This was originally written in 2012 to be included in the unpublished #6 of Estertores. I revised it last July, and then forgot about it. Until now.

– ¿Estás orgulloso de ser de Bilbao?

– Pues claro que sí, me cago en la Hostia.

– Yo es que no tengo orgullo de ser de ningún sitio.

– …


Nire adopziozko hizkuntzan idatzia.

I don’t want to do anything. I just want to stare at this screen, crack beers, neck pints without worrying about anything else. To be honest, I don’t want to live anymore. That is what he said. That is what you thought.

You aborted me.

You threw me out of your body through your purple vagina like a failed fetus. How can anyone fail before even being born?

It was that bad.

You dismissed my expectations, referred my failure to the imbecile, to the illiterate. You based your judgements on facts solid as air. You based your veredict on plain nothing.

You neglected me.

Behind the smiley drunkard, there was a sad existence. Nothing else. Stupid, silly boy. Lying in the slope next to the main line’s tracks, so fucking drunk that he is just incapable of looking. Incapable of seeing. All that he has is a mild stare that resembles a question mark.

That bad it was.

You restrainted me.

There he was, the kid. Angry then, sometimes. Hey, I’ve got about 300 pesetas. Buy me a couple of tequila shots. Man, it is like 10 pm. You parents will probably kill you. Fuck off, asshole. I told you, buy me the drinks. Here is the money. They won’t serve me anymore.

After every single sentence, another thousand came, but of course you were not aware of this. You were long gone in your fall towards nowhere.

You constricted me.

There he goes, the drunk bastard. Peeing in the alleys. Puking in the passages right under the suburban estates. Fuck everything. Fuck me. Drown your fingers into your throat and tear out whatever you find there, all the dirt, all the nonsense. All the shame. Your shame.

You convicted me.

Funny and pitiful. Is this you or is it my own self? Indeed, we don’t know. Nor you. Nor me. Fuck all of us, does it really matter who takes the blame? Answer: it does not. In fact you want to take it anyway. Well then, GRAB IT, and GET LOST.

Lose yourself in filthy dives. What a moving way of getting wasted. I can still see the smiles, with all the drunkenness behind as well. Drink to be poetic but hey, just don’t let the dramatic quality of it aside. Is too valuable and convenient. Yeah, keep it. It might be useful.

And it was. Apart from booze, you could get – and did so – get drown in female fluids as well. Totally drenched. Maybe it was just vomit. You are still not sure of that. What you know for sure is that you were always covered in shit soon enough. Oh yeah. Stinky pussy juice filth. Divine tragedy. Unavoidable guilt.

You loved that. Everyone did. It was what they expected.

You betrayed me.

Suddenly it was just not enough.

White bathrooms, loud rooms. Loud bass cabs, 10 x 4 inches of fucking low Hertz values.

Again pale brown bathrooms and stupid promises and situations. Sad situations.

Nothing was enough, and it was so unfair that you had to wake up every morning to keep the lie alive. Oh my goodness.

It was that cruel.

And then. Then it happened.

You wised me up.

You undressed me. You stripped me, ripped my clothes off and I was left right in front the tumult with no protection whatsoever. I ran to the alleys, ran to the bars, ran to the bathrooms, ran to the stages. But there was no puking, no sex, no drinks served, no drugs, no adrenaline.

You didn’t understand anything. You looked at the growing CLUMP of idiots that would just stare with this funny face, without saying a word. Eventually they would take another sip and look elsewhere.



Some didn’t. Some did actually strip their own clothes, or maybe they were already naked. Probably, yes. This naked morons sat or maybe threw themselves onto the ground, around you, next to you. One had a few Voll Damms. Others had some fags. Others had brains, in fact all of them did and do, and you just laid there naked, drunk, pathetic covered in self made misery and mistakes until it started.

You protected me.

That was the sign, that was the hidden watchtower that you couldn’t see from your ignorance. You were, in fact, not alone. All the past shit, was a ridiculous excuse to gain the attention of these people.

That was it. That was what you thought.

But you were WRONG. Again. Idiot.

You cannot hide a tower. You hide it yourself by looking somewhere else.


I kept lurking alleys, bars, bathrooms, stages. My heart kept beating, harder than ever. You were “tap tempoed” by these geniuses, and after all…

I escaped you.

40 years ago, I escaped you. I took the drunken bastards, not physically with me but I did in some way. And I left you behind.

Somewhere in my mind where I loved you, and still do. At least as much as I hate you. Because after aborting me, constricting me, convicting me and betraying me, you chose to protect me. And I had to protect my loved ones and myself from you. Because that protection, was nothing else than a leash, a way to control me. A way to control YOU. CONTROL you. Me. Us.

And you better be fucking sure of what are you doing when it comes to my drunken mates. Because I am not taking any bullshit regarding the ones that actually saved me from your misery.

I will finish you up.

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