Seventh Page

 

This meeting halfway is also halfway lost. Never mind, here we stand. It’s almost time to go. It was a quiet day, a quiet day for noisy times, a quiet self for burning thoughts. I have this in my ears, I have this need to check them all the time. They feel itchy,  specially when I’m stressed out.  I’ve been in the doctor twice already for it: otitis media,  they call it. I’m just burning time, burning time while getting calories. This is the drill. No sugar: how? It is a lot enough quit smoking. Talk show in mute: that’s how I feel when I hang out.  I smile at this words. Night has fallen. Only the led light from the TV is letting us see the living room. Toys and books on the floor. Art can be messy, so words and silences. A pause in air conditioning for breaths to catch. A few kisses to decorate. Fingers want to walk but we just went to sleep. It’s Wednesday now. Cold, but no so much.  The smoke comes and goes as any random post from a social media feed. I wave my hand along with the imaginary melody I’m playing in head. My ears again. The sound of air conditioning is taking its place during this while. Caracas, Caracas again. The Avila and the multiple views.  Message voices upcoming.  See you later!  I was wondering if the times a song is played on the radio has something to do with the money they must be paying for it. Some songs are played so much more than others, I don’t think it obeys to a preference basis. It is hardly unlikely, to be honest.  There is this post repeated so many times, and by different people, assuring that music business has changed, and that nowadays it must be branded through social media: maybe, but I don’t care. I think whoever invests money on social media is who has the say on whatever sort of business gets tried on it. Followers are just that: Followers. The illusion has already been sold and bought by everyone.  It’s simple, we don’t choose, that’s it. Radio plays as told, and any media posts as told, as instructed, along with the trick we are always discovering, or choosing, but not really, and we must accept it. At least they let me still enjoy rock music. Despite of the horrible Reggaeton.

 

Throw back Thursday.   That was yesterday.  Friday, wine out. It’s raining but we’re not walking.  So let’s this flight enchant us with its taste and evocate in silent, as second layers, behind the current talk. Wine in, at home at last. Ghost, always Ghost. What a band! Promises, I think of Cranberries, of Savage Garden. I just can’t keep them. How many times saying “mama-güevo” is enough, by the way? I guess there are not enough times, but at least I can listen to music and regret of the past that is not present, and the present that is not past. What can de we do? As a matter of fact,  doing is a lie, it’s an illusion. All those regrets have brought you here, and here you ate, not there. This world is not made out of if only, but here I am, so here we are… but we can bring up, for pleasure, for stubbornness,  for a need, but in the end it will always be: here I am. I’m kind of drunk. I don’t if I’m just tired. I think I’m just tired. At least I’m not in social media consuming about the princess,  or our prominent contender, who, at the end, has to give up, or pass through, and keep the drama, the anguish, because that’s what politics mean in Venezuela; anguish. Video calls, music is still good. I’m still in charge of it.  I wouldn’t know how to convey this but, when the drums is in its best tempo, guitars are tuned properly,  and the band is just playing at  their best, it is just magical,  and the fact that we can feel it and share it, the fact that technology is also served for such a purpose,  it just makes the world better. I toast to rock music and everything rock music has given us, given me, at least.  Saturday afternoon. Headache is barely gone, it wasn’t a good morning because of it. I’ve been reading a couple of headlines from Venezuela.  The contender has chosen a champion to run as candidate. I may have mentioned that there is this woman who has stood up against the regime for more than twenty years, and finally, the local traditional opposition agreed to let her, not without complaining, be the only contender to represent those who can’t stand the chavismo anymore. This is not a democracy,  so this woman was banned to run in these elections.  For this story, and for so many others too, the magical realism can’t be taken off the narrative; it’s the way we are. The woman, now carrying the hope of practically the entire nation, has named another woman to run in her behalf, this in order to be able to run for the elections, since the government won’t allow her in the first place. Will the mechanism be fair? Of course not. Will this work out? We don’t know, but as a Venezuelan,  I can only hope for the best, and this seems to be our best this year. We have a strategy every year that ends up in failure. This is our new one, so faith is selling at this time, and only time will tell, by the way! Sunday, morning, coffee with hazelnuts creamer after a great cassava arepa with perico. Just great! Traditions, religious ones included, tend to have to do with the place, now that I think about it. In Venezuela,  today is Domingo de Ramos, it is a good day to go to church and bless the handcrafted crosses we make out dried palm leaves. There are no palm leaves here, and the weather at this time is not working out for palm trees. No church and no cross then, I guess. Don’t misunderstand me, that never compromises faith. Faith is here, there, everywhere, in spite of the cynics and the mass information.   There is a happy palm Sunday,  indeed! It’s just me that I haven’t searched enough. It's good to know. So, happy palm Sunday for everyone!