Thursday, September 2, 2010

Our Man in Granada: The Last Interview

You're Lying
: Nicaragua!

Granada: Yeah! I hear you shouldn't move when you wake up, for scorpions, attracted by the heat, cling to your body at night.

You're Lying: My god.

Granada: And the old men there smoke chocolate. Chocolate.

You're Lying: Bring some back.

Granada: ...and Cuban cigars, and, apparently, the finest rum in teh world, and hopefully some messianic tropical fever. Part Kinski, part Céline.

You're Lying: You know, Nicaragua is one of the members of the gigantist Chavismo/Boliviarismo club.

Granada: Yeah, one of the leaders of the Sandinista junta is now president.

You're Lying: Like Hamas and Chavez, [President of Nicaragua Daniel] Ortega is a success story of Bush's great neoliberal project of exporting liberal democratic elections.

Granada: Apparently the country is pretty divided between the leftists and the Contras. A lot of transported American Southerners fly Confederate flags from their purchased islands.

You're Lying: Any last instructions for your will and testament?

Granada: Crush me into a diamond and fire me into space. Give my shit to those who care least.

You're Lying: What books did you bring?

Granada: Just 2666, which may not be enough. Should have brought Maldoror for the fever days... You know what? Have them leave me in the jungle. Our handling of the dead is so highly sexualized, it would make me uncomfortable.

You're Lying: Ha ha. I'm going to compile all this into a "last interview" on the blog.

Granada: Good. For the record: my murderers are my travel companions, coerced by the long arm of the white devil. Tombstone: we are all a girl named Jenny in a brothel run by Grande Madame Indifference.

You're Lying: Where the hell are you right now? The airport?

Granada: At work. Flight's at 6.

You're Lying: Jesus Christ. How terrible. Is this all just an elaborate corporate softball game?

Granada: No doubt. Fear and mistrust will fend of the scorpions at night... but not Man.

You're Lying: Any last words, Céline?

Granada: 'Sure, I hate the Jews. But I hate men like me and my quest for eternal life much, much more.' Be right back, I've got to go eat a fucking sandwhich.

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