The midday gleams at you And each one touches his shadow in the departure. City. The unmentionables are a part of our reality, our daily life. Perhaps we pass by, we gaze, lower our head if we are walking, o simply try not to see through the dark windows of the car, or we hide behind our sunglasses. We do not want to see it, but the people are there latent, groaning, torn, almost putrefied, accompanied by our indolence. Aggravated by the helplessness of the Institutions that have the duty to fulfill their mandate. Those gnawed walls, those wanderers that inhabit the desolate houses, are also becoming part of our urban and vital landscape; seeing it so often, it vanishes, and at the same time, becomes part of us, in our wardrobe, in the usual. Wraiths in our streets, seeking refuge in those zombie-houses, that also unfold their arms, touch us, embrace us, and we continue tied without feeling them. It is our natural response to the nauseating smell that for the reiterated thing becomes an inherent part of our lives. Wake up! Let us act, let us make proposals, let us look for solutions. We are artists and creators. We are part of this vision that impoverishes our souls. If we do not act, we will also be ghosts entangled in our supposed well-being, dressed with these collapsed shores, these beings-walls "forgotten of God" and of us. We coexist in this life. Turning off the light is not the solution. Every day the radiant sun accuses us, showing and demonstrating the pus of our wounds. Iris Tocuyo-Llovera
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