8967 words

A Toast for the Broken

Brindo por los que no son perfectos
por los que mientan madres
por los que se despiertan tarde
por los que no hicieron la tarea
los que se mearon en los calzones
los que le mentaron la madre a su jefe emborrachados
los que no saben escribir
los que escriben pura mierda
los que se emputan
los que no meditan
los que tragan pura cagada de desayuno
los que no desayunan
los que viven quincena a quincena
los que no ahorraron
los que siguieron el manual de carreño
los que se cagaron fuera del escusado
los que nos saben escribir escusado
los que no hacen ejercicio
los que no se toman la presión
los que no se bañan
los que no se toman su medicina
los que hacen dramas bien pendejos
los que no han madurado
los que no respaldan su disco duro
los que no se toman sus vitaminas
los que se la toman con un trago de vodka
los que no se las toman y nomás toman vodka
los que toman mezcal pirata
los que se los venden
los del comercio informal
los que te rayaron el carro
tu jefe, el imbécil
tú, el imbécil
peritos, el imbécil
y todos los imbéciles del mundo que lo rellenan hasta hacerlo redondo
los piratas
los del mar o los que te venden películas afuera del metro y en el tianguis de los sábados
por el que se te metió en la cola
por tí, cuando te metiste a la cola, culero
brindo por los que lo están intentando
por los que están dando su mejor esfuerzo
por los que ponen el ejemplo
pero tambien por los que están rotos
por los que no saben ni por dónde empezar
y por los que no quieren ni empezar
por los que se dieron por vencidos
viendos, porque hubo una buena razón para mandar todo a la verga
aún cuando esa razón no haya sido otra que ya estabas hasta la madre de todo y de todos
porque la neta, el camino es largo,
y al que llega primero me lo paso por los huevos,
yo estoy con el que termina, cueste lo que cueste
y el que dice a la verga
por pilatos
por barrabás
por los pinches cerdos de mierda
porque aquí estamos
aquí seguimos
llenos de polvo
llenos de mierda

Y qué tal que escribir no es difícil

Evidentemente, escribir no es difícil. Estoy sentado en mi casa escribiendo. Puedo escribir por una hora, sin cansarme. Es más fácil que levantar pesas. Porqué, entonces, he estado pensando que es difícil?
Para empezar, he estado pensando que escribir "bien" es lo difícil. Qué es escribir bien? Aquí está el problema, no se puede definir qué es la "buena" escritura. Es subjetivo, es decir que aquí estamos a merced del público. Como no podemos satisfacer a todos en un mundo tan diverso como el nuestro (tal vez el décimo primer humano hubiera podido, tristemente, los humanos no contaban entonces con un lenguaje, más allá, suponemos, que uno bramidos en un par de entonaciones diferentes), escribir absoluta y objetivamente bien es imposible. Lo que nos queda es satisfacernos a nosotros mismos. Suena onanista, y en realidad lo es, pero tal es el destino de todo escritor. Escribe lo que te de la gana, lo que te satisfaga. Es la única forma de asegurarse de que al menos una persona saldrá satisfecha de este embrollo llamado escribir.

Corona Virus, the Aftermath

Watching the situation in China and the unrest caused by the government's ineptitude, I was hoping that people in China would finally wake up to the oppression and fight for a better system that works for the people, but today I was thinking about our own government's response and the inequality here and that we need to finally wake up to the oppression of a system that only works for billionaires and fight for a better system that works for the rest of us.

Baby Boomers

Baby Boomers killed irony.
Baby Boomers are the generation that was born after WWII and benefited the most from the economic boom that blessed the U.S. after the end of the war. Baby Boomers lived through the most prosperous time in the history of mankind. And who benefited the most? White males.
And now, white, old males are back to tell you that all you need to prosper is to work harder. The. Fucking. Nerve.
Who killed irony? Boomers did.


Tememos despertar a la pesadilla, al terrible
así que nos mantenemos callados
a lo mucho solo nos atravemos
a repetir la palabra que no ha despertado al malvado
y así nuestro lenguage es formado a la sombra del miedo
cuando uno de nosotros se atreve a formular un nuevo vocablo
uno que no despierta al diablo
lo felicitamos, nos felicitamos
somos buenos


The logic from some white people is this:

  • Trump fears Bloomberg, therefore Bloomberg can defeat Trump. Which does not even make sense, but let's move on
  • Defeating Trump is all that matters, therefore we all must support Bloomberg and not look at his flaws, which include racist views, which are not actually racist white people tell us. Well, thank you for whitesplaining it to us.

In fact, Bloomberg's best service to this country will be to split the centrist Democratic vote and help us elect a truly progressive candidate.


Nos da miedo que creemos una inteligencia tan cabrona que nos vaya a dejar pendejos.
Pero pues pendejos ya estamos, no?


Once in a while Death points her finger to someone close to you
I don't mean someone you love
I mean someone who reminds you that you'll never know when it's your turn until it's your turn
Water your plants
Straighten your tie
And smile

May God grant you

To live long enough to get tired of your

No me quiero morir como un maldito cobarde

Quiero al menos poder decir que lo intenté.

Statistics Are For Machines and Idiots

You think you're smart knowing that the statistics say that having a gun in one's house poses a higher risk for one's family than potential intruders. And you may be, but you're really stupid if you think you're going to convince anyone not to have a gun in their home with that tidbit of information. We all think statistics don't apply to us (and to tell you the truth they don't, but that may be stuff for another post). The smoker, the gambler, the guy who religiously buys a lotto ticket every week. Even you, but you haven't even notice. We all think we're better than the average, so find another argument.

Depression is a bitch

and so is resistance
come on guys we can do this

"with the flick of an eye you finally see the light"
and once you see the light be all over it and don't let go
depresh will come back, but the further you get while on the light, the easier it'll be to climb back
i believe in you

YouTube Is Out to Get Me

YouTube wants to kill me, so does my neighbor, the garbage truck's driver,
porn, the Microsoft corporation,
I just got two blue screens of death in the last week, you motherfuckers
The seasons, particularly winter and its bullshit: cold, snow, ice, chapped lips, the furnace
My employer, the government,
Too much and too little
Up and down
My bed is too cozy
The whole internet is too interesting
I have ideas to write but everything's been written
Dead writers are out to kill me
I want to write, but YouTube is easier
I want to write, but instant reward is just
I want to write, instead I choose instant gratification
so convenient, so warm
and yet, so painful at the end of the day

My Neighbor Is Out to Get Me

He wants to kill me
Do I sound paranoid to you?
He's not cleaning the snow from the sidewalk in front of his house!
He's going to give me a heart attack
He does it so I don't stop thinking about
He does it so I don't write
He is Resistance
He is Neurosis
He lives inside my head

Capitalism and the Race to the Bottom

Is the minimum wage good or bad?

A few years ago Chipotle announced that it had partnered with the City of Denver to provide low-rent housing to its employees. Some people, who I suspect are not habituated to reflecting, cheered the move, even though 1) it was a clear admission that Chipotle does not pay a living wage to some of its employees, and 2) it had ensnared the city on a scheme to use tax-payer money to pony up for the difference.

Evidently, the minimum wage is not sufficient. The threat from employers, however, is that fewer workers will be employed if the minimum wage is raised. Employers will always go for the lower-cost alternative–be it AI, overseas workers, dumb machines, etc.–because they're optimizing for profit. This is a race to the bottom.

From minimum wages to the Glass-Steagall act, it's all patches for the unstoppable machine that threatens to keep degrading our way of living and our environment. Socialism is dead and capitalism is a blind killing machine. We need to imagine and implement a third alternative before the black hole swallows us.