Chapu Apaolaza: The last one that turns off the light

The Government invites citizens through a video to turn off the light so as not to end the land waste energy. As if the planet was not to end before other ways. They remind me of people who recommend … bullfighters to quit smoking. In the piece, the ministers appear going from their offices and turning off the switch as if, when they leave their office, nobody left there. In the offices of the ministers, at night, galeotes row to the rhythm of a drum that touches a huge eunuch of the PSC executive with more rings in the ears than a shower and light curtain, hanging from the walls, torches impregnated in cast fat of the skin tired on the back of a Spanish taxpayer. That the switch must be disconnected when one leaves the room, it is already remembered by the price of electricity that has risen 38% since January 2023. The trick is that, when Rajoy ruled, if you had to spend less electricity it was for the energy poverty that imposed the ruthless capitalism, and now you have to congratulate yourself because living in dark you are saving the planet.

Light is an indication of life. In the houses a connected lamp are left so that people think they are inhabited. The man embarked the forces of the cosmos in the incandescence that gave rise to the bulb that is a domesticated fire. Some bullfighters leave the light of the hotel on as if they claimed to return. A light on life is a life, but in the left they want dark and off cities as in ‘the pillars of the earth’. Paleorreality likes it a lot because it denies progress and refers to an arcadia desired by them in which man had not yet been corrupted by consumerist desire and that was actually hell. In the intimate they dream of a world in which one lies when the sun puts on, he knows New York for the postcards, he goes on a boyfriend’s trip to Talavera de la Reina, he lives on what his garden gives, of ten children he survives four and has a life expectancy of 42 years. Or another dystopian world in which instead of children we have ia and, to live in that land, I prefer to put fire to the planet. Thus, María Jesús Montero will not have to appear giving a switch while I imagine it playing the Palmas Corraleras and Sanchistas in the sky of the fair, curdled of bulbs.

When the conversion, on the Carranza bridge of the silver tacita someone tune the poster that indicated that one left that city emptied of emigrants and full of poverty and unemployment and, next to the name crossed out of Cádiz, wrote: “The last one that turns off the light.”

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