Visca la terra! - Or strongly wishing the death of Quan Cago and all his beshitted subjects

Sovereigns of asspain: their turdy effigies burned

The seedy maidens and their obsolete romps

With their pets contemporary

Whose loathsome antics

Offend the sensibilities

Of the piteously humiliated knights of the motherfucking


The pious Hindu

The ruthless thugs of the Vichy regime

The always-repellent asspaniards

With their fascist king

Pushed to act and appear like a fucking horror

Deep into the invaded provinces

Provoking with his stupid cruelty the meek enemy.

What a pack of wizened creeps!

(And the stage for the quiet farce

Of the roaring flames


Etiolated swam in the filthy porcelain

The turds of patriotism

While the child of liberty sat

Still drowned at the bottom of the pool

Of ancient bloods.


Foresight be damned

The simpleminded gambler

Crowned with his crown of bleeding turds

Emerged (nudged – nay – propped) by the fools of his court

Of fools only

From the disgustingly subterranean latrine of his birthright

To balance his embryonic frame

Identical to a voiding baboon

On the widening grindstone

Of his crumbling kingdom

By fascists built and by fascists greased

Band of murderous klutzes.

Of old spanceled bears the boozed-up killer

(Could that it might happen

That the decomposing ghost of murdered Mitrofan

Came every night to bugger his turdy asshole

For a bottomless string of hellish eternities!

The monarch of the archaistic latrine

Of a vain cemetery on the fritz

Of a land riddled with castilian shits

The ladies the stinkier

Nuns of the corpse

Bemoaning their rotten luck

Another fascist coup short of the grave

He pursues his convict’s party

Uttering lies

To provoke his way into

The fascist army’s mass


Which they crave for every night they are dying

Of hatred.


Dethroned by a coup as soon as he dared

Be intelligent and quit

At his crap-colored burial the grins unthwarted

Of provincial traitors

Of decaying lackeys

Swimming like turds

In the glum blood-soaked mileu

(Whatever they do always the same grim ceremony

Of castilian inquisition)

(Incapable indeed of escaping the curse that makes the castilian

Such shivering bowels)

(Swimming in the eviscerated womb brimming with shits

That is their shit of a dreadful country)

(As for Franco the fascist the first

So now for him

“Franco” the fascist the second

Or for his also aptly named son

“Common Latrine” the fascist the third

Third putrid bourbon or castilian fascist

Fucking indesinent bane!)

In mourning enshrouded

The ugly castilian whores to murder endemically addicted

Their hoar-frosted wombs

Slumping down atop the garbage of their cunts rotten

Singing ethereal

Like coprolites whirring on blackboards

Of dry blood

While amid the morose fares of stunting leisure

The fetid grasshoppers (of their breathing corpses issued)

With their delicate scissors

Are cursing all present

And sparking in droves

New plagues for a land maligned and doomed for centuries

On end

(Until the castilians are once and for all by fire


Ah for the flames




Demolishing the inconsequential gravestones

All the wilted crestfallen nonsense


With accent horrific

And turds on the middle

On their surfaces of erasure

Where heads endlessly rolled

Droll spectral cobwebs of dried bloods


Deleted assets from sweeps of ideologues

Cynically collusive

Dangerously patriotic

Meaning all crooked and bent

All criminally bent.

Rural players still lurk

On the healthier peripheries

Their enthusiasm unrivaled

Wealthy in half-forgotten schisms

Braving injury

In foreign stadiums.

What a goldmine of razzmatazz and wholesome exploits


Lit up

In the gurgling Springs of many shameless Catalonias

Reborn and reborn

That blend with advantage

The harmonious ordeals

Resentfully bound for reprisal

The corks that don’t ever sink

The ghost shields of sympathy unbothered

All those luminous Catalonias

Of the word melodiously sounding

That slide down smooth light green walls

To belong

To belong among free nations

Armed with new shining weapons

And untainted

Untainted by bossism and fascism

Never infected by the same disease

Washed out the filthy hypochondriac castilians

Always to their cherished latrine utterly


By new zeniths spellbound

In jest and in token

The sight of the tawdry roadblocks

Of a shitty turdy netherworld of bathrooms

Latrines of monarchic birthright

Abhorred as always

Dismissed valiantly

Horny Catalonias full steam ahead

Burning the pampered whores of leisure

Ugly castilians.

Long live the earth!

eixavuirint al sac de les serradures

amb una lot em faig llum i...

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,