Leave us kids alone!!

I can see it coming!

My (grand)father used to say that we should let the youth take over the institutions; not only hear their (our, as I'm young myself) opinions, but also grant them attention and interest.

Of course no one would ever hear my grandfather in this point, as wise and old as he was. And so, politics and similar advance so slowly, sometimes backwards. And I can see nowadays how people older than me is completely wrong in their points --they usually even mistake the debate-- and how they prevent me and others like me from making the world one that fancies us. It makes me feel kind of angry and frustrated.

But years will pass by and the older will become elder and latter slain, so my generation will at some point gain control over the world. Great done! But we will also grow older, as any rolling stone; and our ideas wouldn't be anymore those shaking the scene, but the ones taking firm hold of it. At this point, we shall also have grown into mad and irritated fellows. We have our 15 minutes and won't waste them. We won't let any 15-, 25-, 35-years-old lad with funny technological gadgets and up-to-date-fashion dresses ruin our moment. We will fight with ourselves to implement our aged ideas into a world that is not the same anymore, and thus we will condemn the youth to a living hell of frustration and ever repeating history and we won't understand that they are our only chance to make our desired chimera real.

Just to put it easy: we are fighting a Darth Vader, and the fighting itself is the easiest way to becoming one ourselves.

The heat in Granada

I saw ourselves as from a camera zooming from deep beneath our feet; from down on the boulevard with boiling, living people; smoke from the bars; a gleaming haze of yellow light which rises just over the first and a half floor; and the camera zooms out so close to the edge of the building as a sudden vertigo, and a further twisted life can be intuited in the corner of the sight where an also-gleaming darkness trembles in the aMazed streets fueling up the night. And so the zoom buzzes as it passes by, a shiver of our ears and the sky stays still just above our heads and Granada, so warm, so almost summer. So with short pants and t-shits and our browny skins so willing to touch themselves. So your eyes so your nice the blue behind. Each one a can of beer, alone in the terrace where I'll always love you. The heat is to sway our heads pleased and forever; long enough for the camera to stop, hold and fall, and make us shake this time with the violence of the ephemeral. And a sudden burden on my heart pulls hard from me and drags me down the terrace into a nightmare of mere night, of concrete vertigo of building edge when zooming my head down into the drugged hardness of the city paving.

I'll miss you so much Granada, your very essence.