Chile: Mauricio Morales, Presente!!

600867_511013845630732_1468855190_nfrom Enrique Torres Radio Press Team, translated by waronsociety:

At four years since the death of a warrior, Mauricio Morales (Punky Mauri) several of his friends remembered him in Ventura Lavalle street where on May 22nd 2009 in the early morning there exploded the bomb with which he would have attacked the Prison Guards’ School, a place dedicated to teaching torture, beating and humiliating anyone who transgresses the law. Your friends, with all forms of struggle, continue sharpening our claws against all authority.

“We take positions in the social war, and for moral reasons we cannot remain indifferent to our sisters and brothers’ falling in combat as well as to the situation lived by millions of prisoners kidnapped in this warrior across and around the world. Judges, prison guards, prosecutors and police are now and always will be our enemies and we will not rest until we destroy the final bastion of the prison society. We are at war. Prisoners of war to the street!” – Punky Mauri – Mauricio Morales

Solidarity with Juan Aliste Vega, Carla Verdugo, Ivan Silva, Freddy Fuentevilla, Marcelo Villarroel, Victor Montoya, Hans Niemeyer

“Death”
“Death approaches me, winks at me and offers me to drink, speaks to me about the collective hysteria, about the mountains of stupidities that run the world and about the closeness to life that she feels. We sit and fill our cups, light some smokes and laugh.
“Death approaches me, cuts my skin, fills her cup with my blood, drinks it and spits it out, she kisses me and I drink my blood from her mouth.
“Death tells me that she loves me, because she knows I am alive and that we who have no master are pure.
“Death approaches me, winks at me, opens her legs and asks me to penetrate her, because she says she wants my essence, because I have no master, no gods, no country, and because death believes in anarchy because I kissed her and drank my blood in my mouth.” – Mauricio Morales Duarte

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The pain and the peace are a macabre and useless song that feed your being at the […] of a cold night… And here ran your blood watering the ground; regrets ran down the sweaty backs of the restless tigers that fought your name; the gasses returned without fear and the fire screamed your dogged name, your dogged life…

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Long Live Anarchy! Punky Mauri Presente!

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The insurgent hearts don’t forget you
Punky Maury Presente!

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Prepare the bomb
Sharpen the knife

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For the Spread of Chaos!
Ensure that Anarchy lives!
To break with this reality,
its defenders and its false critics!

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War to death

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Mauri, the insurgents do not forget you

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