They’ve sold a pig in a poke to our friend the local political boss Guamá, our comrade in the PCC (Partido de la Carne de Caballo [aka “The Horse Meat Party” to you English speakers]). A Gorki (who is not the director of PPR because he knows how to turn on a computer and even has an account on Facebook) has sent him nothing more and nothing less than a communiqué, which the boss kindly published. We exonerate the boss of all guilt, so please they are not going to burn him at the stake, and I already talked to my former comrades of the G2 and all the archives will be eliminated.
According to the MINIT [Ministry of Interior] computer the information sent was a co-production between Hugo Chávez and Kim Il Sun who, as we all know, are boyfriends who communicate through Fidel Castro, who plays the role of intermediary between the living and the dead.
We apologize to all the innocent anticommunist victims who have been affected by this com-muniqué.
I take advantage of the opportunity to attach a photo of myself, which is totally beside the point but I look very sexy in it.
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.