Fifth page II

 

Time for bed. Not really sleepy, but old enough to get some sleep just by laying down on the bed. That’s kind of like a superpower; the working class superpower: postpone the tiredness until reaching bed time. See you soon, maybe tomorrow. It rained. It looks like it rained last night. Not when I was writing, but it definitely rained. The sunshine is making its way through the clouds. The yellow  and the light blue are trying to put the gray behind,  the white is helping. We could say the sky is dancing, the sky is dancing the song of the birds. Saturday morning. The balcony,  the coffee, this time a little sweet because of the other creamer. I love it, and I can’t help it. Time for a couple of duties. Somehow the sun touches in a gently way the window when it’s shining. Now I can see it. I hadn’t seen it before. Actually I can’t remember myself at home in the living room at this time to acknowledge it. I could say it is something new for me. Led lights are like, making us forget the yellow times; television included. Most of the lights now tend to be white. Late. When we’re late, everything falls apart. What we have left is to make it up for the rest of the day. That’s some sort of a lifestyle. Elvis has left the building. Making it up for rest of the day. A constant improvisation. Monday, Monday. Dark and cold. Autumn is here. Balcony times will be left for memories,  or some other moments during daylight.  Not now. I don’t see it like a spot for writing at this hour, so I’m back to the living room. Indoors,  carpeted, among the mix between some yellow and the white lights. This month is working out, November doesn’t seem too cruel either.  I guess hope is doing its job, at least emotionally, and that’s fine for now. War news are back again. I used to read and think much more about these themes back in Venezuela.  I felt something like: a man of my standards, should know about these things. Geopolitics,  some people call it. Now my standards are others, so I just think about it and smile, not at the war; that’s terrible, at that ten years ago me who’s should be gone by now, or perhaps confided to my memories, and for evocation purposes only. This could work out as some interesting story title: for evocation purposes only. It could actually be an immigrant slogan. At the end of the day, at the end of the shift, that’s what we normally bring up to a conversation: our past life, for evocation purposes indeed. Sighs after that as needed. There’s some irony, and it's kind of like a metaphor came true, the fact that these words take place while I’m about to wipe myself up, I mean, I have to stop talking (writing) about evocation and sighs to clean my ass. This is a very loud and clear message from Life and it’s time to go to work too, by the way. Here I am, enjoying my horizontal projection; that means: same salary, different work. I’m back to that where I can listen to music out loud but there’s no signal for losing myself over social media. Maybe I will be able to write more, I may even try to read some. I have a book in my bag, we’ll see. I’m a little over the thirty thousand words; a bit more, surely.  I went public. Nothing happened,  as I expected. Why would anyone read it? Reading is a very selective thing to do. Those who normally do it, don’t read just anything. There must have been some recommendations beforehand  at least. This is just left to chance, I guess. If something happens to me, the story won’t be complete. It’s a  bit of a dilemma. A no worth dilemma,  but a dilemma whatsoever and after all. A delusion. A delusion I intend to keep, to embrace. There are much more words to add. So let’s keep going.  I just had a great lunch. I love when my wife cooks for me. Now I’m here, listening to Corazón Delator, and getting a nice vibe when he says Los vestigios de una hoguera, because there was fire in that passion, and there they are: the vestiges, denouncing a heart aching, burning, for a love gone. I don’t think a love gone would be a subject during this story. I don’t know.  This immigration wave pours some spice tragedy-comedy sense on it. I was talking to my wife about it. We do suffer, we’re all genuinely in pain for what we left and who we left. It’s just this south-american way of ours, that we must make up a joke out of any disgrace, and therefore get a laughter instead of sympathy. Nevertheless, I don’t think it is sympathy what we’re trying to get from the rest, so maybe the this humor of ours, is not just part of the way we are but more, more than that.

 

Indoors. Bathroom. Weather doesn’t seem to be as cold as yesterday but our mood seems to be bitter nevertheless. This is the kind of town, and routine,  where you need a car for everything,  for anything.  This is not the kind of town where you can take a walk to the bus stop and wait for a few minutes, and perhaps coincide with someone a few times during the month, so you’re able to start a conversation and eventually, get to know each other and finally, stop feeling alone. This is not that place. This is the place where you enter in a seemingly endless loop, by doing the same thing over and over to a point of losing track,  any sort of track. Whichever that may come first. For instance, losing track of memories: ask the same question every time, because you just forgot about it, for an unknown reason, by following this loop I’m talking, of course, you just forgot any of the answers, so you ask and ask like an ever repeated song. Track of time, lost too, prompted to lose it at first, by the way. As it happens, it turns out that you remember what you asked, only not when you did it, so the same words come and go throughout your head; your being, and we start using the same, even for opposite things, and laugh or yell because,  just as toddlers do, we don’t know other words. I heard something about the brain and its condition of use it or lose it, and, we might be losing it. A rolling belt, in a way, very much like those in airports that carry people’s baggage from one place to another. An old rolling belt and its continuous sound. A sound of movement and going nowhere. A sound that comes back where it starts. A cycling sound, a cycling song for the bored and the tired. I’m hidden among the boxes; watching, listening. It’s break time but I’m not hungry. Let’s go down and see the others eat. The day just went by. Wine checked. Good news on one side and some hesitation on the other. That’s how life is. Bed time. Not sleepy. Let’s see. There’s a promise. A promise of progress,  of commitment. Hope finding its way but trust is losing its track. What’s the track of trust, anyway? We get used accept.  But there’s the promise, the wonder. Elvis would say The wonder of you. Who is that you? Is it really you? You may be someone else. Wonder has several approaches. Let’s wonder why. Let’s be wondered by. Now in bed, I want to evocate, I want to imagine, to imagine and touch.  Is it true? Are you for real? Will you wait? Will you miss me? Who knows. Delusion has several faces. Wine is gone by now. Noises. Noises from silence, from the night. From my will for sex. Sex is absorbed by wine sips. Several  glasses for reflection. Am I going to be touched? Good night if not. The garbage truck and its solo under a rainy day. Still dark. Obviously indoors. Only hearing and having this sort of hangover. Things seem to work out. Two love stories came to my understanding. The first one is about a couple, that in order to remain legal, they must join a third party, so to speak. I guess it is the real life version of Sandra Bullock’s romantic comedy: in this case certainly not romantic, nor funny, but a comedy hereinafter. Again, we’re looking for laughter rather than sympathy. The second one, the second couple. This couple got together again in Venezuela after being away from each other for a little while. Only that they went through different things after that while abroad.  Now they are back when they started, surely with a way different mind. This is more a tragedy but it won’t be taken seriously,  so it will become a comedy,  for the amusement of who they left behind at least. Home. Shining afternoon.  Let’s take a nap and get good vibes. We did. We ate out.