From Paranoia to a Scream (Freeing Gorki “Last Time”) / Claudia Cadelo

segundo_cartel-copy-english.jpgPLEASE SIGN THE PETITION TO FREE GORKI THIS TIME

By Claudia Cadelo De Nevi

On Friday night, after the release of Gorki and when we had already been to his house, he asked Lía if she had been to the beach. Well, it is simply impossible to narrate the last four days in two hours. He didn’t know yet that we had been at the court from eight in the morning, that we had been burned by the sun the whole day and that later two storms had rained on us… and that we were all there – the diplomats, the press and us (I say “us” because some of us didn’t know each other from before, so it was simply us, those who had been there).

I write this note because I want to share my experience in this act of solidarity that artists and non-artists (like me) have had with him and with ourselves, clarifying that I refer to physical artists, painters and writers, because I didn’t see a single musician, not even the most “underground” of the underground.

My friends call me a paranoiac; I am the one who lives in fear, who never opens the windows, who never speaks of politics, I am afraid of the dark, I don’t go out after ten at night, not even to the corner. But nothing had made me as afraid as I was for the last four days starting on Monday (and it still hasn’t left me). continue reading

However, getting to know people like Yoani, seeing her at my side with the banner in her hand, after having talked to her two or three times on the telephone, driven by faith, to see us all today helping Gorki, Ciro, Renay and Herbert, my friends holding the ground with me and rising to overcome our fears and doubts, with friends overseas moving heaven and earth and, finally, managing to convert a sentence of four years into four days… to me it still seems like a miracle.

I feel pity for those who haven’t called me, who have been hiding from me in case I might ask them for help, for those who said “yes” but didn’t come, I regret they haven’t experienced the happiness of the end, the sensation of having achieved the unachievable.

I believe today marks a turning point from “No we can’t” to “Yes we can.” We have shown that things can change, that we can stand up to injustices and the abuse of power and that fear is NOT infallible.

By Claudia Cadelo in Yoani Sanchez’s blog, Generation Y
31 August 2008

PLEASE SIGN THE PETITION TO FREE GORKI THIS TIME

Brief chronology of a victory (Freeing Gorki “Last Time”) / Yoani Sanchez

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PLEASE SIGN THE PETITION

How did it occur to us to go to a concert by Pablo Milanes to ask for the liberation of Gorki? That is something that has the trademark of the spontaneous and the haste of that which can not be postponed or thought better of. Ciro, Claudia and I talked about it among ourselves and immediately decided to do it because to organize or arrange actions too much is the fastest way for “them” to find out about it. None of us stopped to think about the repercussions of what would happen, because only he who has something to lose weighs his actions, with the same care that a housewife handles the tins in the market. continue reading

All photos below by: Claudio Fuentes Madan
emilio-english.jpg
Thursday before the concert.

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Thursday, 28th, 7:30 p.m.
A group, among whom were Ciro, Claudia, Hebert, Emilio and me, met at the Coppelia bus stop to leave for the concert at the Tribuna Antiimperialista [Anti-Imperialist Grandstand]. At this time we were already being followed by some nervous boys of the political police and the police operation was impressive. It was still daylight and Pablo Milanés was singing when we arrived at the Protestómetro [Protest station]. We found a varied set of people there, including many military and some from the international press. For nearly forty minutes we were waiting for reinforcements but in the end we decided to take action without counting on those who were lost in the crowd, or who had never arrived, or who once there had changed their minds. The plan was to display two posters with the name of “Gorki” and to shout his name. That was meant to remind the musicians giving the concert that we had hoped for a pronouncement from them about the arrest of the leader of Porno para Ricardo.

Thursday, 8:35 p.m.
We are in the area to the left of the grandstand, as close to the stage as we can get and away from a group carrying thick sticks with their respective Cuban flags. Polito Ibáñez and Pablo Milanés had just finished singing “La soledad” [Solitude] and a brief pause gave us the opportunity for them to hear our shouts. At the count of one, two and three, Claudia and I displayed the fabric which lasted for just seconds in the air. I remember that we cried out, at least three times, the name of Gorki. People dressed in civilian clothes came out of everywhere and snatched the sheet painted with black spray paint. The women who fell on top of us were hefty ladies pulling our hair and shaking us. The men got the worst of it when the supposed “enraged people” doled out professional karate kicks to neutralize them. I remember the fear on the faces of the spectators who did not expect our action, and also the stampede of those who ran, leaving behind their shoes and the piece of the poster that I was able to keep in my hand. Ciro and Emilio were beaten and dragged into the security area at the side of the grandstand. Claudia managed to escape, as did Hebert, and I got away from a hand that grabbed me while calling for reinforcements. At the same time, a woman friend was arrested in the guest area for writing a paper asking Pablo for a few words of condemnation over the arrest of Gorki. We were never able to display the second sheet.
afuera-english.jpg

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Thursday, 8:45 p.m.
The audience close to the incident dispersed and at the corner dozens of policemen began pulling up in trucks. Ciro and Emilio found themselves in the midst of mass of soldiers with batons and well built civilians who hit them repeatedly. Claudia and I met up and decided to leave the grandstand to connect to the internet immediately and relate what happened. The streets of Vedado had never seemed more inhospitable than on this Thursday night, with police stationed on every corner. We thought to ask for help, but at one house where we went they told us clearly that we had to leave. We then decided to separate with a premonition that it might be worse later.

Thursday, after 9:00 p.m., Claudia managed, thanks to the solidarity of some friends with internet access, to send a brief message that was the first chronicle of what happened as told by one of the protagonists. The message was very vague because we did not know then how many had been arrested or what was happening with them. The rest of the night we spent making calls and answering the questions of those who had already heard about it.

Thursday, after midnight, at almost one in the morning, Ciro called to tell me he had been released. During the more than three hours he was at the station at 21st and C, a member of state security wanted to impress on him that he knew everything about him, including that he had played on a football team. He told him that the arrest had been a misunderstanding and that the police intervened only so that the “people” wouldn’t lynch us. He argued that the people in the audience had thought we were going to display a counterrevolutionary poster and because of that we had been surrounded. Strange people that on the one hand can’t distinguish between a short name and a slogan, but are expert in the martial arts.

During the early morning we made telephone calls to other friends and musicians telling them to arrive early at the Popular Municipal Court at Playa. I believe that no one could sleep in the hours between the release of Ciro and Emilio and arriving at the corner of 94th and 7th Ave. The blows hurt more away from the heat of the action, but the fear subsided.

Friday 8:20 a.m.
A dozen friends were already stationed at the door of the court by the time I could sneak into the area that, since early in the morning, was surrounded by an intense operation. It seemed as if those who were there were dangerous armed terrorists, because nothing else could justify so many members of the Apparatus [State Security] on every side. I could see one of those who followed us the night before and realized that Operation Gorki was of the greatest importance for them as well. Looking at these nervous members of State Security, I always ask myself if we couldn’t include in their curriculum a course on managing better camouflage. It’s that they all resemble one another, with their perfect crew cuts, their wide shoulders, and their checked shirts or striped pullovers. Has no one told them that from every pore they look like soldiers in civilian clothes? In the academy, aren’t they warned that their grim looks, such serious faces and their total lack of swing, reveals their covert work? Please, can someone give them training to appear as simple, ordinary people.

Friday from 9: 00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m.
The foreign reporters were everywhere, and also some diplomats and a group of friends came by the score. I regretted the absence of the Cuban artistic community, especially the musicians who should have been there to support their colleague. However, I was not surprised that no rapper, troubadour or reggaeton artist appeared outside of the court. Many were not informed, and others weighed the loss of small privileges as too high a price to pay for a punk singer who had been previously convicted. Some friends who tried to reach the site were stopped by the police siege. The presence of the artist Sandra Cevallos, who has already repeatedly faced the hairy arm of censorship, stood out. Some of the faces I found there were the same as those from the outskirts of Casa de las Américas [House of the Americas] on January 30th, the day of the debate of the intellectuals. It appears that there are some people accustomed to protesting in front of all the doors.

The lawyer, a very young man, had been hired just two days earlier, after the repeated refusal of several lawyers to take over the case. The crime was the previously announced pre-criminal dangerousness and they blamed all the delay in starting the trial on the fact that the file had not arrived. Gorki’s father, a man of 75, appeared very nervous and the police guarding the court would respond to questions only from him. Several young defendants charged with the same offense were tried while we waited. I remember a thin mixed-race man who left in handcuffs and on seeing the cameras and microphones hit upon this to say, “As far as is known, we condemn people for taste.” I do not know whether the foreign press was able to film his words, but I want to record them here because I expect that by his gesture of courage he will have won retaliation.

Under a pine tree on the sidewalk in front of the Court was the group of friends. Emilio showed his blows and his teeth that had been loosened the previous night, while my mobile phone did not stop ringing with calls from all over the world. Ciro responded to journalists and a national television camera filmed everything we did. A very young girl, who was there without her parents’ knowledge, told me worriedly, “If we are on the Roundtable television show this afternoon, I don’t know how I’m going to explain it to my mom.” I thought of my son, waiting at home, away from the blows, the police, the injustice, confident that his mom would return and Friday would be another normal day. Remembering Gorki, his father, his daughter Gabriela, who at some point would be informed, I sat tight in the street and shook off the fatigue, the sadness and the fear, that never completely dissipates.

Despite being surrounded by the “compañeros of the checked shirts,” the presence of the international press protected us. How times have changed, I told myself, seeing the care taken by the police not to charge us, in front of the cameras. Even so, to see the foreign correspondents confirmed that I’m not made of the right stuff to be a journalist. I cannot stay behind the lens without getting involved. This work of entomology that consists of observing and reporting, but not intervening, is definitely not made for me. Being a blogger I can also be a part of what’s happening, so I am stuck with this role.

Deferring the start of the trial appeared to be a maneuver to test the stamina of those of us waiting outside the court. Planned for nine o’clock in the morning, the trail actually began around 6:30 in the evening. In this time some had left, others joined us, and a couple friends looked for something to eat. The informal market also benefited from our wait, because a lady managed to sell to us, despite the police fence, popcorn, cookies and potato chips. We had our rain shower at four in the afternoon and when the sun began to set we looked like we had spent the entire day at the beach. The point of no return had happened at noon and after that hour no one moved from there.

When the time approached for the arrival of Gorki, the men stationed at the corners began to close the fence. Maybe they thought we were going to attempt a daring rescue or something like that, but in reality we had reached an agreement to applaud and shout the name of the accused when he appeared. The police cars parked and security rushed to close a circle around him. Still, the foreign press was able to capture his face with a four-day beard, the handcuffs, and the shout of “Gorki” that resounded on the corner. The tension was palpable on every face but, without bragging, “they” were more nervous.

6:00 p.m.
The trial: I managed to enter the courtroom, next to Ciro, Claudia, Emilio, Diego Ismael and his girlfriend, Elizardo Sanchez and his wife Barbara, Francisco Chaviano, Gorki’s father Luis, Alexander the photographer, Javier, Claudio, Rene Esteban, and others whose names I don’t know and a pair from security who were stationed in a corner. The hall was nearly full when we entered because they had also summoned the relatives of a young man who would be tried later. The judge, a young woman, called for calm and presented the case. We learned at that time that the offence had been changed to “disobedience.” Gorki did not know if the punishment for that crime was more or less, but it mattered little: the circus had begun.

Under the gaze of a bust of Marti and with the national shield present, the first witness for the prosecutor appeared, the Head of Sector for the zone where Gorki lives. A brown man, with an accent from the eastern part of the country, he appeared very confused in front of all the press and the surprising support for Gorki he could see in the room. The police argued that the practices of the group bothered the neighbors and that they had already worked “preventatively” with the accused. The next witness was the former head of sector, who confirmed the testimony of the previous witness and emphasized that the rocker was a recidivist. Finally, they called a lady named Heidi to testify. A face marked by bitterness came into the room and identified herself as the President of the zone of the CDRs [Committees for the Defense of the Revolution] and a member of the Preventative Commission formed by the leaders of the block. When they asked her about Gorki’s social behavior, she warned that he “did not participate in the activities of the CDR, did not guard and did not vote… his social conduct can be summarized as making noise with his music and bothering the neighbors.”

The young defense lawyer stuttered before the “hot potato” in his hands, but managed to submit a letter from Gorki’s workplace confirming his employment. The prosecutor then asked for a monetary penalty for the accused and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Six hundred Cuban pesos was the fine set; anyone would pay any amount, with their eyes closed, to not have to be in prison even one hour. The trial had ended and we felt all the exhaustion of the two days come over us.

The police “kindly” took Gorki in the patrol car to collect his personal belongings and then took him home. Outside we felt like jumping up and down and shouting his name. We left there in a group because we knew that if we separated “the boys of the batons” might dare to go after us. Fifth Avenue was the scene of joy, pats on the shoulder, contained laughter, and retelling of everything that had happened. We arrived at Gorki’s house and he had already shaved his grey beard. A bottle of rum left a backpack and fatigue mattered little, nerves were calmed, and the rocker’s father asked if we wanted to “kill his son.”

We had succeeded, Gorki was with us thanks to all those who were mobilized outside and inside. To those who signed the letter demanding his freedom, to the reporters who spread the word of his incarceration, to the sign ripped in seconds but recorded for years, in summary, thanks to the strength and the cry of thousands of citizens, organized spontaneously and confronting a machinery that is not accustomed to give ground. The boiling oil of the authoritarian, secretive and ideological judicial system was left with the desire to fry Gorki. We proved that if we engage in such actions more often, others could also walk free on our streets.

PLEASE SIGN THE PETITION

Yoani Sanchez from her blog Generation Y
31 August 2008

I Don’t Know What They’re Accusing Me Of / Lilianne Ruiz, Gorki Aguila

Gorki Águila, leader of the punk rock band Porno para Ricardo, was released on bail a week ago, after a People’s Revolutionary Police (PNR) patrol stopped him in the early morning of Sunday, 29 September, and found in his backpack two tablets of a medication for epilepsy, an illness Águila has suffered from since he was a teenager.

What’s your legal situation now?

I’m out on bail now, waiting for a trial with no date. What I have, if I have something, are two pills in a backpack. I made the mistake of signing the bond with the full offense. After they released me, the legal assistance from the Cuban Law Association (AJC) helped to understand what I signed, in order to be set free, I should have written, “for an alleged crime, that has not been proved.”

The crime they put in there was the whole nine yards of the penal code. The full paragraph referring to drugs. But at the time I signed, I didn’t have legal advice, because even though I asked for it, they didn’t let me see a lawyer. If I made a mistake signing those papers so they would release me, it was because I was under a lot or pressure with a violent migraine, I wanted to go home and without legal advice, I did it.

The instructor/investigator told me to sign, that the crime he put (“so this is how it should be put,” he said) didn’t mean they would accuse me of all that, that he was going to wait to see how things were evolving to tell me the crime I would be charged with. That is, they put the full paragraph to choose what crime they were going to put or if they were going to put a crime.

Those are my fears, that now I can’t be sure of what they’re accusing me with. The instructor also told me, “It could be that all this goes in the file and the prosecutor doesn’t approve it. Because if you bring the papers, at best, nothing will happen.” He also told me that it’s possible they’ll take it to the prosecutor and then tell me what crime I’m accused of. I’m in limbo, without any definition of the crime nor a date for the trial.”

Do you have all the medical documentation?

I already scanned the document from the doctor in Mexico who prescribed the Tradea. My family sent it to me, but my family doesn’t know the full process, since the document isn’t legal until it passes through a notary and then through the Ministry of the Interior in Mexico. And ultimately it has to go to the Cuban consulate. To send proof to Cuba that the doctor exists and the notary exists. And then the Cuban Consulate will say that “the whole world exists,” because it has legal force. I’m in this process, but I’m worried, because I don’t have a trial date, they could summon me tomorrow without my yet having the documents that would be my defense. continue reading

The legal document says that I am taking Tradea on a medical prescription. Basically, in a normal country, that eliminates the crime they are inventing of “trafficking and possession,” in two epilepsy pills, for a disease I’ve suffered from since I was a teenager.

I also went to the doctor here to get a clinical medical history where it explains why I take Carbamazepina. In Mexico they prescribed me Tradea, but here in Cuba it’s on record that I’ve been epileptic since high school. The pills are for  epileptic seizures that I don’t get very often. And Carbamazepina and Tradea (metilfinidato) are similar.

How did the police authorities treat you?

The arrest followed the classic treatment you get in those places. They started out by threatening me: “Now you’re going to roast. Are you the guy in Los Adeanos*? You’re being tracked by your Committee for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR)…” I told them that in this country everyone is tracked by the CDR. [*Translator’s note: Gorki is not in Los Aldeanos.]

From the beginning, I started to ask for my medication, but they wouldn’t give it to me. Although my girlfriend brought it for me, they didn’t want to give it to me.

I was detained from early Sunday morning — for us it was Saturday night because it was a little after midnight — until 4:30 Monday morning. And I can’t describe the lack of hygiene in a Cuban jail cell. The jail bathroom looks like hell, not to mention there’s no water, you can’t flush. You are constantly breathing a stink of shit and piss. The cockroaches crawl all over everything, the filth of the floor is never cleaned. When a cell is filled with 4 people, everyone is sweating and breathing in the heat, it gets more and more uncomfortable and it makes you anxious to get out of that place.

There was something in particular that made me feel very humiliated. I was sitting on the floor, because I hadn’t eaten. I didn’t want to get dizzy and I had a bear of a headache. And one of them took out his cellphone and shouted at me, “Hey, look over here,” to take my picture.

They wanted to do a urinalysis. Looking not only for “evidence” of the two Tradeo tablets, but also the supposed drugs in my bloodstream. I would never agree to this. They even threatened me, “We’re going to give you 8 years for contempt because this is an order and you have to comply.” I told them, “I’m not going to give you any urine, because I don’t know what you’re going to put in it.”

And then they said, “That’s defamation.” Every time I spoke it was more years… I told them, “Look, if you notice, this medication is sold in Cuba, but not with this trade name. Tradea is metilfinidato. That is sold here.”

It’s the same medication, purchased outside, by medical prescription. I have Mexican residence, I have the right to have my pills. The police told me, “Ah, that’s international trafficking.”

What were the circumstances of your arrest?

We were seated, Renay (the drummer) and I, on the wall of the Obrera Maternity Hospital, in Marianao. It was the night of Saturday, 28 September, “CDR Day.” Before that we had an open-air interview with a journalist, an American university student, in La Puntilla, on the beach in front of the Commercial Center. We talked as a group, about our music, about all the censorship our band has suffered.

I’m not sure if this had something to do with the arrest. We left there, partly by bus and partly walking, to get to the party of a friend. We were relaxing sitting there and suddenly we saw the patrol that stopped dramatically. The police got out, asked for my ID, and told me to show them the entire contents of my backpack. We didn’t have anything to hide, I showed them my things and said, “And this is my medication.” The only thing they have as evidence of a supposed crime they’re trying to involve me in are two “fucking” pills.

Supposedly the police present the facts, not valuations or judgments, because that’s would make them a Court.

Do you think the pressure exerted by the media was crucial in your being released on bail?

I think so. Pressure from the medial is crucial. I thank my friends, the media in Miami, who always respond to this kind of abuse. Every time the media exposes the helpless position of a detainee, they limit the spaces of impunity in the behavior of the repressive bodies. I thank them from my soul. The first thing I advise is to lodge the complaint.

After all those hours locked up, it was Monday and they came to my cell and asked, “Do you have something there to call your family?” I told them, “No, but I need to, because among other things I need Carbamazepina, and you won’t give it to me.”

The police even gave me a card to use the public phone, and told me they were going to “bail me out.” I was surprised, because that right is not usually recognized by the police. I asked, “Did my friends already get me a lawyer,” and they said, “No, we decided among ourselves.” I think it was from the pressure of some of the media, thanks to the journalist Reinaldo Escobar, who was the first to make it known.

But I think they might be waiting to drop everything that has taken shape in the media and at a specific time, when it’s no longer being talked about, they’ll summon me to court and do what they please without any coverage or scandal.

Or, in the event that they see they have very little to arrest me for, and it’s going nowhere, they’ll wait until they have a kilo of cocaine to accuse me with because for two pills they’re going to make the same mistake again, “We know that with two pills we’re not going to put him in prison, let’s put a side of beef in the refrigerator.”

8 October 2013

No Coma Tanta Pinga Coma Andante / Porno Para Ricardo, Gorki Aguila

Gorki Aguila
The musician Gorki Aguila detained at the 6th Police Station in Havana at 2:00 in the morning this Sunday.

Site manager’s note: While we wait for more news about Gorki’s arrest, we post this video version of one of Porno Para Ricardo’s “signature” songs — with lyrics in Spanish and English below. The original music video is here.

The [coma-andante] walking coma, wants me to work
El coma andante, quiere que yo trabaje

Paying me a miserable salary
Pagándome un salario miserable

The walking coma wants me to applaud
El coma andante quiere que yo lo aplauda

After he talks his delirious shit
después de hablar su mierda delirante

No walking coma
No coma andante,

Don’t you eat this dick, walking coma
no coma uste´ esa pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

If you want me to work give me some money
Si quiere que trabaje pasme un varo por delante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

You are a tyrant and there’s no one who can stand you
Usted es un tirano y no hay pueblo que lo aguante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Walking coma, you hold elections
El coma andante, hace unas elecciones

that you invented to stay in power
que las inventó el pa´ perpetuarse

Walking coma, you want me to go and vote
El coma andante quiere que vaya y vote

To keep fucking myself over
para el seguir jodiendome bastante

No walking coma
No coma andante,

Don’t you eat this dick, walking coma
no coma uste´ esa pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

If you want me to vote give me a boat so I can leave
Si quiere que yo vote ponga un barco pa´ pirarme

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

You and your brothers cantankerous old fools
Usted y sus hermanos puros viejos petulantes

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

No, no… No coma tanta pinga
No, no… coma andante

No, no… No coma tanta pinga
No, no… coma andante

The Commander (El comandante) – Video and Lyrics / Gorki Aguila, Ciro Diaz and Porno Para Ricardo

The [coma-andante] walking coma, wants me to work
El coma andante, quiere que yo trabaje

Paying me a miserable salary
Pagándome un salario miserable

The walking coma wants me to applaud
El coma andante quiere que yo lo aplauda

After he talks his delirious shit
después de hablar su mierda delirante

No walking coma
No coma andante,

Don’t you eat this dick, walking coma
no coma uste´ esa pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

If you want me to work give me some money
Si quiere que trabaje pasme un varo por delante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

You are a tyrant and there’s no one who can stand you
Usted es un tirano y no hay pueblo que lo aguante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Walking coma, you hold elections
El coma andante, hace unas elecciones

that you invented to stay in power
que las inventó el pa´ perpetuarse

Walking coma, you want me to go and vote
El coma andante quiere que vaya y vote

To keep fucking myself over
para el seguir jodiendome bastante

No walking coma
No coma andante,

Don’t you eat this dick, walking coma
no coma uste´ esa pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

If you want me to vote give me a boat so I can leave
Si quiere que yo vote ponga un barco pa´ pirarme

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

You and your brothers cantankerous old fools
Usted y sus hermanos puros viejos petulantes

Don’t eat so much dick, walking coma
No coma tanta pinga coma andante

No, no… No coma tanta pinga
No, no… coma andante

No, no… No coma tanta pinga
No, no… coma andante

Site manager’s note: Overwhelming public demand has led to our posting this video from several years ago.

Gorki and El Sexto Arrested in Havana Saturday 11:00 PM / Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

mobile.twitter.com/OLPL
Translated Tweets

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL State Security HATE me for tweeting this but never arrested me: they have prepared another more terrible end for me, like an accident or of health!
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL State Security HATE Ismael de Diego but fear the international scandal because of his powerful family of Cuban poet Eliseo Diego …
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL ALERT! It could happen violent revenge against Gorki Aguila and graffiti artist, prisoners to an unknown destination …!
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL State Security HATE Gorki and Porno Para Ricardo because every day more and more they mock their system and leaders
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL State Security HATE El Sexto because he tattooed @ Ladies in White Laura Pollan on his chest. They would have to burn off his skin to erase it …!
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL Gorki Aguila is MISSING somewhere, fears they are beating him or he is a prisoner because today he defended himself with shouts against an agent without identification
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL Danilo Maldonado (graffiti artist El Sexto) is held incommunicado at police station near Cerro, without perspective what they are doing with him.
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL Ismael de Diego, resident in Cuba and abroad, was interviewed at police station and they released him without explanation …
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL The missing from on a public street are Gorki, El Sexto, and musician-actor and film-maker Ismael de Diego, a grandson of the poet Eliseo Diego
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL twenty paramilitary thugs attacked at 23 and F, 11pm, Vedado, Havana, Cuba against 3 free citizens and arrested them!
about 1 hour ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL Gorki and El Sexto arrested in Havana Saturday 11pm twitpic.com/8ouo0h
about 2 hours ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL Gorky resisted the attack of treason and wanted to fight back in self-defense and offended his attacker in plain clothes and shouted: DOWN WITH THE SNITCHES, DOWN WITH FIDEL
about 2 hours ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL A man assaulted Gorky in his building today and warned that if he was still filming provocations they would FUCK HIM UP. Gorky resisted …
about 2 hours ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL Porno Para Ricardo suffered 25 threats all Saturday and assaults to stop the provocations, at the home of musicians Renay and Gorky.
about 3 hours ago

Orlando Luis Pardo
OLPL URGENT! Gorki Aguila of Porno Para Ricardo and graffiti artist El Sexto arrested in G street, Vedado, about 11pm by mob @idolidiadarias
about 3 hours ago

 


February 26 2012