"La politica è il commercio dei morti", dice una madre cubana in Las Iniciales de la Tierra , opera capolavoro di Jesus Diaz che a suo tempo aspirava ad essere il romanzo della rivoluzione. Sembra una frase saggia. Politica interna di chi ha seen it all from his home during the irrepressible carnival of corpses pathetic that our poets have called the Republic.
The scene of the novel descends into a night during the early '60s. With the revolution should not be different. Violence is the only vox-populi likely between neighbors. The live lives of stupid. The cemetery as a source of secular law. The Cuban mother beast as he defends his offspring dal'lentusiasmo mass blind. Who would read it today!
national scenario devoid of spontaneity becomes ipso facto-a snowman out of town. All institutions are illusory. You have to be wary of others just to be a puppet. The secret as a measure of all things. The lowest act public will affect nothing less than the same state security and deserves the maximum sentence, at the top of horrors with a semblance of legality. Under these conditions the road is for the plebs.
morofologicamente would seem, but it would be immoral to ask for an avocado pear, as if pleading shamelessly out of our small farm post-Siboney.
The consequences of a posthumous peace so long is certainly damaging to our notion of civil society, but perhaps there are some side benefits. Cubans, we refuse to kill as carrion for the cameras and microphones who get bored on the island with its high-wage €.
Cubans have lost their innocence di chiocciare credibili slogan (la polifonia sta vincendo il coro da sotto la manica). I cubani hanno perso la loro politicità e, nella lotta vitale quotidiana, non ci manca per niente.
Già nella fase terminale di un lungo e tortuoso totalitarismo di Stato, non abbiamo nessuna fretta di pagare il prezzo del talco con un cambiamento di rotta cupo, sangue-rivoluzionario. C'è una sfiducia costituzionale in qualunque cambiamento senza controllo. Non è paura, è memoria. E per questo deleghiamo la disgrazia nei guru lordi del nostro governo. Che si macinino loro lassù con le loro mille mutazioni ministeriali. Che sbaglino e rettifichino e consumino nella loro demagogia trionfalista.
Che si credino Cristi materialisti dalla tribuna ottagenarie of their biology. Ultimately, the novel of our time is eternal private (both those who wait, wait a moment.) In any case, we Cubans are now like Cuban mother that no one will read it again in a small scene
Iniciales Las de la Tierra .
Commerce. Death. From our history we have matured as a people infantilism after all. The resistance goes to Cuba today with faith nell'aggrapparsi futile life. Reborn this disease called fleeting hope. The best insubordination will therefore survive in full to the State Council. Without the need to go out on the street, no call is more or less charismatic or criminals, the Revolution has lost this plebiscite of the future unanimously.
of Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo (photo author)
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