Thursday, October 21, 2021

The World Is A Vampire


8: 33. Sometimes life is a deep breath into the unknown, but, for many people, is just a glimpse, or a brief dive into a bathub. They are on the surface of everything, and, for example, ask you "What have you done to be recognized?”, but they only have kids and awful lives and seem to be convinced of their moral superiority. Or they buy cars, and fight to death for a spot in a parking lot. Or they travel around the world and they need to tell it to the entire world, as if the experience of taking many planes around the world, automatically could turn on the darkness of their minds, when they don't have a single personal opinion or thought about nothing... In the same way, some guys despise the government and make public statements against the government in their podcasts, which they record in their fancy Apple devices', in their nice apartments by the beach, at their small studios in which they collect signature guitars on the walls, just for hobbie. Other adults behave like geniuses with revolutionary ideas, when they only make a living of taking photographs of semi-naked women in underwear, which pretend to seduce the camera for pleasure, for money, for virality... or for all of them. It doesn't matter what's their worst experience: they seem to believe that their lives are tough and special —that they have real jobs and that they make an extraordinary effort to keep their jobs—, and so they make tough (and deep) declarations against the government, or anyone which they perceive to be an obstacle to them, from their very small perspective —totally brainwashed by their “smart” friends and gurus—, and they act like victims and survivors of their particular poverty (mental...?) That's the way we employ social networks. If you don't share it, it didn't happen.

Monday, October 18, 2021

How Did We Get This Far Apart?


As the dream elapses, this song hits my brain. It's a dark afternoon. Everything seems to be in black and white. I feel tired and annoyed and confused and weak. I am inside a house. It looks like an old big house. It's like a funeral. It's cold. 

From my place, I can see a pale garden thru an enormous window. It looks like winter. I am in the kitchen trying to get some peace of mind. Your mom cries and your dad tries to be strong.

We all know that you're dead. And we still cannot process it. Apparently, someone close to you killed you. Your dad tries to ignore the fact that you won't come back. Your mom seems to be more realistic. And I can't believe it. I hadn't seen you for years, and I cant' stop thinking that we used to be so close together. 

The song remains hitting my brain. I feel the music running like sickening blood throughout my body. I feel the voice of Robert Smith inside my ears, smashing gray matter. I feel so sad and guilty, and I cannot stop thinking about you. I remember you exactly as you were, when we were so close.