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.