next revolution against vacuum cleaners and the sad beauty of northern seas and all the not-so-good-looking animals

no such thing as fire.

no such thing as water.

there.

watch. listen. and feel.

her name was magdalena. she was born amidst the waves of guitar riffs. she had no father and her mother's head was shaved. they lived in spain at the time. when she grew up, she lived in malaga and made her living as a supplier of cocaine to local fascists. they called her "the white ambassadress". she called them "puppets". one day she left and they never got out of desperation.

my name was magdalena. i was born amidst the waves of pain. my mother had to shave her hair. she lived and died like a dog. i lived in malaga. the local fascist never grew weary of trying to seduce me with pain. i was beaten and raped. they called me the "white bitch". i never knew a word so terrible that would be appropriate for them. i shot few of them before their bullet hit my left eye. i could not win. i had not lost.

 

::: and :::