Other times

"The movies of the past cannot withstand (nor will current ones) the reality transmitted live, in streaming. And of course, some humans in civilization are experts not at ending evil, but at eliminating those who make it public. And they fight against those who try to contain it, because their empathy leads them not to destroy others, like the heroes in those movies, but to make them part of the community. Recognizing them as part of humanity, not of that civilization. Just as I was thinking about leaving, I remembered that I wouldn't be able to return as the leader of those wolves. Instead, they would tear me apart, chew my flesh, and spit me out. They don't do it out of hunger but out of greed and rage. They bite, they bark. When they can't find another, they do it among themselves. Then, they simply die of madness and loneliness, in misery, despite believing they've cleansed the plain of others and decay. In reality, they are misery. Sadness and howls accompany them.

Neither the colors, nor the stars, nor the stripes, nor the torch that supposedly illuminates the world can resist the truth. For even if the version is established, and faces are ruthlessly crushed against the ground, mouths gagged, and tongues cut out, the meanness is there. And the oppressive power is visible, without the need for masks. Masks are unnecessary, nor is anonymity. They are proud of not being hypocrites, and more than cynical, they are tyrants. I knew she was sad to be leaving, just like her, but I couldn't go with her. It's a time for selfishness, for other songs and other times. That night, we made love like the first times, and then, like in other stories, she left looking at me still on the dock, returning to the land of pirates while I, tired of it, and with a black Jolly Roger flag hidden, would simply take a little rum and repeat to myself that I would not return. A week after returning, another lover would accompany her, and her sadness would not be as great as that afternoon of departure.

What will humans do but call truth humanity? At times, some refuse to accept defeat and resist. They mobilize and win. Other times, some uplift the weak and oppressed, and even each other. And they survive. Then they live. People remember that it is not a question of civilization but of humanity and life, and that future generations cannot be heirs to a legacy of blood and greed. Security framed within profit indicators is just another fallacy, like those that were conceived between stone walls and pits of mud and shit. She arrived at his door. She said nothing, just undressed, and they began to feel each other up, in silence. Nothing else was needed. In other times, perhaps an introduction, a preamble, but time was something that couldn't be considered; that was the luxury of the past. Other times. He, following the basic instinct he'd previously repressed, simply ran his lips over her belly, then stopped at her sex, and she, moaning, was woman and life. Both a song. And the song in that terrible heat turned into fluids and then a mist. Nothing to say except listening to the rhythm of their hearts and the touch of their skin.

The human being who believes in himself with others cannot oppress, but emancipate himself in society, both to overcome all fears and to end the terror generated by hatred and greed. This human being creates, rather than destroys. His words, his own, are not manipulated or stolen in any of the languages that humanity's very diversity possesses. He dances, sings, and frees himself. He rebels and also revolutionizes for life itself, not for accumulation. And this is how, without waiting for divine intervention from an imaginary creation for oppression itself, he motivates and guarantees human freedom and justice, not revenge. Nor terror. I loved seeing her naked, lying on my bed. In other times, she was, too. Free, before all her prejudices and hatreds. Before all her ambition, or her madness. Before all her demons, laziness, and greed. With me. After? There were no other times, because the truth is, they had ceased to live, to simply exist. I love today, far from everything, watching her still sleeping in my bed as I write. While I savor my coffee and take in the fresh morning air, without feeling like I'm stealing it from someone, without feeling like it's a privilege. She is another. They were another."