Information diet

 

Money is talking from the need to pay, from the need to honor, which is a very interesting thing, because who actually cares about it? Mostly, people who want to do good though. People with honor culture are the ones who feel the need to use their money from hard work to pay debts. Doesn’t that deserve a major consideration? I mean, if I ask for a loan to honor my debts, shouldn’t it be like: Well done, Sir, let’s make it happen, and not turn their back on the requester? What a system!

 

October has not brought any cold yet. It feels more like we’re still leaving summer rather than being in autumn though. The bed is not made yet and it’s not going to be made for the day. Nirvana, the band, not the state. Youth calling me through music while overweight and headache pull back to the present, to the coffee tables that Kanye West was talking about. Expired passports issues for us, the Venezuelans.  We were not going to travel any soon anyway.  The sun lies behind the trees while I contemplate from here, from my doubts. Made season indeed, Matchbox 20!

 

The night has come, on a Sunday,  with a no promising next week. We’ll, perhaps not. Perhaps there’s something good coming up. I’m not sure if I feel like taking about it, but I’m going to go to bed with hope and not only with unsatisfied desires. The living room is dark but it’s not late yet. Lentils, those Lentils are just great. I never knew about these versions, about these Storytellers show. Good for them! I like this band. I had the chance to see them last year. Like I said, hope is invited to bed again.  Bittersweet moments for this Bittersweet life I chose. Did I? I mean, how exactly I decided it, or when, yes, when? When did I choose? I’m not sure this life is the results of a cascade of choices.  Did I write it otherwise? Maybe. My thoughts betray me more often than I can tell, and that’s because I keep thinking what I still think, but today it’s different. Today there’s more hope. Let’s see. Let’s keep going. Bah! The same scam. Unsecured is the key word. Apparently no financial institution is willing to grant anything on whatever labeled as Unsecured, whatever that means to them. That’s the consequence derived from hoping, from believing. Now we see why there are so much skepticism around. All those people might have been laid down. That explains why believing is more a childish thing. It’s cold, it’s nighttime, and we don’t get paid for wondering; not us at least.  Upstart, I appreciate you. We’re on the right path, we always have, it’s just that time is so sensitive sometimes that it can turn all your plans down. However,  here we stand, there are no other choices.  By the way, the cold has come…

 

Information is not truth, it’s connection, and in order to connect a large group of people,  the information needs to be sensational. So we are connected by the sensation of using the same information, and find sympathy through whatever paths they may come out of it. I just heard it and I found it convenient for my thoughts. I joined this program of data analysis but I didn’t continue.  Too much going on. I remember they were trying to spot the difference between information and data. Of course, from the perspective of someone who must present an angle in front of a board or any figure of corporate authority,  data is what you collect, and information what you talk about during such presentations.  

 

Global regulations: how wide can this be inoculated in our mindset? The battle for visibility has a lot to do here. We need more information diet. There’s too much junk out there, and I’m getting intoxicated from it.  I’m starting to brag about the things I ignore like it was some sort of skill, and it’s not. It bothers me, actually.  The need to look at the phone in an attempt to fill up the few seconds of silence and unattention, just as if we need a cigarette to drag the moment out, it definitely bothers me. It bothers me on myself,  and on others as well. I guess I need to write it down, to write it here. 

Perception again

 

I'm looking at this blue towel while I think about these words. The towel is nothing but a squared shape, so I'm having squared thoughts: an open door, a closed window, a laptop shut, a cell phone on, a TV, a remote control, a cushion,  a carpet, the room of the apartment,  my desk, the sticky notes pack, everything with four sides, with four angles. What if we flip it all and ourselves with it? What if the depth lies only in our minds? Well, if not, angles definitely change depending on where you stand. That could explain why the tantrums when others just observe and remain quiet.

 

Drawers. Some of them don’t get open for a while. Sometimes they work better for memories than pictures themselves.  You find that thing you thought it was cool to have, but you never really used it, you just put it there. Now that you’re looking at it you remember what happened when you were buying it, what you were told, you didn’t believe it, but now it’s true, so you put the thing back in the drawer, and you keep the memory for some time in your head, and acknowledge that had to happen, that it’s better this way, that you in fact never got the chance to choose, that you were more like a witness and no photo told you that before. Now you have to stop looking at the towel, get dressed and go to work, and set your mind on what you need to do, and please stop using social media like you do…

 

How is the shape of the void? Is it a circle with a hole? How about Israel depth? Perhaps the depth is built with our issues, all those issues we’ve been collecting and treasure like remembering them was something worth to do. How much have we learned from them. I see myself falling apart in silence and there’s nothing there to bring up for making anything better. Even good memories lose their power to cheer you up when the present is so hope-consuming. So we just have this void to visit and contemplate, like a lake, waiting for anything to pop, to splash.  A leaf fallen from a tree and taken by the wind to flow you, with you; while the silence greets all those memories the same wind brought you when touching your face. I just need more money,  and perhaps more time with myself.

 

Shades, I can see the lamp on their reflex. The house is dark and the lamp is on, even at daytime. The sound of a hairdryer,  the sound of a Sunday evening that awaits the routine to start again. High temperature in the body. The month is about to end, and I woke up with this feeling of frustration that we pay to be fined. I was fined with two hundred dollars by a company named LMS Parking. They are in charge of giving us (we, the residents of this complex) this type of service where my car has to be registered,  so I won’t be fined, and my car wouldn’t be locked. I want to understand why, as residents,  we are not being called, and told first, as a courtesy: dear resident,  based on our records, your car is not registered,  we kindly ask you to do it so. Instead, the administration just send a general email stating, pretty much, that if the car is not registered,  it will be locked, and you will be fined. Just like that. It felt rude, like they don’t care, like it is what it is. Another day comes by.

 

Costumer care, sometimes an empty definition. If it’s in person, you have to wait on a large line and spend a time you don’t have just make a point that, perhaps,  it won’t be considered. So you call, and the waiting is even worse. Then you have the reviews,  so you let go your frustration to no one, and then you get an empty answer like: so sorry to hear that. It is happening in every level, in every field. The illusion of not being alone tend to get a serious strike when you actually have to use social media for a real personal matter. In other words, if your problem is not part of a trend, then it won’t get any attention, so you better find a trendy concern to make opinions, or else you better remain quiet and take your frustration on any other thing that has nothing to do with your problem. This is our world now: Parking services. They don’t serve me at least.