Anguish and Desire

"How are you supposed to act in the face of injustice? Human citizens are experts at turning a blind eye. Good people do not act in law but out of goodwill and conscience. However, following those laws and rules and playing with them is what, in theory, makes the species civilized. Organized? Structured? Common sense gets bogged down between laws, articles, subsections, and exceptions to the rule, while the virtues get muddied with thoughts of revenge and rage. Others, faced with despair or rather hopelessness, blocked, immobile, and incapable, simply think about dying and do so in many ways, not just by committing suicide. So, the scale does not make sense because that scale exists to maintain oppression and order, which does not allow any type of justice, only anguish, and desire for revenge. But revenge is not justice; justice is not divine but human. That selfishness of others made me think that even those who said they had made the revolution, in reality, it was a violent emotion of times of revenge, not of justice. They were not at all expecting a future, and now they had it. Perhaps they were in times of anguish and desire. Yes, I had it too. Even at that time, I kissed her against the wall, but those were different times, and that kiss marked me more than it did her. In her selfishness, she triumphs, and I? I just want to leave and inspire.  I, who generate anguish to be free and desire. For being who I am. Doesn't he remember the fights he fought for her? Did the story not reach her ears? 

In the oppression of the norm, the rule, the law, the article, the verse, the contradiction, and the interpretation, the human being finds reason to become mute and crazy, or loud and also crazy—violent. It is admirable the fate of those who never have to meet them, their interpreters, and those who use those numbers and words like whips. Is it destiny or luck? It is a reality in which a miserable little man finds a way to puncture young and free minds, to drive them crazy and break them. Thus, in such a blatant way, it is difficult to believe that others have not realized and allowed injustice. So, How can we not learn the silent cry from impotence? He could have called her and had sex with her for any reason, but he couldn't stand her. Neither he nor he could stand himself, only falling into desire and not into a conversation that went beyond the hatred, anguish, and frustration that she had. With her prayers, her false spirituality, and her little intellectuality. So, trapped, he wanted to get out of her... or he wanted to at least enjoy her solitude. But they wouldn't allow it between the heat and these stupid days. She would have accepted it because of the time she had gone without sex and because of all the lovers who had penetrated her and bathed her in semen. She loved him; she didn't just like him. But he didn't her, and that made her even more desperate. Tonight, she would take her rosary and, tying her neck, she would take out her dildo and, leaving her prayers aside, she would masturbate until she had her orgasm before going to sleep. Alone.

Time was their best ally, lawyers who made the terms overcome and break the patience and brains of those who would save society. It was the only way they would be remembered while they fucked up existence because then they would sadly fall into oblivion, and their victims would be remembered as martyrs of modern society. And dirty. Names of unfortunate and vile human beings, of imbeciles and petty characters who were not even villainous and influential enough that their names are lost among the papers of their written and dusty oppressions. Leaves that get wet and fade and end up in landfills, not even burned. Rotting like what they supposedly left as a legacy. But no, they didn't even leave a legacy of echoes. Naked, we looked at each other - But... She said I have a Teflon suit- and I can only laugh.  Every time we merged, we escaped from this world and got lost in our looks, flavors, and sounds. Maybe he never gave me more permission than I really wanted or made my body and my being feel beyond his rules, but there was no anguish, no longing, nothing. Only freedom. Isn't that what love is about? Isn't it about love, being lovers? -You know - I said to her, looking into her eyes before kissing her - We are free, my girl. And she responded to me, without smiling - I'm not your girl, I'm a woman, and I'm not your wife either... - After that, the only thing that could happen was something, a kiss and making love again.

All that exhausts. All that is brutalizing. And sadly, he leaves the humans lying on the ground with no other intention than to let himself die. It could be said that they mostly win because they take advantage of the loneliness, lack of empathy, and indifference of those who can do something about injustice. Then, those indifferent people send their messages of condolences, seeking to be innocent and, of course, justifying their inaction when everyone knows that indifference is complicity. They survive but are guilty of those who are faced with helplessness, helplessness, and loneliness and can do nothing but let themselves die or accelerate their own non-existence. There is not enough power on his part to make me faint - I told myself in my solitude while, on the last night of July, I took the first sip of that bottle of Dominican rum. Maybe the balance has broken - I told myself - and five years ago, I had to leave with betrayal, contempt, and fear of the unknown. Like those brave people who managed to do it today, they are happy and free, even without comfort. Next week, we will cry together, I wrote to my friends with anguish and desire. And there, far away, we will be free, even if only for a few hours, to think about another world, other nations, and other humans better than us, better than those who oppress and surround us."