Pull my brain stem out and unplug myself

I just walked out from a dream, it's 6: 30 am, I just cut myself in two, I cleaned up the vomit from the cats, they ate some sort of purgatory herb, 151 mg/dl of glucose, the day seems too cloudy, pretty closer to those yesterdays, when I was naive and had achieved nothing in academia, it's 6: 30 am, I'm listening to Rollins Band, Henry Rollins screams out something that sounds aggressive and painful, but I cannot stop thinking about what I dreamed.

We were together in some sort of auditorium, you were at my left, your sister was at my right, we were about to hear a lecture, maybe a false prophet of science, you were sad and cozy, with your big dark brown eyes, with those enormous Margaret Keane painting eyes, suddenly you started to touch my hand, I felt sort of excited, my mind started to fly away, then you started to touch your sister's hand, it was cozy. The audience was not aware of our existence, we were lost in the second or third row of seats.

In a moment you were touching my chest and then my abdomen and then you were caressing my crotch in a very slow and seductive way, you didn't stop looking at me, and I couldn't believe it, my mind started to fly away, I knew everything was possible between us, sooner or later, I would see you as I had always wanted to see you, since I saw you walking and wearing those tight-fitting leggings, when I was naive and had achieved nothing in academia and you lived for a period with your sister and me, it's 6: 30 am.

You kept caressing me, you did something that made feel about to explode, you kept looking at me, you told me something like: 

«What was that? It seems you really liked what I did! I liked it too...» 

My mind started to fly away, I knew everything was possible between us, sooner or later, I would see you as I had always wanted to see you, since I saw your crazy underwear when you lived for a period with your sister and me, everything was possible, I would see you sooner or later down on your knees, like that dream I had once, when the world was apocalyptic and we stared thru the window how a building collapsed in the early hours of a weekend, we were sort of drunk and we just had fucked it all, we had had a crazy night and had ruined everything for a few wild minutes of pleasure. 

Antes de tres lunas volveré a por ti

Last night I was feeling a little dizzy and nauseous, before going to bed I'd eaten a bag of very greasy potato chips. I was watching a movie. I'd seen it before, but just finished reading the book in which it's based on this week. While Tom Waits as Renfield was eating a couple of bugs and I sort of pictured myself acting in the same character as him if someone had asked me to, suddenly I thought of you. 

Perhaps I'd checked my Instagram open account earlier and your profile appeared as “suggested for you”.

At a first glance, I did not recognize you. Dunno remember when was the last time I saw you, I just know it must have been on September, at the end of an Interdisciplinary Project class. There you told me that you were going to Poland, or something like that, on an academic mobility stay. You told me that you couldn't take the last part of the course and you asked me if it was OK for me. So much time has passed since then. I've been out of college for almost half a year, I started writing a MS, the MS was published a week ago in Pharmaceuticals, I've been surviving, I got sick...

In my dream I was walking thru the alleys of a weird high school, it looked like the typical high school I've seen in movies. It was a sunny day, I had a stomach ache, I wanted to threw up. Somehow I saw you in a bathroom, it was really dirty and it made me sick. You said “Hi” and smiled. Although I was feeling so bad, your presence sort of woke me up. Then I walked out of the bathroom and into a classroom and I felt so powerful as if I were a Roman emperor. 

I just woke up a few minutes ago, and I cannot stop thinking of this song by Mikel Erentxun.

The Line Begins To Blur

I still feel the cramps, like a thousand ants running thru my back, arm and fingers. Dunno if, someday, I won't feel them anymore, without realizing it. Dunno if there will be ever a night when these cramps won't wake me up, interrupting my dreams, like this dream I was in with one of my brothers chasing Trent Reznor. The NIN founder lived in an apartment on a horrible street in Mexico City. We needed so bad to speak with him. Suddenly we got to his apartment and knocked at the door, and he looked out the window, it looked that he was naked. A few seconds later, he left the apartment by jumping out of another window. He wore a bathrobe and Dr. Martens.

These awful cramps, this electric itch, this stabbing pain, this feeling of pins and needles running through my back, arm and fingers, interrupted the story, so I will not know. 

I'm Disconnected By Your Smile

The aeroplane stops over the sea, I can hear the roar of the engine, it seems it's gonna crash, I feel so excited, I sense the end of my world, the end of all my frustrations and my rage, and I cannot stop thinking about a fatal accident, the sea is so close, I know I can die, I feel so excited.

Out of nowhere, I remember that Smashing Pumpkins' song, that song I used to listen to when I was such a moron, when I was in my first year of Psychology, when I really didn't want to study Psychology, when I just wanted to become a beatnik... 

I close my eyes. I see myself back then singing in my mind...

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile

... and I remember myself feeling so heartbroken for this girl, Lily, the one I loved back then, she was older than me, she was everything I wanted, she seemed so mature, she was so enigmatic, so distant, so smart, so cold, she looked like Cecilia Suárez, she was my everything, and one day at school I spoke to her and we sort of started a relationship, I asked her for her telephone number, we started talking about The Beatles, she was a big fan of The Beatles, and I called her sometimes on the telephone, and then somehow she became interested on me, and then she started calling me on the phone, and we spoked many many times thru the night until the dawn, and then two months later or so she quit school and we became some sort of girlfriend and boyfriend, she was sort of dating a guy older than her and she told me that she was confused, he was a dancer, and then one day after school I went to her apartment, she lived so close to the school with a couple of roomies, and it was so fantastic, I felt so excited, we ate pizza and we drew as we spoked about Van Gogh and Monet, and then we sort of freezed for a moment –we were alone, her roomies were at school–, and I remembered one of our recent calls on the telephone. She had told me What would you think of me, if I told you that I have a boyfriend and that I want to kiss him and that I want to practice with you? and it was so clear that it was gonna happen, and then I looked at her, I hadn't ever felt so connected to anyone in my entire (brief) life, and I took her beautiful hands and I kissed her and it was so silly, I felt we were some sort of robots or sister and brother or something like that, but the entire situation was so great. I felt my dreams had come true, I couldn't believe it. Then she went to live to the beach. She was a dancer. We used to write, she sent me tons of letters. I sent her tons of letters. We saw each other again years later, she was pregnant, she loved someone else, I'd had a girlfriend, an amazing relationship that turned so toxic, we had broke up recently, I was about to start my PhD, we were the same but we were not the same. 

In my dream I look at the sea thru the window, the night is so dark, I think of that Beatles' song.

Bright are the stars that shine

Dark is the sky

I know this love of mine

Will never die

And I just know that I am in danger, that I can die, and I start to record everything on my cellphone. 

Then I wake up from this dream but I am still dreaming –I am still on the plane next to the window– and I have a blackout, like if I'm so drunk that I cannot remember anything. I looked at the window again. The plane is still flying over the sea, the night is so dark, the water is so clear that I can see some dolphins and algae, and then I realized I do not know where my cellphone is. I feel so attached to my cellphone, my cellphone (in my dream) is some sort of Lily, my cellphone is my everything, and then I started looking for my cellphone here and there, and I feel so desperate, but somehow we just landed and people start to getting off the plane and I see a cellphone on the floor and I know it is not mine, but I feel that I am not alone, that someone else has lost his cellphone, too, and this is a metaphor of my life. I'm not talking about cellphones and airplanes –my life is like being on a plane about to crash–, I'm talking about your cellphone, the one you were checking at when I saw you yesterday at the dining room, the one you left for a moment on the table when you got up from your seat.

I pound on the computer keyboard. I think of myself at the dining room, yesterday. 

Dawn is breaking, my wife and my cats are still dreaming, I am listening to this song and I cannot stop thinking about your smile.

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile

I'm disconnected by your smile 

And I don't know what's going on. And I don't want to think about it. I know this isn't real. I sort of sense that you're not real. I don't want to think about your smile, but I must admit that this song has taken on a whole new meaning. What's wrong with me?, I am just this moron...? Are you acting or are you as lonely as me...?

Let's Do Something Crazy, Absolutely Wrong

You were there, it was real. You didn't know I had been daydreaming of you, in the fog of my thoughts. I had been sick for almost a couple of weeks. Then when you asked me on the phone if I wanted to join you at the dining room, I thought “Ok”. And then we talked for half an hour or so. You spoke a lot, I told you a few things. Basically I told you how sad and frustrating it is to be like me. Like having this big desire of writing, a thousand ideas filling my brain like bees inside a swarm looking for air, and then to make a thousand mistakes while beating up the wrong letter in the computer keyboard. Basically I told you how bittersweet it is to be who I am. You know. I am experienced, I love my job, but I should have an opportunity to stop looking for temporary contracts. You know, I've been looking for opportunities my entire life. Ten years ago I was having my PhD dissertation, so far I have almost 20 published papers, ten years of teaching experience, I am National Researcher Level II. And in the near future there are no opportunities for me to stop looking for temporary contracts. These kind of contracts give me the opportunity to teach, but they're so short –from 3 to 6 months– and I can't perform my own research. Besides, they will not last forever. 

Of course I told you these things differently, not as I am writing of them right now. I am tired, Saturday morning is about to come. As I am waiting for the miracle to come, as Leonard Cohen whispers thru the headphones. I am asleep. It's 6: 30 am. And I've been wasting my waking time for almost an hour. 

As we spoke a couple of days ago in the dining room, I felt you were interested in my talk. It was weird. For times I remembered the way I had been daydreaming of you, when I was sick, in the fog of my thoughts. Sunlight irradiated your face. I hadn't seen the color of your eyes, neither the color of your hair. But sunlight made them look so warm. And you smiled all the time, and I couldn't stop telling myself that I was an animal, that I couldn't stop thinking that I would make it with you, that I would like to discover what kind of woman are you. Then you told me that you cried in a meeting. That you felt awful and silly. Then we talked about diseases.

I felt you sort of admired me. And I sort of remembered how it was our first meeting, 3 years ago. Then I was so sick of being some sort of academic outsider. I had 3 years working in the same university, but I was stuck. It was not the best time of my life. Then you appeared out of nowhere and you walked beside me and you ignored me. I saw you were so tall and I thought you were sort of conceited. I sort of hated you. 

Sunlight irradiated you face. You spoke about a couple of students that told our Department Head that they didn't like you. That they were not the biggest fans of psychoanalysis. I told you I understood your point. I told you about my own experience with a few students in the Covid-19 pandemic. When Zoom was the only way we could teach classes. When I had no recess, when I worked from 8 am to 10 pm on a daily basis, when students were some sort of ghosts behind the closed cameras of Zoom. 

I need go back to sleep. I have a terrible headache. I am tired. I am listening to Leonard Cohen, in particular this song I used to associate with an ex, but now I know I will associate it with you. I will remember this meeting we had a couple of days ago in the dining room of the university, as students walked and talked and ate around us. I wonder what did they think about us. I will remember how you behaved. The way in which you seemed to admire me. I don't know your age, I just kinda sensed that you're younger than me by the way you hear me and look at me, and I also kinda feel that I'm at this age in which people like you seem to know that I am not nobody. I don't know if I am being clear enough. I sense that people like you look at me as an experienced guy. Like if I were in an 'interesting age'. That I know something. That, if I wanted to, I could make it happen, that I could make it with you, that, ironically, I could make the biggest business of my life.

But I am just waiting for the miracle to come, as Leonard whispers thru the headphones. 

Look At Your Game, Girl

It could've been in November 1994. I just had bought the cassette. I put it in the recorder of the Jetta. Dunno exactly why or who, but John & Yoko were looking for someone in the streets, and they had left us inside the car. Ringo and George were making some silly jokes, or so. Probably they were excited for the video game they'd just bought. Probably it was another one of the style of that Flintstone's video game they'd played for entire weeks in the summer. 

In the same store they'd bought the video game, I'd bought The Spaghetti Incident?, the eight or nine cassette I'd bought in the same store in the last months. I was crazy about Guns N' Roses. I'd heard them for the first time in the last summer. On TV, they frequently showed the videos of “Estranged”, “The Garden”, “Live And Let Die”, “Don't Cry”, “November Rain” and “Since I Don't Have You”. I was almost 14 years old, a nobody, a teenager, and 'the most dangerous band in the world' blew my mind.

With their fifth studio album in my hands, I had their entire discography –in record time!, two-three months!

It was cold, dark and windy. 

Slash's guitar riff came out from the tiny music speakers of the Jetta. It gave me the chills. 

Dunno knew anything about the album or that song in particular. 

As the song progressed and my brothers made silly jokes, I just watched the photographs and read the lines in the booklet of the cassette. They were photos of the awesome logo of the band, of Duff, of Slash, of Matt... of the famous Axl's white & red Converse... and a sentence: 

A great song can be found anywhere. Do yourself a favor and go find out the originals.

Or something like that.

Then, after drums and bass and some sort of weird synthesizer's sounds, Axl's voice appeared. It sounded so soft, so warm and so sad. A thousand miles different from the ferocious screams of “Welcome To The Jungle”. 

The song made me think of 60's rock n' roll, and I liked it. The next song was a lot more punk rock. I guessed it was from the early 70's, or so. 

It was titled “New Rose” and it started with a little bit to understand words of Duff McKagan. Milliseconds later appeared the drums and then the guitar. Duff sang that awesome song. 

I was so excited! I was about to discover some old cool songs! 

Then John & Yoko got back to the car. 

John looked at me, he sighed, smiled and lowered down the volume of the cassette recorder. Then he turn on the Jetta's engine machine and drove us home. I took back the cassette from the recorder and put it in my walkman –I carried it everywhere– and then I put on my headphones and listened to the album all the way back home.

I should have heard it a thousand times.

Now, almost 30 years later from that first-time experience –the album was released on November 23, 1993–, I am listening The Spaghetti Incident?, again. And, again, I have headphones on. And I would like to write about many things –the origin of the album's title, the addiction issues of Steven Adler, how fun it is to play Slash's guitar riff of the Skyliners' song, how fun it is to play “New Rose” on guitar, how weird and cool and creepy it is to listen to the hidden track with that Charles Manson' song at the end of the album–, but I can't get you out of my mind. 

I got the flu and I am a little bit tired. For two-three days, I hadn't been able to sleep, but I finally could, and I woke up from this dream In which YOU appeared. It was so intense that it pulled me out of bed.

Then I wanted to read but I turn on the Mac, started to write in this blog –my wife & cats are asleep– and put The Spaghetti Incident? on Amazon Music –I miss so much those times in which we were not forced to pay any rent per month to streaming platforms– and put my headphones on, and, as music and words and hours elapsed, I couldn't get you out of my head. 

In my dream, we were so young and we were inside a bus. It was a sunny day. As the bus moved thru the streets, I couldn't stop looking at you. You were enigmatic and beautiful. Perhaps you were some sort of Frankenstein of all the women I have felt attracted to. Also, there was some sort of chemistry between us. I wanted so bad to ask you out. Our eyes met, and finally I asked you out. You smiled and I felt so attracted to you. You said Yes!, and, in an old-fashioned love movie style, we got closer and closer, seconds were like eons, and then we kissed. 

It was so intense! It seemed so real! It was so vivid!

I even have the feeling that my chemical senses are overloaded.

It is cold, dark and windy. I woke up like an hour ago, but I'm still some sort of dizzy.

Dunno know who you are. Nor why did you appear in my dream. But you made me feel I was 14 years old again.

I Dreamed I Dream

I am almost done. I can't breathe. My entire body is electrifying, but in a real bad sense, not in the way you feel electrified when you're in love or when you're drunk.

I've been like this for an entire week. 

I can't sleep. I'm tired.

Suddenly, drugs knock me out and I fly above my own painful consciousness, and you appear out of nowhere in a dream. 

I see you in the shadows, a few meters away from me. You wear a white dress and you smile and you touch your hair in a very shy way. You want to make eye contact with me, but I refuse to do so. Somehow, I still feel angst. I am annoyed. Somehow, I still remember our last fight. And I cannot get out of my head your attitude. 

Have you thought about me, or is it just me?

Seems To Me Time Was, Little Bit As Complicated Then

«Yes, it's him», she said. And she was sitting in her chair, in front of her computer, in the office that both of you shared at that time, a thousand years ago, before the storm, before the earthquake, before the apocalypse..., when you were ill and tired of dealing with your health issues. 

She looked at you, and you listened up and you thought what kind of life was her life, and what kind of life was your life. You really hated your life. Everyday was an inner war for you. And she used to be happy, her husband was still alive and they were a pretty happy couple, and she was smart, strong and absolutely amazing at his job.

And her eyes were like almonds and her face was white and pink, and her hair was long and it had a strange shiny color, between black and brown. You sort of had a crush on her. While she spoke –«Yes, it's him»–, you couldn't stop feeling attracted to her lips, and you wanted to kiss them and to devour her tongue, and you desired to touch her face and her hair, and to hold her hands –to loss your mind in the brief glimpse of her nails–, and to look at her almond eyes forever.

She referred to another researcher and one of the undergrads of this researcher. Three or four antibodies had been lost and the lab had run out of budget. 

Suddenly, she shut up. This researcher entered the office. And it was awkward. 

And this happened a thousand years ago, but you remember it right now 'cause she appeared out of nowhere in your dream. You were inside a van, someone drove you up to an academic event. Apparently, both of you had been invited to give a conference. You didn't know what the hell would you speak about, but you didn't care.

She had a guitar and she said that she admired Izzy Stradlin, and you started to teach her how to play “Seems To Me”, her guitar was not a left-handed guitar, so it was not easy for you.

Then she said that Izzy was the brain of Guns N' Roses, and you felt so impressed. You agreed with her, and you felt so happy. At last, both of you had something in common!

And it is Saturday, and it's Izzy's birthday and it's also the 29th anniversary of the discovery of Kurt Cobain's corpse in the Green House of his mansion in Lake Washington, and you don't know why did she appear in your dream. And you write about it. 

And you are a moron and you wait for her to read what you just wrote in this blog.

 

Since I was born I started to decay

Dunno why but I still remember when you called me up on the telephone last afternoon, I needed to ask you a favor, and I dunno why but I also still remember what I just dreamed a couple of hours ago... Maybe I'm just thrilled 'cause I got in touch with you. 

Whatever. 

I remember how that dream was so scary and how I was so brokenhearted. 

Vividly.

In my dream, this guy –with whom I should have a published paper in Nature Neuroscience– appeared out of nowhere. We were walking across empty and cold German streets, and then we got into a supermarket and then we left the supermarket and then we got into an old building, and so on, and then the dream became some sort of a Matryoshka-like story, like those of Christopher Nolan's, but this is not relevant. 

The most relevant thing is that you... You were spying on me.

I can't explain just why I knew it, but I knew it. 

I felt your presence behind my steps, like a ghost, like a shadow, like the wind.

Then, in a moment, I saw your reflection in a window. It was electrifying. I got shocked. Freezed. Dumbfounded.

I must have been sixteen years old, or so. My own reflection was younger, and I felt so weak and had no confidence in myself. As always happened when I was sixteen. 

What's all this fuzz about...? Are we running...? 

Are we hiding...?

Strange Days Have Tracked Us Down

I dreamed of you weeks ago. It was a sunny day. It was hot. You wore a blouse and a skirt. The heat was melting me and I thought that it would be awesome to wear skirt sometimes, like Axl Rose and Kurt Cobain did in the 90's. We had a meeting in a classroom and we were so closed together. Behind your mask, I could perceive your smile. It shined like a gigantic free spirit. The light of the classroom also made you look like an older woman and covered your face with freckles. Your ear rings also shined. They moved along your face as you spoke and smiled behind your mask. 

As we spoke about nothing, I did not want to focus on your legs, but it was almost an impossible mission. I sensed them with all my skin senses, like a warm touch in the eyes, like a colorful cut in the retinas. You know, some of the photos you share on Facebook in real life, in which you wear skirts also, are almost impossible to ignore. Dunno why, but I am obsessed with legs since I was a kid. When I first felt attracted to women, legs were like a crazy magnet. And since then I'm such an animal and an idiot. I don't want to be misunderstood: I respect women, I admire women and I think women are the most valuable living being on Earth. 

Dunno why I cannot control myself. Am I ill? 

In your photos you look like an innocent mom, you look so happy with your baby daughter, you look so happy with your husband. And it just seems you're so real. And I really like the way you are with your family and with your friends. I haven't ever seen you mad or angst. It is so admirable. 

In the dream, it was also almost an impossible mission to ignore your legs. And, as I write these lines, I truly feel bad about it. I know I am just an animal. No matter how much gray matter do I have, no matter how much I try to use my brain: I am a simple man with simple ideas and simple wishes... and dark thoughts. This photo I had seen on your Facebook in real life, had suddenly appeared in another dream and then inside another dream, and so when I had this dream I write about it, I was suddenly scared of the intensity and the power of an image unconsciously trapped in my mind. I wasn't aware of the photo, until I dreamed of it for the first time. And it left me dumbfounded and thinking of your legs. 

Everything was so intense in the dream. Suddenly you shined like a gigantic raising sun. When I picked up the pieces in which your legs were the main character of all of my dreams, I realized you reminded me of my first girlfriend. We were in junior high school and she was younger than me. We met under strange conditions and there were rumors about her cheating on me, but I just kind of believed she was innocent and I accepted it. She sort of hypnotized me. She was so seductive and played to be innocent. 

As I write these lines, my cats are running like wild horses and they ask me to feed them. They made me feel that this is stupid. They sort of tell me “Hey, man, stop writing non sense things about your dreams; come on, wake up and feed us!” But I need to write. Nowadays it is a bit difficult to have some kind of inspiration and time to write. I am studying and teaching and working on bureaucratic stuff all the time. 

So in my dream I realized you reminded me of my first girlfriend and it was a perfect excuse to look briefly to your legs. Immediately, as I took a look, like a deep breath before diving in, I felt irradiated by the energy of your legs and I felt I was a stupid hypnotized animal. And so here I am again. I dreamed of you again. As I wake up I realized we were closed together again. And that you sort of hypnotized me and made me realized you felt the same way I feel about your legs. And you made me realized you knew how I felt about your legs. In this recurrent dream you wear a blouse and a skirt and you smile and your smile shines like a gigantic free spirit, like a wild horse. And my heart is so crazy about it and I sense everything is possible. It is scary. It is a nightmare. And I feel bad about it. I am a stupid hypnotized animal. I feel guilty. I cannot control my dreams. Dunno why, but I am obsessed with legs. I'm such an animal and an idiot. Dunno why I cannot control myself. 

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. 

Nobody Loves Me, It's True

We were three in the middle of a workshop, but the place looked like a VIPS. Apparently the table was our work table. In front of us, the dishes with food symbolized arts & crafts. You were on my left. An unknown woman was on my right. She seemed beautiful and she irradiated a strong sexual vibe. Both of us were attracted to her. She was irresistible. We were trying to impress her. 

Our teacher at the workshop was an old woman with glasses, gray hair and a kitchen apron, and she walked again and again close to the table. It seemed that we were terrible pupils and that she was annoyed of our attitude. I guess this piece of the dream symbolizes the way I feel about a few students who are super demanding and super self-indulging, without any kind of self-criticism. They complain about everything and they act like if they were perfect, but omit to say that they do not assist to classes, that they do not do homeworks and that they cheat on examinations. They expect immediate answers to their e-mails and demands, but they never answer e-mails. Only their needs are relevant. They have no empathy.

In the dream, basically, we were an example of laziness. We were chatting. I was starved and the food was a temptation I tried to resist. I also tried to ignore the sounds of my stomach. Once and again your face and my face were so close. It seemed you wanted me to kiss you. The unknown woman seemed to agree and to have fun. I was so sure that if we kissed, she would have an affair with us. This scene was so intense. I felt I was in the middle of a movie and that I was a movie star sham. Several times our faces were very close and we were about to kiss. Each time it happened, I thought that I'd always felt curious about kissing a man and that now that I had the opportunity, I was so afraid. At the same time, I felt nobody loved me and that I had to kiss you –like if it were the one last effort–, if I seriously wanted to not be ignored any more. It was like my most hard acting test.  

Before I went to bed, I accidentally saw one of your Tik Tok videos –I was so impressed of your work and I felt envy about your popularity– at the very same moment Spotify reproduced “Sour times” on the computer. For almost a decade I hadn't heard Portishead and the music evoked some volatile memories on me. 

I have a feeling that you'll have success as an artist –maybe, as a writer?– in the way I would love to. I have a feeling that my work will be ignored as usual. I don't want to be famous, but sometimes is so frustrating that nobody reads me. (Not even the ones I consider my friends). I'm not even sure that someone will if I die. As I know that this part of the dream symbolizes my thoughts about literary mob, I also know that I'm sort of paranoid. Nonetheless, I have the feeling that my colleagues and relatives think that I'm the copy of the copy of the copy of the copy, and that I always get more than I deserve. I smell their envy each second. I know I'm just a lucky guy and that I'm not the smartest guy on Earth, but I have made a lot of sacrifices to have what I have. No one has given me anything for free. 

Like The Coldest Winter Chill

I'm pretty worried. I have a thousand things to do and I can't tell anyone. 
I feel so guilty, like if I were a lazy and irresponsible guy. 

The last couple of weeks, I've been working in home. 

The last days I went to the university, I shared space and time with four women.
Two of them are pregnant. Other is younger than me and probably she travels on a daily basis from Lerma to Mexico City and viceversa, and she's exposed to unknown viruses from unknown people. 

The other woman maybe has my age. She has told me that we knew each other when we were postgraduate students, almost ten years ago. She says someday I went to the lab where she worked and a friend of her introduced us. Honestly, I dunno remember that day.

Her husband works at a hospital and they have two kids. He was exposed to COVID-19 suspicious' patients the entire week. She was snoozing and coughing all day long and she told me that she was allergic and that she had forgotten her anti histamines. I believed her. 

Even though we avoided physical contact, some students went to the office. Some of them tried to give you the hand and some of them coughed and sneezed. 

Also, on an everyday basis I was traveling from my house to the university and back from university on public transportation. In Lerma, there are some sort of shared cabs and I took four of them each day. Passengers were pretty close to me. Some of them coughed and sneezed, like if they were harmless behaviors. It was impossible to keep distance. 

The last day I came back from university, I was OK. 

The day after, I had to go to the supermarket. We we're running out of food!

We took an Über. We did what we needed to do, as fast as we could. 

The supermarket was sort of empty. There were just a few customers walking here and there. 
I saw an elderly couple making their shopping and I suddenly imagined that my wife and myself could be those elders at some point, and I felt excited. 

Even though I have a bad feeling on that, I just can't stop thinking of one period of my life on which I can do all the stuff I love to do –writing, playing my electric guitars, reading–, just as I do now, but excluding all these horrible bureaucratic issues I sometimes have to deal with... and just giving a fuck for the entire world.  

It called my attention one thing: the section of canned food was almost empty. 

As we were about to pay our shopping, I started to have the chills. 

Later, back in home, I felt sort of ill. I had abrupt changes of temperature and I felt weak and sleepy. I felt my bones hurting, like if I just had walked for miles under a heavy rain. I was exhausted and I thought I was about to have the flu. 

On these days it's impossible to be unaware of COVID-19 symptoms' and I got worried.

Maybe I was just paranoid, but what if I was about to get sick...?, what if I would have to isolate from my wife and from the world...?, what if someone in the job had just infected me?

To things get worst, my wife is hypertensive...

I talked to my sister in law –she's a physician– and I told her how I felt and she recommended me to take some Paracetamol pills. 

I had a couple of terrible nights. 

I dreamt my colleague –the one who was coughing and snoozing in the real world– and myself had some sort of ill relationship. We were hiding from all the people who know us and trying to have a serious conversation. I sensed that she was pregnant and I was so afraid and I felt so stupid. 

As the dream progressed, the environment became darker and colder. It seemed that the Earth was getting sick, too. 

I also had hypnopompic hallucinations of my colleague and I woke up several times repeating a magic word who supposedly would end up this pandemic. 
Obviously, I was febrile. 

I had nightmares and I barely slept three or five hours per night. 

The entire weekend, I felt so weird. 

I convalesced watching some old Headbanger's Ball shows' with Alice In Chains on YouTube. It was very strange. They were premiering some videos of their 1995' eponymous album. I have heard that album several times, I like it a lot. I even own a physical exemplar of the compact disc. I bought it at El Chopo a couple of weeks ago. It's sad to realize that compact discs are in extinction pathways. 

Nevertheless, I hadn't watched their videos. Neither I had seen an interview of the band around that time. 

As I saw Layne Staley, with an heroin-addict appearance, trying to focus on the silly questions of Riky Rachtman, I realized that I never think of him as a contemporary of Kurt Cobain and Mark Lanegan –even though I'm a big fan of Tom Hansen's awesome novel, on which he describes, in a pretty rad way, how “heroin world” was in the early 90's–, but as a musician from another time and genre. 

I supposed my opinion is influenced by the fact that someone who I really dislike introduced me to Alice In Chains and that he was crazy about Mad Season. 

It was pretty strange. 

And, for a couple of seconds, as I died on my bed, I felt I was fifteen years old and that I was watching for the very first time an Alice In Chains' music video. I ended up thinking about myself back then. In resume: in 1995, my life wasn't as boring as it seemed to me. I just was a damned stupid. I didn't even know how to play “Queen of the rodeo” on guitar. All I wanted to have was enough time to read poetry, to write poems and to befriend with a crazy punk rocker girl. 

Now, as the disease spreads across the country and the authorities seem to give a fuck about the physicians, the small businessmen and the rest of the citizens, I have to deal with the fact that my colleagues might see me as an irresponsible lazy guy. 

(Really guys, believe or not: my life would be on risk if I moved from Lerma to Mexico City, on a daily basis.) 

I live in Lerma 'cause I have to teach classes almost everyday, 'cause I have academic meetings almost everyday... 'cause I have to work on a million bureaucratic issues... I don't have a car to move by my own resources and by my own risk to Mexico City. I don't even drive. I have not even had a driver's license!

Besides, I can't eat as a normal person. Moving implies many complications to me. 

A couple of years ago, I had a surgery and I can't fast for more than three hours and I cannot eat the food normal people eat. Moving is not a simple option to me, right now. 

My colleagues perform some experiments in Mexico City. They are allowed to do it before 14: 00. I spend three hours from my house to the lab. Public transport currently has some limited schedules. It's pretty complicated. 

Hate to say so. 

On this quarantine, I wake up early in the morning and I turn on the laptop and I start to work from 8:00 to almost 18:00 0r 19:00. 

Usually I have a couple of meetings via Skype, at last once per week. 

For two weeks I've been writing the discussion of a paper. Normally, I don't even have time to do it. I just, in general, dislike the data, but I must publish this paper, some way or another.

Right now, I have to write a protocol from a totally different research project... I have to make an awful tax process... I have to start writing at last one review from a totally different topic... I have to start to prepare virtual classes for the two courses... and I wish I could enjoy everything I do, but I feel so guilty. 

I really hate it. 

Heaven Beside You

Soulmates Never Die

In my dream, we were in the backseat of a bus.
We were side by side, so close together. 
The sun's rays illuminated your face. 
I could see your eyes as I had never seen them.

I realized that you had one small and fake eye.
(Now, I analyze why it happened and it makes me realize that a few nights earlier I saw The Big Short and that perhaps your small and fake eye was a subliminal residue of the character performed by Christian Bale. 
Isn't it funny?) 

Also, for the very first time, I realized the color of your eyes.
It surprised me and I couldn't stop thinking of your brownish eyes. 

You talked with a great enthusiasm, though your face reflected sadness. 
As you talked, I began to remember when we met.
I also began to remember how much I liked you and how many times did I dream of kiss you and get laid with you. It also made me think how many times did I try to avoid becoming a moron and hurt you. I was so afraid of being a dumbass and break your heart. 

We used to hang out between classes.
You were so pretty and fragile and you used to complain about men.
I heard every single word you said and I started to fall in love with you. 

At a moment, I began to write you letters and you began to respond them.
It was a really funny communication. It seemed that you wanted me to be more than a friend. I was really attracted to you. I couldn't stop thinking about your beauty. 
Your body was sexually attractive. It made me desire you. I wanted to touch you.

Once, as we spoke about Marcel Proust before a boring class, I couldn't ignore your breasts. It seemed that you were sort of cold, though we we're taking a sunbath on the grass of the backyard of the school. I accidentally saw your nipples and they drove me wild. 

For entire nights I closed my eyelids, just before I fall asleep, trying to recreate that beautiful image. It made me feel like a teenager discovering his own sexuality. I had innocent thoughts in which I could see them endlessly as I told you how pretty you were and how much I liked you and how much I desired you and how much I wanted to take care of you.

Once I told you –or wrote you on a letter, or both– how much I liked you and you blushed and you kept quiet. Then you said that you didn't want to suffer. 

You began to call me on the telephone.
Each day, it seemed so obvious that you were more and more interested on me. 
Though each day I liked you more than the previous day, I was so stupid and so afraid to hurt you that I just didn't dare to ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend. 

I met another woman, I made her my girlfriend and we stopped talking. 
At the end, I hurt you and I felt so stupid. My girlfriend was so jealous about you. 
I'm not sure, but I guess she gave you a nickname related to your big breasts. 
She said, contemptuously, that you had huge breasts. 
It seemed that you didn't like her neither. When we had a few minutes to speak between classes, you referred to her as the monkey-girl. You said she seemed so mad and that she gave you violent and hostile looks, each time you crossed on the hallways of the school.

Years later, you called me on the telephone. 
By then, the monkey-girl was happily married (to another guy) and I felt sad, betrayed and lonely.
Somehow, I sensed thru your voice that you felt the same way I felt. 
I sensed that we were like soulmates. We met on a coffee shop. 

When we saw each other, after a long time, in the parking lot of that coffee shop, you gave me a very effusive hug. I felt your huge breasts upon on me and I felt so excited. Then you kissed me on the cheek. It was also so effusive. 
The entire scene was so intense that a moron passing by told us something like "Get a room!" and you, ironically, yelled him "Do you want me to kiss you, too?" 

Inside the coffee shop you sat in front of me.
At a time, as I told you how I felt and how happy I was of being with you and how beautiful you looked and how much did I miss you, you held my hand over the table. It felt so electrical. Then you smiled and you said: 

“If you keep acting like this, definitely I could fall in love with you”

We said Good bye in the same intense way we said Hello. 

Days later, we went to a movie theatre. 
You invited me to watch a movie and you even bought popcorns. 
I don't remember what was the movie about. 
I just remember the touch of your hands, when our hands accidentally coincided on the popcorn bucket. It was a pretty sexual moment. 
I just remember you by my side. We were so close together. 
You had your hair tied up and suddenly you let it go. You gave me a glimpse. The light of the screen illuminated your face. You said: 

“Maybe I will I give you a surprise” 

And it was silly –how in the hell could it be a surprise, if you were talking me about it!–, but it was also a pretty sexual moment. I still remember the way you sort of licked your lips for a second after you said that spell. 

I felt so dumbfounded and then I asked you for a photograph –photographs were not as common as they are now– and you smiled and asked me if I wanted you to give me a photograph with you wearing a thong. 

I felt so excited. What the hell did you just say? Did I hear it correctly?
We returned to your car in another parking lot and you began to talk about a party. You wanted me to go with you. You promised me to drink tequila and “get wild”. 

You challenged me: 

“You don't know what kind of woman I am when I am drunk!”

Then you began to talk about the guys you used to see in this kind of parties. 
Apparently, you hated them and you were fresh meat for them, or something like that. 

Though your signals were so obvious, though I was so excited, I declined your invitation. 

Now, I sporadically dream about you and I wonder what's have been up of your life. 

Sleeping With Ghosts

Burn The Witch, The Witch Is Dead

It was the first day of classes of the year.

The university was really alive. 

They were dozens of students walking through the hallways.

I was in my small office, working on the last details of the class I was going to teach. 

I was just about to leave the office when I remembered that I needed an Epson projector. 

Then I walked, with my entire heavy bag, to the office of the Department Chief to asked her for the projector as I had done previously.

To be certain that it would not be a waste of time, I looked thru the window of her office and I saw she was there.

I found you on my way to the office.

We said Hi and it seemed that we were pretty familiar, though it had elapsed almost five years since the last time we had spoken.

You looked just as I remember you. 

Dunno why I felt so attracted to you. 

It seemed that we had had some sort of close relationship and that we were really god friends. We had some sort of trust that made me feel so comfortable.

I looked right into your eyes.

You had a witch glimpse. 

You looked like a witch. 
I was so surprised. I barely remember that you looked like a witch. 

I began to think in the witch of The Wizard of Oz. 
Somehow, you looked like Eva Green. 

I looked down and I saw your breasts. 
I began to think about your huge breasts.
They looked so warm. 

Back then, when I was a postgraduate student and my advisor forced us to have with him the last dinner of the year, we got sort of drunk. 

At the end of the dinner, as everyone was saying Good bye, we coincided in the room where we cleaned up every single glass equipment we employed on the lab. 

You were drunker than myself. 
I found you pretty attractive, washing a couple of glass cups. 

I was about to clean up my own glass cup. 

You saw me and smiled. 

I found you particularly nice to me. 

At a moment, I even thought you were making me a proposal and I realized that I had always felt sexually attracted to you and that I always wanted to touch your breasts. 

For a moment, I wondered how would it be to kiss you. 

In my dream, I stopped thinking about this memory, when I heard your voice on our way to the office of the Department Chief.

You spoke about your last paper and I told you that I knew about it because I had spoken with one of your pupils.

You asked me if I knew the details of the paper and I said No.

I sensed a vague feeling of disappointment in your face and I abruptly changed the subject.

I asked you about your daughter.

I realized that just a seconds before, you had told me that she was so big and I felt so dumb. 
I just had repeated a subject and it seemed that I wasn't listening to you. 

I sensed the same vague disappointment in your face. 

I just wanted to say that it might be cool to collaborate together, in an academic way. 

I just wanted to tell you so many things. 

I just wanted to tell you how difficult it was to prepare a bunch of classes from zero and to teach them and to have academic meetings once or twice per week...

I just wanted to tell you how demanding it was to coordinate collaborations here and there and to travel to Mexico City and to Juriquilla once or twice per month and to pretend to have time to write my own manuscripts and to perform my own research... but I felt so irresponsable and guilty.

We finally arrived to the office. 

The Department Chief was surrounded by dozens of pupils. 
It seemed that they were having troubles at attempting to built some sort of robot. 
The office also seemed a kindergarden.

She immediately gave me the Epson projector. It seemed more a tool box than anything. The box was yellow and it had a big thing that I employed to lift it up on my shoulder.

You did not stop talking and I knew my class was running by. 
Each second I felt more and more secretly attracted to you. 
At the end you introduced me to your lover. 
She was also a researcher and you kissed in front of me. 
I felt so dumbfounded and I woke up.

Why did I have this dream?

I suppose it's the first time I dream about you. 

Softer, Softest