Someone who always enjoyed power assured that it is only bad for those who do not have it. As I have never owned it, it inspires mistrust, fear, grime. But for those who consider it their reason for existence, power must be something of an aphrodisiac, a permanent buzz and orgasm. Do what you want with the existence of others. Because you want to, and, above all, because you can. Without the need for moral justifications, only with the supreme obligation that not even God take it away from you.
That is the only issue between the war without prisoners that have been mounted by the ambitious lady whom the voters love so much and the supreme boss of her racket. The two are willing to devour each other or sacrifice themselves kamikaze in the name of sacred power. And I, vengeful plebeian and parlor anarchist, have a lot of fun with the bites to the jugular that the heroes of the great family of freedom are shaking. Likewise, I would enjoy if this happened between sociatas and podemitas. It is the cunning enjoyment that we unwavering abstentionists feel in the face of the misfortune of those who make sure without a hint of blush that they dedicate their lives to serving others.
Shakespeare’s characters who were slaughtering for power expressed themselves with originality and tortuous lyrics. But I feel embarrassed when I hear the afflicted Ayuso declare: “I could never imagine that the leadership of my party would act in such a cruel and unfair way against me.” And that the desolate Teodoro replies: “I could never imagine that he would attack the leadership of our party in such a cruel and unfair way.” Speeches are supposed to be written by different well-paid consultants and scribes. But it is tragicomic that both repeat the same roll. Poor things, both victims of the other’s cruelty and injustice.
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