Gas. Nothing but it. Nothing else to breath. Not even hatred. It’s all about boredom. A crime turned into daily life. Well, if only were one…


The shooting starts. We rash for cover.  Our shooting starts as well. Get a toproof position, take your camera out, shoot, shoot, shoot! As the soldier in front of you. He’s about your age. But instead of playing superman in a doomed country he’s playing supervillain. No choice. Smiles back, let’s shoot.


Stones turned into a threat, even for our EU positions. More gas, grenades and G.D. knows what else. Get down, seize a balcony instead. Not that long ago people actually lived here. I’m goddam squattering their house 'cos someone took it away. Stole it. Somehow I feel like a war criminal, maybe in Yugoslavia. Bullets on the walls, it’s pretty much the same. Mosques all around, even. It was their fucking home and now it’s my fucking game.


Hypocrisy. Shooting keeps going, soldiers keep coming, stones keep flying. Scandinavian peacekeepers just waiting. There’s nothing else to do. It’s like a red light. Just stay. A guy's arrested. Later, we get to know he's a regular scapegoat with mental problems. It’s a role game. Soldiers moving forward into the street. People seizing a square. Taxis keep riding, kids keep crying, life keeps going


It’s over. Let’s go for lunch. We go back You stay: it’s your place. All about passports. Nothing happens, shawarmas, chicken, coke, stupid talks about soccer. Rich people on the other side of the sea not giving a shit if you die. Still, you wanna waste your time with them. OK, you’re doomed, as you wish. Smile, fake. Change the world, solve the conflict. They’d kill you if your life was worth only a few quarters less. Same currency paying our superman trip. NGO workers, yuhu! The Messiah just came!


We go. You stay. Killing. Dying.  I shoot a camera, they shoot a gun. Die now. Die soon. No future for no one cares. Money flows, flows, flows. Building a wall. Haha! It’s not a wall, stupid. It’s their retirement plan. You hippie are also playing their game. Human rights? Who cares. It’s M-O-N-E-Y. For you, too, journalist. For you too, NGO criminal. You claim to be on the right side. That’d be true only in front of a people’s tribunal, you liar.


Hypocrisy. Founded on a crime. On human rights violations. On war and walls. At the end it’s the same word. Lunch is over. On the way to the washroom, next door, more gas, tears burst into my eyes. Pick up my stuff, break into the street. At our right, people running away. At our left, M-16 aiming at us. Right in the middle. That’s what we wished, uh? Don’t run! Fuck you!  


Quant a axel

Tinc 22 anys, i sóc allò que en diríem un periodista frustrat. Potser no he tingut sort, potser no hi he insistit prou o, segurament, no serveixo. Intento suplir-ho fent de traductor, o com a mínim això diu una de les llicenciatures que tot just acabo. A part d’a Barcelona, he tingut la sort de viure a la Rep. Txeca, a Israel/Palestina i, actualment, a Toronto, al Canadà. I de viatjar a una trentena de països.
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