Excitement

is the feeling Christian Duque feels whenever the tides from information shakes him down under but, mostly up, way up above. Every byte of data becomes into an idea, a project, a contract. No matter if it ever comes to accomplishment, the time of realization us unbearably ecstatic. He's thankful for a mind that reenacts sensation usually better than the experience itself; imagination flies broad all over the coffee tables that lie onto reality, good think 'cause otherwise those would crash into pieces by such evil noise: The noise of vertiginous movement, fuckingly good music, souls trying endlessly to cross the human interface of skin (which explains the vast amount of accidents, wound in the back of the right hand, extreme fragility at face skin contact). Nothing soothes physical agitation that overcomes sleep and calm better than incorrectly government administrated hurricanes and natural disasters. Excitement is the name of an unmentionable strength who does whatever he wants and will only take part attending his haunting desire.

A feeling ten times the intensity of what you humans call love.

One must not find hilarity neither comedy in the newest piece to be premiered next Thursday, "A Children's Chorus", on Grand Rex at midnight, which is located a few blocks away from the symbolic City's Obelisk. Because although on the narrative as well as the joyful colour put on stage invite the audience into a light atmosphere, this is simply not freed from the horrendous image where human ethics is portrayed every time the mysterious starring man sordidly appears on scene. Alfredo Fish, the veteran actor that made the decision to impersonate such deceitful character, looks so convincing about the rightness of his act, that among social institutions ranging from culture office to chief police office, it is discussed whether the man must be take into custody as an accomplice on a public felony.

What could look mostly exaggerated, at the end we are talking about nothing but an artistic performance. However, according to declarations by several critics, the social tension brought about by the play has made the assistants look like witnesses, even intellectual companions. It is not surprising then that none of the one hundred and twenty people beholding the only open general essay, three weeks ago, had agreed to make declarations, adding to that the fact that a growing portion has asked for long licenses at work. At this moment, it is worth mentioning the pitiful decease of Enrique Restrepo, 26, one of the preview's assistant, due apparently to circumstantial reasons. It was expected for coming rehearsals to be opened too, but the flood occur ed on the practicing place caused the mentioned to be the last trial and meeting of the whole of the cast that will be representing the play in the Grand Rex.

It is known that the young director seems as an ambitious, enthusiast man, regarding his own work. He's been present on every aspect of the play, and has made his name into the limited circle of dramatic theatre by mere pulse. Although maybe this time the excess of self-excitement has gone beyond the limit that is commonly imposed to the artist. We must clarify now that as humans, active and conscious members of society, and journalism professionals, it has taken a superlative effort from us to deploy the present critique.

The tale of mister Dracula (Fish) is the persistent attempt to find salvation by publicly exposing each and every one of the ideas thoroughly becoming into the fatal act, and Act that was vetoed by call from the producers' office and is establish in the background as Tell-Tale Heart hidden under the floorboards. Such greedy strategy, the look for compassion, goes over several failing stages, the next being a worse bloodbath than its preceding. From the open rehearsal, the crimes that implied body mutilation might have implemented prosthetics with a denser recipe for the blood, keeping the stage not to be so broadly covered in a matter of minutes. All those crimes, to be noticed, are explicitly considered as the only chance for mister Duque to challenge the perspective of the committed acts by Dracula back in the "Tell-Tale Heart" Period.

A lot of them criticize from the play the absence of a female character, one mister Dracula could be shown involved with. In response, some apparently more insightful analysts find the missing twist at the moment the mister begins operating into the clearing dawn, where confusing dialogues take place with the feminine whispers of Aurora (Florence Mendoza). Such appreciation is based as well in the visible change in Duque's modus operandi, that could be considered as 'techier'. Please realize that the idea depicting technology as the core enemy of a society that is based in the solid grounds of bureaucracy, as it occurs in most of modern nations, is simply outrageous and wrong. Considering the enormous moral playground the play proposes. The character, that surprisingly performs a thrillingly unexpected abandon of his self, along with a drastic reduction of hours of sleep, approaches towards his maximum vulnerability, confessing at the time (or performing, a fact that cannot be verified) act where the idea of condemn looks such an empty concept. Having in account that the concept itself is the cornerstone of our current litigating systems, it is a fact that cannot be simply overlooked.

The story of Mr. Duque is the inquiry regarding the true extend of human condition. To that they are inherent hatred, intelligence, greed and all the other tools evil uses to develop. Finding live on stage an Act that escapes from all possible psychological contents, is valid to affirm now that the mentioned condition has been transgressed? If at last the gravest fact is overcome (one could think of that fact as being related to death or prohibited behavior from war conventions), what must the depth measure parameter be? What comes next, if one could possibly discuss the idea of repair, or something now unthinkable, pardon? It does not come as a shock that the trial scene, where tension provoked minor strokes among members of the audience (beign Restrepo one of the misfated victims) and more than one retirement from theater, was a silent one. Motionless, gazes forming an orchestra as melodic as it was exhausting.

And finally we wonder, when the star has finally unveiled as the enemy that was suspected during the entire plot, how could there be a happy ending? It will be then the audience members due to be entailed of the task, look up and answer, as part of the set of people Dracula or Christian Duque or whichever identity the character assumes -perhaps as a way to escape from something bigger and more abominable than his shadow at five in the afternoon- during his universal crime, can there be Redemption, after the height of the cause.

Affair with my own depression.

I dream of arriving home late from work, I escape from wives and lock myself in a dark sad room to deliver myself into lust with my own mental crisis, devotedly present year after year, submissive but with the character required to claim myself when I get around her. I have been empathetic one way or another; she's been by my side, at lest once a month, we have met extracted from people and I have given myself to her. We have promised one another not to abandon each other, ever, after all of my loved once die in tranquility I will sail to the Bahamas with her, and then to any other place in the globe. I don't deny I seek for professional or academical achievement, despite of that I have her, at the end of day I will see her the way she sees me, and I will see myself as such devious figure, and living years will be a warm breeze of Guyana.

We swim downwards, the light of sun fades in the depth, she and I, as equals, swim among the smooth noise of unknown seafood. We could have our own great reef barrier, nobody minds. I won't be any special. I'll fly. I'll do something somewhat decent and run with her, she who deserves the most of me, because every single time she delivered all of her self to me and I sweetly treated her, as more of a gentleman than is commonly expected from me.

I did not slipped pieces of gold throughout her throat, she'd have told me this is not me, love is not to be purchased and I am putting myself a price based on false assumptions. That I have no knowledge of myself, and the reason why I am so annoying is one I know of, it may be one I may not be able to admit but I know better than anything else. She never contradicts. I contradict myself all of the time. That does not concern her. She does not make things easier for me either, which I find more than lovely.

No matter she drags me by the neck and takes over me, nothing puts me lay down as the exhaustion she is capable to inject on me, almost never with for a reason. By her own choice she's giving me surprises of such beautiful fatality, for both my career and my loved ones, she is aware of her mission being to take me out, get me out of here. Release me from this line with no area or volume that crosses the buttonhole of routine and by divine hands aids to sew the shred of a sumptuous, immeasurable mat.

Until now, such relationship haven't been stood by anyone. This is how the end must be, by mere definition. At last moment. Unexpected.

An Inner Sea

A broad hole found in the Dutch dike gets its way through along with noisy cracks ▬ Water and bursting foam on the surface goes ahead towards the planned city. The Flood is also awaited. People is arguing in front of the First, the Second or a Third, familiar or professional ▬ Arguments set them free from the hideous sorrow the flames warn at its loudest. The flood has extracted them all from home, distributed them all over the fields, its temperature, and its unprotection. My already pathologic indecission leaves me by naked ▬ I assure not to miss the hold that is grown by the Return. A Place not from my own (it's true the city is due to me; however, I did not completely belong) followed by an identical one, I get inside no matter that and ask for an expensive dish. I'm starving. Dissatisfaction applies its annoying show in before the astonishing look of noone.

The city refurbished and it's getting late. The strangers wait for me. My youth is no price for the next upcoming of the rain, it still drops. It is not acceptable to wish for another crash in the dike. I begin to notice how the heat in this place evaporates my bodily water and I fade.

My Beloved Economy

MY BELOVED CONSUMER

Dear Customer:

I am bound to inform you today that my local stand on Cerrito 1208 will no longer function. It will be shut down and so all of our costumer-directed operations will be concentrated on our Microcenter location.

Now, we live in a clear known state of economic welfare that can be considered as slow but the real thing is that, as much as I was always pleased to serve you in this ground, there is simply not enough quantity of costumer as for me to mantain this workplace. You must have notice if, as a frequent visitor see the low pace of operations and accordingly, by irony, how much time was devoted to your requests and effort was put in order to maximize your level of satisfaction.

It must be clear that this is not because we do not care about you. To the worth of your money it must be added the kind of relationships we engaged ourselves in each of your arrivals. I have to confess I was always shy and so I never had the courage to propose any external meetings. It is the price to pay when you devote yourself in a business you cannot completely afford, and meet incredible people you just cannot keep in touch with anymore. Don't think my heart is not moved, our competitors are more than thrilled with this decission and that is intensely painful.

I hope you come visit us anytime to our headquarters location. Beyond the cost of removing our brand from a designated zone within a city, I hate not being able to say that I will do all that I can do with the resources I'm granted, to keep you as pleased as you were, as pleased as you deserve.

Have a good day. Only time will tell what the cost of this end is. I will never understand this economy. So beautiful and naïve, one of my most endearing ant holes.

The Beggining of a Better Essay

The Argentinian, I suspect, has done enough as his taste recalls, and given up trying to be understood. Not that they are uninteligible, but acts as if they are used not to be comprehended. They speak constantly, very reiteratively, and there is a point when they simply refuse, unreasonably, look away and it's done. A frequent natural wonder often takes place, when one Argentinian makes a question to another and is answered another thing, then they start speaking, one above the other, until they notice they're on opposite sides, maybe even into the same subject. Minutes go with rectifications and explanation of the road of his mind, sometimes including some light cotidianity background.

Almost Unsent

Your comprehension and perseverance has me absorbed.

You can count on the fact that, if I come back, and if you still await, I'll be your since then and I'l devote to you forever.

You are a big lesson of patience and love I and to make accomplished.