The artists property, Casablanca, Chile
Gauze, wire, branches on grapes

We observe hell daily, in the media distance that surrounds us. How much more must happen to for us to awake from our lethargy? How many crimes, how much destruction must happen for us to say ENOUGH!?

There are no possible words in the face of genocide, there are no appropriate phrases that are able to draw the terror and the pain when observing the scattered limbs, embedded in the vertices of the debris.

Everything I can say is limited, due to the magnitude of the event, which opens the viscera in the cement and burst your eyes terrified by cruelty, from the atlas of interventionism.

The life of a newborn and its mother should be sacred, but in the midst of the horror of the massacre, It is an infinite tear, an incessant cry, that hurts us and consumes us in the comfortable routines of West.

A requiem for extermination, a requiem for disaster, a requiem for the collapse of humanity, a requiem for the livid bodies, for the faces in frozen rictus, crossed by the barbarism in Gaza and in other regions.

Darkness looms in the streets of Palestine, but also in the streets of the world. Are we blind? Blind that we cannot see the connection of the fibers that unite us? We place emphasis on the separation, in the distance.

How many screams are thrown into the void between the bullets, how many thirsty throats, stuffed with mud, do not. They can articulate a letter, a moan, and in that muteness, they succumb, without finding an answer, or a kiss that saves them from the predatory maelstrom?

How many hands remain clenched at the broken glass, which was previously the windows of their homes? Homes, and today are the sharp knives of eviction?

How many torsos will be nailed to the tiles of dilapidated buildings or burned sidewalks that abruptly transmuted the landscape forever?

How many girls/boys, elderly women, adults, adolescents wander wounded towards the wall? Urban exodus and annihilation?

Families search for their lost offspring, who hang by a thread from shaky rooftops. Tormented women who have seen their bellies burst, due to the immeasurable pain of loss resounding, while they madly nail their cries into the clouds of white phosphorus, which wither them and they mark them.

Souls lacerated in a burning sky, without god, without law, contracted souls, broken by the invasion systematic. Mouths muted by the camouflage of weapons hatred, eyes blinded, beings crushed by the psychotic glorification of war.

Funeral mathematics of world imperialist power, destroying, extinguishing every human cell, in every meter square, deny every gesture of life of the other ethnic group, the other race, the other creed, the other ideology, in territories that succumb to ambitious decorations and the bacchanal of murder.

Destruction floods everything, the birds no longer sing, they get stuck in the dust of the projectiles, while the cups, the cushions, the broken chairs, the clothes fly everywhere... in a chilling, mixed swing with arms, nails, hair, animals, plants.

The mockery has no end, the atrocities multiply on the occupied nation, the arteries are poisoned, muscles and blood with gases from select laboratories. The contemporary holocaust goes around and around overflowing, crushing the kind flowers of understanding. Darkness passes through the skin, and the bodies they decompose, run over by fateful algorithms.

The saliva is now scarlet and so are the tears, due to the suffering that goes beyond infinity. The Girls and boys have been deflowered by thousands of narcissistic explosives. The oppressors applaud the great feat of war technology, they take heroic selfies in other people's yards, showing off their invincible strength of the fascist battalion.

Thousands are fleeing the terror of the colonizers, thousands have had their water, land, their homes, their homes stolen. gardens, its churches, its books, its pots, its relics. Never again will the stars be hope, they have dissected all in the bestial arena of selfishness. How to revive and get out of the ashes? While the ambition fractures hills, hospitals and distorts bodies, cementing the route of domination, asphyxiation, exclusion in the iron ghetto that denies sunlight.

The bones come to the surface like fossil branches, the fragmented limbs, removed from their place, scattered like stones, they mark the path of infamy.

There will be no spring, everything has fallen into the scaffold, a cemetery of voices that will never again speak of love, nor tenderness. Bursting hearts in the strategic equations of advanced drones and refined weaponry, who test its effectiveness with derision, on the defenseless population.

There are no right words, no appropriate sentences, no lyrics that describe the deep tear that is embedded in the flesh, there is a stunned silence.

Essay about this work in Ficcion de la razón from Aldo Bombardierre:

Photo-Documentation: Janet Toro
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