Perception again

 

I'm looking at this blue towel while I think about these words. The towel is nothing but a squared shape, so I'm having squared thoughts: an open door, a closed window, a laptop shut, a cell phone on, a TV, a remote control, a cushion,  a carpet, the room of the apartment,  my desk, the sticky notes pack, everything with four sides, with four angles. What if we flip it all and ourselves with it? What if the depth lies only in our minds? Well, if not, angles definitely change depending on where you stand. That could explain why the tantrums when others just observe and remain quiet.

 

Drawers. Some of them don’t get open for a while. Sometimes they work better for memories than pictures themselves.  You find that thing you thought it was cool to have, but you never really used it, you just put it there. Now that you’re looking at it you remember what happened when you were buying it, what you were told, you didn’t believe it, but now it’s true, so you put the thing back in the drawer, and you keep the memory for some time in your head, and acknowledge that had to happen, that it’s better this way, that you in fact never got the chance to choose, that you were more like a witness and no photo told you that before. Now you have to stop looking at the towel, get dressed and go to work, and set your mind on what you need to do, and please stop using social media like you do…

 

How is the shape of the void? Is it a circle with a hole? How about Israel depth? Perhaps the depth is built with our issues, all those issues we’ve been collecting and treasure like remembering them was something worth to do. How much have we learned from them. I see myself falling apart in silence and there’s nothing there to bring up for making anything better. Even good memories lose their power to cheer you up when the present is so hope-consuming. So we just have this void to visit and contemplate, like a lake, waiting for anything to pop, to splash.  A leaf fallen from a tree and taken by the wind to flow you, with you; while the silence greets all those memories the same wind brought you when touching your face. I just need more money,  and perhaps more time with myself.

 

Shades, I can see the lamp on their reflex. The house is dark and the lamp is on, even at daytime. The sound of a hairdryer,  the sound of a Sunday evening that awaits the routine to start again. High temperature in the body. The month is about to end, and I woke up with this feeling of frustration that we pay to be fined. I was fined with two hundred dollars by a company named LMS Parking. They are in charge of giving us (we, the residents of this complex) this type of service where my car has to be registered,  so I won’t be fined, and my car wouldn’t be locked. I want to understand why, as residents,  we are not being called, and told first, as a courtesy: dear resident,  based on our records, your car is not registered,  we kindly ask you to do it so. Instead, the administration just send a general email stating, pretty much, that if the car is not registered,  it will be locked, and you will be fined. Just like that. It felt rude, like they don’t care, like it is what it is. Another day comes by.

 

Costumer care, sometimes an empty definition. If it’s in person, you have to wait on a large line and spend a time you don’t have just make a point that, perhaps,  it won’t be considered. So you call, and the waiting is even worse. Then you have the reviews,  so you let go your frustration to no one, and then you get an empty answer like: so sorry to hear that. It is happening in every level, in every field. The illusion of not being alone tend to get a serious strike when you actually have to use social media for a real personal matter. In other words, if your problem is not part of a trend, then it won’t get any attention, so you better find a trendy concern to make opinions, or else you better remain quiet and take your frustration on any other thing that has nothing to do with your problem. This is our world now: Parking services. They don’t serve me at least. 

Syllabus

There’s no sex in your violence.  I love it.  Isolation is starting to become bearable.  What the hell then!  If we ever get divided, please let’s group according to our music taste. Aren’t you tired of sharing with people you just can’t connect with? Music, not only music, but seriously; music is, and I do abide it, the most proficient catalyst for mind connecting.  Our words flows around as the songs we play. Play me forward then! Play me all over. Let us become a song and forget about anything else… whatever that might mean!  Silence Management and the expectation to be heard; understood. Eyes on the phone. Life scrolling out our time. Songs from a musical.  Songs in my head again.

  

A carpet. An opened window during summertime.  Air conditioning down. The day looks pretty.  The beginning of the end seems to come, at least we hope for it. Cartoons.  I like cartoons, specially this Asian Anime: their vision, the places they explore, the future they foresee, I love it! Somehow Venezuela is turning into a post apocalyptic drama which is often told as a comedy when trying (abusing, in my opinion) sarcasm as a defense mechanism.  Everybody needs to be cool. There has to be something cool to post, to read. I have to repeat what I’ve just read on social media, only that my bitterness doesn’t let me. I can’t lose myself into scrolling.  I try but I can’t, and it’s a lonely life these days.

 

I’m about to forget this: edit, edition. I was wondering if this social media life is all for, not only to pretend;  to make believe; but also to have the chance of edition. Let’s say I woke up this morning, got ready for work, drove my wife and son, and then just arriving to my office I realized I left my headphones at home; what if we can just edit that; not changing the past, not changing the decisions we made, or the facts we had to face, or go through,  no, it’s not that, it’s just an edition; everything would go as planned, mistakes would be made, nothing would affect anything,  it’s just a simple retouch. Kind of like those we do all the time on social media. I took the same picture several time until I get to the pose that makes me look better, attractive; attractive to that one who seems to want me but we have to disguise it as friendship. Or maybe it’s just me who want it, and I’m making this whole thing up because I get bored of the life I have, and want another life for some moments. It is so hard for a girl to be faithful to one guy all the time, specially when she’s talking to several male friends. The telephone puts everything in different perspectives.  How do we run away from it? Would it be enough if I just move out again? How can I convince my habits to let me do this for my own good? I can’t.  I just can’t.  This pursuit of an alpha-male-type archetype is exhausting, and it seems I won’t get it after all. We’ll see. Debts are overwhelming enough. Halloween is coming. Tomorrow is another day, and another day that becomes yesterday, a yesterday of my today, because today it’s when I’m writing, and I’m writing because I can’t talk, and I can’t talk because I have no one to talk to, so I keep it as written words, it’s kind of like a code, a code to nothing, because there will be another tomorrow, and so many whispers and sighs going along with it, to nowhere, to nobody, I’m just alone and nonsense right now. It is hard not to be so, but here we stand, I stand, hoping, we never know…  and hope answered,  by the way. I guess I’m not alone after all. 

 

There’s a leak; the bathtub faucet does not shut entirely.  Fourth note tempo, I can sense. My mind is trying to sync with it; English helps, Spanish is less diverse when it comes to one syllabus words:

I

Am

Up

To

Think

That

This

Beat

May

Take

Me

To

You,

For example.  

Mindset brainstorm

I need focus.  I have spent too much time on social media. Time that won’t come back. Time I have just wasted. What will those apps do with that? It’s clear that we’re taken our time. Time we weren’t going to turn into money, to be honest, but now that I think about it, perhaps they do, I mean they can. They can get fueled up from our time and convert it into money. So when they say feed, that’s means we feed them. We feed the system with our time. I can’t remember last time I allowed myself to get lost in a book store,  in a library,  I’m actually forgetting the things I have read. I was trying to explain my brother what it’s going to happen with House Of The Dragon, since I have read Fire and Blood, but I just couldn’t, I remember nothing, only a couple of things.

 

What is happening to my memory? Am I not only giving my time away but my memory too? I have to think a lot about this. I hope you all help me out.

 

We need a character for this question. I have to come here. There’s no one to talk to, and I spend too much time on social media trying to get an unwanted answer that never comes. I haven’t found my way out. I guess I need to redirect my own attention. This time should not be wasted on people who don’t give a damn about me. I’m tired. I should take a little walk, or get a book, I guess. This spend-and-pose type of life is consuming me, and don’t even have to cut my hair. Let’s redirect.

 

The voice of my silence. The words that can’t say out loud. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry couldn’t do better. You were a gift from God. Your presence. Now I’m going to be alone again. Alone again between the social media and the smoke. That’s how we start to fade. That’s how we join the oblivion. Me and my memories. Me and my silent desires, watching how fat I look into the black mirror and the white screen; feeding myself with fantasies and vestiges of past glories.  Happy Halloween the whole year, the only good thing. Challenging,  but good. Good and worthy, like a glass of wine on a Monday night with no occasion,  with the voice that can’t be heard.

 

Those little light bulbs on electric devices, the ones that remain on and bright to let know the machine is off but also plugged, and plugged means it can be turned on at any time, at will. That’s how expectations decorate a living room nowadays; plugged machines on off, expecting to be used. Am I expecting to be used as well? I want something else. I want you!

 

We’re more everyday.  I’m not sure if that is actually a good thing. There is this dilemma: we don’t want to be alone but we want to feel ourselves exclusive.  We want to be more but we don’t want to tell any other story but ours. It’s kind of hard. It could be some sort of dialectical. The Venezuelan dialectical; we want to increase in population but without stop being the only Venezuelans in town. It’s not easy, we all feel it. Why can’t I stop eating for Christ sake!  

 

Maybe I’m tired of watching children videos. Not really.  It is what it is. The day has finally arrived. We cried. I cried. I cry every time I step into something; anything, that she use in the house. We’ll be missing her terribly.  I want to call this challenges from the poor; or poverty.  I’m not sure which one conveys the message I’m trying to send. So, poverty challenges: forced farewells among them, why? Because we never know when we’ll get to able and afford. Affordability is an issue, for sure. So, see you someday, when faith empowers us and not only over mindsets, but over pay capability as well.  

 

A new week comes, and it comes with the routines: the meetings, the documentation, the early breakfast, so we don’t have to spend on it. A new promise, a new expectations awaits…

Nothing awaits. It is just our need for illusions that tries hard to keep expectations,  so we think something must come up, or soon. We vow for a good surprise, for a blessing.  Only that the bless seems to be cursed.

 

I was waiting for the red light to turn green and pass but I opened my eyes and found myself watching tv with the baby on my side. I’m sleepy. Tomorrow it has to be great. Let the music flow around. It worked out, just for day, but it worked out. Now I have to get some rest and postpone this anxiety for having sex.