This meeting
halfway is also halfway lost. Never mind, here we stand. It’s almost time to
go. It was a quiet day, a quiet day for noisy times, a quiet self for burning
thoughts. I have this in my ears, I have this need to check them all the time.
They feel itchy, specially when I’m
stressed out. I’ve been in the doctor twice
already for it: otitis media, they call
it. I’m just burning time, burning time while getting calories. This is the
drill. No sugar: how? It is a lot enough quit smoking. Talk show in mute:
that’s how I feel when I hang out. I
smile at this words. Night has fallen. Only the led light from the TV is
letting us see the living room. Toys and books on the floor. Art can be messy,
so words and silences. A pause in air conditioning for breaths to catch. A few
kisses to decorate. Fingers want to walk but we just went to sleep. It’s
Wednesday now. Cold, but no so much. The
smoke comes and goes as any random post from a social media feed. I wave my
hand along with the imaginary melody I’m playing in head. My ears again. The
sound of air conditioning is taking its place during this while. Caracas,
Caracas again. The Avila and the multiple views. Message voices upcoming. See you later! I was wondering if the times a song is played
on the radio has something to do with the money they must be paying for it.
Some songs are played so much more than others, I don’t think it obeys to a
preference basis. It is hardly unlikely, to be honest. There is this post repeated so many times,
and by different people, assuring that music business has changed, and that
nowadays it must be branded through social media: maybe, but I don’t care. I
think whoever invests money on social media is who has the say on whatever sort
of business gets tried on it. Followers are just that: Followers. The illusion has
already been sold and bought by everyone.
It’s simple, we don’t choose, that’s it. Radio plays as told, and any
media posts as told, as instructed, along with the trick we are always
discovering, or choosing, but not really, and we must accept it. At least they
let me still enjoy rock music. Despite of the horrible Reggaeton.
Throw back
Thursday. That was yesterday. Friday, wine out. It’s raining but we’re not
walking. So let’s this flight enchant us
with its taste and evocate in silent, as second layers, behind the current
talk. Wine in, at home at last. Ghost, always Ghost. What a band! Promises, I
think of Cranberries, of Savage Garden. I just can’t keep them. How many times saying
“mama-güevo” is enough, by the way? I guess there are not enough times, but at
least I can listen to music and regret of the past that is not present, and the
present that is not past. What can de we do? As a matter of fact, doing is a lie, it’s an illusion. All those
regrets have brought you here, and here you ate, not there. This world is not
made out of if only, but here I am, so here we are… but we can
bring up, for pleasure, for stubbornness,
for a need, but in the end it will always be: here I am. I’m kind of
drunk. I don’t if I’m just tired. I think I’m just tired. At least I’m not in
social media consuming about the princess,
or our prominent contender, who, at the end, has to give up, or pass
through, and keep the drama, the anguish, because that’s what politics mean in
Venezuela; anguish. Video calls, music is still good. I’m still in charge of
it. I wouldn’t know how to convey this
but, when the drums is in its best tempo, guitars are tuned properly, and the band is just playing at their best, it is just magical, and the fact that we can feel it and share
it, the fact that technology is also served for such a purpose, it just makes the world better. I toast to
rock music and everything rock music has given us, given me, at least. Saturday afternoon. Headache is barely gone,
it wasn’t a good morning because of it. I’ve been reading a couple of headlines
from Venezuela. The contender has chosen
a champion to run as candidate. I may have mentioned that there is this woman
who has stood up against the regime for more than twenty years, and finally,
the local traditional opposition agreed to let her, not without complaining, be
the only contender to represent those who can’t stand the chavismo anymore.
This is not a democracy, so this woman
was banned to run in these elections. For
this story, and for so many others too, the magical realism can’t be taken off
the narrative; it’s the way we are. The woman, now carrying the hope of practically
the entire nation, has named another woman to run in her behalf, this in order
to be able to run for the elections, since the government won’t allow her in
the first place. Will the mechanism be fair? Of course not. Will this work out?
We don’t know, but as a Venezuelan, I
can only hope for the best, and this seems to be our best this year. We have a strategy
every year that ends up in failure. This is our new one, so faith is selling at
this time, and only time will tell, by the way! Sunday, morning, coffee with
hazelnuts creamer after a great cassava arepa with perico. Just great! Traditions,
religious ones included, tend to have to do with the place, now that I think
about it. In Venezuela, today is Domingo
de Ramos, it is a good day to go to church and bless the handcrafted
crosses we make out dried palm leaves. There are no palm leaves here, and the
weather at this time is not working out for palm trees. No church and no cross
then, I guess. Don’t misunderstand me, that never compromises faith. Faith is
here, there, everywhere, in spite of the cynics and the mass information. There
is a happy palm Sunday, indeed! It’s
just me that I haven’t searched enough. It's good to know. So, happy palm
Sunday for everyone!
