I've been looking at the first news items in the news reports, pulling an idea. But I've despaired, reading anything, when I start thinking about today, I hear a long aaaa. And I feel rage because my time of no juerga has come now. Today is in a song the last week.

I haven't been Shakirazale, because so far I've always been affected by the opposite of the last song. Not him, his songs (and I prefer, among melodrama in the form of folletín, the vicissitudes of Spanish folklore). This “not him” seems important to me because it is what defines how I have felt in the debates that have emerged. Not the same.

I also had, attentive to words, the temptation to moralize “What is the fault of the new novel?” But the new novel isn't in the song. Nobody is singing. The song has come out today, but it's forever, and the pact forever is not between the singer and his life and us, between the song and us. And it's not Despechá de Rosalia, this song is from a lady, who's had children, who's self-sufficient -- many years is smarter, and choosing a 20-year-old person in place has many deep inlines about man. “What if it were the other way around, a man from his former girl?” Oh, mama. It has always been sung backwards.

And I also had, attentive to words, the temptation to put an anticapitalist: “Is it billing our freedom?” Many capitalists, a sudden and demanding Catholic, who want to deny the singer’s legitimacy are counting on what he has billed for his possible suffering. Well, yes, just like you. “Now they are justifying some things because it’s in their interest.” Yes, that too. And if it suits us, go ahead, “aaaa.”