A poet certified: If I have lost my life, time, everything I threw, like a ring, into the water, I have the word. I wish I would trust in the healing joy of this one. In my case, all I have left is laughter, the most liberating gesture I know, that feeling that can arise in the most screwed-up circumstances, but which assures you during miraculous moments that you’re still not the living dead.
And you laugh at many things. Logical or absurd, transparent or surreal, natural or satirical, endearing or disgusting. And they almost always demand complicity. I love people who make me laugh, with whom I share that feeling.
Almost always fed up with the media, with movies, series and literature governed by the abusive endorsement required by the sign of the times, someone lucid advises me that if I can’t get past them because I’m still not Robinson Crusoe, try imagine that they are a permanent joke, that in reality they are all made by some cool sarcastic factory like The World Today, that this grotesque tax is a fiction, which only serves to make you laugh. I listen to him, it all seems like a sinister joke, but I can’t shake the feeling of revulsion at what these horrendous, empowered performers say and do.
The last. An ardent leader of Podemos, known as Pam, advises girls to practice masturbation instead of penetration. Both things confirm that they give a lot of pleasure. But prioritizing the first can only occur to a moron. You have it raw, neither Franco, nor Hitler nor Stalin would prevent men and women from continuing to be attracted, that they love to fuck each other. In addition to looking for each other, they can even love each other.
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