"The words of the prophets are written on the
subway walls, and tenement halls."
Simon & Garfunkel
I like street art. Always have. Nothing beats the street for checking the artistic pulse of a city. While I'm not one to criticize art museums for "colonizing" the arts, and the local art museum is generally one of my first stops anywhere I go, where would the world be without the inspired subway scrawl of urban cave painters like Keith Haring?
While Basquiat OD'd on dope at the age of 27, would he have made it that far, if he hadn't had the walls of the Lower East Side of Manhattan to exorcise his demons on? Even if his work never showed the slightest trace of "colonization," I'm inclined to doubt it.
Hmmm, is it Van Gogh? No. Is it true? As true as Van Gogh?
I certainly think so. The plague of postmodernism, which pretends that there's no difference in Basquiat and meaningless splashes of condiments on the children's tablecloth of the universe, teaches us to disregard the search for truth that is the key ingredient in any real art. The deadly virus of postmodernism has made us so blind to truth, and the search for truth, that we are tempted to actually believe that each of us has our own truth.
If everybody has "their own truth," there no reason to look for the real truth.
And if we're not looking for it, there's no way we're going to find it.
If the search itself is relative, then there is nothing to search for.
By keeping us from seeking beyond the slave plantation of moral/artistic relativity, the false prophets of postmodernism have committed the ultimate act of colonization, far beyond anything any mere museum or military empire could accomplish.
They've got us actually believing there's nothing beyond the walls to find.
So why look? Is it because if we look, we'll set ourselves free?
Let's ask Dali:
Hmmm, I wonder what he thinks. If I hadn't been trained to think I know better, I'd say it's as if he actually believes the idea of breaking out of the plantation of colonized postmodern ego-wallowing will turn the pages of your book into a flock of birds. Birds who fly off into the sun, perhaps toward the truth, as you hasten to follow them in a wind-driven craft surrounded by sunbeams of ecstatic liberation.
Unless, of course, you prefer to watch people vomit paint smoothies onto a canvas at their feet. You certainly are entitled to your preferences.
Which is not the same thing as being entitled to "your truth."
"Today the love of the defective is such that
genius is recognized only in defects."
So, what does this have to do with gangs of seductive Mexican women who drug solitary men and rob them after they die or pass out?
Is that what we're talking about?
But learning about the gang of seductive Mexican women with the punk-rock name who drug solitary men and rob them is what inspired me to start writing this article. Because I write these articles for free, for my own personal interest and amusement, I don't feel the need to maintain a consistent narrative. In fact I enjoy how the topic moves around in my head, as though my skull were comprised of a series of tectonic plates that rub against each other to create earthquakes of music, or fire. I sit back and pluck melodies and words from the quaking mass of disjointed, unrelated ideas, and glue them together to see if they stick. Sometimes they do; often they don't.
Playing with the pieces is the fun part.
One of the things I like about street art is its tendency toward the coalescence of random, disparate elements to make a disjointed, if colorful, whole. This section of a wall in Mexico City features a drawing of an androgynous figure making an Illuminati handsign, over which the "women's symbol" hovers amongst rays of monochrome glory. The androgynous figure seems happy and satisfied. Next to it is a drawing by an obviously-different artist, depicting a devil figure making a pyramidal handsign similar to that of the androgynous figure, or perhaps engaged in some kind of infernal prayer. Green lips encircle his wicked grin, out of which comes a snake in lieu of a tongue, and a ghostly spirit of fear. Interestingly, there is a halo over his head. The halo resembles the women's symbol, without the cross part. It symbolizes self-righteousness, whether the artist knows it or not.
Is it intentional?
Heck, I dunno. Who cares.
What the art does do, however, is give you a pulse on the city. The screaming, weeping incantations of the people locked in the postmodern plantation will be written on the walls. As a couple guys once observed in song, where all the best observations belong:
So, what do these walls say? The walls depicting androgynes and demons holding Illuminati prayer vigils with their own reflections. Clearly, there are feminists and devils here. Not exactly a revelation, but it's nice to know with certainty.
Que luchan, ladies?
Hmmm, I wonder what they think about "the system." Let's ask them:
Not much, as it turns out.
Now we know.
So, what happens in a huge, lawless metropolis with a contingent of furious women whose ideology can be summed up by the phrase "F**k System?"
Las Goteras is what happens. Or, Las Goteras VIP. The Fabulous Leaks. Behold, the Riot Grrrl supergroup:
Last week, Infobae reported that 3 girls (pictured above) had been arrested for robbing men they'd seduced and drugged with Clonazepam. According to Medlineplus.gov, "Drinking alcohol or using street drugs during your treatment with Clonazepam also increases the risk that you will experience these serious, life-threatening side effects." You know some alcohol and street drugs are happening in conjunction with the party put on by The Fabulous Leaks. According to the same report, a 28-year-old lawyer died from it.
Apparently, the problem isn't new. A 2017 report by El Universal states that "these women adulterated drinks and smeared their breasts with an ophthalmic substance to drug their victims." I don't know what an "ophthalmic substance" is, but apparently, it is toxic, and cannot be absorbed through the boobs.
So, if the street proclaims that "mothers no longer cry, now they fight," you can be sure that someone out there has stopped crying, and has chosen to fight.
Nevermind if The Fabulous Leaks are mothers or not, or if the poster surely represents actual mothers of actual disappeared children, and not angry, green-smoke-spewing feminist dragons,
When the street is speaking, it is speaking to everybody. Maybe not the mothers, but someone out there will say "F**k System," smear their boobs with an ophthalmic substance, and sidle up to you at the bar with a seductive twinkle in their eye. Because "F**k System." Which means you.
Who are you to argue with the dragons on the street? Move through them with The Holy Spirit in total victory at all times, but don't argue with them. The error could be fatal.
"Las Goteras VIP" is the exclusive branch of the Goteras gang. I don't know what separates them from the regular Goteras, but you can read about them on Debate.com, The Black Page, and on Infobae. Apparently, dudes are invited to join:
One thing that inspired me to write this article was watching a video about the true age of Yrma Lydya, which I posted at the bottom of my last article. There's a shot of the crime scene notice on the door of the restaurant where she was killed. It read "feminicidio," which means the murder of Yrma Lydya has been classified as a "hate crime" against women. Not just a homicide, but a "femicide." According to the bureaucracy, Yrma Lydya was killed because she was a woman. Supposedly, hatred of women was the driving, over-riding motive of her killer.
When I saw this report about a gang of women drugging men and robbing them after they pass out, it occurred to me that it might be classified as hombre-cide if they die.
Or, if the guy merely wakes up having lost everything, "hombre-robo."
Man-robbery. Not as bad as manslaughter, but still illegal.
And regarding their name, I don't get it, but "goteras" means "leaks." As in, water leaks, oil leaks, etc. Their gang name is "The Leaks," or "The Leaks VIP." I don't see the appeal of the name. Of course, it does sound better in Spanish. Though the meaning and word associations are still questionable. The addition of the "VIP" suffix does make them fabulous, though. They sound like an all-girl punk band from the early 80s. The Fabulous Leaks. The ultimate Riot Grrrl group.
If you come to Mexico, watch out for them. They might rock, and their boobs might glisten with an oddly toxic, unnatural allure, but they mean you harm.