Setting the record straight and domestication of an animal

Just to set the record straight, now confirmed by different sources, the reality is that Isabel came home at 3A.M. I had heard her get up to go to the bathroom and deviated from any notion of time. Resolutely, I will still move as planned. Although I must admit that some of the sexual pungency I had experienced waned. The cat started meowing very late at night as he has ever since the dog was brought, and I lost my nerve, so I lifted with one arm the sofa and forced him to run for shelter in the kitchen. Then I opened the entrance door ajar, making sure no passer-bys or witnesses (like our neighbor, smoking on the building stairs that lead to the roof). I didn’t see anyone, so I pulled the door and left it wide open with a chair from the kitchen table. The cat was still in the kitchen, and when I charged he ran out of the apartment as intended. I promptly closed the door behind him but forgot to lock it properly as well on the top. That bothered me somehow but the relief of having rid of the cat, at least momentarily, was the ideal sedative to keep me in bed. Two days ago, on Tuesday, I woke up at the time I was supposed to be at work, because I had spent the night exhaustedly waking up on an hourly basis to scare either the dog or the cat. The dog responded to intimidation, and steadily, it has positioned himself in the Ikea chair after being instilled with a dose of fear after a couple of encounters with the feline. Being strict with animals only when is necessary, to ingrain some co inhabitant manners to domesticate an otherwise unruly beast.
The cat, on the other hand, started his offense much later in the night. It was harder to make him be quiet, and so on a second night of a previous mistake I decided to suffer the consequences of this incident. I left him outside without remorse, in the hopes that I could bring him back in when I left for work in the morning. But when I opened the door, I didn’t see the animal, and I searched for him in the stairs where our young neighbor smokes. However, the cat was nowhere to be found. At work, later on, I called to make sure no nosy neighbor had kept him safe through the night and then take him to us in the morning; I called home to see if there was any news about the cat. None, whatsoever. Good, I guess. I need to work and one pet is more than enough in a single bedroom apartment where two adults and an adolescent inhabit.

Sacrifices are in order

I just finished working out. Now, I’m off to the bank. I saw Paola online and asked her if she was going to spend New Year’s Eve in our aunt’s house. She said she would, inquiring why the question. She may think that I am avoiding her. The reality is so much more complex. In fact, I had seen her online Christmas Day, and she thanked me for my gift. But she also asked me if I had received her message on my cellphone. I hadn't at the time, but later in the day I saw it. I had seen her the day after Christmas, again, and didn't bring up the fact that I had read the message. I must have seemed as rude then. Subconciously, perhaps, but I don’t hold any grudges against her. Although, at times I still find myself dwelling in negative reminiscence of our past altercation. Well, I guess that is the order of the day. I do so, not out of failure to work things out in my mind; I do so purposefully, in an invigorated way, the same way with which I disguise myself as a stout Republican in certain encounters with Deborah online. I think politics divided us but the foundation to break us apart was already ingrained in several differences that had manifested themselves. Her gradual rejection, her multiple affairs (well, technically, they weren't affairs since we weren't in an actual relation) or promiscuity, none of that bothered me as much as she ever thought did. We saw each other rather unusually and I was officially in a relationship. Rooted deep beneath me was to add to my sense of masculinity the conquest of blond Spaniard. I handled the whole ordeal in such a careless way. I hated and pushed away the one that loved me and I loved the one that pushed me away. But I don’t remember being obsessed as I used to. I lost more than most than all, an ideal partnership, shelter, and even my job. Well, yeah, I do enjoy pissing her off with outbursts of radical American neo-conservatism. I don’t think they are all that radical. To me, it is more of a radical move to inflict the pain in such a cowardly way as the radical Muslims often do. They call such action “martyrdom-like”, and I see it as very cowardly. Their mentality is fanatic, and no doubt the government is somewhat emphatic in a lost cause, as historically that region has been conquered by so many in the past, and most of them are ideologically inept societies that aspire to replace oppressive monarchies by a theocracy when the separation between Church and State happened more than three centuries ago already. Of course, with George W. Bush in the White House the clock could be turned backwards.
Just a while ago, Isabel got home, desperate about the conditions on which she found the apartment. Now there’re four of us, and only one of her. The cat, the dog, are both males, as are Vangelis and I. Later, I heard from the bedroom Isabel explained to Vangelis without hearing him ask that yesterday night her friend didn’t show up to take her home as they had planned beforehand. She had to wait until everyone else got a ride until they brought her home. I said to her, “How about we go out dancing?”


Now the discussion is about who brings more to the house. In food, and things to be used, like detergents, toilet paper, tooth paste, and food in general, I do. I also pay the light and gas and phone bills, too, and I give a weekly amount. Next week, I’ll send more money to my sister in South America, the only responsibility I have outside this home. New Year’s Eve, I will be at my aunt’s, along with Isabel and Vangelis. We may leave earlier with the excuse of having a long journey home, so that we can take Vangelis home and then venture out. It would be fun, like two mad teenagers. Let’s burn a couple of cities down. Now, the bar scene hasn’t been checked, so that is a must in the upcoming week. Like I said, December is for other people in our lives. I will take plenty of beer to my aunt’s house on Friday. I will take Isabel to the movies nearby, and watch Bad Education. But before that, arrive at my aunt’s and cook for all. I want to be dependable, spend quality time with them before I go hiding for the winter months and spend the rest of the time too busily edifying myself. I will send money to my sister and mother in Colombia twice a month until I accumulate the amount I promised Milagros I would give: the equivalent of two semesters in college over there, close to two thousand dollars. That’s a lot more than I received from my unemployment benefits. See, like I said to her, first she must never cease her search for a job and second she must see that my help has limits because I need to pursuit dreams of my own. If I’m not happy, then those who depend on me will suffer as well. While I concede as true that I could continue to help her and still follow my path, but it will take away my full concentration. Sacrifices are in order.

On a leash

The dog and the cat seem to have their territorial thing going. I think they are curious about each other. But fear of one another is greater than coexistence and familiarity. The dog chases the cat away, and the cat, instead of hiding completely, safe from the dog, he taunts the canine, showing his face from under the sofa. The dog inspects, careful now, and not as uninhibited as he used do, in part, I suspect, because they have already found a moment or two alone, and the cat, defensively, probably scratched some fear into him. I like the discretion that the cat imparts, and detest the mild aggressiveness with which the dog relentlessly searches after the feline. There are certain traits in cats that belong to an accomplished superior being, his centered approach as if he was saying, “Mind your own business, just like I do.” We can’t make cats do tricks. In this reference, dogs win the day. They seem to be a lot more open, and willingly, to get your attention. The cat is usually looking for something, a caress, food, etc. Here too it depends on the submissive animal, in this instance the pet, to win over the affection and good disposition of his master. And here, too, we acknowledge that two means, or approaches, to one singular end, or purpose. Of course, I won’t deny that there is an allusion to the thin line that separates the cat from the dog, or vice versa, in their relationship. When we take dogs out for a walk, they react rather dramatically to encounters with their own, and mainly because they are taken tied to a leash in public, as I dream of having Isabel one day in private. If we were to let them loose, then things would be different. They’d generally stick to smelling each other in the exultance trigged by such magnanimous occasion. It is fear that binds us; freedom makes things so much easier.

Snoopy, the dog, and Isabel

Very few things I find amusing for long. Dave Chappell, in a few episodes, does stand to the test of time. Now, I promised to write about the dog, to a friend and to myself. The issue with Isabel also came up with Oscar, the other afternoon. Let's start with the dog.
I awoke one day and there was a dog in the house. The introspective cat, living under the sofa long before the dog came sniffing along, had now more reason to look after a life of seclusion and limited interactivity. It could almost bring us to tears. If it weren’t for the fact that the cat has no fear of the dog yet chooses to live under the sofa and compensates for all the time wasted hidden by meowing in a high, tenebrous pitch very late at nights. Last night, I had to punish both animals. First, Isabel told me that the animal will sleep with us because that is what the animal used to do with his previous owners. “Is that so?” I said. “Well, no. It won’t sleep in the bedroom and certainly not a dog.” Then, Isabel warned me, the animal would cry. And cry the canine did.
Did I forget to say that it is a beautiful small dog, vigorous, impetuous, and I believe pain dictates the way to behave? Hurting seldom is a tool to mold the beast to domesticity. The dog knows then who his master is, and assumes his passive condition as a pet. If it weren’t for this mechanism, this would have been Planet of the Dogs a very long time.
So the dog started barking and Isabel told me not to hurt him. Should I have a word with him instead? The impetuous animal must have been on Viagra or ecstasy, it jumped on Isabel’s leg, pumping away, woofing in a dominant pitch as if to force her steady and following her by jumping on two legs as Isabel moved around trying to escape that sexual assault. I exerted my authority fiercely immediately, and thus trained him by first putting some fear in him. Fear is a mechanism no living creature lives without, specially dogs and dolphins; how animals respond to pain could very well mean their survival and adaptation to evolve. Dolphins run away from pain; therefore, they are trained through treats and pleasure. Tomorrow (well, technically today), I’m off. Isabel went to a party in a restaurant with coworkers. I insisted she’d go, told her she’s always locked up inside the apartment. She got dressed all pretty in black, slim as only she is. I like her figure. She has the nicest ass and body wise doesn’t anything to envy most girls in their twenties. A girlfriend at work gave her the dog. Although I don’t recognize his breed, it appears of good lineage, and thus very expensive. It has the body of a hotdog, but more of a stentorian nature and a robust body. The face resembles a bit that of the cock spaniel. He’s dreamy, which is why his popularity over the indifferent, unbalanced, car-alarm sort of feline is quite understandable. I am almost falling asleep, it’s one thirty in the morning, and Isabel has been gone now for about an hour and a half.


Isabel came back really late at night from the party. She awoke me as she went to be. There was no time in the room, so I was eager to know what time it was. Certainly, it was already passed four in the morning. I went to the kitchen and saw it was actually a quarter to seven in the morning. She got home so late, I said to myself and went back to bed. She asked me to close the bathroom’s door due to our guests and I virulently responded why didn’t she do it herself. “I didn’t go to the bathroom” I said and inspected anyway to see if the bathroom door was closed. It was. So, I went to bed and couldn’t sleep for a while. I felt exquisite, somehow. I thought beyond jealousy and the things that this could represent for our somewhat diminished sexual flame. I thought about asking her softly and slip beneath her pagan legs, get closer, as I was aroused. We have made love in the past and talk dirty to each other with potential scenarios in which a third could join us. I think many couples do, and still more would wish to do. We have exploded vociferously in orgasms imagining us with another. Our personal history has a present because we solved many arguments through sex, in fact. Tension and stress of daily lives make problems appear bigger at times than they actually are.
Emotions tend to be exaggerated, as I have said many times to my dear friend Jorge. We don’t simply say we are hungry; instead, declaim we are starving; we fall in and out of love so foolishly and then wonder how is it we got where we are. Reason had very little to do with the way we dealt with our lives. Anyone can rationalize anything; a killer could argue his motivation as valid, and if we really listen, we could find some mad sense. The reason could be about passion, vengeance, repressed anger, fear. The same mechanisms are at play in a jury composed of human beings when deciding the fate of such a killer. Yes, we have killing instincts, but they have different reasons: they do it because it is their civic duty. Now, if I were to be asked which reason seems to me more essential, I’d say you missed my point. Different reasons that will lead to the same result aren’t necessary; we need no reason, only vision and a tenacious grit to lead the course. Reasons are what critics look for; there should be criterions about critics’ criticisms. Now back to the nature of my argument: we need not argue, just continuously pursuit our aims. Making time for leisure, prepare mentally for the road ahead. So whenever old archetypes loom in the horizon, we buy a bottle of wine, something good to smoke on the side, play semi-loud music, and simply indulge. Our rainy afternoons are memorable feasts, I think that we expect nothing of days like these, and subconsciously enjoy the ones marked by the calendar as our birthday (every once in a while it’s our birthday), the start of summer, the changing of hours, the thirty-first of December, the start of spring signaled by the fallen leaves. Even if it’s for a half hour, we celebrate; I am content with this. A walk alone to do some chores is a delight. Now that I have a dog, I could talk to those pretty strangers that walk their canines around the block.
So, yes, we did talk about having a three-some. We even have talked to a complete stranger on the phone from California, and talk dirty to her as she came to orgasm. In Paltalk, a site recommended to me by Oscar, a friend of mine, once we let a group of strangers see us making love. I have written extensively lately on this log, and I have made comments that make me seem a bit abstract and metaphysical. I think most of you, with the exception of some full professors, would agree. Nonetheless, I am a very sexual creature. Undoubtedly, there are many annexes to this carnal story. We settled old scores of infidelities while having sex, penetrating her in the same position as I had penetrated the one I cheated with. I’d tell her what we did and said, and how we did, and sometimes make up a detail or two to make her soil herself, taking the part of the proverbial whore that in ecstatic frenzy muses in pleasure with what had caused her so much pain. Once we tried seducing a goofy-good looking friend of her ex husband into playing with us as we poured drinks, listened to great varied music and smoked pot. But the guy cowered away. When I go out, she always awakes as soon as I open the door. Or she lies in bed bitterly, awaiting until I finish taking a bath, brushing my teeth and changing into something more comfortable, and once I slide underneath the sheets, breaks the silence with a sharp, out of place, tone of voice: “May I ask where you were?” Very few times, things escalate beyond that. I keep quiet and bring her down by baby-talking her back to sleep. She falls asleep before long.
But she has never come this late before. Not while we were together, anyway, I remember thinking lavishly in bed, trying not to make a noise that would have given me away. I closed my eyes, languidly dreaming of taking her out to dance this weekend. Or even tomorrow night. It doesn’t matter if it’s New Year’s Eve on Friday. At this stage, we have to be more open in our relationship, give each other space to create and redefine ourselves once more. I am not an insecure adolescent anymore; I don’t remember the last time I felt jealous over her. She has been splendid to me, I thought to myself. I’ve done it so many times to her just because of personal vanity, I didn’t leave her. That’s a woman’s job. If she doesn’t want me, I’ll start my life anew, like I have in the past. I will in time move on my own, in not much of a distant future. I feel a warm, cozy, and at times deferential towards, feelings that grow out of habit and tenderness. She is a loyal, good-natured animal, and I am proud of her. I shall reinvent our love once again. There probably won’t be any thirds, and who knows? But at least we will have more adventures of this sort. I shall take her out very soon and see how we respond to things in the open. We haven’t gone out to dance in such a long time. In the end, it has the potential of either destroying us or liberating us, binding each other still tighter. None of these two prospects seems so terrifying to me. On the other hand, I just don’t see much use for jealousy. That was such a childish pretense.

The Initial Idea

I thought of writing a story about a guy who complaints about his job, and sticks with it. Then goes home to his mother’s house and curses his luck for having such strict parents. But he kept living under the parental austerity throughout his twenties. The idea initially, previous to the former story, was to write whatever it occurred to me as I sat in front of the computer to make this log entry. Freedom is to gradually claim our independence in any existential arena, particularly when it comes to others. Allow the critics their take but pay them no mind, whatever flatters our vanity doesn’t necessarily nurture our vocation. Criticism is served cold; manuscripts and arts of great impact are warm-blooded creatures. But all good things to those who go in their quest patiently and exert some discretion in their passions with a freak-on release once in a while, ambitious but feasible immediate goals, short-term goals, long-term ones. The short-term ones are my favorite, those achievable in three to six months from now. Immediate ones are regarded as the most needful and easily acquired: buying a few pairs of brand-name socks in Century 21, getting a nice pair of black leather boots from Aldo, a great pair of jeans in Diesel, sending Glenda Black a gift certificate from Amazon.com, a dressing belt and white long-sleeve tee-shirt for work and if possible new pants and a suit to go along with, a compilation c.d. of that Spanish reggae-ton, get more sleep, write more. These are immediate and take a couple of weeks or less. Long-term ones, lasting two to five years, are such as fixing my credit, establish myself as a writer, pursue a career in literature or in the very least take courses of English grammar, and any other subjects that might improve my skills as a writer. I may stay married to Isabel for longer and help her with the kid, and I won’t discuss any of this with her because I’m not sure myself yet. So, why would I deliberately hurt her? If I have my doubts is because there is potential. With or without her, I should seek always to lead a fuller life. I should remain generous but not as much as I have been this December. I did say to myself this month belongs to others. I worked for the gifts I bought and made a whole bunch of people a bit happier for a moment. I sent money to my sister and mother in Colombia and to my father in Venezuela. I sent Deborah a gift certificate for fifteen dollars and she hasn’t thanked me; when I saw her online once again, I said “Feliz Navidad, mujer”, she replied in Spanish, “Same” and then went off line and then on again and I didn’t say a word. I felt the sword of indifference when you have not done anything other than extend a spontaneous courtesy. I decided to send her the gift certificate as I appeared online this morning. Besides, what are fifteen dollars? Still though, she was an ass about it. It tortured delightfully that she might think me in love with her. She should be such a child. I don’t think, however, this is the case. Showing gratitude is a generous trait. Our minds rationalize any behavior adapted: murderers have their reasons too. I set the record straight here and absolve myself. As usual, I had settled a score without recurring to question the subject. As if any sort of explanation was necessary or could in any way solve what is someone else’s problem. I had given her an hour of my labor. Well, at least now you have an idea of how much I earn. Not a whole lot but still enough, add all the overtime I pull weekly, Isabel’s earnings, not owning the mortgage of a house or the expenses of a vehicle, and top it off with living cheap in the Bronx.

My sister spoke to me through words today, thanked me for the Christmas present I gave her, told me about her plans of moving to Miami, and said, same as she did last year, she still owed me a gift. My cousin Evelyn tried me several times at my cell, which I left in the locker room inside a pocket in my jacket, and on her third try I was eating in the room for the second time that night. I called her back there but the call failed, and then tried her again later. I spoke to Erika, my other cousin, as well. They both thanked me and seemed excited by the gifts I got them. I said I’d be with them on New Year’s Eve. Evelyn said I should go before that. I doubt I will find time between labor and leisure. But I said I would to her. Who knows if I am another on Thursday night, and venture into Queens? I could sit down at the bar in Corona or the one next door to my cousin’s building Evelyn spoke to me of. I could go to Kana. This time around, I will put into work all the forces in order to be every day more independent, creative and prosperous. See, I didn’t see many of my gender involved in these issues, like Raymond at work, said that his wife took care of the shopping thing.

I thought of writing a story about a guy who complaints about his job, and sticks with it. Then goes home to his mother’s house and curses his luck for having such strict parents. But he kept living under the parental austerity throughout his twenties. Actually, the idea initially, previous to the former story, was to write whatever it occurred to me as I sat in front of the computer to make this log entry. Freedom is to gradually claim our independence in any existential arena, particularly when it comes to others. Allow the critics their take but pay them no mind, whatever flatters our vanity doesn’t necessarily nurture our vocation. Criticism is served cold; manuscripts and arts of great impact are warm-blooded creatures. But all good things to those who go in their quest patiently and exert some discretion in their passions with a freak-on release once in a while, ambitious but feasible immediate goals, short-term goals, long-term ones. The short-term ones are my favorite, those achievable in three to six months from now. Immediate ones are regarded as the most needful and easily acquired: buying a few pairs of brand-name socks in Century 21, getting a nice pair of black leather boots from Aldo, a great pair of jeans in Diesel, sending Glenda Black a gift certificate from Amazon.com, a dressing belt and white long-sleeve tee-shirt for work and if possible new pants and a suit to go along with, a compilation c.d. of that Spanish reggae-ton, get more sleep, write more. These are immediate and take a couple of weeks or less. Long-term ones, lasting two to five years, are such as fixing my credit, establish myself as a writer, pursue a career in literature or in the very least take courses of English grammar, and any other subjects that might improve my skills as a writer. I may stay marry to her for longer and help her with the kid and I won’t discuss any of this with her because I’m not sure myself yet. So, why would I deliberately hurt her? If I have my doubts is because there is potential. With or without her, I should seek always to lead a fuller life. I should remain generous but not as much as I have been this December. I did say to myself this month belongs to others. I worked for the gifts I bought and made a whole bunch of people a bit happier for a moment. I sent money to my sister and mother in Colombia and to my father in Venezuela. I sent Deborah a gift certificate for fifteen dollars and she hasn’t thanked me; when I saw her online once again, I said “Feliz Navidad, mujer”, she replied in Spanish, “Same” and then went off line and then on again and I didn’t say a word. I felt the sword of indifference when you have not done anything other than extend a spontaneous courtesy. I decided to send her the gift certificate as I appeared online this morning. Besides, what are fifteen dollars? Still though, she was an ass about it. It tortured delightfully that she might think me in love with her. She should be such a child. I don’t think, however, this is the case. Showing gratitude is a generous trait. Our minds rationalize any behavior adapted: murderers have their reasons too. I set the record straight here and absolve myself. As usual, I had settled a score without recurring to question the subject. As if any sort of explanation was necessary or could in any way solve what is someone else’s problem. I had given her an hour of my labor. Well, at least now you have an idea of how much I earn. Not a whole lot but still enough, add all the overtime I pull weekly, Isabel’s earnings, not owning the mortgage of a house or the expenses of a vehicle, and top it off with living cheap in the Bronx.

My sister spoke to me through words today, thanked me for the Christmas present I gave her, told me about her plans of moving to Miami, and said, same as she did last year, she still owed me a gift. My cousin Evelyn tried me several times at my cell, which I left in the locker room inside a pocket in my jacket, and on her third try I was eating in the room for the second time that night. I called her back there but the call failed, and then tried her again later. I spoke to Erika, my other cousin, as well. They both thanked me and seemed excited by the gifts I got them. I said I’d be with them on New Year’s Eve. Evelyn said I should go before that. I doubt I will find time between labor and leisure. But I said I would to her. Who knows if I am another on Thursday night, and venture into Queens? I could sit down at the bar in Corona or the one next door to my cousin’s building Evelyn spoke to me of. I could go to Kana. This time around, I will put into work all the forces in order to be every day more independent, creative and prosperous. See, I didn’t see many of my gender involved in these issues, like Raymond at work, said that his wife took care of the shopping thing.

The gift of truth

When I first received the likelihood of publication with my poem “Perfection” by the people at International Library of Poetry, I joked to a friend of mine, Eda, about the decadence poetry must be undergoing when a poem like “Perfection” was accepted. She replied that I shouldn’t be so dismissive of my skills as a poet (which I have never fancy myself being but now I’m on the verge of obsessively pursuing), and that “Perfection” had its charm. I would have wanted an honest opinion from her since I value more truth than anything else. Nonetheless, I ended up convincing myself that, after all, I may be a regular poet but given the decadent material out there afforded me an ample edge over the competition. Well, after being accepted by three different editorial entities in this so-called poetical quest of mine, and being offered publication by all three, I thought that these were recognition prizes on their own and therefore it should be okay if I paid for that hard earned recognition. See, the very thing is that I paid for every copy I will receive and will keep them as testaments of my naivety.
I know better now. I stumbled upon an article on such poetry contests by NBC4 online. The address to it is www.windpub.com/literary.scams and it pretty much shattered the illusion I had of all my poems being accepted everywhere I turn them to. I didn’t spend much capital, by the way; I entered more than thirty poems of mine in poetry.com (which, by the way, is one of the listed in the scam) and all of them have been granted enough recognition to be published. Owning any of my poems, in any of their lavished book renditions, would cost me $49.95. I didn’t order any of them even though my ambition was great. I was a bit cautious about the whole ordeal from the very beginning. This realization won’t stop me from pursuing my literary dream. It would only embolden me. The irony of receiving this news on Christmas Day reassures me in a sort of superstitious sense that is not a bad sign after all. What better gift than truth is there?

The alarm

The car alarm coming outside my apartment on a fifth floor was crisp, monotonous, it awoke me enough to reason that in a little while probably it would shut automatically. The minutes passed, and the alarm persisted. It was not just an alarm now; it was my lack of sleep. In the wee hours of the nights, in that severely imparted frost of morning, when the sheets cling on and one rolls over to find certain comfort. We awake many times throughout the night; we just don’t remember all. Reminiscence is a selective process. But this one I shall remember. The ringing alarm metastasized onto those inner lives of quiet desperation, wondering for how long will I suffer the conditions I am living under. The stench of cat’s feces and urine, the bed I’m sleeping in, the women I’m laying next to, my declining health, and saw it as an opportunity. The major indicator of an unfulfilled life is denial. I won’t deny this: I am constantly striving. But I have yet to claim that I am found. It comes to my realization that I am surrounded by individuals who dwell in misery, and hence can only make others as miserable as themselves; others who attain a degree of impassiveness, settling with fewer thrills and maintaining stricter norms keep a bit saner. I have yet to see a completely satisfied soul. Most of them are half alive and all of them revealing their anxiety whether through social detachment or in spoken interaction.
Drastic measures will bring modest results. I keep trying to keep honest with myself. This very writing, in a way, chronicles such fascinating (the alarm has stopped now, literally) mutation.
Now, back to the source of misery: unfulfilled selves. Instead of claiming what is left of them for ourselves, many opt to conform (quiet desperation) to their conditions, others ignore it. Gradually, of course, that which is no longer growing rots. The need for action is transparently key. But scratching deeper now, there are many elements that compose the alchemy to obtain a healthier and fuller life. There are contradictions also, and more than one road to follow, another way of writing it. This is only because, well, life is complex. My method consists of informing myself first, then applying it for myself, and then taking a conclusion that may not always stand as an ultimate truth since I relentlessly search out new info, apply knowledge, and continue to learn. Wasn’t it Seneca the one who said that we had to learn to live life once again everyday? Lying there in that bed, I felt enslaved in serfdom, impoverished and sick by choice. Why not blame Seneca again for being a bit too harsh on myself at times. I bought gifts for the family but even that intention I inquisitively reflected on. Gifts contain a lot of energy and potential for bonding. I spent lavishly, and even though my economic muscle wasn’t strained, I did work it and I’m not overtly finished yet. Tomorrow, on Christmas’ eve, I will deliberately make many folks happy. The very notion of it faded away the bitterness of that God-given alarm, the events that transpired, the reason I sat in front of this computer to write this log. I guess I should stick to the guns of my story. Well, I did significantly enough today considering that it’s only 7:35 a.m., and I have been up for only three hours. I have taken away that horrendous alarm noise for the entire neighborhood. I insisted on reporting it to 311, and was transferred to 911, until the cops they finally showed up. A truck picked it up and took it. Yeah, there are a lot of things to be taken care of. Now that the physical noise is gone, the spirit can resume without further distractions the find job of how shut off other mental alarms. This car alarm has awoken in me more than just the resolution to shut it, and not remain sleeping in my laurels thinking that there is a magical automatic devise that will do it for me.

Happiness in short

There’s a book about how to find happiness. I doubt it is that simple. See, happiness is not something you find. It is something you struggle for. The odds are that most of us will live happily is misleading. Achievers are not always happy. But they seem content about their goals and current standing. Rats do not aspire to be happy; they simply strive to survive. The question, though, still ponders: If we can’t find happiness, can we make it? If habits were clothes we use and once dirty throw in the laundry basket, and instead of lamenting our fate we went searching for it constantly, not dwelling for too long in our failures and focus, then things could finally be for the better. But let’s face it: complaining is easier than doing, and blaming is simpler than responsibility. Denial is one of the most powerful forces on earth.

The cat

They brought Christie the cat to our apartment in a carton box which was placed on the kitchen floor. The startled animal, obviously frightened by the new surroundings, stood still like a statue as the previous owner removed the top side of the box. With disturb, the grown feline examined the place without claiming any territory. The man who brought him left promptly and I sat back at the computer before my time to go to work claimed my time of leisure in order to make some space so the new member of the family could get used to his new home. Half an hour later, I went to the kitchen to see how the animal was doing. It had disappeared. I looked for him all over but since I wasn’t able to find it, I thought maybe Vangelis, Isabel’s son, entered and left the apartment and had taken the animal with him, and I hadn’t noticed. I summoned him at once: he hadn’t even seen the cat. The hours passed, and the animal was no where to be found. I wasn’t so much as worried as I was puzzled. Isabel knew that I didn’t want a living creature in the house so naturally she could assume that I had gotten rid of it. But the door was locked and I looked outside the open window from this fifth floor, looked under the furniture, behind the washing machine. I called back home later from work to ask Vangelis to look again behind the washing machine. He said he had already. Nothing, as if the whole affair had been a dream. Isabel theorized the animal had escaped our premises during a brief instance locked in oblivion when one of us opened the door. It was a childish assumption; an occurrence of that magnitude would easily be forgotten or even slipped by. It is a large, adult cat, we’re talking about, not a baby hamster running loose all over. Unexplained circumstances always bring about the best of people’s imagination. Nonetheless, I had at hand a riddle I was in no mood to contemplate a solution for; as a matter of fact, I was somewhat secretly happy about the disappearance until Isabel started crying on the other end of the conversation. “I had brought him food” she gasped. Suddenly, I saw the salt of selfishness sprinkle over my easy-going consciousness, and I turned bland. I do away with regret and guilt and exert some meaningful benevolence. One warm, fuzzy, godly human benevolent feeling overwhelms me. I baby-talked her into not crying, and promised to buy her a cat of her own, not a second-hand Houdini-style, missing in the middle of no action excuse for a cat. “It was too regular a cat,” I consoled her. This happened while I was at work, and once I got home, the search was reinitiated. Nothing turned out.
A day passed by and the mystery still puzzled me. I thought of writing about it here, but for some strange reason I hadn’t. I did make a couple of entries since then but never mentioned it. Two days later, coming back from work, I opened the door and was shooed by Isabel with a smile. “The cat” she hushed giddily. I thought it had been recovered from the outdoors, but it appeared that the animal had never left home.

It came as gratuitous to us that the feline would develop a taste for hiding and hostility. His reclusive existence under the couch paralleled the time when no one knew of his whereabouts. Several fruitless attempts to extract him from his hiding nest proved frustrating. So, after a while, we became accustomed to his invisible presence in the household. All went back to normality for a few days. We lived as usual, working our days, enjoying together our late evenings with rented movies, music, anything to thin the blood. In the middle of night, as Isabel and I were watching the last scenes of rented dvd movie in our seven hundred watts progressive scan Panasonic Home Theater, the animal suddenly popped out of his hideout and reached out to us, submissive in its stretching posture, bowing risen head exposing its neck fully, carrousel movements, sliding his body underneath our caressing hands. I was astounded by the revelation that this miniscule tiger had made such a remarkable progress in personality, such a drastic change overnight. Maybe we can, too, go out for a walk on the path of our dreams more daringly than we have. If a cat can all of a sudden become familiar with the unknown, so spontaneously, I don’t see why we can’t.

Making progress

Today I received a letter announcing the eligibility of a poem I entered in a competition more than a month ago for the prize. It is the third of its type in less than nine months. I have entered randomly at different times and locations into four competitions. Three of them have given me results. I am still hopeful that the forth poem comes back to me, like the rest of them have, with pride. I may have committed a mistake in the entering process because I haven’t heard from my Mirror of Selves. Isn’t that curious? I focus vaguely on the one that didn’t come back to me, the one that is not to be published as every other (including the one mentioned) has by, for instance, poetry.com. I don’t fancy myself a great poet. Certainly, given my intelligence (that’s right), I am above average in poetry, just as I am in every single task I undertake. Well, that’s enough of me. The publisher is to honor me by, well, publishing me. This is not the second time I will be potentially published. It is the third. First, there was poetry.com, the International Library of Poets; secondly, the so-called Society of Famous Poets; and thirdly, this one, JMW publications or something. It’s great ego-massage. But what am I to do? Now you could make an engine search in yahoo or google, and find me listed as a poet. That’s not enough. I am currently immersed into several promising projects and I will choose one of them to be published. I have found books-on-demand sites not so far from what I have in mind in case I am taken lightly by traditional standards. A novel or a selection of poems or both. Whatever it is that feels more proper. Well, it might sound a bit pretentious and not-so-well thought out but I am at work, tired and thinking of going home. Besides, no one in their right mind is reading this now or eagerly waiting to read it later. So, I focus on a few uplifting ideas, carry them through to completion and then go back for some more. I am, well, achieving and it feels great to know that it is actually easy. We’ll see how things go.

No, I haven’t been paralyzed nor am I in a lethargic state once more. I have vigorously pursuit my idea of a better man: I have bought trendy presents for my family here in NY. I sent money to my biological father (a funny story behind this), and my sister, who has brought to my knowledge her trip to Venezuela. But if I put in paper all of the activities I engaged on during this time, I will come up short. I am, however, not an exceptional being. At least, not yet. But in time I will be far better than I am now. I crave independence and realization. But I don’t want to hurt the people involved in my life at this time. I have found a way to keep these ambivalent forces in balance. I work more and I have been more tolerant. Anxiety has receded sporadically. I do spend every waking moment sculpting landscapes, forging personal alliances to bring this inner show to the wild outdoors. I am not fighting with myself as most people may find themselves on occasions. I am making progress.

Good night for now...

I worked a tenacious day. The accumulation of worked days without taking a day off has made me a bit more irascible. But by the end of tonight, anger burned through my veins. I am calmed now, listening to music, already bathed, in the dark, anxiety levels dropping. I thought it was possible to control your anger, explode in laughter, exercise some distance. How simple it seems to us now to light a match, tie our shoes, fully absorb the essence of this moment in engaged in activities that took years of our lives to master. The art of walking, the social ranks and hierarchies, the pursuit of excellence, the joy of leisure, reading these words. Almost everything in which we take part has been a mastered role; taking years like a seed breaking the ground underneath with its roots, defying gravity in its ascendence, proliferating into innsectivorous plants, branches, autumn leaves, and ripe fruits full of seed. Nature is only predistinated in its confabulation with life. We master our universal illusions yet still are prey to our passions. We could get better at anything except when it came to our emotions. I do believe we can master them as well as we dominate most aspects of our lives. It’s not to say that the experience of anger, attraction, rejection, etc, won’t affect us anymore. It only means we handle it more effectively and put it under control promptly with a conscious effort to which in time we’ll habituate to. We get better at anything we put our minds to. Now it’s time to go to sleep because tomorrow there is a long day ahead. I need some rest. There’ll be time for other witty arguments. Good night.

In the end

I’ve worked since three and in a couple of hours I’ll be home, if everything goes as planned. I was handed a hefty list of security panels that were going off and required inspection. More than ninety-nine percent of the time it is due to construction taking place on that given location. The rest of the time it is safe to say that carelessness has taken place on that location. Nonetheless, safety is not taken lightly by our superiors, as it was gorgeously illustrated by my stunningly beautiful coworker a few months back on paper. Ah, Daniela. I remember seeing her and I often think that anywhere I may sleep tonight I will always be in the arms of a woman who allowed me in. I saw her today. She was, as usual, ravishing. That was my focus, and not one to be weighted in any romantic sense; I am way passed my prime on nativities. My approach is full of masculine traits, unaffected, seemingly in control, serene yet vigorous, crushing tenderness. I am gentlemanlike, but I don't suck up. We mate just like other animals do, and though our rituals are complex and frisky at times, however, we can’t never fully escape our nature. I haven’t become a cynic either; I could very easily be taken off guard and be left for a brief moment, wandering aimlessly in a unfathomable land that no caution could have avoided. Beauty is a high, and it often takes us for a ride without asking us for our permission. But then again, so does madness. Quite frankly, I understand little of these things although I am always curious and constantly seeking, I am found at times when my search ceases or something extraordinary suddenly takes shape and color before my eyes just when my curiosity was on a low. All of these contrasted similarities, all of these ambivalent causes are transitive in nature. Eons wasted in giving names, erecting infrastructures and casting shadows over all the wonders that surround our very us being here right now; these names, like the ones our parents or guardians chose us, tell little, if any, of the whole phenomena. I suspect with fatigue beside me now that the problem may partly lie in words being able to express so little. Even if I were to give a detailed account of a particular reminiscence or event through language, it's a wavering death amidst the torrent of light that lived. Science relies on language and yet language itself is limited. It appears that the experience seems so vast and intricate for this insignificant tool to absorb it. But at times it captures just that. Like a picture, no matter how good, can never translate movement, suddenly mutating into a lively interaction. We can imitate and we are getting far better at it. Perhaps in the end we will decipher all of these very complex happenings and figure how just why and what and from what and to where and for how long we are, were, and will endlessly be. Perhaps then all of the mirrored mirages that surround us will be broken into a million pieces. If we were to be at that moment of discovery and rediscovery, I think we will find that our resemblance will be to the image and likeness of ourselves. I think that the possibility of divinity will be before us in the shape and sound, the texture and taste we give. For now, we will settle for a good night sleep after a little bit of pot once home, the company of our loved ones, the hard earned money of our labor, the help we extend to those in need, the goals and liasure, and the hope for a better tomorrow.

Micellaneous

Fiction is hard work. I tend to write and publish this journal with ease, and already get feedback, communicate some formal thoughts and release myself at times. I chronicle the transcendence I am undertaking. I witness and engage in this phenomenon we call life. Whatever it is the fuck you want to call it. I see that the writer who thinks more of his audience’s response to his words often wears a mask at some level. It’s crucial to keep the reader in mind, not take a sudden avenue that happens to occupy our present minds, and keep a paced and well thought-out exposition of ideas. There are, of course, distractions around. Privacy seldom abounds. Of course, afternoons full of rain may sound too cliché, and yet they do exert their charm. Plenty of coffee, music aloud (Coldplay’s A Rush of Blood to the Head; Muse’s Origin of Symmetry; Maroon 5’s Songs about Jane, and many others along that sweet upbeat rock line descendent from Radiohead) people I know online (including nanoseconds ago my dear sister from Colombia), the whole apartment to yourself. I have written a list of goals that I want to achieve in the next six to nine months. I have spoken to my mother and sister in Colombia more regularly. I will have worked at least ten hours overtime so far this week. (By the way, I threw to the musical mix some Spanish songs from Buenavista Social Club, Bacilos, etc). Also, I sent a poem of mine to another contest online, and solicited information. I haven’t ventured out as I would have probably written favorably about it. But I have time to simply indulge. Actually, I make time for it. Monday mornings are dreaded by so many others but they are for now my only subterfuge of solitude. When I have time to be spent with whomever it is I can spend it with, and most of my favorite people is naturally entangled with their routines, I enjoy amply my own company. Sure, we take familiar routes, and find similar results.






Oscar says:
you should check it out, he's very good
Boris says:
You do know there was an australian anthropologist by the name of Elliot Smith.
Boris says:
Don't you?
Oscar says:
i gotta let you go for now, i have a meeting in 5 minutes, should be back in 30 mins. if you're still around
Boris says:
I am kind of inclined towards science than art.
Boris says:
Ok.
Boris says:
Later.
Oscar says:
boris
Boris says:
dime
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
oscar
Oscar says:
boris suena mas intelectual
Oscar says:
damian
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
I know.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Boris Amar
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
is hell of a writer's name.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Thank you for your condescension.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Kidding!
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Mondays I love.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
I wake up to an apartment all to myself.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
I have a blast.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Coffee.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Lots of coffee.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Music.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Semi-loud music.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
Writing.
Have a full morning, eve or night for yourself to simply indulge says:
I'm cooking words.
Oscar says:
take that message off, it's confusing'
Simply indulge says:
that's much better.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
this one i like best.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
It's just not as hedonistic.
Oscar says:
it's not as long
Oscar says:
chatting with anybody in particular?
Make time to simply indulge. says:
No,
Make time to simply indulge. says:
writing that's all.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Actually, I make time for it. Mondays mornings are dreaded by so many others but they are for now my only subterfuge of solitude. When I have time to be spent with whomever it is I can spend it with, and most of my favorite people is naturally tied to their routines, I enjoy amply my own company
Oscar says:
so you like mondays
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I don't say that.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
careful now.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I say that WE make our happy TIME
Make time to simply indulge. says:
It could very well be on Monday.
Oscar says:
oh
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Listen to Muse's "Orgin of Symmetry", the song called "Feeling Good"
Oscar says:
you remember carolina?
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Yeah.
Oscar says:
you ever talked to her again?
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I am not sure as to which Carolina you're reffering.
Oscar says:
the fat one
Oscar says:
really smart girl
Make time to simply indulge. says:
No.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
But I have met another Carolina.
Oscar says:
but you remember her
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She was the stunningly beauty queen with insecurities that I regarded as natural given her physical attributes.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Dating a guy twenty years older than her.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She also liked to be dependent.
Oscar says:
who was this
Make time to simply indulge. says:
A Carolina surprisingly I met in Terra two years ago.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
A year ago, we ended up dating.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
When Isabel and I broke up
Make time to simply indulge. says:
When Isabel found me con una puertorricura que tenia complejo de fea
Make time to simply indulge. says:
rubia delgada nalgoncita de ojos azules
Oscar says:
y esa era carolina?
Make time to simply indulge. says:
no
Make time to simply indulge. says:
esa era kathelyn
Make time to simply indulge. says:
aunque ya conocia a carolina hace un año
Oscar says:
la de ojos azules
Make time to simply indulge. says:
kathelyn
Oscar says:
era kathelyn
Make time to simply indulge. says:
la de azules
Make time to simply indulge. says:
si
Make time to simply indulge. says:
puertoriqueña
Make time to simply indulge. says:
r
Oscar says:
continua'
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Isabel took off work and hided in the bedroom.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I brought the puertorican home.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I had candles and wine.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
The way I saw it was it was cheaper than going to the movies.
Oscar says:
isabel was hiding in the bedroom
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Yes.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
In the closet.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
In the bedroom.
Oscar says:
this is hysterical
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Yes, quite so.
Oscar says:
continue
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I put music, I pour wine, I toss with intertwiching arms.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
We are dancing and heart pounding stormed Isabel out of the bedroom.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Into the living room.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Do you think I said it all?
Oscar says:
una boricua y una dominicana en una escena de estas, you cant script it any better
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Not even close.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I am getting better.
Oscar says:
go on, this is too goog
Make time to simply indulge. says:
It's my metamorphosis.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Well,
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Isabel was beautifully dressed with make up and all.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I tried to cool her down.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
It was impossible.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Isabel threw panties I had from Kathelyn in her face
Oscar says:
you should have proposed a threesome
Oscar says:
wher did you have the apnties
Make time to simply indulge. says:
In my bag, the one I take to work.
Hidden in a little compartment within the bag.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
They were dirty.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I used to smell them at work hiding in the bathroom and write obsene text-messages to whom I called my beautiful whore.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Anyway.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Isabel found them.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Beware of scourned women.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
To top it off, I ran behind Kathelyn.
Oscar says:
continue this is too good
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I was barefooted and followed her two blocks walking on the burning two days old snow that had turned into that frozen slippery ice.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
It was very cold out.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Not freezing. But cold.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I went back.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Isabel was crying.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
There was a moment of pain in my heart when she broke down and like looking to a corner said as if talking to the walls,
Make time to simply indulge. says:
"Yo no me merezco esto. Yo que lucho por tener algo mejor y que me he sacrificado por ti."
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She had told Kathelyn that she had bore my baby in her womb before having a miscarriage not more than three months ago as she rubbed the panties on her face
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I was holding her back even then.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Anyway.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I also was horny.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
We men tend to get this way.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Whenever women are emotional we get aroused.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Yes?
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I put shoes on and zigzagged her bittered words,
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I put aside all her rencor.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
And closed the door behind her.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I was able to catch up with Kathelyn who lives only six downhill blocks apart.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I went inside the building she lives in.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She lit a cigarrette.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I convinced her to go for a walk.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
To get away.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She obliged.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
After everything that happened.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She left with me.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
If this isn't a testament to women's inclination towards fatality I don't know what is.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I had money.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
We best of all the worst joints around. A restaurant with dark lights and loud music and we sat in the back, shrouded in shadows, and ordered a couple of drinks.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
We left to a motel.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
All along I remember being glad that I had taken a little bit of pot I had left and placed it in my pocket.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I thought of smoking it in a cheap motel room with the girl I wanted to be with and a six pack of beers. Isn't that the life?
Make time to simply indulge. says:
But when we got to the motel room, one hundred and twenty six dollars later, I couldn't find the pot.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I must have dropped it in the car on our way there.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I told her I'll be back and left to buy pot, in the middle of the night took a cab back to my neighborhood, but couldn't find one single dealer on the desolate frozen streets.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Kathelyn stayed in the motel room and I feared she might left so I slapped her on her butt and grabbed her hard against me, until she got into the mood.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Then I left her.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She was on the phone with her friend.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Drinking one of the beers.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I couldn't find anyone.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
No one.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Who sells pot.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Then I went back to the apartment and relived the encounter I had had before with Isabel, looked for pot but couldn't find it.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
As I was leaving, I found the guy next door.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Literally, and unlike me, a full time pot head.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I asked if he had any to sell.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I got my pot and went back to the motel room.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Kathelyn was still there.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
We drank and smoked.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Then she didn't want to have sex.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Find, I said.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
We fell asleep.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
A little while later, in the dark, as I was deep into sleep, she awoke and started bitch slap rapping me.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
"You are an asshole, you know,"
Make time to simply indulge. says:
and she ended the whole with
Make time to simply indulge. says:
"And I am leaving"
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Then I lost it.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I grabbed her by the hair and threw her on bed.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She tried to get up and I slapped her.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I grabbed her hands.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
She was scratching me.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
I was on top of her.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
"You're so aggressive" she said.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
And I fucked her.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Amazing night.
Make time to simply indulge. says:
Eh?

Double-shift

It’s one thirty-nine in the morning. I agreed to stay a double-shift with the condition of having my Sunday off. To top it off, I went out last night and didn’t have much fun. I had a bit too much to drink, and spent a bit more than I should have. I slept only five hours and now I’m here, mumbling words that make a rare sense. I have crawled back to my womb, and while walking the floors of this labyrinth, I found myself afraid of the dark. I was falling asleep, as if from a cliff. It started raining, I just don’t know since when. The cars hiss by, and the raindrops hit the window pane, a deafening silence settles in. Should I tell the story of my adventurous night out? Well, it wasn’t adventurous at all. Tomorrow I had convened to see my biological father on line through webcam. I haven’t seen him in ages. Recently, I saw my mother along with my other sister, the middle-one. Now that I think about, I am making progress. But I must abandon certain madness before I want to embrace this new light. This is –perhaps, up to date, the worst blog entry made.

Daytime Creatures

I thought happy individuals lived in the daytime. They were day creatures, who rested full nights to embark in an adventurous productivity from early on. That is an alternative, and of course there are many ways, and not just a right and unique one, of living. But I was solely concerned with the habits, and we all know we are our habits. Wrong! We continue old or adopt new habits, like people who never smoked and started late in their lives or people who after half a lifetime of smoking cigarettes one day decide to quit for good, like my grandmother did. Therefore, our habits are formed only out of us constantly engaging in certain pattern of behavior. Just then a whole world of possibilities occurred to me. Could this very writing have consisted of any other words aside from these ones I now write and you will later read? Day creatures would gladly spend nights out dancing in the city. I could have written about another subject, and I know it would have been just as fun. That is only because I believe in depth of subject but also in an adventurous way of deliverance. It is only natural that there are many ways to be helped, to get better and move on with life. Sometimes a good advice, once followed, does the trick. Skeptics will discover magic. There are many bad books by great writers but there is always a great writer to a great written story. Naturally, pleasure abounds yet pain lingers around. I guess that if the world was to deliciously be divided there would be two sides to a same story: there are those who do more in fear of pain, like dependency in any aspect, stop pursuing their dreams, and those who are there to do more with less and to edify hope, for the acquisition of pleasure. Fear isn’t a negative force; it’s an ally. But we sure are endowed with the faculty of tolerating a rather significant amount of it in the short term in order to reach new highs in the long run. Arrogance will have us listen to the voices of hatred, to its many tongues and one message, the destroyer of clarity, the waste of energy and resources in such an unrewarding venture. Luckily, I am immune to several types of venom. And I am always there to vigorously help but not unconditionally. I want to see progress, and to ensure such, dependency must be overcome in time by any means necessary. Either the ones being assisted get back on their feet to miraculously start marching forward, or the assistance runs out. But kindness should never have an expiration date. Coexistence dictates that we are all in for the long run. So we might as well start now. Volunteer in modest but consistent amounts, expiate occasionally; venture out and mingle more often. Balance ourselves in the ambivalence of pleasure and pain… after all, they are so reciprocally intertwined that we don’t know where to stand. It’s okay to once in a while stumble. Beauty baffles reason. It’s only customary to bow in the presence of the queen, but only to gain her favors. Bow with grace and don’t be always so cordial. Life is much too complex to be embraced with an idea of it before experiencing your own. The more inclined you are towards your nature, the fuller you become. Since your nature is idyllic, be immaculate. Go on, explore.

I ran into a little problem with my sister the other night.

I ran into a little problem with my little sister the other evening. She became annoyed because I referred to her what our other middle sister had said to me, that she was still waiting for money that she owed her. Paola became instantly furious, saying that she bore the responsibility of her family in Colombia, and that meanwhile I was just having my fun. It was great therapy, I tell you. She is like a telenovela, with her repertoire of humiliations, so full of herself, so arrogant. She declared that I could go around saying that she threw me out of her house. I never had conceived of such an audacity and quite frankly passing off as the victim is not my thing. But more importantly, it's a drag. The relationship I thought we had was just a naïve dream. I thought she took me in because she loved me that we had a great time and that yes, she helped me, as I have helped her in the past. I paid my rent, and I tolerated very little. She denounces me as a crybaby who could say that was thrown out of the house. Why would I want to portray the image of a martyr, like my grandmother has under my aunt's rule? I was in a difficult position when I left but went there in good standing, at least economically; I became unemployeed later. I understand how difficult it is for adults to have one of their own without an income. But who hasn’t been in that position before? I came out of it as most people do sooner rather than later, and financially I am in a much better condition than I ever was before. She also mentioned passionately her attributes, loyalty to her family, perseverance, and denounced me as a hypocrite whose mask had fallen and shall fall also for others like my sister and mother once here. To the extent of hypocrisy, I have been tolerant of her presumptuous husband as much as he has been of me. Does that make us hypocritical? Perhaps, but if appearances are to be kept then at times I have been discreet. Given the absence of a father in her upbringing, she is used to mistreating men in her life, including her own. Her husband, by the way, didn't treat me inappropriately, in part because it’s not in his nature to displease his woman but more importantly still: I didn’t provide him with such an opportunity. True, I lived there for three months and a half, and the last one and a half for free. I am in debt to them and grateful as well for that period of shelter. But I kept my part: I was neat, orderly, and paid for my other needs. My sister claims she is a responsible person. Yet at the same time complains about having the bigger take in respect to our family, who, unlike of myself, expects her to. It’s not responsible to be entirely responsible for others, if that is what she pretends (which I doubt is true). And, in any respect, it’s sort of an exaggeration. She owes money to my sister in Colombia, which was the reason her arrogance was punctured and the whole argument started from. She has, I suppose, perhaps given more than me. But that doesn’t constitute responsibility when she has a home and family of her own to support, in fact she may be putting on top of her shoulders more responsibility than she is endowed, specially now that she is expecting. She has sadly chosen these responsibilities, and she has needless to say chosen poorly. She resents me for not having helped her in her time of need. She came abruptly to New York with her husband (I didn’t go to her house with my wife), and stayed with me in a little studio apartment with who was then my girlfriend and her son for a couple of weeks. Such a small place for four grown adults and a youngster, of course, would be grounds for trouble. She spent her economical resources in personal activities during this affair and was wasteful of my resources, using my phone line to call collect Colombia and the expenses were considerable (close to a hundred dollars). She also accuses me of taking her to restaurants to find a job as a waitress as if I had taken her to be prostituted. She said I had thrown out of my life, more or less, my aunt, her solid ally, my supposed nemesis. I imagine this is the part of the conversation in which my aunt will interrupt her and intensely gasp, “And, what did he say to you?” This is what I say to you.
Gossip is a way of bonding for this sick family. Now, I am told that my grandmother told my mother (doesn’t it sound so primitive to you, all of this display of dominance through verbal aggression. She clearly is sure of herself. I didn’t say such a thing to my grandmother. I simply said that I had my doubts my mother will come soon because it took a process. In reference to what I think of her actually coming here, I always said it was her choice. By her choice, I meant my mother’s. She will have the decision between staying here and going back to Colombia. My grandmother is just projecting her exaggerated emotions towards living in this country. Look, Paola is a little hardcore brat. But she is right in that sense. I shall help in whatever way I am able to so that the process of my mother getting here is facilitated. But it is not my main dish. I have other ambitions to fulfill, and Paola’s ambitions are her. She can only try to put pressure so that the picture she has of my mother living in the States comes to be. I also know she has put the effort to actually support the process both financially and emotionally. But I think is stupid of her to actually believe that I have no interest in it and yet go along with it at the same time.
I think we had our good and bad times, but I let the good ones prevail. I will avoid her from now on. I still have all of the clothes I owned before moving back here and my entire c.d. collection. In time, we’ll make peace but for now I am taking caution. She’s unruly and seems to have very little patience, characteristics of a broken home; I contribute to my mother and sister in Colombia but I do it at my own pace and convenience. I have not always contributed in the past. But in accordance with the individual I’ve become, I have consistently and throughout some time now given and intend to do so in the future. If I see it fit and as long as I consider it necessary, never straining myself in the process. Always with a sense of decency and pride to be able to do so. As of Paola, I made ammends to cut all interdependencies between us and excise some distance. She is pregnant and I don't want to cause her any woes. There's so much to be done.

I just might go home tonight

You know, I had fun that Saturday night, although I didn’t get to make out with a complete gorgeous stranger. It’s odd, though, because I danced with almost whatever female became available. I guess that had the reverse effect on me since women tend to like exclusiveness. I danced even with the gorgeous owner’s wife, who has always plenty on her hands to pay me any attention. Though she often does. I danced and had fun, didn’t get as wasted as usual, and that was that. Should I repeat the odyssey tonight? The weather, I was told by varied sources, was supposed to be colder than it actually is. Well, that usually translates into people getting the courage to step out of their way and venture out. Although this city does not easily succumb to boredom, there are indicative factors as to whether a particular night might prove better than another. I am completing my regular afternoon shift. It’s been an easy evening, and the night has befallen. What I really like about Kana is that more often than not I find a regular there, a girl I once met or a vast floor of possibilities. Whomever has been there knows that there is little space to breathe and the waiting line for the bathroom commonly interferes with the dancing crowd, and at times tension can surmount and things can get ugly, like that night in which I had the fist fight. Had I lost, I probably would have gone back to the place sooner. But since I was victorious, I refrained from going there out of caution. I met Maria that same night. I have observed that there are instances, which I mention as if they kept creeping in my mind. The reality is I take things a lot easier with the passage of time, specially when it comes to passion. If things are to be given in a particular circumstance, you should take initiative, and then they should happen rather effortlessly. To be quiet honest, I haven’t really tried. Nonetheless, I will persevere as soon as I feel it’s right and at my own leisure. Tonight, for instance, I just might end up going home.

Tonight I'm out

Tonight I’ll finally awake from my stupor and venture out. It’s a splendid night weather-wise, and the crowds as usual are storming the streets, the levels of testosterone are surging through my veins and I need to find relief to this ailment. Throughout the day, I felt sluggish and a nonstop stream of toxic ideas were circling in my mind. What with the abetment of resolution that normally takes over any negative agenda, I will step out of this skin and flow. Picture our moods like currents of water that emanate from our deepest desires: the one we are and the one we are becoming, and still the one we aspire to be, all come into conflict, so you listen for a while to the voices of doom, the naysayers. But it’s easy to blame the people in our lives, the circumstances we find ourselves under, the whether, etc. If we make an attempt to brake the rhythm to which we dance, and reinvent our way of dealing with pain and misfortune, by eliminating personal nuances and promoting still more healthy behaviors, then the balance will be in our favor. True, at times, we can’t help but to feel miserable. But that only should be momentarily. I tend to look for reasons beyond my psychological make-up, and for instance wonder if I ate something that might have had a bad effect on me. If I did, I would drink plenty of water, get a respite from toxic input, and find some use to the time I have. I think of a project in which to immerse myself. Go out. Try thinking the same thing on a completely different place, and your perspective might very well shift. Like currents, we tend to see the waves and rally against the idea of turbulent cycles. But if we remain calm for long enough, then the waters will settle and will become peaceful again. Then again you could just dance the night away with a gorgeous girl I haven't yet met. We'll see.

Tonight I'm out

Tonight I’ll finally awake from my stupor and venture out. It’s a splendid night whether-wise, and the crowds as usual are storming the streets, the levels of testosterone are surging through my veins and I need to find relief to this ailment. Throughout the day, I felt sluggish and a stream of toxic ideas circling, nonstop, without the due filtering process, in my mind. What with the abetment of resolution that normally takes over any negative agenda, I will step out of this skin and flow. Picture our moods like currents of water that emanate from our deepest desires: the one we are and the one we are becoming, and still the one we aspire to be, all come into conflict, so you listen for a while to the voices of doom, the naysayers. But it’s easy to blame the people in our lives, the circumstances we find ourselves under, the whether, etc. If we make an attempt to break the rhythm to which we dance, and reinvent our way of dealing with pain and misfortune, by eliminating personal nuances and promoting still more healthy behaviors, then the balance will be in our favor. True, at times, we can’t help but to feel miserable. But that only should be momentarily. I tend to look for reasons beyond my psychological make-up, and for instance wonder if I ate something that might have had a bad effect on me. If I did, I would drink plenty of water, get a respite from toxic input, and find some use to the time I have. I think of a project in which to immerse myself. Go out. Try thinking the same thing on a completely different place, and your perspective might very well shift. Like currents, we tend to see the waves and rally against the idea of turbulent cycles. But if we remain calm for long enough, and then the waters will calm and peace will settle in again. Then again you could just dance the night away with a gorgeous girl I haven't yet met. We'll see.

Don't panic yet!

Even if the Republican party, the conservatives, were to remain in power for the next one hundred years, I will still remain a democrat and a liberal. Now, if it goes beyond that, then perhaps I will in a position to reconsider. I don’t promise much.

Written way before Bush's reelection

Recently, society hasn’t take notice. We have gradually become more conservative, more hypocritical. This crisis is due to more than a single factor. One, it’s that we have inherited a time of technological prosperity, and we’re sort of trapped in an ambivalence, between freedom and security. (It’s worth noting that money behaves the same way; is it perhaps because we are money?) Two, women have become more economically independent; an aspect that has propelled her options and changed her position in the world; at the same time it redefined the gender roles and ultimately relationships. They are not difficult to start a relationship, they are liberated too, and they enjoy their new found freedom which increases their female mystique. But they are careful not to get tied down with a child, marry or inhabit without marriage for long or not use condoms for the first sexual encounters. But emotionally, women tend to aspire for prosperity in communion, partnered with a provider older than her; or a tall dark and handsome intelligent guy who is not completely broke and has an artistic knack; a leader of a masculine temperament; a great lover who understands her in body and mind, and the choices are rarely accessible on their own, not to mention combined. Usually a provider isn’t always a great lover, who understands her in body and mind, and a tall dark and handsome intelligent guy seems a bit narcissistic, and if he is not one to fool around behind her back then he is either gay or not manly enough. The idea that women are only interested in the size of our wallets is somewhat exaggerated. There are seven billion of us and But if they were to choose, they’d pick a bartender who is six feet tall, built and handsome, definitely not broke, over the boring out of shape balding doctor who seems so financially prosperous. The smart pretty ones will get their careers started off the bat, fool around and even fall madly enough with the looker but marry prestige. A beautiful woman has had the best and now it’s up to you to be up to the task. Here are several tricks that will put you ahead of the pack but won’t guarantee you pussy:
1) Appear marketable, independent and confident. If possible, active and involved in amazing projects or with connections, exaggerate a bit. Have your own car, your studio or roommate, but preferably live on your own.
2) Have a high hygiene, dress masculine and tasteful, and smell well.
3) Be courteous and gentlemanlike with a masculine tact.
4) Listen to her actively, ask for feedback. Relate to her stories but always pace and listen as if you were absorbed by her story, relate to her in a manly tone and attitude.
5) Let her do most of the talking, but laugh casually or use humorous remarks, if any. Too often we make the mistake of trying to remember all of these advices. We become tense and nervous. What we must bear in mind is that we must keep our cool and drop our anxiety, as if we were out with one of the boys instead of a date with a beauty queen.
6) Work out regularly, shower thoroughly, polish your nails, and wash your mouth.
7) Seem a bit disaffected, a little like nothing is good enough for you. But don’t be considered. The idea is to put forward an image of coolness, graveness, maturity. At least, at the beginning, it seems crucial. And even though it’s not supposed to last long (always bear this in mind), give it your all as if it were the only moment you will ever have. Take her to an exciting spot. Don’t overspend. But be a giver. Thank her for her time.
8) Be straightforward but above always show eternal patience and confidence. You don’t want to exhibit your hunger but you don’t want to starve only waiting either. There is plenty of fish in the sea. Besides, you’re there to have fun and fun doesn’t always mean sex. It’s better than being home watching cable. Some women require a little bit of time, and if you want her enough and think that it has a good chance to go somewhere, then give her the time. But be realistic and don’t hang out for too long. If you do decide to give her time in this time and date, don’t settle, keep moving and be on the lookout. Anyway, you have nothing to lose. Patience doesn’t mean inertia. You make other moves to keep the momentum going.
Smile and be grateful for what you had, and move on to the very next thing as soon as your plan is not coming along quite the way imagined. Above all, bear in mind that you are seeking happiness, and not pain. If there’s a little agony and fatigue, deal with it. Give space so that you can breathe. Open dialogues and leave some room. Remember, is a game of indifference the one that gets the attention. Don’t saturate others with your ever present disposition. Be unavailable, if you can afford it. When your interests are not put into a single effort, then your possibilities increase. But if you stumble upon someone worth a try, go ahead and lose your head cautiously. Feelings often make a mess and then your reason has to clean house. Feel, but feel good. Always find ways to inspire yourself, create a vision that only a dreamer wide awake could carry through.

Focus..

I have slept and eaten well, and even though I haven’t exercised, I have kept active these past days. I haven’t gone out. I have paid attention to this phenomenon which we are all part of but rarely marvel at. The contemplative character is not a universal trait.
A full being empties itself of all distractions. Anxiety has kept me at bay when it comes to saving. I must focus, that’s the new trick this old dog wants to master. Focus. Not that I’ll forever be in this vegetable state, I won’t settle for the sedentary ways of a monk. I will nonetheless change the way I perceive events taking place in my life by transcending them, filtering these very moments through a different perspective.

How to find love and beauty... PART TWO, the conclusion

Hasn’t it occurred to anyone that seeking happiness in any other place than ourselves and our conscious decisions implies a possibility of being enslaved by the demands and ways of others, is, in a way, deceiving us. We must come with joy to the encounter of illusion, but not fool ourselves by it. If the other person is not ready, and by ready I do not imply that they submit themselves to our caprice and desires, but as an individual is unsuitable for happiness then we move along. We should seek to be happier than we are, yes. But not happiness. This one, as a possibility, should always reside in you. Besides, everyone wants people who they can’t either have or they will not make happy. It’s as if we had programmed ourselves for failure in anticipation. Those mostly developed personalities, the aces of our culture, the ones who possess beauty and mind, are, sad to admit, scarce, but they are involved with their lives and engaged with existence. Successful individuals don’t sit around prey of their circumstances, complaining of their bad luck; alchemists is what they are, architects of horizons. I’ve tended to be happy with less; now I want to be happier with more. Whenever I fail, I will find solace and comfort in the certainty that I have always a place to fall back on: my resolution to be happy. But we can’t expect to be happy if the person we choose isn’t; we could make the best of the worst for sometime, if necessary; but the idea is to make things better for the long run. Focus on the things you want, pursuit the life others can only dream of. Listen but don’t pay too serious attention to what they say; act and behave like you care and in time you will. Endorse a cause, take a different course if the results awaited are not met. Live a little, sin once in a while, talk to friends often. The remedy to all of your ailments lie at your feet. Don’t be a martyr for too long. But always care for those who cared for you. Don’t be afraid of what you want, throw down some walls, burn some cities, indifference is not my game. If you like what you see, then go and get it; if it doesn’t want you, there will be many others. Friendship is always the first alternative. Then you will deserve love, and it will render its weapons to you and there will be still something more to add. Something more to err on, something to fix, something to say. But our job is mainly reconstruction of all these old structures that are starting to crack and crumble. Make space for the new by tearing apart the old. More important than being reasonable is being flexible.

Beauty and our obsession with it.. PART 1

So what is the deal when it comes to the opposite sex? Women aren’t happy with men and just the same with men. I have been boggled by this mystery throughout my adult years ever since the pain of my first of many rejections (it happened when I was twelve: a girl named Maria Venilda accepted to be my official girlfriend only because her best friend thought I was cute; we never kissed, not even held hands but her rejection was nonetheless devastating, to say the least). Long ago, I realized that there was more than meets the eye when it came down to attraction and I solicited all of the free advice I could muster or painfully gained, and I can’t say that the love arena hasn’t been all that unfair to me. Then again, I stand six feet one inch tall, I’m in decent physical shape, and unlike many of the hunks out there I have been told I can quite well converse about anything. In other words, I’m sort of a smarty kind of guy. Now intelligence doesn’t guarantee success on love and, quite frankly, sometimes it may even spoil it. We will work on the money issue and the sense of humor later. But the main focus should be on this matter: if I can’t glorify myself as the great achiever in the emotional field and in the end is just as hard for me to get what I want, then what’s left for the average Joe out there? First of all, I think that the whole business of love equates in some respect to that of business. Unlike common wisdom, it’s sort of an art; economy can’t be trusted either at times, am I not right? The economic principle I apply to the affairs of love is the following: the more we have, the more we spend. This is also true of love. If I were filthy rich and famous, I wouldn’t have solved the dilemma because even then I would probably be stuck in a relationship with some gorgeous model or a famous cutie who could very easily make my life miserable. Does that make sense? If female availability were no problem to me, in the ideal sense, then I’m sure that I’d make up ways to come up short handed and feel cheated. We do tend to make ourselves miserable even when the table is mostly turned on our favor. Therefore, from the ugliest people to most beautiful ones, a little bit of pain is always in place. This is healthy, though. No one should live their lives in a perpetual state of bliss, and this goes for all of you hardcore hedonists out there. The obsession we have with beauty! Does that mean I would rather be a simpler, less tall, less handsome kind of guy? Absolutely, not. I like my semi-Adonis self. By the way, I immersed myself for a while writing a book on the subject. I wanted to be precise and concise on the subject, offer some advice to losers who would rather hear it from someone else’s mouth and then take on the next guru that passes by.

By the way...

By the way, I never did call Maria. I will someday, not very far from now. I will venture outside again, and I am well aware that I had said I’d go out. It wasn’t long after I wrote it that I realized I wouldn’t. I spoke to Isabel on the phone. I was at work; she had just gotten back from work. It was a gorgeous night out, and as I exited the building, I walked towards the bus stop because at that very moment the bus happened to pull over, just as I was absent-mindedly checking out these oriental girls. I took the bus to the train station like I only have done twice before. At work, I had the opportunity to apply to several programs that offer college courses online. I had pleased my bosses, I had helped my coworkers, I had done my rounds and I had clothes and money to go out. It’s not that I regret it. Over the course of this week, I will make enough money. Certain essential home items will be acquired. Now it’s time to get back to leisure.

Prelude...

As usual, I am making my log entry. I should probably not call it so since it might end up in a book and a few centuries from now some college kids on a tedious literary project might have to go an extra metaphoric mile in order to decipher what it is was meant by “blog” back in the twentieth century. They could, however, take solace in the notion that I am not remotely focused on the issues portrayed here, and I do have bigger things to think of as of now, later and even then. I wonder if a capsule of time could be opened like a gateway vein and connect this world with that of tomorrow. In our dreams, uncertain circumstances emanate without that heavy rational load that makes reality appear to be bounded by at least several rules and regulations. But reality, if taken too seriously, can be deceiving. Who knows what I’ll do once I leave from here! It’s a gorgeous Saturday night and the day, aside from some late commotion expurgated with impunity by the tenacious hand of duty, has gone smoothly. The words open up to me a universe of possibilities, undauntedly flowing with little regard to or contempt for argument, sentencing structures, as I imagine my walk towards some fun far away from this venture. I will continue with this nonsense, and maybe I’ll surprise the reader, bored to tears by now, with a sickening twist to this insipid transpiring of events. I had the intention to go out again tonight, so this writing might just serve as a prelude to the next… how pretentious of me. But really and rarely have I gone out and not surface with a story worth telling. Let’s see what then.

Regarding Damien, my "alter ego"

I had the idea of compiling all of my writings concerning diaries of mine, some of which date back to a decade ago. I discussed it with Jorge, who designed utopicos.com and he was enthusiastic about it. For a very long time, I went by the name of Damien. It had occurred to me, not as many simple minded people had suggested as the theological nemesis of the Christian deity. Instead, the idea of adopting a different name had been ingrained in me ever since I realized, like most individuals, I disliked my name. I read Hermann Hesse’s Damien. It was also a symbolic demolition of my former self. The irresolute, timid, often introspective individual I was up to then. I am, in many ways, in an inside-out process which aims at seeing the world that I want through visualization, then making whatever amends necessary to see it come to life. I better stop all of this esoteric talk and get on with writing in a more mundane style. I have the potential to owe in the beginning and then fade away eventually, sort of a bang before the imminent silence. Anyone who has seen a storm in the openness of nature, when a lightning heralds a catastrophic thunder that descends like a bolt of fire upon the earth and brightens it all, may have also noticed the calm amidst the tempest. Isn’t that the second time I use this metaphoric analogy? Tautologically forthcoming, I’ll put it down in simpler terms: I made the mistake of writing down this very diary webpage along with my cell number and my email address in the paper handed to my mysterious cutie on the D train. I also had the bad taste of putting down as a name Damien; that wasn’t as crazy, for after all she is still a stranger. So I thought about correcting it. It’s that the paper that I actually gave her with my name on it and my phone number and all, was intended to be for Crystal, a friend at work who has recently started school and in order to instill some enthusiasm in her I offered my unconditional support when it came to study-related work. Now I know it sounds like there are many names in here but if anyone makes an effort to note will realize that in fact only two potential “conquests” are on my mind recently. One, of course, is my dear Maria. Secondly, my dear stranger traveling on the D train. This was an attempt to correct something that may not have any effect as I know that the most probable outcome will be nothing. Nonetheless, it is worth the venturing nerve of trying.

On the D train, a pretty stranger and a brief history of lovely failures

Last night, as I was making my way home from an exhausted day at Pfizer headquarters, I decided to take a walk down the streets with the objective of going to H&M, the clothing store on seventh and 34th street. Often, I have done the exact thing, in order to combat that all too common tedium that arises from every corner of life if the instinctual vital signs aren’t properly followed, and see the people cross us as we pass by, familiar strangers trapped in their usual existences, longing for an encounter that never quite manifests itself. I like being part of this whole hormonal phenomenon. Sure, I’ll be short for the week but I can’t resist inviting that completely perfect unfamiliar person to go out, as if it were the result of a spontaneous combustion. It’s sort of art: if you take too long, it evaporates, like most tangible dreams in their frail initial state. But if you stomp on it, they disappear immediately in the form of refusal, it occurs similarly when we rush into things and come out with the feeling that only if we had exerted some discretion it might have had a different outcome. The key is to be casual, to deceive with honesty, to disarm with hidden venom. Like jumping rope: you let a few rounds hit the floor and calculate the moment in which to jump in. It’s a process both instinctual and well thought out. Then you realize there and then that the moment has escaped you, that the chance you had is forever gone and that it’s you again walking down a street with your mind lost in oblivion, a cycling chimera of possibilities that never quite materialize. How many times we see the mixture of lust and tenderness embodied in a girl, the invisible social barriers that make a stranger such, and even if we dare to speak up or act on, we know more often than not it won’t come to be what already is in our minds? That’s why we must strive to make the wild outdoors resemble the most our inner child, have the courage to take the bull by its thorns and render to calmness the tempest, taming the beast.
I bought a pair of pants one for me and another for a generous cause, and this had already an impact on my mood. Those acts of kindness and vanity are healthy self-esteem progenitors that render our inhibitions useless.
I saw her on the 34th street platform for the D train and I was stopped on my tracks. I made sure that I allowed some space of discretion between us but it was too late then: she had already seen and was seen. Like mad children in love, we just stared into each others’ souls. I felt that all too strange familiarity that I have consistently portrayed on my writings ever since almost a decade ago I lost the opportunity to meet a pretty girl sitting diagonally from me in a seven train on my way to work. I remember at that time I was so shy I didn’t know how to respond to her responsiveness, I was absurdly stuck on the moment of indecision which quite frankly is one of the worst decisions that can be made. I got off in the same station she did, I remember that much audacity. I followed her down the path that leads to transfer with the number One and Nine trains. But then the whole situation got kind of embarrassing and we found ourselves in the mist of invisible crowds, streams of consciousness, and I felt vividly the harsh cold bitterness of having missed a great opportunity. It was one of the moments that propelled my new persona, a man who is no longer afraid of who he is, someone constantly redefining himself, still full of mistakes to be corrected and intensely alive most of the time. This is why I am kind of self-conscious about confessing that at times that old archetype of behavior comes across and leaves me puzzled. Now, ever since my high school sweetheart in disguised, one of my dearest people on earth and beyond, Melody, confessed to me long ago that if I had asked her out back in school she would have said yes; right there and right then, I decided that I will no longer be shy. In a more recent history of self improvement, when I met Claudia, of whom I felt a strong connection to, and then lost her due to not being quite the achiever she is, I decided to build myself from scratch and achieve a level of success that only a legion of self-improved gurus could dream of attaining. With Melody, I crushed my timid self; with Claudia, I became gradually successful. Rarely is the least to say that none of them know the impact that they had on me but honestly I believe that it was I who had the most impact on me. I saw that these tendencies were an obstacle between me and that sense of self-realization that any intelligent human being aspires for itself.
As I sat there, diagonally from the girl of my dreams, I realized that I am constantly in the same existential struggle. But this particular one I have already conquered. She was accompanied by a woman who seemed to be related to her, at least in looks only much older. There were people in between our eyes, and when the train finally cleared I read clearly the answer in her companion’s lips to her desperate question: “Is he looking” she had asked her. “Yes, he is” the female companion answered. Yes, I was. So, I simply wrote down some notes in a piece of paper, thinking perhaps of the boy I once was, and honoring the past and the potential future, I focused on the present. I approached her as she was leaving the train and lightly descended the gravity of my hand upon her shoulder to call her attention. As she turned around, I was facing my myth, which soon became my reality, and handed her my scrabbled note. I hope she calls; if she doesn’t, at least it would be of reassurance that it won’t be my fault. As I wrote briefly in a line on the bottom of the paper: “I know that the chances of you actually taking a chance on me are slim, but I gotta try anyway.” I did my part.