The paradigmatic place that we had to live, human too human

We knew that he was going to win, that the third was the defeat, that the polls could not predict if the results were going to be unpublished, that the winds of change would turn into real electoral tides in favor of the "peje", and that " the perfect dictatorship "would have its end, the PRI and its alliance with the Green Party and New Alliance would have only 12 seats by the ballot, the once dominant party, the perfect machine of simulation and deception would become a rudimentary Arc with worn arrows that could not avoid the inevitable, even though it has nominated a "good citizen", the overwhelming triumph of the "morenos" throughout the Mexican Republic, and the other Political Party, which disparagingly " peje "together with the PRI he calls them:" prian ", he grabbed with nails and teeth so as not to fall apart, and he went through with a panzazo, without a promising future; and insatiable remorse, quick to pick up the crumbs of electoral power, propped up as if they were original proposals, without realizing that some held to mimic the messiah's speech, or picked up the benefits of contempt for the PRI, removes parts of the machinery of simulation and deception to compete for political and public power.

Today we see how we went from a "white collar" majority, elegant gentlemen who know the art of governing, who under the leadership of Carlos Salinas de Gortari left the generational revelation to authentic beards in the art of politics, piranhas of predation that do not They hesitated to loot the public coffers where they ruled: "I have been told that it bursts you that the kids forget that good manners are essential to steal. You know that, to make a good hunting, you do not need to use the knife a real professional. You always pampered the poor at the expense of the rich what was an art, peak shit, is beginning to degenerate ", hastening the putrefaction of the dominant Political System; and the most alive prepared in advance the abandonment of the ship about to sink and unnoticed moved on the side of the "chosen", I do not know if he realized, or was so perfect his tricks that slipped without him noticing , although peers are never forgotten, especially when they have the same origin, the PRI; a majority of squeezed in the Torres de Babel, where there are religious sects, bands of neighborhoods, atheist left, baptized and forgiven PRI-panistas, and a host of "chapulines" ordered "Knights Templar" willing to give life, or leave of speaking to the family for offending AMLO, the great majority of dogmatic morals come spontaneously by dint of fulfilling their dream of being in power, or seeing themselves suddenly in armchairs in the Holy Parliamentary Precinct, or named Public Officials of the "new it was "of post-revolutionary Mexico.

I still have in mind how he was with his banner all wet, battered, mounted on his shoulder, walk back to his house, things had not gone well, the illusion vanished, before the doors of the Electoral Council, the ruling at the polls had it was "unexpected" and unappealable, the validation of the narcissistic insult, nothing and nobody failed, all, the own and strangers had fulfilled their role in the work, and the curtain went down, and there was nothing else to do.

He thought, and he did not stop reproaching himself, it will be that we are so susceptible that the offense to the "messiah" had been the cause, the miscalculation, that the prehispanic imprint is alive in the spirit of the Mexicans, and that the Tlatoani would be personified in the same AMLO.

Everything was seen, nothing could be hidden, even the most intimate, his grief, was exposed, with nothing could be covered, his I oscillated between the outside, the order, the constant of the norm, and the very inside, the underground river, his passions, his pulsations. Unfortunately he had been discovered, all of him in full light, without shadow, without soul, with nothing and nobody to blame, it was only he, the one of the thousand plateaus, the perverted indulgent, the benevolent retrograde, the pure diabolic, the here and there.

After the collapse, all passed before, above, below him, as if he did not exist, as if he did not count, as everything discovered had to disappear, and not to count among us, even, never to have counted, universal amnesia that he forgets us in the first moment that "the Great Other" has a new body.

Now the concept of perfection acquires meaning, are the words the veil that covers the real, and the time that discovers if the real will change for another less deadly, cruel and lapidary, the dream of seeing ourselves in another real without the outbursts of the bloodthirsty hand that does not stop before any plea, that in a conscience without passions, if this can be possible, it reveals itself to us as an impossible, the questions jump: how to build another being to the Mexican, if always his being, is to be incomplete ?, how to provoke a clinic that allows us to slip to other symptoms more neurotic than psychotic?

In short, while we enjoy the orgy, and the Dionysian feast of "the majority of one man", and hopefully soon, now. sincerely invite us to be all of us who build another being of the still rough Mexico, which has always aspired to be modern, enlightened, and of the first world.

So the prologue of a book that I took from the little table in the waiting room began, I had a long time of waiting to be called to enter the office, then I knew that the delay was due to the patient who had gone before, the pressure had risen, and the doctor had to apply himself thoroughly to normalize his cardiovascular functions, so he did that the patient came out with a very good face, as if nothing had happened.

A few minutes passed and the assistant took me to the office, the doctor, a lifelong friend, greeted me as always, effusively, just as I did; After the initial protocol, he asked me what was the reason for the consultation? I told him that I felt agitated and that he wanted me to give him a "check", he did the usual routine, electrocardiogram, take the pulse, and finally, a scanned, in the end he told me not to worry that everything was fine, that I was as good as a youngster. Pleased by his words, I said goodbye optimistically and retired from the office.

A subtle forgetfulness diverted my concern, my clothes had dried up, and the banner was undone in the persistent rain of the autumn months, the short skirt of a young woman made me recover the erect posture, and I made my way to my house with a new illusion, a new campaign for social life, I arrived quickly and settled on my desk.

In a dim light, very late at night I started writing, very happy, very lucid, I would say very human, too human, I started another fiction of my life.

Today it rains, always the happy rain, it is a clean rain, without heavy clouds, without thundering rays, without mosquitoes, scary, clean. We can even walk in the rain happy, unhurried, merged with each other, thinking of us, endlessly feeling their drops falling and caressing, and sometimes they kiss us, whisper unpublished poems. Yesterday they told me one: "we are raindrops, happy drops of merry days, we are days without hurry, and clouds of cotton ... we are the other part of the other and the meaning of the languages, we are beautiful and playful winds". Well, do not think I'm crazy, it's not literally poetry, it's poems that do poetry, the only thing I do is translate them, because it's like another language, the language of the drops.

Today I wake grumpily because it is not raining, it will be that "the rain" is upset with me, that he guessed my thoughts and could know when I said in my interior, "When will it be removed ...?", Or, will it be that he died and could not tell me about his death ?, because even if they do not believe all beings can announce our own death, wait, there comes our good friend the dove Gertrudis, surely she knows the bad news or good bad of our good friend "the rain ", wait now I go back ...

Ger, wait, I want to ask you about "the rain", why did not you come today ?, Surely you are hiding there, as always prey to contingency.

Tell her that I miss her, and that I am worried, tell her that my thoughts oscillate between vanity and the infamous fatal omen, death. Tell him that another day without her I will not be able to resist him, that I need his drops, his cheerful whisper, his caresses, and the magic of his curtains that makes him pass from one reality to another in a kind, fresh way.

Ger replied, "I'll tell you the reason for his absence, it's a simple thing, I hope you understand."

Our rain had to rush to other places, places where they need it in another way, and this "other way" I say, because I know your suspicion, your narcissism, your selfishness; because I know you love her, and she is a universal being that can not belong to anyone, except you, the selfish mortal, the big head and the feet of mud. He went to places where there are people who need it to survive, to feed their bodies and not to die, those who do not mind listening to poetry or being a translator of our creative rain. As simple as that, if she does not come, they will not be able to continue, they will not be able to continue, they will die.