Read Online The Uncomfortable Dead by Paco Ignacio Taibo II, Subcomandante Marcos - Free Book Online

afraid that Belascoarán and Elías would lose, that we would all lose together along with them. Because it is a known fact that the murderer always returns to the scene of the crime. But just suppose that Elías and Belascoarán are going after a murderer, after THE murderer. And if it’s who I think it is, THE murderer is not going to return to the scene of the crime, simply because the murderer is the scene of the crime. The murderer is the system. Yes! The system. When there’s a crime, you have to go looking for the culprit upstairs, not downstairs. The Evil is the system, and the Bad are those that serve the system.
    But the Evil is not an entity, a perverse and malevolent demon looking for bodies to possess and turn into instruments for creating more evil, crimes, murders, economic programs, frauds, concentration camps, holy wars, laws, courts, crematoriums, television channels.
    No, the Evil is a relationship, it’s one position against the other. It’s also an election. The Evil is to choose the Evil. To choose to be the Bad unto the other. To transform yourself, of your own free will, into the executioner. And to transform the other into the victim.
    We’re screwed. Campamenteros should not enter into metaphysical considerations. Campamentistas are supposed to count battle tanks and soldiers, they’re supposed to get sick from the food, they should fight among themselves over nothing, they should play soccer, they should lose to the Zapatistas, they should help with the projects, they should listen to Radio Insurgente, they should criticize El Sup for not being or doing what they think he should be and do, they should plan how they’re going to export Zapataism to their own countries, they’re supposed to be bored most of the time. All those things and many others—but they should definitely not enter into metaphysical considerations. Neither should they wetback their way (no one has asked the Broken Calendar members for passports yet) into mystery novels, especially those that are written by four hands, twenty fingers, two heads, many worlds.
    These damn Zapatistas fight against a monster with the help of a detective and a Chinese guy. It won’t be long before some Russian shows up. Yeah, and the Chinese one will turn out to be a Trotskyite and the Russian a Maoist. Sonovabitch! Fuck Wal-Mart! Fuck the nauyaca! Fuck the fucking pyramids! Fuck fast food! Yes, and fuck me, because just as there are good extraterrestrials and bad extraterrestrials, there’s also good fruit and bad fruit, and I’m one of the good fruits. I’m one of the good ones because I chose not to be one of the bad ones. Fuck this hammock! We’re screwed … and I can’t fucking sleep … and I’ll be fucked if I ever have pozol and beans for dinner again. And about then I fell asleep.
    Elías and Customs and Mores
    Just let me have a cigarette and I’ll go on telling you about the things that happened before I met up with Belascoarán at the Monument to the Revolution, over there in Mexico City. Me, I smoke Gratos. Or Alas. That’s all there was around here to smoke, so I got used to them. What I mean is that even if there’s the other kind, I smoke Ingrates or Scorpions, which is what we over here call em when we wanna be funny. So then, let me tell you about the days before I went into the city to pick up city ways. I went over to Headquarters so El Sup could give me a few things and I could head to the city. I went off with Major Moses and after passing the guard post we ran into a bunch of insurgents. Captain Noah was sitting there with a guitar singing a song to the tune of “The Little Roe,” the one that goes, I’m just a poor little roe, living in the mountains, but the words to this one were a lot different:
    I’m just a poor captain, who has no one to talk to.
I’m just a poor captain, who has no one to talk to.
And I may be married, but I ain’t been fixed,
and that’s why I want you, little light of my