My friend the great poet Ben Clark sends me a WhatsApp: "On my birthday, agenda of the Diputación de Málaga". Accompany your message with a photo of the page corresponding to June 21; In the end, an appointment: “Not everything flows. Sometimes the stagnant waters remain. ” The date is mine. I laughed proudly at my aphorism-joke corrector of Heraclitus and felt a pang when I recognized myself as part of the collection of the disgraced calendar philosophy. I tried to reconcile with gender: it was on an agenda where I noticed Ionesco's definition of the vicious circle: "Take a circle, caress it, and a vicious circle will be made." (The bald singer). The contents of the books are reproduced on other media, adorned with cotton T-shirts, mutated in a golden clasp of the day in an agenda. They become popular. They are taken out of context and, in that displacement, they are seen. It is sensational and yet, finding myself on the agenda made me feel lapidary and, as I usually punish myself sweetly, I thought it was not good to be lapidary or stoned. Those two words from the same family charge me with reason to avoid Twitter.
However, on March 1, 2020 I retracted my thoughts in the Almudena cemetery. In front of the wall where the Thirteen Roses were shot, we gathered to protest the reformulation, contamination, devastation of the democratic memory perpetrated by Mayor Martínez-Almeida, who not only erased the names of almost 3,000 shot and shot between 1939 and 1944 , but also replaced the verses of Miguel Hernández - “because I am like the felled tree, what a shoot: because I still have life” - and the goodbye of the rose Julia Conesa - “that my name is not erased from history” - for an inclusive slogan, perversely equidistant and confessional, that evils the truth by confusing the pain of war with the exact deaths of people massacred by a regime whose tentacles still drown us. Remembering the past, with justice and truth, is the only way to build a present with democratic quality. The tombstones and what is written about them matter. The dignified death and the dignity of the burial matter. The bodies, tangible or evanescent, of the victims are not erased by throwing salfumán on their names. Their names are our names. Those of us who recite in Almudena do not believe in transubstantiation, but in the imprint of a blood that was red, yellow and purple. Those were the people shot against the walls. Those. I feel that, so that we are not stoned with lies - Ortega Smith is moving further and further away from his sky - we need tombstones that respectfully protect lost children and dead women. The voice of poor poets who used hyperbole and had a sense of humor becomes a persistent and incorporeal matter, but firm, collective memory. We need a story that is neither soft, nostalgic, nor sensationalist: we already know the banality of evil and that monsters love their little animals. Now let's write the stories of good people who got better in their epic starts. And they paid. Because “not everything flows. The stagnant waters are sometimes left ”and, even when the waters flow, they flow so that they win. As if they didn't win. Imperceptibly Give me a like.
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