Eleventh page IV

Noon. I like noon. It’s like the break time of the day. A break time indeed. Resistance is sounding in my ear. Once again, this is a movie, and we need a nice turn. The day has gone by and it got better as it got late. Night time must be coming within a few minutes. Everyone is on their own phone smiling and getting detached from routine in their own way, focusing on their own interests. We had a nice little chat. Again, about Venezuela. We concluded,  and I want to affirm it so, that we, the Venezuelans, could be, perhaps, the people with the thinnest, or smallest, social gap in the region. The poor, the rich and many in between get to meet at jobs and universities.  I understand it is not that way among our neighbors. Mexico,  or Colombia, don’t seem to be so. In fact they seem to be quite the opposite: a whole well determined social scale where they avoid to mix up one another. That might explain why we get to meet people on similar social status, and it is a bit different when it comes to us. That doesn’t mean anything,  really, but somehow it adds some perspective about our process and culture.

 

Not a good soundtrack now. Sometimes YouTube fails thinking I want to listen to the same every time. I’m going to choose silence for now. I’m a bit sleepy but I should do something useful, but I can’t.  I’m too distracted. Even at work. Another effect of several counted. Let’s try to go to bed since the night is here with all of the darkness and noisy silence.  It’s hot, by the way.  

 

The night is here again. No records from the day time. Too much work, perhaps.  It was a Thursday today, but there’s no point in throwing it back, or forth. Let’s talk about layers, planes. We start see our lives in three dimensions once we get the depths of our thoughts.  Why thoughts and not actions? Because actions tend to take place within two dimensions.  Depths are reserved for thoughts,  for thoughts that rarely become actions. There are a lot of reasons why. The mind holds them behind so they can become places to visit, to stay there for a while and think about the irony of a life that needs deep thought to live it simple. How complex a simple life gets to be! Soap operas. Venezuela is famous for it. Let’s go back to the places: our thoughts and the lake of memories where they swim when not drown. Again, resentment,  a resentful person has more like a beach of big waves: anything can cause a flooding.  We try to be careful, but we live in the open, in the open solitude.  A lot of noise from the phone to be interested in, to keep us distracted, watching something else,  wishing solutions to rain like coffee, like faith from the sky, from heaven. We set ourselves away from actions. Two dimensions are not enough anymore. We need likes and forwards. This is the way now.  See you tomorrow!

 

Missteps. They can be the joke that seals a moment of seriousness. A sudden misstep exposes you, it reveals a good part of the way you are, and such revelations may tell others how strong or weak is your personality. Some of them can really hurt. I just did in front of a few. Fortunately for me,  I don’t work with them.  Car waiting. Lack of faith hitting me. Wine is here to the rescue. In the middle of Mickey Mouse on TV and the voices of a Soap Opera coming from the other phone. I’m here with my thoughts,  with them, and with you. Help me figure out, please! I’ve done the math too many times. I know how much I need. I’m not asking wealth, I’m asking for a fresh start. I don’t even care about recognition. I do this because it’s better to have it offered than just talk about it like everyone else. I want my son to see I did it. I’ve done it. I wanted to make it and I got it. I don’t care about what may come along with it. You know I mean it, but please. I need the push, te help, call it whatever you want to call it. But I need it. I really need it. Don’t make me get desperate, please! You know my body starts to burst my stress. You know how I implode. I can’t afford to implode. Get me out of here, please! I’m begging you. Please. I commend myself to you… as always!

 

Friday night. Still day light but not for much. We went out at noon. It was good. At some point I lost it but it was a good time.  Second languages have that, we have to tune ourselves up like a radio frequency,  but sometimes the signal fails. Today it did. It was failing. I was trying to understand but I got behind so I decided to play the character of “El Diente Roto”. I’m not sure if there is indeed an English version called The broken tooth. In the story, the guy just stop talking, because of the broken tooth. So everyone took him for Wiseman because he remained silent. As I was today. And kind of like the story, it was nothing about wisdom. In my case, it was just lack of focus. Being poor is like having impotence by your side all the time, and learn to love it, accept it, embrace it. Any decision,  any attempt of whatever your feelings pushes for, will end up filtered by the impotence that make you company.  I want to get out: no, no? no, no! Just, no. Poor are forced to think twice and swallow it as bitter as it is. There are sweetener,  nor softener to take it better. And not taking it isn’t an option. It is also contagious: everyone around is bitter now: sad, angry. Impotence is quite a parasite. So fate says embrace it and faith says hold on. What I think about it doesn’t really matter.  Let’s play some music at least. 

 

Eleventh page III

 

Let’s try to break this down: a bad moment has triggered an old failure I thought I forgot. I was wrong. It actually floated up as the drinking was getting me. So I remember not wanting to. Next act I spitted it all like a mind vomiting. Alcohol does that too. Now I have this failure moment attached to the recent bad news I got. They are now related. So the news is processed and stored in my head labeled as I failed, when I first  thought that they were unfair at me. Was it a good experience? I really don’t know. I have to keep thinking about it. I have to think about it while not drinking, otherwise I’ll get back to it as an endless spiral, or until time and oblivion do what they do. I exist as I think. I have neighbors, I know other Venezuelans who try hard as immigrants.  We have chosen a destiny in which we have to prove our worth to be accepted,  understanding that such acceptance comes with a judgement, and such judgement may undermine our true worth, or at least the concept we have of it. It makes this whole experience tough,  but tough is also the life we left behind.  Do we exist? Do they exist? When do we realize of our existence? When it hurts, or when it bothers us? I don’t add happiness because probably that’s the one we save for ourselves,  for our own amusement.  Nap time. I’m hungry. I wish I could save moments like this forever.  After crying like a little girl out of impotence,  this is very comforting. My spot, my silence, my thoughts fighting one another to be served here, without any order consideration. Sunday afternoon with no music for now. The toilet is making its own noise with no previous flushing.  I wonder. The night is greeting from the window I am next to. There is a door right beside it that takes you to the balcony.  It is the kind of those that has a glass-wood combination style. It is broken on one side, by the way. Maintenance said it is already ordered, but it’s been a couple of months since I reported it. Anyway. I was having a peaceful moment that today I just forgot. It’s Monday now. It’s early.  It's still dark. I dreamed at lot last night. I was in Caracas, always in Caracas,  my Caracas. I was there but I wasn’t,  really.  It was not a memory.  It was some weird present time with myself there walking through the streets as I remember, only that somehow I was conscious that I didn’t live there. I couldn’t tell if it was a trip what I dreamed about.  I just remember being there, hanging around; explaining the difference between both places: here and there. I could sense some sort of resentment. Now I kind of understood that it was my resentment,  the one I hide because I feel ashamed of it. I’m home now, wondering. I saw something good on social media. It turns out that Dr. Kanoche is going to have a movie. Caracas, if I haven’t said it already,  is a valley. There is a big mountain that surrounds a good part of the city. That mountain is called cerro el Avila,  despite  Chávez insistence to change its name. Deep in the mountain lies a mansion, as far as I can remember,  the mansion is named the ruins of Kanoche. According to the story, he was a doctor that learned how to mummify corpses. I would enjoy that movie when I get the chance to watch it. I just watched Simón,  the movie. It summarizes a lot of we’ve been through,  a lot of what we thought then. I was already an adult when the story told took place but I saw a lot of what’s told there. Good movie. You can tell why we have become in the biggest exodus of western culture. Modern times have a different meaning to Venezuelan. Modern times is story of unwanted farewells and a tough adaptation.  This is us. This is us now. God bless us all! The day has gone by quiet, with no complaints so far. That’s good. I like quiet. There is an engine that makes everything shake in the house, I believe is the air conditioning system. The glasses tell everyone about it. Everyone on their on social media: searching; searching the endless search. A search turned into a finger movement I call scrolling. Thumbs work out more than the people who hold them. I am no different; my thumb is the one serving these lines. I’m listening to Soen while I can see the orange through the window resisting the farewell of blue. The night is coming.  Time to go to bed. Time for artificial light. Trees remain trees still. They’re getting ready to become shadows. Birds are looking for shelter. I have to do something about this wasp nest that is growing at the balcony. Wednesday. Work hours.  Inventory.  Sadness never asks for permission.  Sadness never cares if we are busy. It only takes a phrase, a simple phrase of impotence,  of disappointment,  even just a phrase of a satisfaction still unmet, to, to low your enthusiasm and lose any expectations from the day. Sun is not shining anyway. Not now at least. I woke up hopeful, thankful. Only not strong enough to bear the bitterness of any economic insight that reminds me how far I am from solvency, and that this is one more day of hanging in there, with no other expectation than hoping not to get worse, because it’s much easier to go worse. Hope must be adapted I guess. Let’s get back to work. I thought I get a little, anything at the very least from doing this. It hasn’t happened yet. Not while these words are taking place and we are about to be 67.000 words work. I’m not planning to quit or whatever, but the necessity of resources is putting stupid ideas in my head and I feel like I want to write them down. One of them is to go back to Venezuela: better be poor there than here. I have to give it a second thought. I’m tired. I’m tired of being this way. I’m thinking about Galeano’s horizon: too many steps and it’s still far away. I’m not even losing weight from it. On the contrary, my belly grows as worried I get, and I’m worried on daily basis. I’m grateful too. Let’s keep going. Algún culo echa sangre, we colloquially say back there. Not yet, only not yet… but it will! I can feel it. 

Eleventh page II

 

A few words for thinking,  for realizing.  Coughing can’t be hidden, Coughing  and diarrhea can’t get along. I look up and try to get some answers from the ceiling but the ceiling seems to be cracked.  I guess the words can be switched and changed,  so the idea will vanish, despite my insistence.  Let’s get some water. It’s kind of late. Mom, I love you. You have no idea how big is my admiration to you.  Papi, I love you with all my heart. Bienbo, I love you and I’m proud of you too. Let’s brush my teeth, the remaining ones. Another issue that comes with age, teeth care. Here we go. Here we stand. I stand. I’m still standing,  I guess. Let’s go to bed then. Maybe tomorrow will bring hope. Why not!

 

Thank you, God. I wish I could have that every month. I always appreciate your help. I’ll keep doing my best. I have no other choice but these confessions, the commitment and my hard work. Take it slow from Ray Wilson. I found out about this song not too long ago. It’s just great. It feels like I want to keep on writing and enjoy my time in the office. I love it. Let’s get back to work now. Es war nicht alles schlecht but in this case it’s more like not everything is that good. It never is. We must deal with it. I hope to get there. I’m willing to get there. Friday of contrasts, of feelings crossed.  Crossed is my mind right now. I need to play more music and get back to work. 

 

Saturday morning.  The first to carry on. I can see the day coloring from the windows. I can see the windows from the kitchen. I stand. I look into the black mirror from here. I can hear the coffee machine drumming with the steam. I can smell it. I’m making arepas too. I’m not a good arepa maker but this is the thing with breakfast: I woke up first so I think I should do it. Only that nobody would like them, so the discomfort continues, and it might just get worse as the day goes on. I better enjoy this time alone.  Coffee time. What would it be the most expected further moves after being disappointed? Could it be taking it on others as some sort of draining mechanism? It May tell us that mind can’t deal with sadness as it does with anger. Anger seems to be more fuel-type. We might say that sadness has not been well embraced during early years, so when the feeling is taking over it is rejected as a false anger, or as false cynicism. A cynical or resentful person can sometimes be someone whose sadness was not accepted in the past. Or perhaps this is too cliché, and cliché is as well trying to find psychological explanations over something, anything.  Sometimes things just happen and they are taken differently because we don’t feel the same way everyday with everyone at everything. Life is variable,  contradictory,  and ceases in time. Coffee is gone: shall I take more or just get back to the room? I’m absorbed in my own contradictions, so I’m alive, I guess. Again: thank you. This has nothing to do with you. See you in words later!

 

It’s quiet. I just feel wordless and thoughtless. I haven’t found a way to serve while I can. I guess find contradictions inspiring for words. The worst time, the better. It looks like a beautiful day, like a beautiful morning. I need a few more voice to incorporate.  This silence is kind of worrying.  It’s getting me anxious.  I should read a book and get another coffee. I’m almost 12 hours of fasting. I don’t think I’ll get anything more than that. I’m hungry, but perhaps it’s the anxiety manifesting.  I don’t know.  I made 13. So I can say I’m committed to it. The vibe is turning stable, birds sing along for it. I see it that way. Back to the source of my words. I still wonder who made us believe – we, the Venezuelans – that college degree would take us to a higher position in our society.  This is an interesting topic to think about. In my opinion,  a influential factor among the immigrants, specially among those who have one step in an office and one step in a warehouse.  The fake distinction is overwhelming. Some of them actually see themselves as high class but understanding that it is only among immigrants. It is beyond comprehension. Germans have a regulation over the purity of the beer. It's called Reinheitsgebot. Those people take it seriously and we can tell every time we taste a german beer. Prost! Afternoon is here, here to stay for a while. We will get indoors soon. It’s unavoidable.  But we can enjoy the balcony for a little more. Let’s enjoy it. From beer to wine: to Californian wine. Cheers now! Accidents happen now and again on TV.  We’re here, chilling. The night  is not here yet. I have a couple of more hours of daylight.  How to train your dragon now. Let’s see how long the movie keeps him focus. It doesn’t matter. It didn’t do it that much.  We were talking,  I would like to die  in Caracas. Not sure that I want to go back. I have to visit a lot of people, but I don’t think I’m going to live there again. Sometimes I feel desperate but I usually tend to come around. The night is here: welcome.  Apparently, nobody loves me. I’m poor and a loser.

 

Well, here I stand. That’s up to the others, not to me. I keep myself writing. I have nothing left. Will I ever get my vengeance? It seems I won’t.  It seems that I will have to bear this for a long time. I would like it to be different.  I have nothing  but commit myself to destiny,  to you. Walk me through,  please! The day is gone. I’m nonsense now. Let’s just laid that see. Tomorrow it’s another day.  God bless you all.  Sunday.  Not vey funny. It’s time for a walk to the park; to the playground.  I’m having a coffee.  Not fasting today.  Too much from yesterday. Magnetic tiles all over the floor. Bad moments trigger interesting thoughts.  As long as they remain thoughts, I think we can get good things from them. 

Eleventh Page

 

I wish you had a good life. I wish you’ll be better. I wish you had not suffered.  I wish you’ll be able to join your parents, to stop by, to check on them. I wish you the best. Life is so unexplainable when death comes to take it. When it’s just like that, like a ray falling from the sky. Do we just cease or perhaps we go to a different place? There’s no right answer.  There’s no answer at all. So I only wish you the best once more. God bless you! Fasting Tuesday. Fifteen hours to be proud of. The afternoon is here. Let’s stop this break  now and get back to work. Wednesday. Almost zero and I’m not talking about degrees for temperature.  A silent noise is flowing around the place. I’m alone now. Neighbors are not talking and everybody is still asleep. I guess the noise comes from the engine of the air conditioning,  filtered by the wood of the whole apartment.  It could be the birds outside, but birds have more like a song playing for every morning to the sunrise. I have a song playing in my head and I feel the need to listen to it. I don’t know if this happens to everyone, but it’s like feeling hungry and knowing exactly what you want have for that meal at a specific time. So I fed my need; the only one I can feed, actually.  Morning went on. It’s almost noon now. Only thirteen hours but I was too hungry and only for music, though.  I would like to have a coffee too. Questions with no answer.  It's not my fault but I have to take some blame on it. What amuses us? Misery likes company, so amusement.  Not liking someone implies a partner in crime to share the contempt; contempt needs to flow among people’s animadversion. You can’t keep it to yourself,  you have to find a listener, someone with whom you can share it. Even more than happiness. Indeed more than happiness.  Hatred is one of the purest feelings we fuel our self with. Certain circumstances have proved that love could be leaned. Not the hate case. Not at all. You breathe it. It's in the air: awaiting. Holding for some misstep of life… and Life can be several times a perpetual sequence of missteps. Consequences.  Consequences derived from such sequences.  Funny. Ironic. Iconic. I smile at these words. Funky music during the process. Fuck off! Almost time to go. Broken English a la carte. It’s unavoidable. It doesn’t come natural. Not for us. May be for you. Certainly for you. It’s almost time. I like this word: almost. Almost implied an equation of money and time that ended up in nothing in so many cases: I almost had it (so you didn’t) I almost finished (so you haven’t) I almost nailed it (so you missed it) I’m almost done (only not yet)

 

Wine evening. Time for a shower. It seems I’m not going to relax, neither today nor any day after work. How does ego work, I wonder? It’s just curious. Imaginary boundaries made out of words and taken down by a simple call, a simple question is sometimes enough. So they are our convictions, our beliefs. Moved by a simple post. Fragile. Fragile ideas. Fragile thoughts. Fragile dreams vanished through the toilet, through the awkward silence. Cool. Cool posts to belong, to belong and pretend, to pretend and over dimension oneself.  Skeptical of the reality. We’re more prone to believe in our phone. Procrastinate is cool on social media, so is not knowing,  not investigating.  I’m proud of my ignorance. I better get another glass. Enough is never, never is enough.  Soy yo que estoy pure, but I can’t help my discomfort.  That happens when you are poor. When there’s no money for any distraction other than hate everyone on the cell phone, through my social media apps. Let’s take a sip. Let’s not think too much about money. I have none anyway.  Night has come.

 

And it has gone as well. Too soon, if I may say. It’s Thursday now. It’s early. I should throw something back like the purpose of those protests in Caracas: about how we were explained then that with such an effort Maduro was going to resign from power. It’s painful to think about it. To remember all those kids that died and how the interest turned at politicians’ will. Those who we stood for, and against.  Time took care of it, of us, of everything. Now we just throw back on any day, but I wanted to pay respect to those who did what they did according to their beliefs.  I avoid judgment nowadays. It was what it was. Living is to contradict. Life flows by where time plays with our contradictions. We might have started as a lie and the lie turned somewhat into the truth of ourselves. Everything accordingly. Time designs. Somebody is drawing us, building and rebuilding our concepts.  Coffee is good, coffee is bad. Bacon is great and Oatmeal not so much anymore.  Our ancestors here, our ancestors there. Evolution works conveniently. A day to work and hopefully one to remember. Run to the hills in my ear. Time to wipe up. I was feeling a little inspired but again; time designs. I feel kind of lost right now. The idea of need is occupying too much space in my mind. Maslow pyramid inverted, or something like that. What if our lives could be played backwards? Where would we go or… where would we stop? I was a happy child but we don’t understand it as happiness then. We get it now, we get it when we can’t have it. Contradictions in time. There’s this say in Spanish that translated would sound like nobody knows what they want until they see it in others, but that’s not what wanted to say, it’s just that I don’t want to forget it. Too many wants and needs and not enough haves to my taste. How many cigarettes,  my God! I used to smoke and because I used to smoke is that I can’t get why the insistence to drain anxiety through drags of smokes. You don’t enjoy the cigarette and neither you satisfy the nerves. Again, time and contradictions to consume and to consume us through it. I want to be consumed by fulfilled desires, by sighs shut with kisses. I want my tongue to explore and be guided by my lips. I guess I have to conform myself with the wine, but who knows. The night is the night, and it brings what the day has to hide. I need to read. Turn yourself around on TV. I turned off the light. I’m appreciating the moment, the circumstantial loneliness. There’s a light from the balcony.  I haven’t enjoyed this one as I would like to.  It’s a matter of occupancy  I guess. Somehow I had more time for contemplation then. Now the spot for writing is in the bathroom,  sitting. But just for this time, the living room is dark, quiet and lonely.  I just need to catch the inspiration again and have it trapped while I serve a few words. 

Tenth page VIII

 

The argument.  I’m not sure what I should have done. I have mastered the art of remain quiet but I spoke my mind and now I regret it, but the damage is done. I have to listen to the same unsolved (and unsolvable) problem from the past again and again for I don’t know how long. I have a beer now. I’m in mood for this, I guess. Sometimes I just to throw it all away and leave, but it’s not true. I’ve have taken a lot more. I’m a bearer. I was raised a bearer. I can’t undo it. This is my life. More beer, please!

 

Sun is leaving.  Warm weather wants to stay more. Too many fruit mosquitoes around. They like beer too, I guess.  They seem to like the screen of the phone too.  Music is on, but it’s kind of late to enjoy. I can use the company nonetheless. Coffee morning. Too early but it’s fine, I mean. I love these moments.  Let’s just watch TV and have some fun with the magnetic tiles. The day is joyful. It feels that way from the window and with the air conditioning at maximum. Diaper change time, literally and figuratively. We were talking about luck, coincidence or that it's just not for us. I wonder, we always wonder. Accepting it is not going to happen soon or easily.  It’s too hard not to compare. Immigrants are just very prone to it: if it’s working for them, why not for us? It’s unavoidable.  Viral. I want to talk a little bit about things gone viral, or so we say when people we know see the same post and we get this sense it might be worldwide or something like that. Let’s try to break it down. An Instagram profile, video, post; why do we say that any of them has gone viral? I want to start by bringing up that, maybe, we call it that way as some sort of evolved term derived from old school press, TV and Radio commercials, and the concept of spread (which is more related to viral) give us this sense of unstoppable success, because everybody wants to be somehow in, because everyone is infected, right? I lost such an illusion when I was nineteen; I was playing in a band and we have this song we believed it might be a hit. After meeting with I don’t know how many people, we got the chance to talk to a sort of executive,  who told us, just like that, that to play the song a number of times a day, we had to pay a certain amount of money,  money we didn’t have, money we never had. That was in the late nineties,  almost thirty years from these words. I understood since then, that the outbreak of a virus – and now I can add; of any kind – is just produced, made up, generated, or whatever other applicable verb, by an interested part. The viral maker, or some shit. So, nowadays, when we scroll for about an hour, watching videos and photos of guys dressing like girls, or these so called nutrition coaches; telling you not to drink soda or eat flour, or hot women dancing, or quotes with unknown or unverified sources. All of that. The Reggaeton,  especially the Reggaeton: these things go viral by someone with resources, and it would be interesting to understand why such material is pushed to occupy space and time in people’s mind. I mean, this has got to a point where many of us know more about that than about our own history,  for example.  I understand late, but at least I got it, that time is an asset, a valuable asset, but I’m not sure how valuable it could be to the guy who funds these healthy lifestyle coaches. How profitable can my time be to it, to them, to him? I’m not sure. I lost track. I lost perspective too. Viral it is, viral it is what they say and do.

 

Monday.  Holiday.  Morning. Sugar levels are fine. The ear is fine. We’re fine. Only the clouds are showing themselves gray. It looks like they want to rain. They did it for a while last night. Laundry day. Soup day. Let’s find something useful to do. As a matter of fact I did. It’s beer time now. The long weekend is gone. Work tomorrow.  Let’s just hope again. I have the music, the mood. I found more new songs to enjoy. I could play all these days with my boy. I can see his progress, his temper. I’m always marveled by the way I think he’ getting things: how he relates what he does with what he says. It’s just great. Sometimes I feel like crying. I’m so proud but I’m also amazed.  The phone is playing songs by itself. I wonder if it’s a virus. It doesn’t seem harmful anyway.  Time for bed. See you later. 

 

I Have jus read something about our image.  It says something like we care more about the image we project than our very selves. I got caught for a little while by the sentence. It had some judgmental vibe. Of course we care more about the image we project. We need to. The society has gone online in so many ways. We must be found or we don’t exist. We have to exist, and if we are going to tell a new story about us, of course it has to be one that pleases us, and we are hardly pleased by the truth of ourselves. Too many beers last night to wake up this early and go to work. I’m in a time wasting mode, or wasting time mode on. Slow movements. Good morning everyone!

 

The moon during the daylight has always seem to me as a good sign. A sign that the day will bring some sort of good news; good vibes at least. Car waiting and mirror looking. Let’s take a picture of it, of us. Today looks promising. Let’s preserve this feeling as a shelter, so we can be in during the storm. 

Tenth page VII

 

May 23^rd 2019. Last birthday together. I wondered then and I wonder now why that much unnecessary pain. We should only suffer for love and repent and nothing else. It’s not fair to leave this world in agony. It feels like next life is already started with the burden of this one. Something is no working out here. We have made up our minds already but it wasn’t until the end of that year that we made it, did it. The permanent goodbyes. Let’s go some years later. I think about it. My memory is loaded up. Too many worries to afford sadness and saudade moments. Longing, in time, becomes some kind of luxury. You’ll get to it. I guarantee that. Especially for us that our once happy places are so far from here. So far indeed. I thought I was going to write something beautiful in your honor, but it was just like I said: my routine keeps me busy from longing, from missing. My bitterness is taking me over. I’m now repeating everyone’s upset mantra: I work too much to live such a life. I’m tired of being almost and not sufficient in full. I try to wake up in good mood but at the end of the day every mirror face I find is telling me the same over and over: we need more and we don’t have it, and it’s exhausting not to have it. My body still hurts from the moving, and I got nothing, I saved nothing.  That’s the poor paradox: the harder the effort to safe, the more expensive it will be. Throw me back, Thursday  and take me to a better Friday.  I hope God is taking goo care of you both. I hope you three take good care of my own here. That’s my consolation. I want more dessert but I had enough, and sweets are not made for this kind of bitter. So I drink instead. Drink an laugh at these words and at myself. What a waste! Let’s see. We never know, there must be some good news tomorrow, who knows! More work for me. I would like to cry but I can’t afford it.  I’m just a vessel for others’ complaints. That’s my use nowadays.  What a skill! Friday. The signs of the universe and how to read them. I served some coffee to sit in the bathroom and think. Why not! It was dark and I let myself guide by instinct. I place the mug of coffee where I thought I was the hands washer to close the door with both hands. It took less than a second; the mug fell into the basin and broke. There’s no coffee – I have to serve me another cup – and there’s no mug – which was a gift my brother brought me from Spain – How should I interpret this? I mean, is this a bad sing or what! Yesterday it was not that bad at the end but there’s still this bitter feeling around me. The ear I better. I hope it stays that way. No honor as I would have liked but I had some wine and some time by myself. Middle age pleasures.

 

Middle age pleasures indeed. Like watching this beautiful girl smile and that other beautiful girl talk. I got my own beautiful girl. I’m just saying. The black mirror every several minutes. The background image: always a natural heavenly landscape untypical on working people. How many times a year can we actually enjoy such a thing. I am hardly alone for about an hour, and that’s a lot. We love these fantasies. Fantasies take some good time to come up and make your day somewhat worthwhile.  Despite the illusion. So we fantasize and get there, at a special place. The special place, and the screen went black again. Long weekend,  beer time.  I taste it. It’s sunny. I’m kind of sleepy.  The turned out to be a decent one. Let’s enjoy the silence and drink: all ever wanted, all ever needed is here… I can’t think now.  I think I got it, finally.  We need a problem, a resentment to keep as a resource; as an excuse,  we need it to strike back when we feel threatened. Nobody would keep it up that way.  I was in the downtown,  there, not here. I was coming out from Capitolio: that exit in front of La Asamblea, the one when turning left, and right at the next corner, gets you to the entrance of La Plaza Bolívar.  I didn’t get there. I turned to the right again because I wanted to get back to El Metro, our subway, but I couldn’t find the gate where I just came out, so I started walking faster; the same route,  over and over, circling La Asamblea,  our legislative palace, or what’s left of it. I don’t remember how many times I did that walk, I just remember that I woke up pissed on my bed. I guess that I was trying to find the bathroom when I was dreaming… and I failed.  Cleaning Saturday.  Sunny, beautiful weather,  but I have to solve this mess.

 

Expensive Chinese food.  I don’t know. It has turned quite metaphorical today: the money, the pissed, the argument brought it back, the lack of enthusiasm, along with the lack of money, of course. That’s more like a constant,  an explicit constant. Money has never needed interpretation. Money is more like fuel and we know we can’t go too far without it.  So, talking about interpretation; let’s see: the enthusiasm is directly affected by the lack of money, and the body responds accordingly.  We’re sleepy now. We chose to take a nap over a time outdoors. The drinking is affected as well: we had more. Somehow these thoughts of despair need to be drowned for a while, at least to have a proper erection, or just a smile with sincerity while listening to a conversation.  The argument,  - of course, always. - any unfinished fight is good for a let go moment: don’t preach me, I got a lot stored in my head just for you. Lack of money is a trigger of past bitterness.  Perhaps more a preserver of such thoughts. Talking becomes a mined field: watch the steps.  The pissed. Obviously.  Lack of money is a tragedy,  but for the poor is also picturesque, which means, more or less, that this misfortune could be amusing,  even a joke, to others; to you, perhaps. That is sad too, but we have to smile… or drink more!