Art has always been a great tool to fight tyranny. About 12 years ago, dismayed at the despicable state of my country’s finances and the all-out ransacking of our treasury, I wrote “Caracas, 2046”. It depicts a dystopian future where Venezuela has been overtaken by the Chinese. With all the debt we’ve accrued to the Asian giant, I’m afraid to say this future looks more and more likely…
Caracas, 2046
Dear diary: I’m writing today to tell you that I met a great guy. His name is Chu Wo, but we aborigines call him Chúo. He's grrreat!, and it's been love at first sight. But let's not be too hasty...
Today was payday and Chang was extremely generous with his aborigines: not only did he give us a 10,000 yuan bonus, but he also gave us two night military passes to New Tienanmen and told us to go to the bar at the Four Dragons Hotel across the square. I couldn't believe it: me, an aborigine at the Four Dragons! I was so excited that I almost dropped my Mao-Pad as I left a message for Marisabel to tell her to put on her best colorful ch'ang-p'ao and come with me. I decided to celebrate with a spring roll arepa at Bruce Lichis', the place that just opened between Plaza Bolivariana and Maoítos station, near Shanghai Grande.
Thank God Chang gave me a military pass: a couple of Red Army soldiers asked me for my papers while I was walking along the Boulevard. It seems that the rumor circulating in the neighborhood is true: we, young and beautiful (sexy!) aborigines, are dragged to the back alley and forced to blow them if you don't have your papers in order. That’s why Misladys disappeared after logging a complaint on her Bolivarian Facewook account. They say that Inspector Bracci Roa threw her into the Wai-ru River, where all the corpses are...
But I digress. I don't want to think about bad things. I went back to the 4 de febrero neighborhood by Subte Subway, since the service has really improved after the Metro went bankrupt and was sold to the Spaniards. It is now Futurama-like, with virtual screens everywhere. I saw an advertisement for the new visuo-touch Mao-Pad (I want one!) and the new Boobs-o-meters which are frankly disgusting. What bad taste. I'm happy with my inflatable 36-B model, even though they are half expired, and I have to refill them every two hours. But the ad for the new Boobs-o-meters, where singer Daddy Opium is brought two glasses of sake on each of a bee-atch's boobs, is simply demeaning.
Today I was lucky and got through the checkpoint after only half an hour in line. It's been a while since those barbaric rebels put bombs on the wall; thank goodness. I don't know how I would feel without the wall that separates the Waraira Repano from the city, with its beautiful television screens, from which we can see the Shaman when he addresses us. How ugly Caracas would be without the wall! The mountain of garbage from the Waraira Repano would spoil the view of our shining and clean buildings. There are those who say that before the purge of whites and intellectuals in 2028, the Waraira Repano was a mountain full of trees. Of course, this is just subversive propaganda, just like the people who want to convince us that our sea was not black and viscous before, but transparent. Pure political speeches to deny the advances that the great Shaman has brought the country...
Marisabel arrives at my shantytown excited, asking to see the military passes. She brings with her a couple of Tsingtao beers and a bottle of Bacardi she bought in a convertible yuan store. Her new boyfriend, Lao To, has given her the latest Personalized Virtual Projector he brought back from a trip to Hong Kong. I am very happy for Marisabel, she tells me that Lao works as an engineer at the Petroleum De China headquarters in La Campiña (rumor has it that the name of the district is going to be changed to "Tofu" since the Chinese can't pronounce it). The new Virtual Personalized Projector is amazing, they have solved the problem of animation in the angles. When we turn it on, we see the daily speech of the Shaman, who appears, obese but beautiful as always, in the middle of my living room.
The Shaman explains that the Maoist-Bolivarian Forces for the Dignity and Sovereignty of Humanity (MBFDSH) have won a major victory in the Peshawar region, where the Hindu imperialists have bitten the dust and are in full retreat. Marisabel and I jump for joy and imagine that soon Juan and Alvaro will return to Venezuela.
In the evening, when we arrive at the Four Dragons Hotel, I see the man of my life, Chu Wo. When I cross Chu standing in a corner with his opium pipe and a glass of sake in his hands, I fall at his feet. As soon as Little Bitch's new hit "fuck me in the ass, daddy" is playing, I take Marisabel by the hand, and we start dancing frantically. Discreetly, I reach under my blue silk ch'ang-p'ao and inflate my Boobs-o-meters to their maximum capacity, and shake the Mao-Pad in my hand as I dance, so he can see I'm not a broke aborigine gold digger. He watches me, stares at my military pass and approaches, with a deep-voiced, very sexy Ni hao, to which I try to respond with my nervous Ni hao and my Mandarin full of Aboriginal accent. I swear Chu must have spent about 300,000 yuan that night. We had a phenomenal time. I won't tell you the details, but I wake up on the balcony of his sublime pent-house in Wang Park across from the Ming Art Museum International (MAMI). We promise to meet again tomorrow. Today, I asked for the day off and just plan to relax and dictate this to my Mao-Pad.
I think I am happy.
It was great until she "imagined that Alvaro will return to Venezuela" jajaja
¡Dios me libre! Great stuff bro, I can totally picture this in Horacio Altuna dystopian drawings...
So futuristic but so "it's happening now" at the same time... Coming back... It seems very far from it. Thanks a lot.