IconElegies

This is my last revolution. This revolution failed. This was a crusade of the rascals. I am dirty and hungry myself. My life is at an end. I should have saved the last bullet for myself, and not been taken prisoner. They eye me like a prize bull. Tomorrow they will shoot me, take my body to their masters. There is no more Che Guevara. The revolution will not die with my death. They only shot a man. Poet´s note. Che Guevara was shot in Bolivia. Since his death, he has become an icon of revolutionaries.

I was lost in love. I was lost in life.  I became numb to alcohol and drugs asi it happens to people. I fell in love with the one I shouldn't have fallen in love with. That's how it always goes. Only I died, he lives. When I died, I was alone. No one was there. A crazy situation for a singer. I left, but my songs remain the same. Poet´s note. Amy Winehouse was the last 27´s club. Great singer. 

I couldn't sleep. I just couldn't. You can be the best actor in the world but you can't act your own life. Like the Joker, who laughs when forced. There are always new stars. New Jokers. I sleep. Forever. Poett´s note. Actor Heath Ledger died  of a comabination of sleeping pills.

I was Manolete. Braver than any of the other matadors. I brought death closer than anyone else. I didn't like attention, not anything extra. I was a hero of the spaniards, until my last fight came, and even after that. I left my fate to death, that time it won in the form of a bull. I had already won love, that was enough to me but my love was not allowed to say goodbye. Poet´s note. Manolete was spanish matador who died at the arena 1947. 

I hope the departure is happy, and I never return. The spikes don't help, the morphine doesn't help, the pain is unbearable, has been since when I was pierced. The pain win, the pain is everything. I am now its, until it falls off me. Long live life! Poet´s note. Frida Kahlo is one of the most famous artists. She was injured in an accident and suffered from pain throughout her life.

I should have died many times, but I only died as an old man. I no longer drank the cheapest wine in the cheapest tavern. I lived comfortably, surrounded by cats and young women who admired me. I had to live to be the king of the lazy, a group that no one wants, with outcasts and madmen knocking at my door. But someone had to do it, someone had to bring hope to those who no longer have that joy. I had the biggest balls in Los Angeles. Poet´s note. Author Charles Bukowski is still hero for outcasts.

I am one of the few who have hanged themselves after they were dead, and whose brains have been missing. They could hardly contain their emotions  when they let them examine the brains of our terrorists, like the Nazis did back in the day. They wanted to know why we became violent. Why do we even have to ask that? They would have looked around. And they would know why a star journalist became a terrorist. Poet´s note. Ulrike Meinhof was a RAF-terrorist.