Sometimes all this goes uphill for me and I don’t get the words, the manners or even the gestures. So I stand there, in a spectacularlyslow motion, as if I had two hundred pounds tied to each ankle and a reinforced concrete collar marking my neck. I complain, it is obvious that I am complaining and lamenting and plaguing myself without concealing this kind of impotence that does not become so because it is not a question of what I can or cannot do, but of what the other field allows me to do, a question that goes beyond me.
Let’s say that I attend the imposition of distance, the almanac of secrets and the entire gallery of encrypted messages and unmade conversations, without the passion of the beast that I am used to being interfering with the algebraic addition and subtraction that I have to do in order to reach a result that at some point I stipulated would be clear and different, and then satisfactory in terms of its scope as well as in my own. Because, it is necessary to understand that at some point we converged -and sometimes we often converged-, and the scope was an anticipation of my other selves.
Of course it’s tiring, of course, it’s tiring. As it also overwhelms and wears, since one is neither wood nor stone, but flesh and bones, thirst to make history with a load of vanity capable of resisting the most powerful bombardments of depressive warheads with the best of telemetry, hunger to sleep late with everyone – because there are several – the phones turned off, clinging to the lukewarm incandescence of a belly designed from the back of time for that cheek that is one, that is me, the one who writes this that I write for the field.
When all this happens that I now draft without much detail, and I feel that I do not know if I am about to break or bend, I imagine someone in my situation, and I think and meditate on what I would say to them. And I would say to them, “Man, turn your back on this mess and go home. Forget about this area. ” What’s more, I’m telling myself – I’d bet it’s Smarc – and I know I can do it, that even on one side it would be better for me to do it. But my pride requires me not to decline even if I bleed, sweat and cry. And I am my pride.
For the rest, I am well aware that if there is one thing that is in abundance, it is areas. Just as everyone knows that it’s hard for me to belong to anyone, that when I choose one I risk my hands to be one with it, and that if it’s too small for me, I always pretend that I’m the one who never made the grade – come on, this won’t be noble, but I feel like I’m being washed a little, the son of a bitch that I am. Besides, tomorrow will be another day, if it comes, and another night and a new list of areas where we can start over.