We are the result of millions of years of evolution, people died to offer us the chance to have a better life and here's what we did of it all ! We didn't even realized that freedom, nowadays, is nothing more than an illusion. We are the slaves of money, of economy, of lobbies, medias and time. Our thoughts and dreams are our only freedom.
Las medias, la franela, el sosten, parecean casas arrasadas por un hurace¡n. Del otro lado del mundo la mame¡ insistea en decir cosas que ella no lograba descifrar. Se paro frente al espejo y se sobresalto. Cada dea lo mismo. La chica desnuda frente a se le parecea tan distinta a la que era apenas uno, dos ae±os atre¡s. No dejaba de asombrarle con que prisa le crecean los pechos, con sus manchas oscuras que se derramaban espesamente, como sirop de chocolate.
Children ten years old wake up and find themselves here, discover themselves to have been here all along; is this sad? They wake like sleepwalkers, in full stride; they wake like people brought back from cardiac arrest or from drowning: in medias res, surrounded by familiar people and objects, equipped with a hundred skills. They know the neighborhood, they can read and write English, they are old hands at the commonplace mysteries, and yet they feel themselves to have just stepped off the boat, just converged with their bodies, just flown down from a trance, to lodge in an eerily familiar life already well under way. I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again. I woke at intervals until, by that September when Father went down the river, the intervals of waking tipped the scales, and I was more often awake than not. I noticed this process of waking, and predicted with terrifying logic that one of these years not far away I would be awake continuously and never slip back, and never be free of myself again.
A solid voice on an old archive recording. the passionate words, a now past crusade. a tenacious battle to overcome inequity against an oppressing, conservative, religious, patriarchal society. her impregnable voice, their account of injustice, their reality, almost tangible. exposed to a mass of superficial, un-stimulating knowledge. the valued information, was an exhaustive list on how to please. experts telling how to catch a husband, and how to keep him. how to cope with sibling rivalry, adolescent rebellion. how to cook, dress, and look, and act more graciously. taught to pity the ones who reached out for greater means. and all over the medias, the cheap magazines, the surrealistic heroine, the glossy image of the american happy housewife. re-enforcing the time mentality that a true woman did not desire a career, higher education or political rights. was it painful to give up those dreams? to leave behind hopes of becoming unique? voluntary confinement in these neat and tidy houses. the central heart of their existence, with narrow roles and little impact out of the family cell. seeking for perfection within these boundaries. was that any fulfilling? did their ever had a moment of hesitation, or always wrote proudly on the census blank? how could the right to vote could ever seem like a possible treat to the family, the family system and the religious faith? you were fighting for basic freedoms swallowed by religious dogmas. and the problem laid , buried, unspoken for so long. like a strange stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction. a yearning that they suffered and strangled with alone. afraid to ask even of themselves the silent question : "Is this all?" a few fought and brought down barriers towards advancement, encouraged civil disobedience. while the rest, with nothing to look forward to, blotted out their feelings with tranquilizers.
Fuck the Facts