Eleventh page VI

 

We have this say in Venezuela that goes as those who drink on Mondays, will drink the whole week. So here I am, with my glass of wine to start my week and avoid and procrastinate. Watching a children show and singing those songs now that I know them by heart. Still daytime, I’m hungry.  Chuleta Ahumada, for dinner. We lived to fight another day, let’s worry tomorrow.  Wine is gone and we’re having this warm sense that makes us think and talk like wisdom we’re sone sort of totem we are holding by the hand just now.  Alcohol does that. It does that to at least. Now I feel like I have words to offer, a metaphor to build with letters, letters taking the place of bricks and make a division:

There you are,

Writing me

Not knowing I’m reading you

I’m taking your words just for myself

And myself only. 

Because you read my silence

And I imagine your verb

I imagine your verb in my flesh

Like Cerati,

Like my morning desire

Desire it is

Desire it will be

Here it is

There you are…

 

Now it’s time to take a shower.  Words are coming in. It is the mixed up between what I want and what I have, and how to keep going with it since they are excluding each other.  Today I laugh at the things I haven’t achieved.  The sun hasn’t left the day as hope hasn’t left me despite everything.  Caracas of my heart. Oh Caracas! Twenty years ago I was 25, starting a new job with a new spirit, all fallen into the music, into the Japanese anime, with a cigarette and a beer, and having sex as much as I could stand. I met with my limits, in my ways. Worries had then nothing to do with money, or time. It was more about what I felt, how I felt, what I wanted then and the path I took for it. It seems like another life now, like another person. I feel like I can’t join both times, not even in my head. Not even for a narrative. How far have we changed? How big has the government changed our lives? The present is something different.  All memories poured into a phone app, into pictures that don’t store enough. I can’t find what I felt there, not always,  not today. I’m afraid not anymore.  The oblivion is full of memories, someone said…  The noises of the duty are knocking on my day, my night; good night then!  The tell-tale heart, by Soda, not Edgar Allan Poe. Los vestigios de una hoguera,  again, this morning, why not! It’s my life’s soundtrack, anyway…

 

A cup of coffee. Tuesday morning. Am I ready? I am. It’s just this way I am that makes me nervous.  Duty calls. See you later! Panic attack, was it though? I don’t think so but it felt pretty close. I couldn’t breath and I felt like I was dying. It lasted less than minute. The good thing is that I know it when it comes, so I’m not actually afraid. I jut learned how to live with it. Why didn’t she get the chance to prove herself? There must be a way out where judgment is not only by first look. What if my potential isn’t up front? Will I be condemned to rejection at every interview? To shine, we need a chance. If only we could, and if only I weren’t this poor…  Well. I can’t be lamenting all the time. You already know it’s there, and I know it’s here. I’m going to try to move on with it. Afternoon is here. Almost time to go. Everything worked out this morning. I actually want some more. It's time. I’m hungry for it. Three Doors Down in my ear. Good pictures to remember the day.  Replication crisis, or how we tend to get lose trying to prove a point. Has this text provided a solid statement? I don’t think so, but we have to try, try, and keep trying.  Despite the dissatisfaction. Despite being unable to put smiles on their faces. I don’t want to keep feeling sorry for myself. I need to think this is temporal. My hand hurts, my thumb hurts. I don’t know.  Perhaps my body has found other parts to manifest, but I can help it. I can’t help the bear of the disappointment.  Over and over. Over and over. Please, please!