Mierda! is a narrative experiment where I use a typewriter to write found and overheard stories of a particular sentimental tone over different found materials, which I then photograph. Although it’s an ongoing project, it’s current incarnation is as a a book.

1. CRAP!
Horror stories

2. ajmmhm
Mierda! is a narrative experiment
where I use a typewriter
to write found and overheard stories
of a particular sentimental tone
over different found materials,
which I then photograph.
Although it’s an ongoing project,
it’s current incarnation is as a a book.

3. Good evening.

4. All this happens in a building, through several apartments, in
a multitude of rooms.
No one has noticed, but the plumbing is about to burst.
All this happens on several heads, through the narow corridors
that connect them
Here and there.

5. Not true.
All this happens to a bunch of people because the puppe-
teer is in bad mood.
Fucking puppeteer.
Fucking testosterone.
Fucking stumbling.
Not true either.
The problem is DNA.
Or language.
I forget which.

6. This is a true story. Not true either.

7. “I’ll miss you a lot first, then less, and afterwards, nothing
at all”
Summer camp friend saying goodbye to Lisa Simpson.

8. one, two, three
...rolling...
Today, I don’t want to exercise being me.
I don’t like being me.
I don’t want being me.
I don’t feel like being me.
I don’t want to be me.

9. Today, I don’t want to exercise being me.
Using my regular face.
Playing the same roles.
Occupying the same places.
Following the same script.
Today, I don’t want to be me.

10. Every morning i sit down and swallow my own shit. Sometimes I season it.
I take my time. My shit with corn flakes. With eggs,coffee and jam. One
bite after the other.
Then I kill myself some. A slow suicide. Inhale. Exhale. Drink. Inhale.
Exhale. Drink.
It’s not even in me to go crazy. To lose my wits. To unravel myself. to
vanish.
So, everyday I swallow my own shit. Then, I kill mself some.
There’s no such thing as clean money.
All money is shit.
You have spent a nickel reading this page.

11. You have spent a nickel reading this page.
There’s no such thing as clean money.
All money is shit.

12. we’ve fucked enough.You and I:

13. that will help you along your way, so pay attention, ok?”
The adult held the boy’s chin and lifted his face. They made eye
contact.
“What can one do whe one feels angry? When your guts churn and your
sight fogs? When one can’t get it out of his mind?”
The adult made a dramatic pause. The child met his gaze.
“Pure and simple. When you get very angry and you don’t know how to
deal with it, you kill something. And you take your time. You go slow
and easy till the hatred goes away.”
“C’mere, sonny”, he said.
The boy tried to get away.
“Don’t leave. I want to talk with you.”
The child stopped. The adult kneeled in front of him.
“I know you are angry, and that’s fair enough. But that won’t do you
no good.”
The boy stared at the floor. The adult gave him a little push.
“I’m going to say something important to you, something

14. can’t handle his anger, he can make mistakes. Like hurting someone
you know. That’s not a good thing, right?”
The adult repeated his dramatic pause.
“You get it?”
The boy nodded again.
The adult gave him a nudge on his head.
“Ok, kiddo, go and play some more...”
The child was curious.
“When it’s not that bad, well, you just break something not too valu-
able, and keep your paws out of my stuff, hear? When it’s bad, well,
have you taken off the legs of an ant?”
The boy nodded.
“That’s the way to go. the bigger the anger, the bigger the thing one
has to hurt, and sometimes hurting is good enough, but sometimes...”
“Can I leave?”
“I’m just telling you this so you don’t make a mistake, if a man

15. and another
and another
and another
and another
and another
A dead guy and another
and another

16. I learn to fuck
my way
through forgiveness.

17. And you left.
Yesterday, I dreamt you were pretty sure there was humidity
behind our walls. Upset, you got a hammer and started punch-
ing holes through it. One after the other. You never found
the humidiy. Taking a step backward, you took a long look at
the ruined wall.
“I don’t want to live here anymore”, you said.

18. I’m gonna go turn psychotic elsewhere.So there i go,
inch by inch,
step by step,
a runaway from myself.

19. Hate
I prefer hate to sadness.

20. intenselyHate

21. I HATE because it’s easier,
because its intensity blinds and consumes me, gives
me direction, it channels me, vanishes my doubts and
drives me to action, to make violence to the world;
sadness turns off and silences the pain, hate always
shares, it always connects...
hate vs. depression
hate vs. depression
hate vs. depression
hate vs. depression

22. are artificial.All feelings

23. I’ll try not to hurt you...caress me,

24. I want to be your girl
your raving,
your downfall,
the swell in your pants.

25. Let’s
All right. not
touch.
You ask me
to put on a
condom.

26. push shove push shove push
in...out...in...out...
out...in...out...in...
in...out...in...out...
out...in...out...in...
From now on,
my sexuality
will be
strictly
posthuman.

27. Fuck, that’s tacky.
Turning my life
into a soap opera.
Last sentences talks about:
a) Sex.
b) Human digestion.
c) A knife entering the victim’s body.
d) Economics.
e) Life.

28. encouraging, shoulders slump forward, hair falls
over my eyes, a slight hump on my back. I tend
to disappear inside my thoughts. I constantly
find myself lost in thought while everyone around
me talks. Sometimes it’s fun; sometimes a night-
mare. I suck at casual conversation.
My fate appears unkind. If my actual conditions
continue on the long road to non-existence,
Ever since fourth grade, I use high gradation lenses just to
function; without them I’m almost useless. My sense of smell
is non-existent, thanks to smoking, I suppose. Lately, I’m
going deaf, hearing less and less of what I’m told, mostly
interpreting, which leads to embarassing mistakes. My ar-
guments are stubborn: I care less and less for what people
say. Waning hair, missing teeth. My corporal stance is not

29. out, a machine that still needs food, that shits, pisses and
gets sick.
Some day you’ll come by and I won’t be able to see you.
You’ll talk to me and I won’t understand the words you say
to me, though I hope your voice will stir pleasant memories.
You’ll touch me and I’ll jump, as a scared dog that doesn’t
know how to be caressed.
I’ll try to smile.
I’ll turn into a lump, a mass of organs, a piece of meat
that cannot see, cannot hear, cannot smell; with my head,
literal and metaphorically turned inside myself, almost
eaten through my behind; an obstinate, selfish and onanist
organism, absorbed by myself, disappearing, an autist, no
contact whatsoever with the outside world, a machine whose
heart keeps beating (can’t see, can’t hear, can’t feel),
whose lungs can not avoid taking in air and then blowing it

30. I QUIT:
Don’t take care of me,
if I am unable
(or too much of a coward)
to do it myself,
please,
shoot me.
9? I can’t get you out of my mind

31. Is
it
me or
DNA?
my
is it

32. No, don’t,
please.
Not that

33. Today you tell me
the way to your heart
passes through your vagina.
Twenty years ago,
the road to your vagina
passed through your heart.

34. She woke up with the knife still on her back. She tried to
pull it out, but her hands can’t reach the handle. Well, she
thinks, just another day. She is getting used to the pain. She
woke up the kids, got them ready for school. She tried tosmile,
even though the pain was unbearable. The kids had gotten used
to seeing the knife upon her back. She tried to hide the pain-
ful grimace her children confused with her face. Afterwards,
silence. She chose her best clothes to go to work, knowing
beforehand they would not hide the knife. Her co-workers
whispered behind her back. Some of them swore she was using her
situation to unburden her workload. Some pitied her. At lunch,
she thought she could not go on, wished for her death. The pain
wouldn’t leave her. In the restroom she gathered her strength.
She survived the workday. She helped her kids with homework.
Two washloads. The pain traveled through her body with growing
intensity. Made supper. Tucked the kids in. The youngest one
asked her why was she so sad. She just kissed him to sleep.

35. her husband fucked her, no noticing that with each thrust
the knife went in deeper. She knew. Afterwars, she stayed in
the bathroom crying. She thought she was dry, that here were
neither tears nor blood left. The tears on her face and the
stains on her nightgown proved her wrong. She took a couple of
pills. She tried to find a sleeping position that wouldn’t hurt
her. She failed. She just drifted into sleep, punctuated by
nightmares.
She woke up with the knife still on her back. She tried to
Free!
Suggestions?
Inbox...

36. you confuse your fear of death
with lust for life
That’s your desperate religion

37. You bet on life I bet on death

38. That’s our insurmountable difference.

39. Why are your crisis always................ ...............more explosive than mine?

40. SYLLOGISM OF LOVE
The act of love is an act of stubborness
going on for twenty years is an act of love
going on for seven years is an act of stuborness
going on for thrirty years is an act of debsire
going on for three years is an act of stubborness
against nature and the pedictable

41. the act of love is an act of stubborness
against nature and the predictable
desire is an act of stubborness
against nature and the predictable
the act of love is an act of stubborness
love = stuborness
If you want stubborness, try sperm.

42. In “optimal conditions”, sperm can last
for seven days inside the uterus. That’s perseverance.

43. Shoot.
Shoot.
Shoot, motherfucker.
Shoot.
Shoot.
Kill them all.
Shoot the last one of them. Here they come. Shit.
What’s wrong now? Another bug. Fucking bugs. I pro-
grammed it so that if she keeps the keys we couldn’t
head back to pick the money. The app’s not working

44. on FB. Fucking testers. Why won’t hey answer. one call. Five
calls. Ten e-mails. Report the bug. Wait for the engineers.
Electricity bill is here. Fucking cold. So expensive to keep
us warm. Get cash. Paper money is useless. i mostly use
cards. Supplies, defend the supplies. A horde is coming. two
hordes. Hit them in the head, save ammunition. Fucking job.
I fucked up pprogramming a WhichChoices, the game freezes. i
need to fix it, quick. But the zombies keep on coming.
I just can’t finish killing them. I need more weapons. I light
a cigarette. Then another. My partner says i don’t tell her
I like her anymore. their heads explode, splattering blood.
They’re quick. i can’t reload. I am no hero, just trying to
survive. Killing zombies is the only thing I’m good at. But I’m
pretty damrn good at it. Pretty darn good. My lungs ache. Logic
error. If I already saw the video that option shouldn’t be
there. Algorythmic narrative processes. Clicking here restarts

45. the story. Eat. Work. Sleep. I can think like a machine. I
know how the zombies move. I know how long it takes for them
to reanimate New data. Get it on the server. Eat. take care of
the kids. feed them. Kill zombies. they don’t like my cook-
ing. More zombies approaching. I feel cruel. I yell to whoever
gets in my office. i can`t get the supplies to the helicopter.
I need more medicines. i kill more zombies. I’ve got to
check illustrations. I cough. Black phlegm comes out. Maybe
there was blood on it. Didn’t get good loook t it. Report to
hand in. And kill more zombies. Gotta check the scoreboard.
Mobile app is not working. Unblocked missions. Eat. report in.
I dream intruders get in my house. I dream my lungs are rot-
ting. Wake up. Withdraw cash. Tuitions to pay. Last day to do
so. Before, i kill some zombies. Change dialogues. Reprogram

46. storypaths. I’ve got to make myself acquainted with beauty
projects. I know it’s a weekend because the kids are in the
house. Download the Muppets. pretend to smile. pretend to be
interested. Haven’t received my payment. Rescue a survivor.
She looks nice. i’d definitely fuck her. No money. out of ciga-
rettes. My partner gives me some cash. they are killing Evelyn.
fucking zombies. in the head. In the head. I love how they pro-
grammed their movememnts. Dragging their legs. twisted neck.
Limits of human movement. Crawl, motherfucker.
Nothing stops them. relentless digital choreography. Until you
shoot at them long enough. Drop in a pool of blood. Splat-
tering. I’ve got olfactory hallucinations. I can smell their
rotten meat. Sleep. kids still here. they are hungry. Yester-
day, the game crashed online. Twenty mails reporting it. We
are losing money. Client won`t pay. Is it he engine. is it my
data. is it the server. I’m a Zombie Slayer. I eat right in
front of my computer. Waiting for reports. they are fighting.

47. I’ll ignore them. Fix an easy bug. It wasn’t my fault. games
are running again. Characters are trapped in their programmed
routines. We need more options for them. Nothing noticeable.
I program a couple of storypaths. And kill some zombies. At
night, we watch some TV. I can’t sleep. i go down. light a
cig. Kill zombies. Check product placement. Seventy brand im-
pressions each ten minutes. Replayability is three games. 210
brand impressions every half hour. In the head. Drops dead.
My aim ublocks more challenges. i should get a raise. they
never pay me enough. And I eat. And I sleep. And I kill zom-
bies. My partner is looking for lovers. This guys are morons.
the game is down again. The phone won’t stop ringing. I take
a bath. I kill zombies. Seattle. Buenos Aires. Programmers in
Poland. It’s not registering addresses. promotion isn’t work-
ing. Engineers aren’t answering. My son has learned how to kill
zombies. We buy guns together. Eat. program some more endings
without opening up the tree.

48. There’s an ending you can’t get to. Supplies. Kill more zom-
bies. medicine. Kill more zombies. Watch TV. My partner falls
asleep on my lap. Great job! You’ve got four endings! there
are reports of gamers getting to the happy ending. I rest some
and then kill more zombies. A game for men. A game for women.
Wake up. Three projects in four months. We’re due this week.
Advertising will be up. thousands of players. I get more sup-
plies. New zombie sincoming. Shoot. Shoot.
Kill them all. rejubenating weekly treatment. Include all le-
gal data in every single drawing. I love paychecks. Somebody!
please! Support me! now! Me? i kill zombies. They are biting
Evelyn. I won’t be able to save her. The helicopter leaves the
survivors. I’ve got to change storypaths. Client didn’t approve
them. Game is down again. If client doesn’t pay, i won’t get the
pay. Lots of mistakes, very little time. Pay for food. Pay for
extra classes. Tuition again. Vacations. A party. Limits of hu-
man movement.

49. Program more options. many mistakes. Many gamer complaints.
I’m absent. I don’t pay attention. i don’t answer the phoen.
I can`t afford a grenade launher. Friday. get drunk. Wake up.
Fifteen mails. Bad programming. Whose responsibility. Fuck.
i can’t see with my left eye. Fuck. how about closing it.
There’s a meeting with client tomorrow. Placement isn’t regis-
tering. can’t see. Shoot.
Shoot. can’t stop. Don’t get distracted. To the head. get them
asshole. No mistakes. Too many of them. hadn’t we agreed to go
to the movies. Advertisement may be recalled. Engineers won`t
answer the phone. And this. And that. And this.
And that.
And this
And that.
Meanwhile, i kill zombies.

50. Damn you,
get up...
get up, motherfucker,
get up...

52. My life, ( ) when i don’t like it.