[por cierto, este es el -nada-fabuloso post número 60 en la segunda temporada de este blog.

Si hay alguien interesado en la primera, pregunten. Se tiraron 10 mil ejemplares de ella... a la basura]

I had a pretty sentimental summer.

Well, actually I was completely unconcerned & uncommitted about anything but my job.

The job ended. I got paid. I spent the money.

I paid taxes.

I’m part of the flamboyant capitalist system.

No big deal.

Hey, wait a second, actually that is the point where all my troubles meet.

I don’t give a fuck about anything.

Nothing seems a big deal anymore.

There is no emotion in anything.

I’m becoming a cold mass of bones and flesh.

I feel tired, alienated...

and the worst thing about this is that it doesn’t even bother me.

I’m bored out of my mind.

*

I’ve been sleepless for almost three weeks.

This crisis is getting worst than the last.

“Well it's a big big city and the lights are all out

But it's much as I can do you know to figure you out

And I must confess, my hearts in broken pieces

And my heads a mess “

Who am I trying to fool?

I’m on my own,

in front of a screen among the unbearable stillness of my family's apartment.

Anyway, this song cheers me up for a moment.

I really would like to be half-drunk singing this song to some girl.

If it would really happen at least I would not be sleepless in vain.

Fantasy is always perfect. Things never turn out a mess in daydream, which is the only dreaming I’m having right now.

“And it's 4 in the morning, and I'm walking along
Beside the ghost of every drinker here who has ever done wrong
And it's you, woo hoo
That's got me going crazy for the things you do”

Sometimes I think life has been so good for me I need to inflict myself some frustration.

May be this is one of those nights.

UPdate: This is ONE of THOSE nights

3 am

I’m reading the Brazilian-Portuguese translation

of a francophone graphic novel

by an expatriated Iranian women.

Moreover, I’m cursing in Spanish as I write this piece of shit

[carajo, no puedo dormir ni pinches cinco minutos, me lleva la chingada, otra vez no voy a llegar a la pendejada de frañol]

Am I going too postmodern or do I need some sleep?

If I remain insomniac one more week I shall start babbling Finnegans Wake, in comic and in mashup.