Monday, ‎15‎ of November of ‎2010, ‏‎03:10:13 a.m.

Writing is..


Is it wrong that I mispell, confuse, derive, but, especially, alternate languages with no concern?


My mind starts shifting from one language to the other (they're only two).


I don't seem to have found a space. I might be talking about a physical place but, it is, above all, a place for my mind to be at ease. It's not. It has been a hard time dealing with shit that goes around inside, and it also has been having a real tough time dealing with shit that goes around in the world. The whole world. The fact that I can actually be writing this, is prodigious. Because as we speak (it's an expression) I've been considering going to therapy, go to sleep, end my relationships, and recognize myself as a lame stereotype. All that went through since I started typing. I can let go of my own spells.


This last theme (the one about me being a stereotype) arises some curiosity. I am a failed writer, and in general I am a failed artist. I also didn't succeed in academia, yet for the past five years or so, I keep believeing to portray some faculties nobody else in the world does. What is delusion of grandeur? I wast just watching this guy, who is barely breaking even about himself, and all of the sudden, while waiting in the street, starts doing some push ups. And I am very like that, if I think about it. I always have this intermitent sense of self-enhancement, that reaches a mediocre point, only to forget about it and move on with his nothingness. I am in a lot of things. Yet I could have not stand from bed in the last four days, and nobody would have noticed. I call myself busy, yet people working and earning academic merits at school and doing some charity work and spelunking and travelling, seem to have it all worked out. Senselessly, I return to the idea, that I might have something that explains my social backslash and makes up for my lack of achievement.


Just like when I was a kid, I didn't have much money, but I said, only to myself, that the reason for it was that I had a hoover-like slide, ressembling very much the one from the Back to the Future, when it's the future and that slide cannot work over water. I think it's funny because I don't consider that movie all that relevant in my life growing up. I used to wonder about being able to say that I had that slide, which was overwhelmingly expensive and could not be taken out in public easily. But I had it, and it was the reason why I didn't have new fancy clothes regularly, my family could not afford a car, I was not able to show off how much money I had. Just like most the guys I went to school with did.


They say writing it is therapeutic, yet my mind cannot let go easily, and simply absorbes every action directed to her either directly or indirectly. I am lazy, unplanned, undisciplined, and my mind does a very big effort trying to keep things that way. I am depressive, nasty, very capable of doing nothing just as much as relentlessly blaming me for it. I could go on. I live a stuck life. It has had its diversions, but it must be clear that it has been like that for some time now.


I had a dream last night where some old friends and I returned to some space we frequently gathered in, and as we were leaving all of them started crying about how much they missed it. Can you believe how condescending my dreams are now over me? Sure I have ideas that look nice for some people. But making them possible and appealing for them and much larger audiences is a real difficulty I don't seem able to overcome. It's actually very little what I think I'm capable of right now. But it's more that what I tell myself, or what my mind tells me: she's got me over her spell, and she won't just try to work myself best.


I'm not sure what follows. If my lack of general interest in regard of most issues, and my preset attitude of quitting, were triggered by difficulties and laziness experimented in the reality; or if it's actually the case that the impossibility of accomplishment is due simply to the fact that nothing is really worth trying. I honestly can't tell. It's getting late, and my mind, while awake, is not concerned with finding the right answer, not even a good answer. I am getting really tired once again and she is just laying down, allowing my judgement to flow from one pole to the other, carelessly, avoiding by all means some required energy or peace in order to clearify some things. I feel like I don't know myself. I'm pretty sure I used to.


Is it the loneliness? This is the longest relationship I've been with, yet I'm pretty sure this is the loneliest I've ever felt. I like to test it, following strange things and coming up with very dark references, then try and see what happens. I sure do have a memory. But it's not what I'm looking for. Some say it's nice in long standing couples for that to keep happening. I'm aware I haven't been very present, worried about this and that, nothing really significant. Yet from my point of view, they fail. I know the part about having a score is kind of ill-conceived. Maybe that is the point. Lately, I merely try to screw up, either by intention or by omission, just to see what happens. Just to see if that will make us break. Hasn't happened. Of course I am not going to take action on it, especially because if I think through, there is not really that much more or better for me due to a new statu quo. I know things with will get ugly more regularly, and that pain or sorrow or disgust will be increasing day by day. Whatcha gonna do. She has a way to simply ignore all that and induce herself to believe I amd some kind of fantastic guy, so, I know it's not only me who is doing quite dellusional.


And let's face it. What is we leave? What if it all ends? Could it possibly be that what I need is just more space for myself and nothing and nobody else? When this things happen and I am abducted from society for a while, it is a pain in the ass to return. Even buying some groceries, making questions in class or meeting with people I'm somewhat or very fond to, makes it all difficult and messy, and ultimately undesirable. Do I need more loneliness? Or, maybe in a regular direction to what I said above, I am simply taking workaround to confront loneliness in an apparent more dignified way, because it is impossible to me to talk and meet new people? When it comes to sex, for instance, I think letting her go or kill herself is the straigh path towards complete absence. Who would print love on me then? Going after somebody, it's just not my thing. I wish I was forty.

One More Time. The Academic Dismisal. ¿Cuál es más riesgosa?

Never place questions outside of
the teacher's theorethical framework.

Never ask thru a not common rule
of order.

Apologize for discussing philosphy of
science which does not aid to the
effective process of worker's training.

Count the time and add a regular
and correct joke. It always
must expose the self-centeredness you
swim into.

Don't try too hard. There is no point.

IA

Doctor of the economy
when there's something that's not right
Must resolve and keep it up
Because we are not made for the illness
whatever happened beginning the last decade
of the century I was born in
when aggregated value stepped down
due to sticky salaries without reciprocity
Having warranties is having privileges in a society such as ours.
Whatever happened we must be soft.

It was a hystorical lesson, thought;
Benefits were split by assumption of oligopoly.

The Virgin Suicide.

you do get me. and i am losing it.

i only wish there is more from you to me especially.

since i cannot ask for anything, i just be

i need things to be over

you probably don't have me on your thoughts the way i have those days. whatever. you never knew me for being subtle.

i am losing it

take care

Lectures 2009.10.06

Where should I be?

Lectures (new) 2009.10.06

It is not easy to explain or admit how I am wishing. Permanently. I am supposed to be a man of science. I could resort to reasons of the psychological order for the efficiency of my mind. That would be absolutely unsatisfactory. If that was the case, I would have to inquire about the shape the meanings take, because it would be a special one. Wishful thinking. If I wander about it, life is more of a growing concept than anything else. An idealistic proposition over a small square of complex, plenty life, that sits and rules even having no grounds or strong justifications. That’s an easy thing to see now that I know how shallow I am. Surfaces become inherent to me.

 

Written language is a two-dimensional mean. Sound speaking has a dimension of intensity and a dimension of time. As long as the educated brain remains unable to comprehend in any larger scope of information, such characteristic language is the only thing required to establish a humanly understandable transit and a humanly understandable creation of knowledge. My point is that language is, by mere evidence, superficial. Civilization, being an act of the mind, relies only on the superficial scope. By living here, I am also a four-dimensional being employing a two-dimensional intelligence. How could world be understood this way? How could I make myself clear? In fact I have to admit I am not trying to be easily readable. I shall move on.

 

As a child, I had no problem guessing the number of dimensions in this reality is unlimited. Facts can be modeled by simulations, but can the be understood? It’s a contradictory grievance: I am using the simulation argument to justify my hypothesis, of only what is important is interesting and only what is interesting is important. Even worse: It becomes such a strong hypothesis, because I wish so.

 

I have no foundations to believe that in every case, what is wanted finally happens. And I mean beyond human ignorance of what is utterly wanted. I also have no foundations to believe that laws of nature as harmonic or trustworthy, instead of arbitrarily ever-changing. That, for instance, is a pervasive wishful thinking from scientists. Simplicity, and beauty: Those were the commandments of modern physics. I think the only thing I have left is to resist.

 

A political battle ends up approaching when you try to warn instructors and colleagues about superficiality or, put in different words, shallowness.

Lectures. 2009.10.05

I am a microeconomic equation. A consumer problem for optimized differential calculus. Yet I didn't seem to be a reason of effort from my professor.

 

– I don't think I truly consider my goal to be reachable. Let's digress for a second over perfection. Nobody knows what it is yet there is a number of things that can be acknowledged as such. The critic point here lies in the fact of the stability of the definition. See how a two-dimensional dynamic simulation arises experience over a third dimension in the phenomenon; equivalently, a varying closeness perception applied to my quest gives a tell about an additional feature of thought.

 

– Very impressive. I think it's a clever move to forget classic theory and to attempt one of your own. Besides, any large effort to sustain your methodological framework is justified by the pleasure experienced by the gigantic size of your ego. And the awareness of the scope is what places somewhere in your space the rest, what is not relevant, what is not throughly felt. Usually, appearances are enough in this reality to resolve an issue. I'd dare to say appearance is the Queen and Master of the universe. I'm not quite sure it means such a powerful figure for yourself and yet it is the one reason you follow your quest: it's an aesthetic one.

 

– Looks by no mean can be sufficient into comprehension. That’s why answers are never lasting.

 

– You look enormous after yourself. That is why you are your own main problem. Is your use of language nothing but an apparatus of beauty to make everything else interesting? I just remembered your hypothesis: Only what is important is interesting, and vice versa.

 

The mention of the world beauty immediately led me to think about academy; and the reasons that keep me inside.

 

– I guess I have to build a world to base any further enlargement or enhancement.

 

– Yet you do not dare to act so. You are merely adopting existing objects. That’s why you’ll never set yourself free. That’s all you do, and that’s all you are: a living things recycler. Do not say you also get to relate with ugly. You embellish ugly to make it accountable.

 

– Power of the ugly is actually my own power inflicted into myself. Masochism.

 

I truly was not enjoying the way truth was adding up. The findings would make my work irrelevant to a major extent. Why that happens so often only to me is a wicked thing; my professor wondered maybe I’m being the only one who really understands the scientific method. It sounds naïve, pretentious and blatantly wrong. I have a problem with that.

Translations !

Lectures 2009.10.01

Sex has been for over a year the way I spread myself allover the world. I broadcast no by spreading my arms, but my making them separate their legs. It might be I'm not sleeping well, enough to lose any major concern over the own privacy. Since statistical experimental data was put to the test and information took the shape of a story whose way of telling can be modified in order to produce certain effects or determined forms of exhaustion, all became simultaneous believable and unbelievable. So, I can speak. I will tell my story.

A hint of cock to save the world

at least I have aesthetics to cope what do you got?

at least I have food to cope what do you got?

at least I have news to cope what do you got?

at least I have comics to cope what do you got?

at least I have music to cope what do you got?

at least I have tv to cope what do you got?

Lectures 1 2009.09.28

To overcome a second dimension of time, that is, to be able to go past or future, back and forth, is something that has been tried and called unsuccessful. I can certainly have traveled to the past several times, although it used to be substantially easier in my tender infancy. What became a mathematical physics complex scheme of simultaneous nonlinear equations, started to look all wrong after itself. I think the first and one of the clearest mistakes is to forget the necessity of the matter a human willing to travel across history entails in his space-time continuum. So the main task now becomes to redefine what defines a presence, whether it is in either former of following times. I am not saying by absolute confidence that I have traveled on time anymore than what I'm dimensioned to, but, preferably, that depending on the answer drawn by my main research question, it will be possible to describe what traveling on time was and what was not, and what was thought as such by my own consideration, or other's.

I'm only left to say right now how substances on body led the mind to believe any trip took place. There is absolutely no physical evidence proving it whatsoever. What can be said is that a highly count of hormones circulating within the veins can overexcite the body to the point of illusion, portrayed as a mechanism in which the body fakes a world for the conscience in order to exclude it from main control. Body reestablishes and only then main can come back to reality.

I am able to identify what I cannot perceive. I am a walking paradox. I am a gap of time: I had to deprive the world some, for research reasons.

Lectures Sunday 2009-09-27

Lately I've been bound to believe life it's nothing but an experiment from higher grounds. In the economical field, I have decided to opt for non controlled experiments, which is a rare, still uncommon method to follow in social sciences and much more in science in general. The idea of a trial where any factor in sight can potentially be the sole determinant of an outcome is resisted by scholars even with their enriching souls. But I think it’s a misleading one. Actually I would dare to say it really does not matter. Thinking quite beyond the preconceptions of how science is made one could reach propositions such as that, given the complexity of reality, the joint forces in development inhibit the flow of minor, irrelevant factors. Some critics would see it as the renounce from individual’s isolation given its tremendous technical efforts, which is visible in psychology and biology, among others. It’s not difficult to reply because it’s foreseeable how phenomena look so different as itself in absence of the rest of the world. Besides, forces and variables are never coming alone so, why bother?

One could defend the idea of caeteris paribus to be a sorry excuse for the lack of mental skills: why to build such an empty argument instead of standing still and pay only a little more of attention? Brain has been proven to easily recall differences in a landscape from color, mainly, and secondarily from shape. Why hasn’t it been trained to identify currents of effects among social, economic processes? As far as I’m concerned, the complex of issues that gives rise to my humanity can’t be obliterated while I study and develop the research my professor requests. It’s the purity infectious, as paradoxical as it may sound. But as I meant above, the clue is to make the most out of the act of brain, in order to reveal hidden behavior. Worries do not affect science, whether it is because complexity has lifted a barrier for them; or because my inner existential worries, at a point of latent influence, hold an organic relationship with the subject of my investigation.

If such a thing is true, I would be even more prone to consider myself and my flux of hormone response as a part of a latter, wider experimental practice. My eye ends up the lens of a telescope that works my own behavior. To be watched means nothing. Everything is recorded, and the one recording is helplessly attached to the problems of mine he, the foreigner, beholds.

Words start falling resembling the ideas in my brain and the hues in the rest of my body. The grieves of living in a circuit of cause and effect are clear, yet unseen. Is it maybe that experimental isolation is really what is necessary to avoid pain and sorrow? Childhood spoiling looks then like the guilty case of boring, one-sided, dismissive research results. But it can be over now. Although, that would point at childhood as an urgent matter. This is how it is supposed to work. It looks, in general appearance, brilliant.

So sad it is I would only see the professor until Wednesday, where I’ll forget about most of the hard core of my wonder. Memory appears like a big thing to come. Or is it, perhaps, information…

Lectures (2009-25-09)

It’s not like I have to be around him or any sort of emotional or supportive companion all of the time. It’s actually not a seldom event the one in which I am a genie among peers or associates. I guess right now I am referring to the point of solitude I manage to achieve between my several compromises. Today, I got to be. Yet I am forced to think, and to listen.

So I listened.

I could say I discovered how strongly I can be driven by inertia in the sense of running away from it. By listening I acknowledge once more how unsettled I am, and how much. I lust uncertainty, even to the point of danger. It’s probably from that where it derives my masochism, and maybe infrequent episodes of depression, accidents, helplessness, excess of happiness, and so on. My point is that, in the search of uncertainty juxtaposed with the search of stability by pretty much the rest of the world, I refuge in myself. The headache cuts the flow of self endorsement and I am forced to face the opportunism of the figure known as the other. Funny thing, because she shows up once my working memory starts to fail and I will deal with the issue of confronting a person.

It’s a hyperbolic scheme. A person in front of my eyes and it’s impossible to gain the minimal focus on myself. My only exit is to let me go into the eyes of the one in front of me. An inquiry thus becomes a quarrel for the part of my soul living in the guts of the interlocutor.

A glance, then, is an act of admiration. A kiss, is a demonstration of spiritual want. And, a sex, well, a sex is…

Lectures 1

Even thought I see him as my neurologist professor, I would not like to commence thinking of him as a pathological being of the likes of teachers and instructors. Not because he is too different from the others. This is just about a matter of approach.

I've seen him only a couple of times. I must clarify I'm an economics student and I did not choose medicine due to a thought of shortness of mind. Soon I realized how such small gap among disciplines and crowds of people belonging to those was no issue abroad. I'm still here, nevertheless.

Sadly it came a point where my so-called science became predictable and the part of my brain craving for ulterior challenges started to grieve. I noticed quickly how advances in neural science came from all sources. There was basement research coming from low income regions in East Asia that turned out to be just as relevant as the ones coming from the top universities in the Western. I really could not tell the ways and directions I'm driven into, what really drives me, but I could say there are subjects currently evolving and being considered as cutting edge: AI, TOM, Supertrings, post-dramatic theater, and Complexity Science. I follow the blanks, simply put.

I finished the Faust des Spiesz over a year and a half ago and life has not been the same ever since. Sure real events occurred since then but in general terms, «my molecular structure did not fall from stability», as my professor would say. The book from where I admit I only got sorrowful fractions is still nurturing my ideas and the world surrounding me. The professor, at my first psychiatry session in his practice, easily spotted a number of issues that stroke me badly. As if I was a huge pop or advertising frame after his eyes. What did I expect?

– Ideas are one true source of ecstasy for you. The bigger and the more invading they are, the better. I am right now, for instance, a big idea you can’t turn your eyes from.

There he was with his narcissistic speech I identify with so much. As resounding as always, as pleasurable to have his only company as the other sources of physical delight I have so successfully tasted. I especially enjoy his hands swinging along the rhythm of his explanation. I certainly did not want to look naïve or speechless at him. My equally overcoming ego would not let his casual words get such a critic tone on me. I would fight back, defeat him and feed with his shredded flesh. I would be content with that metaphorically this time.

– I know you don’t underestimate me. Ideas that are big or belong to major scopes are nothing but mere steps toward a concept of its own. And do not forget that this idea, yet to be reached, will provide me with validity.

– I can see clearly your existence depends on the idea of the integrated myth, as a rational quest. I also couldn’t help to notice how you mention your objective so human, so close to your own understanding. How can you tell from this point the distance you are from and the dimensions it would employ?

Lectures

Friday. Passion is just wishful thinking.

Something is keeping me from returning home. I have lots of pending readings but this day I simply do not function. I should be resting but instead the illumination of my incandescent thinking sets me down by a light pole in the cold, dark, young night. I keep myself visible. I fiercely want to be seen. I made lots of colorful pictures of myself. I believe to be hearing familiar sound, one voice in particular yet I see nobody and no one real approaches me.

As I begin to develop some of my remarkable procedures alone in the dark, I realize how physically ill I’ve been feeling for a while now. It’s strange because it is not relevant but at the same time I cannot tell how a mixture of physical and emotional phenomenon inflicts pain in a way beyond my control, which diminishes my will for it to end. For a moment, I stare. I wonder how a concert would sound.

I have not yet reached a verdict on holding of myself so my system faints. I am far, resembling the truths from my professor. Of the number of things I get to speak on, however, I am yet to identify where I tell the truth.

Touch me, I'm going to scream if you don't

Inside I have the feeling that you won't

I can tell by the way you smile, I'm smiling too

I can see myself in you

I can tell by the sounds you make, when you are pleased, you see yourself in me

How many nights can a soul so full of life remain untouched?

How could a soul make the most of what is whole and what is here?

I need a human right by my side, untied, untied

http://is.gd/41nh5

2004 S. O.

«

I'd wish to make a narration of the present events. Yet I can't. There is an undirected rage. It is not one directed towards me, neither it is one directed towards anyone else. Not towards world at large. This is a general rage.

I will not hide a slight pleasure for this minor egocentric cataclysm.

Lord! Such a lot of assignments I endevoured fondly. They now make part of one same act of slavery and I just spurn it.

I never arbitrarily manipulated formative processes, did not misappropiate charges overcoming my very own humble dignity. I did not. My arrogance works through more sigilous mechanisms

».

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.