miércoles, 28 de julio de 2010


“You can’t beat death but you can beat death in life” Ch. B.

I see dead people all the time, kid
All the time
I am surrounded by dead people
No matter where I lay my stupid eyes
They are everywhere
Like zombies
Dirty green saliva coming out of their mouths

I see them
they carry plastic bags filled with food from the supermarket
They drive SUV’s like carriages for the dead
They have kids like they had golden bracelets or blue watermelons
They don’t listen to you when you talk
They just don’t even look at you when you pass by

They hide their faces in the subway under empty newspapers
They drink beer from the can at 12 in the morning
They have proper jobs
They earn money
They pay their taxes
And jerk off
Like the rest of us
But they are dead

Some of them sell their bodies
And they are hot as hell, I must admit
Some others give their hands and heads away to friends

Some others give their bodies to the Church, or the clergymen
Or to stupid and impotent second hand musicians
While they tell you about their mean mother and how empty their life is

They are dead
Absolutely dead

There are a lot of them sniffing cocaine
Swimming in ketamine
Licking the crystals in the little white paper bag like they were licking asses
Eating bugs
Or blowing a louse

They wanna live
But they are all dead

I am even afraid of touching them
Their skin’s cold like a bullet
There’s no heart inside the chest
No blood
No brain
No guts
Just air
Rotten air
Money air
Envy air
Fake air

You might touch them
You might have sex with them
You might have missed them
You might have even loved them
But they are dead
You gotta live with that, man

They watch garbage on the tv all the time
They smile and joke
Some of them even go to concerts
Or read Kerouac
Or plan to go and see a Fellini movie…

They even have good music in their ipods
They send each other text messages
With happy faces and shit
But they are dead
And they know it
They are just trying to forget about it
Deny it
Forget they are dead
As it could be possible…
That’s the worst thing
Knowing that you are living a lie

They travel to far away places
In low cost planes
Or get drunk in crowded VIP rooms
They go to Sidney or Tokyo or Los Angeles
And they wish they were in another place all the time
Away from the tombstones
The bad smell
the self indulgence
but we cannot
is inside us
is just a question of time and balls