In the field of the defense of women's dignity, how little coherence can be observed between what is claimed by the media's informative content and the rest of the content.
-Journalist
@asanleo
Turn up my radio, this is my song. Note the letters. Despacito. Summer is here to make you happy and the music goes wild turning a transparent speech into a melody, because the fish dies by the mouth, with Fito's permission.
Beyond the words spoken in public, full of politically correct semantic balances, the naturalness of the Latin music that sprinkles the disco nights and the summer vacuums are a loudspeaker of what goes deep inside.
Part of Latin pop is a parenthesis in the global campaign for dignity, equality, respect, and veneration of the role of women in a world with more common sense than testosterone.
The rhythm of the waves that flood the summer barracks are beautiful women like Venus turned into Avignon ladies to use, abuse and throw away. The things clear, you hear. Disguised as eternally fleeting loves, the impulses are disguised and sung as a aserejé of unabashed exhibitionism. It is that contemporary authenticity that converts into verses the drainage of the hearts as if we all lived in Big Brother.
On the tracks of the record companies dance the meats, while they succumb soft arguments that place women on the throne of societies for the sake of possible worlds. Between laughter, rum and wobbles, the sewer stagnates with Caribbean slime.
The same radio stations that defend every woman in their newscasts hum in their musicals the hymns that destroy their essence. The same newspapers that shoot against every symptom of machismo are refreshingly turning Luis Fonsi into the lion king. The same TV stations that highlight a camera in every corner of gender violence, join the degrading choreography of the dale-mamasitahere, right on the beach.
I can't find in the supermarket sunscreen against female skins drilled to the tasty sound of the latino power dance.
The music also feral the wild beasts. You know. The hit of these summers top will eventually become epic The barbecue by Georgie Dann. And it wasn't that either, my amol.
