But there
has to be a momentum when the idea can be embraced. That momentum may arrive
when understanding the texture of the music; when we learn how to touch with
words. The power, the political power, that power has imposed its way of
recreation. There are people in Venezuela who still believe this is not Chávez fault.
It wasn’t only his fault, but the political class of the country understood the
extend of the then technological progress, and combined it with the complexity
of the human mind, thus recreating a nonexistent stereotype that many took as
pose and want-to-be-like, and by doing it so upset the fact of our history,
and putting personal views of the happenings, and unfortunately many
people bought it. Some bought it for a while, some others still believe it. The
thing is that it was done, and it was done because it could be done, and it
could be done because power has always understood how malleable convictions
are, to the point of adjusting them at will. Recreating from music, or poetry,
or whatever source of inspiration, equals
our tiny little personal version of it. Let’s all agree on that.
Sex can’t be
recreated by simple imagination. We need
the actual texture. I need the actual texture. Crisis affects sex as well. Sex
is my favorite guests in my gatherings but in order to gather one must be a
good host. Hosting became impossible in the Venezuela I left. New culture, new
life. Hosting has changed. It has turned into something else. Sex is more like
a roommate than a guest now. It has its moments. Moments of glory, and I think of
Scorpions. Night time. Bed time. TV off.
A day before
the holiday. A holiday with no money works out for getting some rest, instead of going out. A mind with no
money can’t afford it. Rest seems like a
luxury for the wealthy. The poor are always thinking, and that’s the irony.
That’s time being time: abstract, cynical, controller. Let’s call it Cronos, like
the Greeks. Cronos imposes you that your portion of time will be attached to
your thoughts, and life imposes you to attach such thoughts to your wallet.
That’s why, when you get somewhat lucky, like, let’s say supposing you get a
bonus at your job, for example. You don’t know what to do. You go out, eat in a
restaurant, buy some clothes, take a
short trip. The money is gone in a single bit. You knew you could have done
better, but your thoughts, used to poverty,
went crazy at the fact that you got some money you were not expecting. We had such a feeling when we first came
here. All those brands, milks, bread, coffee, eggs by size, eggs by color. Ham,
cheese, meat, salmon; oh boy; salmon. Shrimps, not for me, I’m allergic but,
the access, the access we stopped being used to. It was overwhelming. It felt like going back when it was better
then, when it was better there. That feeling stays inside you for a while, a
long a while sometimes. Even when having an exhausting poorly paid job. The
feeling is there, inside you, putting everything in perspective: I would be
worse, or dead, if I had stayed. It
becomes a mantra eventually, the mantra you need to keep going everyday, every morning. So we start talking to God, or
end up an atheist. I chose God. Fuck existentialism. I don’t care. God manifests through action
your mind is so far able to understand. The
more, the better. Obviously, the less,
the more fictional. So, be careful thinking your atheism is knowledge. It could be a variation of your
ignorance. Make sure you cynicism is
based on your own research and not on
social media… please!
Grill time.
It was good. Tasty. Now it’s time to
remember and wonder but I should take a shower first. Duty calls. Let’s hope
for a better tomorrow meanwhile. Purpose. Is this a purpose? I was thinking
about it. I heard someone claim that there are people who still choose to stay
in Venezuela as it is now, even after traveling outside. The claim surges after a statement of a
person who said in an interview, that those who remain in Venezuela don’t know
anything else, and that’s why they hold on to it. Maybe, they are both right. I
think that people who have chosen to leave, did it because of personal (and
life-threatening) reasons. Only politicians want to make us believe there are
other reasons such as better quality of life,
or things like that. We have broken this down more than once already
during this journey. Financial blessing:
yeah! That’s what we are hoping for. I’m trying to figure out if the need to
deserve it obeys to the way we were raised. I mean, as children, we believed
that studying hard, and get some good grades, had to be somehow rewarded. Whose
idea was that, whose ideal was that? Now we are almost eight million people around
the world, thinking we should get more, because of all that effort we put in
the past. Past is gone. Gone we will be someday.
Thursday to
throw but I need to work. It’s Friday now. Not a word from yesterday, from yesterdays. Rosy retrospection, idyllic
retrospection. I wonder now how much of that is written in history, news and
printed in our memories, to come up here and
spit it out, cray for it, yell because of it and even laugh at it. We
gather to enhance it, to selectively agree and state, and even feel the
illusion of belonging, by what I think it may be a fictional narrative: mostly
professionals, let’s be proud of… and great jobs still not found. I found one. Yeah! But it won’t get me out of
my situation. Why? Because that’s the way it is. Let’s think about those who
made it, what do they all have in common? Help. Financial blessings. I’m having
financial curses. I will never forget all this budget full of hope and
expectations I based it on an extra work that – oh, boy! – it was taken away
for almost two years. Two years falling down expecting to climb up. I’m older and tired now. I had to reject the
second job I found. What am I going to do? I’m your private dancer in my
ear. Testosterone levels fighting to survive. Let’s get back to work.
Saturday
morning. Dirty clothes all over the floor. It’s laundry time. Seven days left
to get paid. Days to suffer. To pray for nothing bad to happen, for nothing
unexpected. Let’s see. We survived it.
It’s Sunday now. La Vinotinto won yesterday. I checked on some pictures of
myself; I’m not only fat, estoy pure también. Financial blessing, please come now! I have to do some work on
the computer, obviously, unpaid. Wealthy
people get money from anything they do, sometimes even from spending. We have to spend money even by trying to save
it. What a system! Revenue is the wrong word for such offices.
Today is The
Day of the Lawyer in Venezuela. We
are a lot, as a matter of fact. We are so many that even in our less worse
time, there never were enough jobs for all of us. Many lawyers in Venezuela
ended up working in a different field and that was then, now it’s even worse.
Laws have been subjected to change as dictator’s desires. It’s actually ironic
that he has passed a lot of bills that he has to change later because in time, the
laws don’t work out for his plans. I have said more than once that we were
raised convinced that self realization passes through the academy, which is why
a day like today glorifies the effort – despite the crossed feelings I may have
for it – of getting a college degree. In a population of almost eight million Venezuelans
spread all over the world, probably half of them have a degree, and probably
the majority of those have gone to law school.
So, happy lawyers day, I guess!
