FILM

Joel Amat Güell on IMDB

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT (2016)

as an executive producer

 

directed by Jayme Karales

Unhollywood, Clash Media

IMDB

FOLLOWER (2016)

as an executive producer

 

directed by A. J. Mann

Space Oddity Films, Clash Media

IMDB

3 SECONDS (2016)

as an executive producer

 

directed by A. J. Mann

Space Oddity Films

IMDB

PUBLISHED WORKS

Joel Amat Güell on Goodreads

Joel's articles for Clash Media

WALK HAND IN HAND

INTO EXTINCTION (2016)

Various authors

 

Clash Books

Goodreads

S.O.S (short story) (2015)

Written by Joel Amat Güell

 

Clash Books

Goodreads

ThatLitZine Issue 1 (2015)

Various authors

 

That Lit Site

Goodreads

ThatLitZine Issue 2 (2015)

Various authors

 

That Lit Site

ÜBERMENSCH

Joel Amat Güell

 

Forgive this blasphemy,
but I need to spit it out,
allow me to vomit this,
or I’m going to blow out.

 

I’ve grown tired of all these gods,
I’ve been silent for too long,
I’ve been swallowing my thoughts,
all this time bitting my tongue.

 

I support freedom of religion,
but don’t shove it down my throat,
don’t make me worship your fiction,
don’t make me embark in a sinking boat.

 

Don’t use fear to educate,
do not threaten me with hell,
less commandments and less hate,
just make sure you behave well.

 

Do not mix cult with politics,
do not teach them in the schools,
on them you shouldn’t base your ethics,
they aren’t a proper teaching tool.

 

Hell should not be the reason,
for a person to behave well,
be good, whether or not there is a heaven,
that’s a good moral, in a nutshell.

 

Your prayers are forgotten,
your sacrifices are unseen,
your promises are all broken,
there is no such thing as sin.

 

They tell you: “love everyone!”
(unless gay or lesbian)
they say they respect all women
(as long as they serve the man).

 

I’m tired of your holy wars,
‘cause they never seem to end,
you’re only creating scars,
and deaths that you can’t emend.

 

Your attitude is always amicable,
and your face is painted in bright
colors, like a poisonous animal,
but your heart is dark as night.

 

If in the name of god you kill,
killing yourself should be the start,
for either you’re mentally ill,
or you sure don’t have a heart.

 

They have a funny way to prove,
that he has blind faith in god,
if a glass that’s bulletproof,
must protect your precious pope.

 

I respect religious people,
I do have my own beliefs,
spirituality should be personal,
to believe you don’t need chiefs.

 

We’re not bricks in your pyramid,
we won’t hold your golden throne,
we’re not moons around your orbit,
I would rather die alone.

 

I won’t kneel before creation,
I will not long for the sky,
instead of praying I’ll take action,
I won’t waste my precious time.

 

Let’s build agnostic temples,
perfect homes for meditation,
silent places free of jewels,
without hate or discrimination.

 

I want a heaven without a savior,
i want a heaven free of gods,
one down here worth fighting for,
a nice place without gunshots.

COLD HANDS

Joel Amat Güell

 

I long for a hand to hold,

to help me make it through the day, to help me ignore the cold.

So every night i go to bed,

and pray not to wake up, so i can live forever in my head.

 

‘Cause in my dreams i’m not alone,

your hand holds mine and reminds me that i’m not on my own.

So be there with the first light,

in the morning when i wake up, help me not succumb to the fright.

 

Help me stop the shaking of my bones,

help me stop the aching, do not let me come undone.

Be there to relieve this pain,

give me a reason to keep going, make my heart pump blood again.

 

Silence the voices inside my head,

they say that i won’t make it, that i’m already dead.

Bring a bit of quietness to my soul,

keep my mind at peace and dig me up from this dark hole.

 

Paint a little color on my skin,

to help me ignore the darkness, and the pain that lies within.

Tell me that the pain was not in vain,

tell me that it’s over, tell me that i am not insane.

 

Press my cold hand against your heart,

in the morning with the sun, keep me from falling apart.

Put an end to all this sorrow,

be there when i wake up, don’t let my hands get cold tomorrow.

أمير الحرب / THE WARLORD

Joel Amat Güell

 

In the beach four kids are playing,
not aware the end is nigh,
in the beach four kids are running
as the first bomb drops nearby.

 

Four innocent lives are taken,
in the name of a sacred land,
four families are now broken,
no one lends a helping hand.

 

Stones against the bullets,
stones against the tanks,
innocent corpses filling caskets,
innocent corpses in the riverbanks.

 

Aladdin became Jaffar,
Snow White became the witch,
the hare now eats the jaguar,
a logger is killed by the beech.

 

You escaped the gas chamber,
only to sit on the other side,
you’re now the executioner,
perpetrator of this genocide.

 

Once you’ve destroyed all the beauty,
of the land you want to own,
you’ll be the landlord of a cemetery,
full of graves without tombstone.

LOS 43

Joel Amat Güell

 

Forty-three students were kidnapped,
they all shared a tragic fate,
in a mass-grave they were buried,
by a rotten narco-state.

 

They had no jury and they had no trial,
but they were all sentenced to death,
and for trying to defend an ideal,
the state made sure they no longer breath.

 

Is this how you educate a student?
Is this the future they have ahead?
To be kidnapped by the government,
and then put a bullet to their head?

 

Paramilitaries are ruling the country,
politicians bribed with blood-stained bills,
narcos are killing with impunity,
nameless corpses buried under the hills.

 

There’s no room for compassion,
if corruption infests the government,
it is our duty to take action,
if police forces cease to defend.

 

The fire you used to burn their corpses,
has not vanished, it burns bright.
A phoenix has risen from their ashes,
it’s the revolution’s guiding light.

 

Demanding justice would be banal,
for what justice can we expect?
If the hand that holds the gavel,
is the same that shot them dead.

 

Vivos se los llevaron, vivos los queremos!

 

Learn more about the mass kidnapping of 43 students in Iguala (Mexico)

WHAT LIES WITHIN

Joel Amat Güell

 

The rain,

it kisses my skin,

it falls,

like a curtain, so thin,

and I lay,

where I once stood still

and it hurts,

to know I can’t win,

so I wish,

that it was just a dream,

but death,

smiles at me with a grin,

and the maggots,

inside my body they will,

wander,

and my insides they’ll fill,

and flowers,

will grow from under my skin,

and my body,

it’s about to begin,

to perish,

but not what lies within.