The rigors of life in the G2 are too hard for me. Imagine, the first day at work they ordered us to ….God! How stupid, to be standing still in place? From that moment on my lumbago started. Later, when they saluted the flag and started to sing the national anthem, I developed a rash all over my body that itched like hell. But when that colonel said that we had to recite by heart the putrefied mummy Castro’s commandments about his definition of revolution, I suffered an intestinal infarction and fainted. The doctor who saw me at the Naval Hospital tested my tolerance for Socialist Slogans and determined that I wasn’t fit to continue to provide my services in the State Security, now I am a retiree of MININT with a meager pension of 120 pesos monthly, so I must return to music. By the way, I did manage to get into the secret files and recover my papers, so, in case I don’t survive the consequences stemming from my one day in the G2, here are the lyrics to the song I wrote about stinky-feet Che:
Che did not bathe
Che was a babbling cocksucker the day Castro found him and with his crooked teeth signed him up and put him on his boat. and there wasn’t a single expeditionary who could fall asleep. Because an unbearable foot stink hung around the place.
The farts he farted raised tremendous curiosity. If his asthma doesn’t let him breathe, where does he get so much gas? Such putrefaction bothered even Fidel himself. Who made him a commanding officer and sent him to an invasion far away from him.
He even had a few children when the revolution was won. Who was the madwoman who could tolerate such a stench? And Castro sent him to Bolivia never to smell him again. And under that pretense, made sure they would kill him there.
P.S. I’m missing a stanza that someone ripped off the page, I’m sure to keep it as a souvenir.
This is an excerpt to a version of the song, Epitaph for Vladimir Visotski by Karsmarski Jacek (Polish dissident songwriter), which includes Ciro Diaz in his latest album, The Blue Slug, that I listened to compulsively for at least two months, especially on the street with my mp3 inherited from a friend who now has an I-pod. (Download the lyrics here) (Download the recording and album cover here) The song (in summary, which runs about ten minutes) is about a desperate artist going through the circles of hell in search of an answer or death, and at the end of his journey there is only loneliness and the weight of the supreme power above himself. So I found myself at times catching the bus across Havana at 12 noon in August under the perennial sunshine and with the distressing feeling of not going anywhere, or arriving too late, or going for pleasure ... I feel that I have already arrived at the eighth enclosure (this is the finale of the song) where there is nothing, and I feel useless and empty, and I look at people without faith who walk along the street and who have so much fear that they no longer know they're afraid, and who have seen so many Roundtables and so many news broadcasts that they no longer know what belongs to reality or just to the TV screen. They cannot discern that they no longer believe, but cannot disbelieve either, and just move along past me not going anywhere.