Have you already thought about what you voted for? Do you live better now among the sophistry of these stale dyads with discolored bows? Do you live better with the bombardment of boring harangues, almost with echo, as repeated in ‘rewind’ cassette mode, and with the same ‘merchandising’ shirt that made you a fetén rebel and that you have stopped buying? With your stellate around your neck, with your avenues of perpetual bottle, with the urine smelling of decadence in every corner. Do you live better with your suffocated companies and your euphoria of retreating pan-Catalan supremacist? So much leader of ideology, so much liberator loose relieving you of the Spanishist corset, and so much parrot repeating the stupidity of the souffle. Can’t you see it? You are fed up but
It is difficult for you to recognize it because of that identity pride that if it does not impoverish you, it kills you. Did you vote for it? Enjoy it.
Not even Barça is what it used to be. You don’t know if you want wetland ducks or an airport that activates your job. The companies that left are not going to return. Don’t you regret it? Nobody asks you to hide your feelings, only that you follow the law. You and those you voted for. The rebellions, the guerrillas, the burned containers, your hásel, your valtonyc… And the Russian weapons of your Catalan army, for the Taliban. That you have plenty of theater. And in your Parliament, less victimizing ‘lobbies’ and a little more high school. With fewer human chains and fewer strategists out of nowhere, you wouldn’t need to force the law for so much shoehorn pardon. Junqueras, the ‘botifler’ of the month, says that if the separatists who accuse him of being a traitor ask him, he will gladly return to jail. The breva will not fall. That they’re teasing you while you sing like a drunken hooligan. That you stopped talking about politics with your brother-in-law, don’t you see? That nobody visits you, neither with ‘seny’ nor without him, that Catalonia is sad. That you have turned blissful concord, that bluff, into a hollow word. That you are deaf. Enjoy what was voted.
You do not lack freedom, they abuse it in your name, with your money, and flee in trunks at dawn like when they filled their car with garbage bags with your tickets on the way to Andorra. How crappy. However, the worst are the lukewarm, those mellifluous that are not ‘indepes’ but splash in that mud. Four thousand decorated martyrs? Come on man. Forty-five million martyrs. Those of us who listen to you all day with the tostón of your revolution of smiles. Enjoy it.