is not therefore avoid the creation of monsters, the monsters are inevitable. It is growing neurons to be he who choose their fate.

However, if what it is to make potential readers ... if it is a question of knowing the answers to the questions in Trivial ... then go ahead, keep on the clear path where many have gone dull in the world have been, continue filling in this country and this world of headless puppets.

Here you have this hilarious gem of Bukowski:

THE WHORE THAT TOOK MY POEMS
"Some say we should eliminate the poem
personal remorse,
remain abstract, there is some merit in this, but
BY GOD! Twelve poems
lost and I have copies!
And you took my pictures, the best!
is intolerable!

you trying to fuck me like everyone else?
Why do not you take my money? Usually
him out of the dorms and pants
drunk and sick in the corner.
Next time take my left arm or a ticket of 50,
but not my poems.


I'm not Shakespeare but I might someday write no more,
abstract or the other.
will always be money and whores and drunkards
until the last bomb falls,
but as God said,
folding legs:
see I have created many poets but not much poetry. "

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Yesterday I went down for coffee and a newspaper were not normal, I had no choice but to take the mark. Focus on the situation with the attitude of an entomologist who has in his hands New issue of arthropod in Tasmania, or as a football juador which is one of the lost books of Tacitus in the toilets of a nightclub. I began to read from behind, as I do with all the newspapers, and I found a surprise. There a story about bulls and bullfighting. As I do not like football, I read this review because other (indebatible reasoning that I use very often). I found that the literature was written was simply exquisite. A lot of words full of musicality, many metaphors and a clear destination in meanings. Infinitely superior to the annals of any other "sport."

PD: My take on the Bulls reserve me for another day.

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THE necropolitics - XXVI

XXVI

Efren climbed back into the vehicle and immediately headed to the named speed premonizaba the end of his quest: Victoria Kent.
People rushed sidewalks on the van, according to Ephrem, reach heaven faster than their messiah brought them so kindly. Without regard to race, sex, religion or age, all were saved with the metallic onslaught that Efren horse riding. knew very well that the screaming of children was a sign that they had reached a state of high excitement, mystical , typical of the states close to divinity. Ephrem was excited and huge tears welled in her eyes tired of dilated pupils. It was so beautiful work! But he knew that he who gave it the mandate could not leave him at that apocalyptic moment in which finally culminated in his great feat, Sooner or later the hand of the maker is physically manifested.
was getting to the vicinity of CP Baix Vinalopó. They were the first days of the course and many schoolchildren flocked to the edge of the city, hoping probably that Efren have pity on them - Let the children come to me! - Efren shouted that he had been quoting his example in his new life of total dedication to others.
clattered down the stairs down, the van pulled the bodies of children. Open arms were clearly an expression of joy receiving his baptism of pain tormenting . "Mmmmm!" A fetishistic pleasure appeared in the crotch of Ephrem to hear a CRUNCH, CRASH, Blump with his victims gave her. It was a sublime symphony of swirling under the wheels of the van.

sure was God's will that the bridge was almost completely empty Altamira since Efren turning towards him, saw in the distance the diligent army of sinless angels waiting to drive more easily to the place the final battle.
sounded the bells of St. Mary's heavenly. Efren thought "God has specifically chosen this day." The beautiful songs of extraordinary representation of El Misteri followed the rhythm of the tides mental Ephrem.
traveled at full speed Eucharistic Congress Square and a large amount of white angels joined his mount and extending strong arms, almost metallic, strung the numerous bodies of infected unhappy gathered there. Efren
had to make several passes to make sure that the work was well done, though he knew he had not yet reached the final focus of infection and should not delayed.

On the Carrer Ample arrived quickly at the cozy Glorieta, where a small tic reminded certain class of people who inhabited these parts, those who roamed the Broker, in and out frantically count the numerous shops in exchange for tickets dispatched things .

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The necropolitics - XXV

XXV

Ephrem often dreamed. But it was not his dreams ... peaceful. Quite the contrary. Due to the profound suffering mental disorder, the reality was soon destroyed as a reference and raw materials for manufacturing subconscious dream. Yes, Efren was very mad, and his dreams came from the set of feelings he experienced in killing, which had created a strange fabric without law and order, a world where there was only one main character [11] , accompanied by large number of victims of various kinds. The night before the awakening of Ephrem, his dream was this:

"a new day dawning. I get up. I'm in a white room. I leave the room. I'm in the room. White furniture, white walls. I do not like. Knock on the door Knock, knock. I open the white door. I see a housing development milk white and said to be the milkman. A white guy with a bottle of white milk glass and white teeth. I have to pay. "Pa ... Garle?" No. I have to "hit". Kick in the gut. Gasp. I return to it. Punch in the mouth. Shout Help! No blood flows. That angers me. I take the bottle and placed on the face. Now it is bleeding. But not only the milkman. Everywhere. The white houses turn red. The walls are stained dark. It makes the night. The milkman falls at my feet. Dying. Look at the sky. The moon is very large. But ... damn. The bitch is white. Deep howl like a wolf. Delirious to hear milk. Much blood. Below him ... with my feet. Red and thick. Caliente ... I realize I'm naked. I lie on the puddle left by the milkman. I smeared. I look at the moon, and this time not see. Refining the vision. Yes it is, but is now a hole. A black hole. Attracts me. Attracts everything you see. Flying houses, cars fly. Palmeras, bicycles. No people. Only remnants of the battered distinguish between the noise dairy. I have no fear. But I'm going to die. I'm cold. I'm in and I am not dead. I am ... I am awake. "

_________________________________________ [11] El Salvador.

The necropolitics - XXV Coig Marí by Francisco Serrano and Juan Pastor is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License Spain. Elbichoonline