castro is dead, killed by vampires

Before I get to visit fucking Cuba. Bastard. It would have been great to visit Cuba whilst he was still alive. The ultimate nostalgia trip for jaded self hating westerners, ex commie’s, socialists, whatever. Do the whole Cuba thing. I was going to book tickets, get this, to take my famly there for the fiftieth anniversatry of the revolution in 2009. Hear a few speeches, sink a few Mojitos, stay at the Nacional, drive a buick. Actually see Fidel deliver a speech, let his words wash over me. Was going to book it on Virgin, a package thing, seven days on the beach, seven days in Havana and Santiago. How neat, in between jobs. Maybe now I will visit the favellas of Venezuela, see Chavez in action instead, spit on a few golf courses.

Castro walks round the edge of his office to keep fit. I saw him do this on Oliver Stones film El Commandante. I sat on my sofa and cried watching that film. When Castro and his wife escorted Stone and his crew to the airport after they had spent a few months in Cuba. Fidel and his wife wanted to keep the skinny sound guy and feed him up. They higged him not wanting him to go. A joke, funny, but the kid was nearly in tears. I know I was.

What is that? What is that feeling, evoked by those images of an old man with an unruly beard? What does Castro mean really? The revolution. The defeat of Batista, the seeing off of American aggresion for over fifty years, and of surviving after the Soviet Union shit the bed in the early nineties. And now, across central and southern America a new/old left takes power, uncle Fidel watching and dying with what must be a certain stone cold satisfaction! A revolution exported after all.

But for us, the idiot mannikins for so many thousands of Che Guevara T shirts it’s all so much entertainment/nostalgia. Che the man who nearly brought the revolution to its knees when he was put in charge of sugar production. He was the revolution Fidel had to export, in order to consolidate the one they had already made.

We ruin Castro as an idea as we did Lenin, Mandela, Trotsky, Che, Ghandi; all those who our liberal eye penetrates, adulates and castigates at the same time. We should die, not him, we should wither on the shit vine we grew for ourselves.

The crowds of celebrating ex pat Cubans, ecstatic at the news that Castro might be dying from stomach cancer. What a pity we couldn’t film him on our mobile cameras as he writhes in agony in his hospital bed, multimedia message it around the world, post him on U-tube. Pity the best health care system in the world will keep him alive a little longer, but hey they will get their island back sometime soon.

God pour fire into Raul to keep these scum from your shores, give him the power to part the Carribean sea and then drown the thousands of bastards as they drain out of Miami, so much pus oozing from the open sore which is the state of Florida. Now I’m ranting, disturbing the cadence of my prose, my choice of words levelled by a myopic anger.

With our handshakes, smiles, cum and unwanted gifts of ‘freedom’. Indescrete packages bearing our indefatigable virus. Pouring our fat cocks into eager dollar hungry mouths we should be so proud.

I looked in a third world mirror and saw the face of the vampire I had become, always had been. It looked just like me.

And we are afraid of them? We are the others mate, we are the devils. They always knew this, from the moment we got off the boat brandishing crucifixes. wading ashore like drunk death gods bearing benedictions of Thanatos. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the truth of these words my God! This is just my version of the truth, tarnished and second hand. I bring old news.

Laptop battery is down to red so I must hurry, publish and be damned? I am already damned, and these are just foot notes of the true Apolcalypto we have wrought here on earth.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.


One Comment to “castro is dead, killed by vampires”

  1. I’m surprised at how sick the momentary impression that your story was a response to Castro’s actual death made me feel. And how absurdly, pathetically responsible I felt – as if he was a member of my own family that I ‘d failed to keep up with and had died alone (his corpse nibbled by los gusanos). Anyway keep scorn fires burning.

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