Shapes

 

My white tree, our tree, the three of us against the world, against the intromission of social media.  

Lullabies played out from the TV. We’re in different times now. So lying is our super power after all. Maybe not lying, but making up stories, perhaps the kind of those we tell when we flirt, when we have a crush on who we are talking to. Seduction, there it is. You become noticed among many by the seductive power that lies upon your story. An immigrant story is not really the seductive kind, unless you are on campaign. So this is a swing state, I learned that today. It’s different.  It’s just different.  Chávez changed us. I’m going to say he changed our generation over politics, and I know there are many out there denying it but it is what it is: A Venezuelan sees a politician and he automatically expects charisma, verbiage,  and theatrical strong sentences like life were a stage to recite hollowed verses that then can’t just ever be fulfilled. We think a politician has to promise like a poem, like a song we learn by heart and sing it over and over to those who stand against,  and what for? Everything has to be a Caracas-Magallanes match, everyone needs to sense the victory, even it means misery. We have to win, and we have to celebrate it, so we have to be louder rather than right, and more aggressive rather than precise. Welcome to the third world drama. Here we are, making our third world statements. You guys can learn something if you take a good look at us.  

 

Brain rot. Yes. That’s how it is called being self-intoxicated from too much low quality content on social media… And the time we lose at it, how should we call it? Caifanes has this song titled Quisiera ser alcohol,  in which we could infer he was in love with an alcoholic, so he wishes he could be alcohol, so he can be inside of her. That could be a song for Leaving Las Vegas, where she wets herself in liquor, aiming to get his interest.  I guess I wish I could be a cigarette: quisiera ser un cigarro; cigarrillo, Spanish and its differences. I wish I could be dragged, slowly, but more importantly, and above all, I wish I could get the same interest. I’m tired. It’s other kind of interest what I’m getting; the kind I don’t like. CareCredit, oh boy! Smile is expensive and so it’s getting old. Let’s keep resisting.  We have kids to look after.  I had time for words today. This is good. Unself, here we go. We have to make it to this point where we get to be able to become what we experience, so we can choose to experience something good, and when it gets bad, then choosing the lesson learned from having been there… Surrender your ego like Queen’s song. Watch your child, stay there just looking at him, just feeling how the information is getting transferred. Don’t say a word, just let it happen.  That will be your place in the future, a sort of unself place, get ready because it’s coming. Unself we’ll be, and thus we’ll become tomorrow’s art, tomorrow’s energy.  Let’s just stop staining our visions with Instagram posts or social media hatred, it’s not our hatred anyway.  You can’t be part of that fiction…  and it won’t matter how bad your desire of belonging may be. I know it’s easy to fall into one of those pre-made archetypes around, like the immigrant type, for example, and it doesn’t have to be your case: that’s not you, or you don’t need to be it, we can always transcend and be more, be different, and enjoy the journey.   

 

By the way,  what If each one of us is living in their own time frame? Perhaps my life is more about the time I’m living and that’s why we can’t understand each other, you are living yours and we can’t just sync them both. The moment I left Venezuela my time got detached as well. Everything you got from me is no longer our present. We can catch up, of course. We can keep in touch,  but our present time has changed, so the beats in our lives. It could mean we start feeling different, and we might become memories finding frequencies to tune in once in a while.  

My white tree, our tree, the three of us against the world, against the intromission of social media.   

I have just found out this thing about colors. Colors are reality. So this is where all the mysticism on black and white pictures come from; they are more able to relate with the oneiric,  so they can be stored in your memory along with your imagination, so the pictures change – they may change, I mean – let’s say, they get customized by your thoughts and the language, the words you use to put a meaning on it. All inside your head while you’re brushing your teeth, or while  choosing the clothes you are going to wear today. Colors bring you back where you have no design, where you accept and carry on. We want more time in our designs, we feel like we need to shape and frame and store it  all in our heads as an asset, our assets.    

 

The light, the light is the source of the stories, stories turned into myths and legends. Contrasts give us perspective, in life, and pictures. Lines, lines such as wrinkles in a drawing, in a piece of paper, and even in a smiling face; they give us depth. They provide us with further, with beyond, we need to stare at them and be quiet, perhaps we get to learn how to read them.  

 

This room is different.  There’s no lamp hanging from the ceiling.  There’s no lamp at all. The light comes mostly from the TV and from the bathroom when the door is open.  I have been thinking about my obsession with the opinion in social media, the absence of weight or sustainability every time we feel the impulse to speak our mind. It doesn’t matter who I follow or who I block, I always get a clown from my country posting stupidity at its best. But don’t get me wrong, I love stupidity,  and I end up wasting my time on these coins as well. What bothers me is that I don’t get to chose my own clowns, that I am grouped along with a bunch of people I would never make friends with, and yet we will always be considered the same, and I can’t stand it. Social Media is, after all, a very accurate representation of what we think a mass dictatorship is, and yes, we live in it, and yes, it controls us, and yes, it dictates our steps on how we spend our time, our money, and eventually how our thoughts flow inside our head. What are your thoughts on your daily basis matters? We have to process them first through the social media path, then we think, then we answer,  then we comprehend.  

 

My white tree, our tree, the three of us against the world, against the intromission of social media.  

Information diet

 

Money is talking from the need to pay, from the need to honor, which is a very interesting thing, because who actually cares about it? Mostly, people who want to do good though. People with honor culture are the ones who feel the need to use their money from hard work to pay debts. Doesn’t that deserve a major consideration? I mean, if I ask for a loan to honor my debts, shouldn’t it be like: Well done, Sir, let’s make it happen, and not turn their back on the requester? What a system!

 

October has not brought any cold yet. It feels more like we’re still leaving summer rather than being in autumn though. The bed is not made yet and it’s not going to be made for the day. Nirvana, the band, not the state. Youth calling me through music while overweight and headache pull back to the present, to the coffee tables that Kanye West was talking about. Expired passports issues for us, the Venezuelans.  We were not going to travel any soon anyway.  The sun lies behind the trees while I contemplate from here, from my doubts. Made season indeed, Matchbox 20!

 

The night has come, on a Sunday,  with a no promising next week. We’ll, perhaps not. Perhaps there’s something good coming up. I’m not sure if I feel like taking about it, but I’m going to go to bed with hope and not only with unsatisfied desires. The living room is dark but it’s not late yet. Lentils, those Lentils are just great. I never knew about these versions, about these Storytellers show. Good for them! I like this band. I had the chance to see them last year. Like I said, hope is invited to bed again.  Bittersweet moments for this Bittersweet life I chose. Did I? I mean, how exactly I decided it, or when, yes, when? When did I choose? I’m not sure this life is the results of a cascade of choices.  Did I write it otherwise? Maybe. My thoughts betray me more often than I can tell, and that’s because I keep thinking what I still think, but today it’s different. Today there’s more hope. Let’s see. Let’s keep going. Bah! The same scam. Unsecured is the key word. Apparently no financial institution is willing to grant anything on whatever labeled as Unsecured, whatever that means to them. That’s the consequence derived from hoping, from believing. Now we see why there are so much skepticism around. All those people might have been laid down. That explains why believing is more a childish thing. It’s cold, it’s nighttime, and we don’t get paid for wondering; not us at least.  Upstart, I appreciate you. We’re on the right path, we always have, it’s just that time is so sensitive sometimes that it can turn all your plans down. However,  here we stand, there are no other choices.  By the way, the cold has come…

 

Information is not truth, it’s connection, and in order to connect a large group of people,  the information needs to be sensational. So we are connected by the sensation of using the same information, and find sympathy through whatever paths they may come out of it. I just heard it and I found it convenient for my thoughts. I joined this program of data analysis but I didn’t continue.  Too much going on. I remember they were trying to spot the difference between information and data. Of course, from the perspective of someone who must present an angle in front of a board or any figure of corporate authority,  data is what you collect, and information what you talk about during such presentations.  

 

Global regulations: how wide can this be inoculated in our mindset? The battle for visibility has a lot to do here. We need more information diet. There’s too much junk out there, and I’m getting intoxicated from it.  I’m starting to brag about the things I ignore like it was some sort of skill, and it’s not. It bothers me, actually.  The need to look at the phone in an attempt to fill up the few seconds of silence and unattention, just as if we need a cigarette to drag the moment out, it definitely bothers me. It bothers me on myself,  and on others as well. I guess I need to write it down, to write it here.