I have appointed a friend of mine as executor on social media. Some time ago I said: I name you my executor. And I gave him my passwords so that the day came for what the corny say that the earth is light, get on Facebook and proclaim my death for general knowledge and to prevent lenders from continuing to privately send me their shit at a deceptive interest; So that the Svetlanas on duty stop begging me for friendship and promising me virtual mambo and extortion bots think they can catch me in a resignation with the camera exposed and spanking me.
And for what close my accounts and stop congratulating me on my birthday time after breeding mallows.
The latter has happened to an illustrious person in the city where I still live from time to time. The deceased left us in May and today was his birthday. “And your friend Eleceo wishes you happy birthday and may God protect you from the coronavirus.” A horny this Eleceo. Or maybe she doesn’t remember that Luis, who was called the illustrious man, cracked her months ago. Possibly he wasn’t even her real friend, you know, social media calls anything a friend, even Svetlana. And if you were his friend, I must tell you, Eleceo, to watch out for Alzheimer’s and be the one to pray to God to protect you because I don’t know with that head of yours. Put on the mask, at least, Eleceo.
Poor Luis is dead and they keep congratulating him on his birthday as if to invite them to cake. In what I want to think is a typo, another friend on Facebook says: “Happy birthday, beautiful.” Poor Luis.
Even in good intentions social networks are, apart from many other things, the red carpet of the poor, the photocall of the imposture, the land paid to the protocol of walking around the house. Handsome! Or beautiful! They write. And they do it like this, between exclamations, like to a virgin at Easter, addressing the ugly of the gang or the one who has just left the hospital with more face than being there than here, closer to meeting the illustrious Luis than to returning come home to start a lively conversation with Svetlana mouse in hand. I’m not about uploading my own photos, but if I ever do so in an oversight, there are those who have written me handsome! and I have deleted it immediately, because that compliment, more manual than spontaneous, tells me that this image of mine is not among the best of my photography. Congratulating the birthday to a dead person on his Facebook wall is even worse than calling an ugly man handsome for general joke. It is like having gone through life without caring for the generality, having passed in transit, as without significance, lacking social imprint, expendable and in the last oblivion of the last breath, in the most absolute irrelevance.
This reflection was made by me this morning to my executor, somewhat scared when I distinguished him with such a title, thinking that I was going to the other neighborhood, although I was close once. Social networks, the illustrious Luis would know it now, having seen that they congratulate him after giving it to her, constitute a kind of marriage in good and in bad, in health and in disease and in life and death. They are that widower or widower who do not stop reminding you for the rest of their lives, who do not leave you alone even after death, who sometimes make you immortal despite yourself without even granting you the right to be forgotten. When I have seen the birthday greetings of the deceased I have imagined something else, perhaps more morbid, as it is that those who have congratulated him have also died. And then I felt a chill and the desire to continue living like someone who makes a movie with beings from beyond. Then I wondered if I myself would be alive or dreaming about it, and I was about to go to the Facebook wall of the illustrious Luis and write him a birthday card. But amidst such delusions, in the end I have chosen to come here and tell you about it to beg you to take care of the virus, take it seriously and do not have to congratulate you on your birthday after leaving this world. That would be sad. Appoint an executor.
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