Metamorphosing...

Really, not much has transpired. I’m still awaiting certain trials but time will only tell. I keep healthy, yesterday I stayed in. I had made superficial plans, even bought me a long-sleeve neat black shirt, but in the end, as youth and city began to unravel before my eyes, I backed down. My hands still hurt, and I was thinking there might be a need to look for professional help. It’s a pleasant sunny Sunday afternoon, and I feel optimal. The idea was to end the week with some money in my pocket since I’ve been a little wasteful. Now, this only takes discipline and discipline is acquired through repetition until habit takes place. I need to put into effect several plans and there’s not a single thought in order to make me want to pour my soul into this sheet. In fact, I see it as necessary not having anything to say but still taking the time to see what’s written when you have nothing in store. I am still waiting, for instance, for the bronze trophy that the kind folks at the international library of poetry promised to deliver me via old-fashioned mail. I’ve learnt that a handful of poems I’ve written since will be expectantly released on another book by the end of summer, entitled “Eternal Portraits”.
Once I receive my trophy, and get published again on a compilation book, then I’ll put together a real effort to write around 72 poems and send them to different publishers along with the recent info of my publications and my achievements. By the end of this week, I will find out about a career in journalism or maybe philosophy, possibly in Lehman’s college. It is in close proximity to what is my residence for now. I expect to graduate at least with a two-year degree and then make my way to Spain and get a lengthier education. Meanwhile, I will help those who have consistently helped me. Now, I must remember to take the computer to be fixed and get on with writing. Aside from poetry, I intend to publish a book of fiction in Spanish or nonfiction in English. Jorge pointed out to me that it was amazing I had been published first in English when I wrote so much better in my Mother Language. It’s true, and I must confess that it wasn’t planned. At least not planned in a conventional way, but if the opportunity presented itself then I was not to let it slide. I said it looks good, starting small and then building up little by little with steady determination, keep at it. We’ll see what great adventures will befall me next week. It’s time now for the reconstruction. Oh, yeah, like the poem I wanted to write about Pfizer’s 28th floor, Treasure’s Division. When I got here, it was a desolate spectacle, clean-cut floor with rubbish construction all over the place. Within weeks, it started to take shape, rising from the dusty constitution and progressing into an amazing thing of beauty. It’s metaphorically that I’m speaking of that floor. That it’s the sort of progress we must thrive to achieve. Coincidentally, I stumbled upon the former Treasure’s Division just two floors up on the 30th floor. It is completely destroyed and the only intact sign is the one reading “Treasure’s Division” in the same font and size as the one that presently precedes it. I was thinking that it’s not only on what isn’t that takes place here at Pfizer; it’s also demolishing old archetypes and infrastructure in order to make space for the new. That is also a sign of progress: being able to rid of the old and make way for the new, bringing down entire floors just like they have done with other floors in a matter of a week. Destroying what we are used to and not building on its place, it’s not reconstructing anything, and destroying is always easier to make it happen than creating something from scratch. Everything is silently evolving around here, and at times not so silently at all. I too am metamorphosing.