From our Bureau of Things That Shouldn’t Exist
Okay, that’s it. I quit. I can’t take it any more.
This photo has driven me over the edge and I’m in free-fall over the bottomless pit of emotional, intellectual, and spiritual hell.
Whether this display of affection for a murderous psychopath hovering over the hopeless scenario created by him is genuine or not makes no difference.
Nothing like this should exist. Period. The fact it exists is irrefutable proof of the existence of the devil and of his power over human beings.
Sure, there are worse things on earth. But this brazen display of pure evil affects me far too deeply. I realize it’s but a mere speck in a vast universe of evil, but it has eviscerated me, for some reason.
The core of my soul — my Seelengrund , my Fünklein — has imploded.
And the fact that a British publication —The Economist — publishes the photo makes it a gazillion times worse.
It reminds me too much of the British edition of my Waiting for Snow in Havana…. and of Graciela the demon cigar lady.
Yeah. In the eyes of the world, this is what it means to be a Cuban: a semi-naked shoeless savage whose identity is inseparable from that of the monsters who ruined his nation.
I want no part of this. I want to erase my identity. I don’t want to be “Cuban” today, maybe not any other day, ever, if being Cuban means being associated with photos such as these and everything they represent.
Today I’m changing my name. I’ve got four choices: McKinley Morganfield (the real name of Muddy Waters), Thurston Howell IV (son of the millionaire in Gilligan’s Island), or C. K. Dexter Haven (character in The Philadelphia Story) or Roger O. Thornhill (character in Hitchcock’s North by Northwest). Or maybe I’ll just take on my wife’s surname and Germanize my first name. Yeah. Call me Karl Ulrich. That’s it. Herr Doktor Professor Karl Ulrich. No, wait, Karl was Marx’s first name. Forget that.
How about Butthead? Yeah, that’s better, call me Herr Doktor Professor Dieter Arschkopf.
Being Cuban is far, far too painful.
Miserere nobis, Domine. Cubani sumus… or should we exiles say “Cubani eramus” instead ?
Yeah, once upon a time we WERE Cubans..
The real sad truth is not that being a Cuban is painful, but that Cuba DIED a long time ago and it has been replaced by the incubus zombie nation of Castrogonia.