Unmerciful Patterns

God damn this unmerciful patterns.

This roads that lead us nowhere, just dizzy us with hope and sights, only to end up right were you started, older and full of anger. And you just try to escape, to brake this patterns, but you are not strong enough, maybe you are just scared.

A decade has passed through my hair and I just keep bumping in the same walls, just that every time they are colder than the last one.

Let me start again. You know, I always love ranting about culture and how foreign it has become to my mexican comrades.

Lets reflect about the capabilities of pure human culture, and more precisely art, to exsist, develop and expand within the confines of comerce and dollar.
Historically, money tends to build the roads in which art will transit. I dare to comment that maybe there are no artists in human history that were able to create beauty outside this limits.

Maybe there is a way, just a mediocre maybe. Because people don't need art to live, they need money. No one needs a Remrandt hanging in the hall, they need tomatoes and corn in their tables. They need loose change to pay a black smoking death-tank of public transportation that will violently carry them into a modern corporated mine.

That's it, nobody gives a damn in this money mongering world. Rich people will lock up in their castles not throwing out even the most corroded penny. Poor people will fight for a few coins to the point of killing each other, maybe even eating each other.

And fuck!, here in this lovely country, no one will ever pay you for your work unless you whiplash the shit out of their fat and golden asses.

None of this human creatures gives a fuck.