Canine Existence

Maybe writing is a sophisticated medium of self-deception. We are, after all, somehow deceiving us into thinking that there will be someone reading this; in fact, we don‘t even think in terms of potential readers, we actually are engaged in this conversation without the need of a recipient. In sports, there’s always a crowd. Maybe we build whole stadiums, pack them with people, and all in just a sentence. But at the moment, this is perhaps the most lonesome state of mind. Because we are not aware of this reality, we may rush to strangers’ eyes, who knows what lurks in the minds of all of this people; you ought to think, just by trying to make sense of your own life, you know is not an easy task. Your own evolution, that is. And no matter how well intended you are, you just can’t change others. Accept them the way they are, give them room to maneuver, don’t rush into things for the thrill of it. Then you find yourself doing just the opposite of what feels right to do.
How a course of action may appeal to you emotionally is of no concern. How the object of your affection reacts can make or break the deal. Shock her, don’t just take her drama nonstop. I mean, girls whine and whine and we just have to sit down and take it?
Just let it breath. Go out for a walk. Don’t read too much into it. And nowadays, I spend a lot of my time doing the most noble and not nearly as adrenaline-packed activities, like studying, parenting, writing, exercising. And things of this nature, though gratifying in and of their own accord, cultivate a finer taste and somewhat counter our wicked, selfish ways. Putting the work in. No parties, for now. No love life. No madness.
And, of course, this is not a moral stance, although a degree of morality plays its part in it. We are, after all, moral animals.
The thing is, I like mourning. Time for “mourning”, to just vegetate, sit back down and relax for a while. Reminisce the fun and let go without having to jump back into the scene just yet. Soon, yes, undoubtedly. Not just yet. First, we recover financially. Build the capital to go back places: college, Colombia, Mangos’. Now we focus for a while on the vital things put on hold. We shouldn’t idle in sadness. It should be punishable under the law having loved only to regret and resent.
Now we build. Now we meditate, fully immerse ourselves in the act. Now we work out consistently. Now we take the on-site exam, and get certified. No more spending, except on diet and clothing. Damian, don’t spend your time other than work, home and the gym. No more going out. No more bullshit. For now.

Few venture our writings, and, of course, we may sound egotistical. The reason is not based on ego; it’s just style. I work my writing mind as if I were purging myself, as if I was asking questions, as if I were having a conversation with myself. I don’t write for the masses; I write for myself and some may not appreciate that. Writing then, as a process, is rarely boring to me, it appears engaging, even appealing, to some. That’s good for vanity, I guess. We write, too, becomes we are vain, like those who would have my head swear, an egotistical being. Sort of an ass. Just not all the way, and never unnecessarily. Best to make it seem like it was your fault. If that’s the price of freedom, so be it. Now work harder than ever and in winter we will go back to Colombia, stop for a weekend in Miami, Florida. Go back to South Beach. Love life and wish well. Be well. Look well. Feel oh so good.

Just tell her to shut up. And have fun doing it. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” She’d hit back with something like: “Who do you think you’re talking to?” You may reply: “Well, I don’t see anyone else in this room!” Tease her to tears. I kind of like this new girl. I won’t ask her out just yet, I told her. It’s alright; we hang out at the same places. Who knows, maybe one night we’ll watch True Blood in my place with a bottle of champagne on ice. Make sure you don’t fuck her until she begs you to. Tease her, kiss her here, there, then nowhere and be receptive to her lips, lock them in a kiss. Touch her firmly, just not too rough or graphic. Keep eye contact and make sure your eyes spell serenity and control; she should feel safe with you. Lovers don’t talk too much. It’s not really that hard; don’t be too graphic. Tone it down to sensual. She’ll love you for it. Tell her you love the way her hair smells. If it smells good, of course. Lasciviously, whisper these things into her ear, like a lover, not a shy boy. She is your property now. Invest it well. Front it. Party all night long. Fuck her daily, and not just once! Here, there and everywhere; now and then, forever.