First backflip ever (with support), jobs, proposals, finished two books, started two more, exams, papers, possible colaborative fiction project. I call it Tuesday. Tomorrow: funerals, concerts, more projects.
Hungry, sick, tired, cold, almost crashed, dealing with people, driving people everywhere, waiting for people, partially deaf, partially mute, loads of work ahead, in pain, hurt.
Recently discovered song.
Translation from the original lyrics in Spanish.
Ismael Serrano & Silvio Rodríguez - “Despierta” (“Wake up”)
Unintentionally, April will come, but dark and without carnations
and you will watch the days like looking at the snow falling over the lunate and ever hungry city,
and the crisis keeps filling the gutters with sleepers
and you, hibernating, absent, tired, without a heartbeat,
defeated by fear and the lights of the markets,
already tired of being lost. Lost.
When the job spits you out like a cherry pit,
you will roll downhill. There will be no one left to protect
the virgin from the dragon. When the alarms ring
the tide will have risen, you will be cornered in your bed.
Then you will wake up, unarmed, and held captive.
And like when one comes back to the house where one grew up,
everything will seem smaller, darker,
the horizon, the flame, and the future.
Tell me, what will you do, then.
you will see, they are waiting for you,
on the portal, grazing pegasus in a row,
to cross the sky following the star of the defeated
and to pose questions that require to be alive.
you must paint new constellations
for the lost seafarers in the night
to find the way that brings them to the morning
in which Prometheus evades God and brings the flame.
That fate didn’t birth the misery in which you sleep,
it was born out of the will of millions of men and women,
that nothing is set forever,
Winter will come, scratching your back,
you will look at the news like looking at a telegram
that brings condolences and flowers. While you chew on silences necromancers and usurers will steal your memory.
Those that now dance celebrating the bonfire, in which your future burns, wounded by morgages, of sweet servitude, narcotic blindness,
wounded and drained, the future still awaits for you.
"The war is in words and the wood is the world."
-Finnegans Wake, James Joyce
Cities should be made for people, not for cars.
Watching “The Matrix reloaded” when suddenly…
Could the Architect be another Time Lord? After all: suit, sleek-looking device that can be used as a controller. And somewhat like the Master, he managed to enslave mankind.
Also, was this room the inside of his TARDIS? He could see on the screens all the possible reactions of Neo and different events of human history…so…could it be?