Poetic Nairobi

Loads of churches and church related schools and unis

Loads of armed security men at every entrance 

Roads are like a motor-museum, as entertaining as polluting: Classic english models from the fifties to modern art graffitied glow in the dark busses 

Red earth and scattered clouds contrasting the the blue on top there 

Down here trees stand relaxed, secure of themselves , this is THEIR place

Massive woman heeling up and down, their femininity dressed up in as many colours as possible

And how do walking men keep their shoes shiny and their suits clean will forever remain a mystery

Kindness

Surprise

Sadness

Distrust 

Are some of the feelings their eyes show, from the littlest ones to the most senior ones 

Attentive and happy is what they are despite all 

Proud is how they stand 

Africa is Africa and you can feel it in its beat , a rhythm of its own 

Elephants inside the supermarket , giraffes directing traffic from atop the roundabout and the feeling that all those things that would be oh so inconvenient at home, are what give this place an air of romance, a sight of when in Africa ... 

home-made : lets remember

home-made

Line breaks: home-made

Definition of home-made in English:

adjective

Made at home, rather than in a shop or factory.

 source: The Oxford English dictionary 

 

 

the social phenomenon of parents and kids on board and aircraft

A POLITICALLY INCORRECT ESSAY ON KIDS AND THEIR PARENTS

 

(So to all those sensitive readers, stop reading here)

I had a situation which many of my colleagues will be familiar with. 

Aircraft. Boarding. 

A kid comes on his own running like he's about to miss the flight, though there are 289 souls queuing to get in behind him. I stop him and tell him to wait for his parents because on his own his not going anywhere. He might have had some sort of attention disorder, or maybe he plain simply did not understand what I was talking about, he runs into aircraft in an attempt to run up and down the aisle during the boarding process -good luck pal-. So again, this time grabbing him by the head I tell him to wait by my side until his parents come on board. In a more assertive tone. He stays three seconds before he tries to run away again. I pulled him backwards by his hair, stopped the boarding process and yelled at him to stay where he is. 

R O M A

Barely outside a five star hotel (wouldn't you imagine a clean place?) which is not even in proper Rome and I already understand why they say (they?  who are they? They are the ones that know about every certain matter. 99.9% of the times, no one involved in the conversation actually knows them. Love it) that Buenos Aires looks like Paris and smells like Rome. After thirty or so years, I must admit, they were right. 

But that was not the beginning. So I will start from the very beginning. After all, isn't Rome one of the beginnings of everything? To me, it is. 

Upon boarding the aircraft, seeing my guests of the day makes my day. A good vibe in the air -and no, it wasn't because of my usual sparkling mood.  Old. young, middle age crisisers, women, babies ... everybody all the way to catering men upon landing in Rome are beautifully sexy (saying babies makes it seem sick, I apologize, babies are just oddly beautiful, like they are not normal babies with those purple tones and wrinkles all over).

NOTE: catering people are usually not the prettiest selection of human beings.  Definitely not sexy. This beauty phenomena only occurred in Vienna where even garbage man was so handsome and in East Europe where you don't know whether to focus on architecture or people!

So Italians, Europeans but not so much. My European concept includes English, French, Germans and other Nordic nations. No intention of offending anyone but Italians are a lot more Latin than the rest of Europeans: they have sun and winter is not S O cold. Everything, all, from infrastructure, vehicles to all the rest of the etc's is a lot more shabby, less technologically daring, and no, there are no surprising treats. It's like all has been seen, smelt, heard somewhere or at some point before. All is very used. Third hand feel to it. 

Still, and despite all that, how cute is the POLIZIA, their uniforms, the sirens. Ah... big big sigh.

For a while, during the train ride, I felt I was in some sort of porteño neighbourhood. A familiar and cozy air that I can't really describe so I will not even try. I felt I am no stranger in that ghetto. There are lots of clothes hanging everywhere, people sleeping under the bridge! THAT was a surprise. 

Graffiti blanketed the side of the roads. And this gives me a hint of what is well known: Romans (Italians I should say) are into demonstrations, expressions, colours. Passively, or not so much, they are loud. They  d o  n o t   g o  unnoticed. 

Some buildings really lack in style and I wonder why. This is Italy after all, land where every word is beautiful. But they make up in decadent colourfulness. Those style-less buildings, so alive with their balconies full of either clothes or plants, they commingle with old day pompous palazzos -nowadays I bet they are overpopulated villas. Their glory, long time dead. 

T H A T my dear reader,  was my intro to ROME. 

Finally I emerge: monuments, fountains, churches, forests, marble and all that Piazza del Popolo means to me, you and everybody that takes a first step in there. 

And remember that all of a sudden I realized why they say that Buenos Aires smells like Rome? Well, even sharper, more abrupt was my realization that Rome is Rome and has kept her category during thousands of years for a reason. Zero Vanity. OR 100% vanity?  The grandness , magnitude, prodigiousness (you know what I mean, right?) of what I was about to see sank in. And as loud, chatty, expressive, sentimental and demonstrative as I can be (you can take the Italian out of Italy but not Italy out of the Italian, or was that for the English only?) I am 

speechless. 

PEKÍN

Beijing. Year 2012. 

Population: approx. 19.612million human beings (and not many living dogs)

And which are the odds of taking the same train to  go at 07:30h and to come back at 11:30h as any other randon couple with a baby in a carrycot? 

1 in 19.612million? (Statistics is not my cup of tea) Anyway, lucky me! 

When I saw them on way there I thought of smiling at them but then an odd feeling took over me and I didn't:

I got all paranoid about the baby being dead, or a stolen baby or maybe just a massive block of heroine covered and made up to look as a baby.

That's how I remembered an ordinary couple of chinese people with an ordinarily dressed up baby. Because I studied them as If I'd be asked to IDEntify them later on. Odd. I told you. 

Anyways . Ordinary Chinese. Exotic to us westerners. They look at us like we look at them probably. And even though they are pretty much everywhere (have you been somewhere without Chinese people or Chinatown? I don't think I have) we -or I- still react to them as if ... As if what? Don't know. But I react to them. 

Most the time I think I am normal towards them, but when I see a father running behind his kid learning to walk with a camera and find myself thinking "ah they are like us, they take a million graceless pictures of a baby learning to walk" , that's when I realize I am not normal towards them or I don't think they are the same same . Same same but different. 

Dear Beijing, I prefer to call you pekin. And I hope both you don't mind and you apologize me .

I have missed you more than I thought. Coming back, breathing the chilled polluted air you feed us, being as harassed by the bicycles in the street as by the looks of strangers... Your aromas, your sounds, your Asian idiosyncrasies , yet so superior -though maybe in a more decadent way- than so many other so called Asian capitals. 

Pekin, you've seen me growing into a champion when it comes to sucking the spaghetti out of the lettuce and peanuts soup with the chop sticks , noise & splash included , just like any fellow Chinese . 

Pekin pekin , I sight upon the thought of you . I hold my breath upon your public toilets . I am always hungry of your teachings. My heart is always open to you.

JObs Did The job

Is there steve?

Thank You!

I had this friend, (he became my soul mate, love of a lifetime), who was the first one to argue with me that there is no such thing as boy-girl simple friends, there is always something "deeper". Do you agree, do you not? The hen or the egg? I'm not going down that road today.

I am going down another road that this friend took me through:
There is always some sort of chemistry, physical attraction. Even when you think this person isn't damned good looking, your inner self, liked it at a first quick unconscious glance. And that's how and when it all start(ed)s.
And, I would lie if I denied it. What first appealed me, was physical attraction.
That's how Myself and Mac got started.

It's a love for ambition, perfection, the A team, flawless, stylish and SO much more. It's an intimate relationship. Me and my Mac, we spend nights together, share the bed, doing all sorts of things. And when we don't hang out, I miss her, her light, her warmth.  She's a part of me now.
I love Mac.
So much I love Mac I would have felt weird. Until I read this article ; it says that a neurological study was conducted and people interacting with Apple prods have the same brain chemical reaction as people in mass or some sort of religious experience. Weird? Outstanding branding? The best marketing ever? Or simple products out of this world? You pray, I praise Mac.

And it was. At first, I liked it that it was a whole computer inside a colorful TV. I had no clue what a computer is used for, but it just looked so pretty I wanted one.

Later on, screen graphs were so much cooler than blueish unstylish (if that word ever exists) unfriendly unaesthetic Windows ones.
When I became a little bit aware, my love developed into the firsts signs of what my psychiatrist -if I still attended her sessions- would call an obsession. 

And one day, I did it. I opened my heart. I let it in. And it transformed my life. It changed the way of interacting in life, with life, through life. And it all happened with a Mac in between my hands, her heat in my lap, the screen faithfully taking my confessions, loyally keeping my secrets.  The keys replying to my touch in that soft voice . Agh, a love of a lifetime. Perfect partner. Can multitask, make you dance, make you smile, provide mental input, lighten up -literally speaking- your nights, sooth your days and moods. . . Just by looking at her, touching her silky body. Just-So-Perfect.

Another friend of mine, I did. I had a flirt thing. But now we are friends and even do MacThreesomes sometimes ... so this friend once explained me so that I could understand, in simple girlish enough for girls that only blog and email terms, just how powerful it is, other than perfect minimalist yet classic beauty that I hold in my hands: PC = Boing777, MAC=SpaceRocket. Since then , I love it infinite times more.

Nowadays, I'd rather be a bump with a Mac (there's WI-Fi everywhere) than have a PC. That's just how far it's gone. Helpless. But, as I always say: why do things half way when you can go even further than a 100%? I think Steve thought the same way. And it shows. Proud of him!  He did change the world. A N D , AANNNDDD he was a green minded person. That's a plus. AAAAAAaaaaaaannnnnd, yeah, maybe he changed it in an odd way, but he made it better and prettier, and even better sounding place. So cheers mate!

You know what happened? How this issue started? If Mac is my life love then iPhone is like our kid, Dancing Flake. I loved it so much I gave it to my sister and got myself another one. Just for the celebration of iPhone. 'Coz it's so much more than a phone, or a music player, or a mini computer, or a mini portable library, or an instant international post office, or a game centre all in one: Sudoku, solitary, hangman (? this one to guess the words), calculator, agenda, and ask for it, and you got it.

And then one day, I was dancing dancing dancing, and my iPhone convulsed, jumped off my back pants' pocket and died, crashed against the floor. I couldn't believe it.

I cant' get over it. I just can't. No break up has ever hurt as much as loosing my iPhone, the dancing flake ll, that was it's name... Agh! Deep breath. Life is not the same. Life is dull, communications don't shine, not to mention that they are slower than the turtle Manuelita, views just ain't represented the right way.

For us , simple materialist mortals, that find religious value in an electronic device of such perfect characteristics, there is no life after Apple, there is agony.  Life without it is  i n c o m p l e t e. 

Living in The Eternity of the Cyber Universe

I am outraged. 

Last night I found out that everything we do say and write or happens in the net, same as Vegas, stays in the net. No way to Undo. OK.  I will forget about eight out of ten of that stuff in less than a week anyway.

But what really got me, flipped me and drove me totally insane -ok, I have a life, it wasn't as bad as it sounds, but you get my point?- is that I have a gmail account, and that comes with so many others that I didn't ask for, didn't even know they exist, don't know what they are for and last but not least and worst of all HAVE a life of their own. So when I try to mutilate those parasite accounts, I can't. 

They are a pest for which I have no pesticide. Nobody has it, or maybe Mr.Google does but won't share the recipe. This is such a violation to my rights. To everyone's rights. 

First I thought I'm just a computer dummie and can't find the link to de-activate such accounts. Then I email a friend asking for advice and releasing my tension and frustration of having been publicly sharing some info without even knowing, then I sleep and today I went on with my research to find out there is no solution and a whole lotta bunch of people in the same situation. And there are heaps of forums of people complaining about the same. 

I'm talking to you Mr. Google: 

do you think because you are a stiff ass nerd computer genius with a lot of money you can do that? 

Well, you are so damned right. Because you actually do it. 

But I hope you know what you are doing is SO WRONG!!

why don't you share THAT with the whole cyber universe Mr.G?

Since when can the net decide for me to what services do I sign up for? If they at least informed me -in a way I understood that they are informing me that I am being signed up for something that I don't like, don't want, don't even know what it's for AND HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ACCEPT OR ACCEPT- I wouldn't be so upset because at least they had the decency of letting me know they are doing with my cyber life whatever their unhappy arses feel like. But instead they rob me of such basic rights as knowledge & decision making.

Or maybe it's a generational difference? That Mr.G cool dawg here thinks he can do whatever he feels like simply because he is the boss and I am to accept simply because I am not the boss? Naye, I don't think so. I bet a lot of older than him people feel like I do too. At least if they know how it works...

We should unite forces and not let these things happen! Fight for our rights!! I wish I could cancel my Google account but if I do so I'd loose my blog. And you, dear readers, would loose me. And we don't want that to happen. I know...Sad. In the end, it's always all about me. haha.

Shame on them all!

just do it!

pull them, c'mon pull those guitar strings
start mumbling nonsense words

i wish to stay asleep
to the sound of those guitar strings

pull them, c'mon pull those strings

i promise not to scream when i wake

DINNER AT THE PLACE WITH NO NAME

One rainy night in Bangkok

Paraphernalia sitting atop an improvised wet wooden table covered up in plastic that protects the fur of the fake plastic chinese rabbit that waves it's hand next to a hand crafted buddha collection. A black cat, Cleopatric elegance (this is the Borges in me, Cleopatric means with an attribute that belongs or can be measured only when compared to Cleopatra) and white boots. Incense burns without complaining. I am instantly seduced by all of its decadence. By the soft lights and by the computer typed menu, almost same same as any other Thai-full of errorsEnglish menu in the city. Only that this one's a rainbow of selection. We all know my fate.

Eight marble topped tables stand in a brick orange colonial floor. The walls are half hi dressed in wood and the top half is a wasted white with Pepsi Cola signs from the old days, very vintage, very soulful. The bar is so simple, also in wood with some heavy iron elements, God knows what they are used for! But they look great where they stand. An even simpler woman in a purple cotton tee. Time has consumed her while she polished the beer glasses that she still does now, with the same passion that I go to the dentist. Nevertheless she puts all down and welcomes me, brings a menu. Beautiful teeth by the way. Green lanterns hang from the walls and set up the perfect ambiance together with the romantic music -a bit cheap and generic, but at least is not what we hear every day at every time in every radio station in every country of the world- For a change, I prefer this asian language ballads under the green lights in the wooden tavern.

I talk to you now. What are you doing so far away from me for so long now? I do not understand. But let us not get lost in a world of lament words, right? For bad things can always get worse until they begin getting better. So let me go on sharing this dinner with you. 

The simple lady brings the beer I order. With automatic flair pours it into the glass, tilting it to a perfect angle. As she walks her nervous smile away I follow her with with my look. She's my prey now. Maybe that's why she's nervous. I observe her because I have fallen in love with her, her simplicity, her acceptance, and the beauty she radiates. Behind the bar sliding wooden doors are opened to the kitchen. All I see is just the feet of someone laying on the floor. Dare say it's a man by choice and size of shoes. And I see one foot dressed up in a Minnie Mouse sock and a Mary Jane rocking back and forth. Young love is in the air. That's my bet after seeing the three feet.

There are a few other tables occupied, all males. It makes no difference, or yes. The overall volume of the place is low, the tone relaxed. They are thai. They drink Heineken. I drink Chang when my spicy green mango and shrimp salad arrives. At first sight  as post flight, post massage hungry as you can only imagine I was, I thought it was small. (And no, no steamed rice bowl on the side for me, thank you very much). On second thought though, because of my eating speed I dare say it will be OK. And on a third observation, I could only finish it because I loved it! But not because I was still hungry (and yeah, it was only like two spoonfuls left).

One of my favorite of all things is happening outside this magic box I'm in. There is an umbrella's parade. All sizes colors and heights walk by. Some annoyed by the rain again, others  i m m u n e  to the monsoon season, gringos still under the blissful effect of massage don't even realize how it's pouring, some damn the careless buses that sprinkle water all over the place as if a water war. It feels like the world could end right now, sinking. Little by little. It rains so much I can see rain ghosts coming and going down the street. I love it!

a) Too spicy.

b) Too much AC at the massage. 

c) Wet feet.

d) All of the above. 

D.  I need to blow my nose epically. Only that if I do so I would totally break the whole ambiance, and I don't want that guilt in my conscience.

I get lost in the window and it's many tears that cry your absence like I (also) can't do. It would be an epic cry. I can't because you wouldn't like it to begin with. And because I am in a public place. And because, don't take it bad, but why focus on the wrong when there is so much good? So let's again focus on sharing this dinner that should have been. There is a traffic jam of rain drops. I write so much that I emptied the ink tank of the pen that the beautiful lady lent me!!! And I had to ask for another! This time though it was an easier task getting her to know what I am asking for :)

Should I stay or should I go now?

Should I order the clear sea bass soup or a dessert? Coming to think about it, I've never tried a thai dessert. Not that I need any kind of dessert judging by my size.

Ginger tea or another beer?
Better yet, how about some decision making power?! Where has that gone?

There is a double phone booth outside with a red roof. Not at all like the red London booths. They are attached, so you can probably hear stereo mode what the receiver has to say on one ear and what the other lost soul is talking about in the next booth. I don't like phone booths. I don't know why. Despite I  used to use them a lot for long years even after mobile phones became popular.

There's been an interesting clientele rotation. One of the original tables is still there. Maybe owner and a friend or partners in business. Two thai men. The rest of us are gringos, guiris. All loners, all drinkers, all thinkers. They just played one english song but now the asian ballads are back :) and the server has metamorphosed into a, sturdy, tattooed young man. He wears a bright green -whats with green and this place?- tee with a proud thai flag flying in the back. If you ask me, it's a family ran business. They all have this je ne sais quai.

And my imagination runs wild as the older lady slides the kitchen door closed. Is it the abusing the minnie mouse socks and mary jane young lady time down the back? Or are they slaughtering the poor car to feed us chicken tomorrow? How do cats taste anyways? Would we ever know the difference?

I have ordered the check, it came, it went. I tipped and my epic nose blow desire, my inner peace, my full stomach and happy heart are ready to dive into the rain.

carta a un amigo

Un poco de aca, porque capaz que escribiendo se alegra un corazón triste, aunque no esta triste. SOlo incompleto. Reformulo pues la afirmación: capaz que escribiendo , las letras tejan oraciones que abriguen el vacío que hay hoy dentro mío.  

the bliss (en castellano)

Hoy me levanté decidida a que si la rutina te puede, entonces mejor uno poder con la rutina: cambiarla, modificar algunos hábitos, aunque sea solo por la diversión de jugar unos instantes al gato y al ratón con las agujas del reloj, que todos los días dan la misma vuelta, de la misma forma, a la misma hora, del mismo color, el mismo sabor.

Del pensar y otros demonios

Aire fresco

Arte. 

Hoy, de vuelta se puso el sol en ... Diría en el cielo, pero de ahí voló al mas allá, a las tierras oscuras de la noche.

 

Ella se puso el vestido oscuro, los zapatos de charol y se recogio el cabello. Salió en busca de aire fresco. Pareciera que con la oscuridad cayó también el calor, pues el fresco en el aire se hacía desear.

Era sofixante (Borges Diria una mezcla entre sofocante y asfixiante). 

Poco a poco, y bien despacito, fueron moviéndose sus pies sobre un cordón de concreto escurridizo, cuidando de no quebrar la filmina invisible de la humedad que casi no la deja avanzar en esta tarde. Filmina que casi casi pega las agujas del reloj cósmico en la hora de la eternidad, y a ella en este instante del universo, de la humanidad, de la vida; hasta quién sabe cuándo? 

No le intimidan las gotas que la visten de seda. Como no le intimidan las miradas ajenas, curiosas, amigables, perversas, inquisitivas, infinitas. Sigue avanzando, ella tan infinita como esta vida, tan finita que le podemos dar infinidad de adjetivos. Avanza descuidada, precavida, curiosa, inquisitiva, casi ajena a lo terrenal, sin rumbo y con certeza sobre la orilla de un mar invisible, imaginario, irreal.

 

Si arriba es adelante, si el sur se corrió al oeste; qué más da!? No hay perímetro que encierre lo real. 

Porqué habrïan las almas de tambalear cuando cuando los cuerpos cierran los ojos, si el centro y el balance están dentro?

KIA-ORA! (?)

This happened at the most unexpected place ever. It was a bit disappointing actually, but, I guess shit happens.





you, over here please. Where are you coming from?

Sydney

ah... did the company provide you with accommodation there?

Yes (in a Du-uh tone, like c'mon man! OBVIOUS!!)

for how long have you been working at emirates?

October will be three years, you can do the maths better than me probably

are you enjoying it?

Yes, otherwise i would be gone

do you have a passport that i can see?

"another stupid question" was my first thought. - i show it- she reads the first page, which is expired, and returns it. "WhaTheFuck?" was my second thought.

do you have any new c..s?

Any new what?

c...s

I'm sorry , I don't think I understand or know that word

c-l-o-t-h-e-s- (in a tone for 3yrs idiots). did you go shopping in australia?

Ehm, noo

when was the last time you used drugs?

-blushed- Like 3 years ago before joining

what kind of drugs?

Pot

Marihuana?

Yes, why?

are you sure? No other drugs, that was the last time?

Yes, I can't do drugs on this job, You wanna test me? (And I stretched my arm in sign of: get blood off me if you want) Where can I piss? Check my bag, go ahead

are you sure? we just found out it's not true you can't do it (by this time a guy joined her in the interrogation and bullying)

Whaaaaaaat? What is this about? Of course we cant!

(and i will never admit I did it here in AKL with two kiwis on my 3rd layover, or in BUE in my every leave, or in Egypt some months ago!)

is marihuana the only drug you take?

I don't do it anymore. But yes, why ? You mind my asking what is all this about?

we are immigration police and we can ask whoever we want whatever we want.
 
 
 
 
 
Say no more. I know, but there's limits to all, you know? SPecially attitude. Maybe 10yrs+ of being a PRO-Well-Payed-Slave I expect everyone to be nice at every circumstance. Whatever. First serious interrogation by police : and it sucked!
Of course, it would have really sucked being harrassed by police in a Thai jail, cold, scared, hungry and all that jazz. But c'mon, I was just being in the queue to x-ray my bag, that was too much bullying for just standing there. And they're kiwis. I never met a bad one!

(Su)real(ism)

su
su s
zoo

real
really
reality
real


ism
ism
ism
ismo



surrealism = why cant we make it real

Con, Sobre y Para mi Otro Yo (y Yo)

Mi instinto antisocial y selectivo se ha agudizado cada minuto hasta llegar al punto de la casi hermitaneidad... if you know what I mean. En el camino de la soledad total me encuentro con otro herminauta como yo, nos miramos y cruzamos palabras, aunque escasas al principio.

Las agujas giraron empujándonos segundo a segundo. Dieron las doce: El Hechizo. 

A One-Sec thought

What is Freedom, and how much is it worth?
How much is everything else worth?
Is it worth pricing values?

BA Aug'08


"...but I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the cieling..."

Vita sine litteris mors est: Life without literature is death.

    Saturday afternoon. Most other countries only acquire this atmosphere on a Sunday afternoon. Here sunday is a work-day already, we don't hate Mondays, we hate Sundays. We don't love Fridays, we love Thursdays. Weird. I know. Still, life goes on as it would anywhere else. I drift my way to the bookstore. I choose this one because there is a coffee shop well hidden in the rear end, inviting one to seat and relax, whilst checking out as many books as you feel like from the mega-store. It's kind of a library (to me, cheap third world-er)

     What's going on? To my surprise, a lot more people than I ever though of are readers. And they were all there. Yeah, surprises are not always good. Heaps of shelves with the equivalent to 2.717USD prized books, and good ones too! I can't help myslef: I get lost inspecting all these volumes & all these people, reading, selecting, changing mind, books, and arms until the poor ones ask me for a halt. After checking out with all my new books about herbs and chinese treatments, travel stories, how to's and travel magazines and a few novels too I finally make it to the cafe: packed. I automatically turn around and leave. 

     The weather  is still too hot for me and my enjoyment, so I still prefer the malls. Some of them have really nice secret gems to go and enjoy a long while on your own under decent weather conditions and no distractions at all. Lucky me, I have an exaggerated amount of places to choose from, so I choose the one by the ski slope, the Apres Cafe, with the (artificial) chimney on, the (artificial) snow falling and (real) people and life going on around me and my bubble of peace and surrealism. Classical music masters tune my world as I unwind, open a book and zip the peppermint infusion.

     Who knows how long I was in trance for, but I do come back to life alerted by a vibration on my phone -the bank telling me how much money was discounted from my account today- Aaaaggghh! Guilt, always there reassuring me that I am back in the real life. Guilt is science fiction in the surreal bubble life that unfolds neatly in between pages and pages and music muting the human buzz. . . 

     Oh man, don't I love reason sometimes!? YES!! Because when else would I have gotten all these volumes of must have's if not now that they are on sale, right? And what enriches someone as much as literature? Few things compare.

7 days, (local newspaper) Public Interest News

Bin Laden deleted as facebook friend

Al Qaeda leader had 1,000 fans

Under the same Sky

Through my window the first rays, still cold and orange. I look at them, I turn around and try to go on. I stay up thinking, accompanied by my clothes, some bizarre accessories that you never know where they came from nor how they last all night long in my bed, my bottle of water... Everything is there. Just like yesterday, probably, just like tomorrow. And I think until I am fed up of thinking and fall asleep again. Now the same rays are more aggressive and wake me up for good, I rehydrate myself and think "he's gotta be coming soon!!!" with a joy that fills my soul for a split of a second, then oblivion lets memory take place and I remember that this time, well this time is different. TOday you don't come back like yesterday, nor you will tonight at some ridiculous time ... nor tomorrow.

Things change constantly,verbiage attack, my spirit escapes my body and roams around. But this is not the same, and I want it to be the same, it hurts not being able to share the spontaneous and authentic excitement of the just occurred.

And arriving home and sharing a coffee, a muffin, a smoke or whatever...There it waits, all. With a calmness that freaks me out. Here, life, in between books in the shelves and hindi incense smells. Glasses in the cupboard laughing at their emptiness and ice literally just freezing... waiting for you to come back and go on, under the same sky.

Dubai

Feb. 2009

un pensamiento de enero

Corria, mientras el sol nacia, la noche empalidecia y Los recuerdos se desvanecian en la niebla. La sangre, batida, tras cada paso, con el pincel del viento, un nuevo cuento: la inspiracion resurgia! Que alegria! Atras quedo Esa noche, atras quedo ese dia...