THE MOST AWAKE AMONG THE DEAD

          The near-death experience (NDE) came to me when, one afternoon, I went down to the beach of San Vicente de la Barquera, in Cantabria, when the beach was empty, the sea was rough and there was a red flag.

          Drunk as I was on Hijoputa (son of the beach) brand honey brand, I went into the water, when suddenly, the waves caught me and dragged me towards the center of the sea, without being able to reach the sand of the beach due to the tiredness and exhaustion of my limbs that did everything possible to save me.

          For me this was a lucid event, because I saw myself compromised with Death, since I knew that physically I would die if nobody came to rescue me, swallowing all the water of the sea with all its filth.

          With almost no detectable heartbeat, and no breathing due to the water and algae that swallowed me, I traveled through a tunnel, observing a bright light, meeting a mythical being: Genghis Khan, who told me: -I’m meeting the neighbors; accompanied by Musk and Trump, who talked about the Big Con (big scam), and Frankenstein and Dracula, all of them united by mutual gravitational attraction, who were happy to see me alive, and talked about the NDE (Near Death Experience), listening to Genghis who told us:

-We live here now. Here and there, we live in a constant struggle between the Economic Damage Threshold (EDT), referring to the population density in which the costs of incurring in a genocide equals the benefits of not controlling the sale of weapons; and the Threshold of Action (TOA), referring to the population density in which a control action must be carried out, even by killing, to prevent the EDT from being reached.

          I got away from these four firecrackers, addressing Genghis, the fertile man, who fathered more than a thousand children with his main wife, with minor wives and concubines that he incorporated into his flock thanks to his conquests, father of humanity, the “star cluster”, who had a goshawk peeking out of his fly, the most alert among the dead.

          In the most plausible and arrogant way he grabbed me by the balls in the style that Musk and Trump do with women, forcing me to compose, in the shortest time possible, a poem, which I wrote with seaweed ink and a seagull feather on the back of a Nice of the north  (Thunnus alalunga),  but not before he told me:

-In the afterlife, the souls of mortals float in the infinite void like wandering stars; the ones that illuminate the most are those of psychopaths and serial killers, occupying the best places in stellar space. Those of other mortals are the turds that float in swamps, ponds, rivers or seas, and cling to water like ticks.

          I was dumbfounded. And, when I tried to break the hawk’s neck, he ordered me:

-Come on! Write the poem.

          I answered him, making a mistake in my words, because instead of saying: “Yes, my star cluster,” I said: “Yes, my star joke,” without him getting very angry because I was about to drown completely.

           This was the poem I composed for him:

GENGHIS KHAN RESURRECTED

Genghis Khan, remembered Mongol

“Mongolo”moron,  psychopath par excellence

Great Khan, great dog of Yinchuan

From the Republic of China

Admired serial killer leader

From Eastern Europe

To the Pacific Ocean

And from Siberia to Mesopotamia

India and Indochina

He has been incarnated in some humans:

The favorites, the chosen ones

Since the times of the Printing Press

As we see it

In the History of the times

In our emperors, kings, tsars

Dictators, presidents and heads of state

Whose label is mass extermination

And famine

As announced to us, in his day

A dwarf King Kong

Who died for our sins

On his deathbed.

Already as a child, Chinguis Jaan

That was the name of the guy Genghis Khan

When he was going up some stairs

He got dizzy and fell to the ground

And his group of friends told him:

-Chinguis, don’t be so mean

Be very brave

You were born to rape and kill at random.

He believed it wholeheartedly

Growing up among murders:

That of his brother and his best friend

Rapes of women

Whom he raped three times a week

Cutting off their clitorises with his sword

Making necklaces for himself

And for his warriors who killed the most.

He liked, well, what he loved the most

Was cutting off heads and watching them roll

Screaming these: -Bastard, murderer

You do nothing but nonsense.

His hatred of the Moors was infinite

As is shown today in the nations

Who elect at the polls, or outside of them

Serial killers to govern them

Before, for the desire to steal their jewels

And, today, to steal their oil.

He built pyramids

With corpses and mortal remains

As are seen today made

On the ruins of Palestine

Lebanon, Syria, Ukraine and other nations.

They say that, one day

He went inside his tent.

He peeked through a crack

Seeing one of his warriors coming

Who was approaching him

Fucking his most youthful mare in the ass.

-What did this great murderous Khan do?

He cut off the head of his youthful mare

Putting his brand new sword

In the backside of the warrior

His brand new sword, on the fly.

A fact that was praised by their conquered peoples

As today they praise the actions

Of these exalted serial killers

With rap music

Sound of chainsaws or sirens

For refugees and other uprooted people

Who hide underground.

-Daniel de Culla