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Confessions Happy Valentine

I must confess that I have no memories.
died while on holiday, say others. The story goes that a volcanic ash made them so quickly they had no chance to move. And since then I have worked hard to show others that I have memories. But no, I have them. My experiences are copied, my stories are inventions, everything you say is the opinion of someone else.

I must confess that I've been tired too. Step
the day in bed, watching movies or reading. My back suffers damage and sleep during the day but at night the sorrow haunts me. Right now, my bed has grown tired of me and has taken the mattress. Prefer to sleep alone. Allowed, yes, I stay with a quilt and a blanket. I stand beside her and she, indifferent, remains unchanged, with the support back and everything. To take revenge I turned on the light and I started writing. You can not sleep. Al like me.

I must confess I've been seeing a doctor in secret.
The doctor did not know my name and just asked what I have. To him, I am the most important person in the world. All I want is to hear me, so every day came with a new disease or a fracture. I hit my finger with a hammer, I drop a brick on my foot, crash my head against the floor. The doctor scolded me and said to be more careful. I make like I'm sorry, I pretend to be brave and not cry with the injections. But when he hands me his hand and I say it, all I can do is look at it with nostalgia. Although I think he realizes. I must confess

degradation when I'm sad.
really. Before measuring over three meters and the last time I used the rule only reached two meters. My hump you can not stand at my back and always in conflict. No one can mediate between them. I, meanwhile, I become addicted to change channels and I am satisfied with the series I've seen a thousand times. Gradually my body is fading, but say nothing. Around me, the world is also silent. We were wrong and it turns out, the man is an island.

The Size Of A Standard Suitcase

Cecy and July

I Had to close down
Everything I Had to close down my mind Too many
Things to cut me Too
make me blind dog much
've seen so much in so Many Places
So many heartaches, so
Many Faces So many dirty
Things You Could not Even Believe
- Moby, Extreme Ways

Sometimes I'm a whirlwind and scribbling names on the air. My brother takes me. I asked about the truck. A novice asked his boss if just saying or why. Number. I hope but nothing comes. I walk outside and say nothing. I used my saddle bag. National Geographic tells me to save energy. My ce or two is high. I think that disconnect the plug when not in use. Arrives. The driver tells a person who feels he can. I think what I am asked what if the final seat going to sit where I can. And I feel I can. The next person brings hat. Mr. Woodcock project. I'm not laughing. He wants to talk but I have no desire to talk. I can not speak. Question about my fate. I reply. I ask back. He answers. Question time. Asks questions only to say whether he is right. Knowing the answers. Wants to talk. But he does not know about. Only real people can speak, I think. At some point I fell asleep. At some point several children cried. At some point I lost and I'm still there. The essence. As a respite. As the aura. Then there is the third Pirates of the Caribbean but I get lost easily. The sound is not good. After five hours I face with destiny. Apéome. I say goodbye. I ask for a taxi. When I discovered that the driver down is not right. I want to ask why. I guess we all ask that. But I prefer to stay with the doubt. Doubts are sometimes better. Because, I suspect, only lost by disease. I ask him to take a cheap hostel. Wow. He says he knows a lot but does not know the prices. Finally brings me to a hotel. An expensive hotel. I think it's too expensive. And that TV is bad. And they have no control. Or bathtub. And the location is not as good. But, surprisingly, is very close to my destination. Street bookshops. One, two, three libraries. Nothing new, said. Setting cell numbers but all we're scratching the navel. All florists are open and offering arrangements. Are empty of people. I see a huge man sitting on a step. I think you can not move and prefer to stay there. Slowly, I remember. I remember the hotel. The streets. Odors. Youth. Yes, I had stayed at that hotel. I went to that library. I walked by that place and I ate at that restaurant. The city is no stranger. The city is mine. I was baptized when he was one year. Buy two books for the price. Literature young and I do not believe Nacho Paco Taibo II. I try to return. Step by outdoor concert. Mexican music. Kiss me, kiss me a lot. As if tonight. The last time. I have panic because I get lost for a moment. I was paralyzed. Sanborn. Vips. Where I am. God. God taught me a church that looks gothic. I walk. Streets. It holds a fifteenth birthday. The girl, in white, take photos with children. He tells his nephew to stay away. He flees. We all laughed. Even if someone sees me face, why you laugh. Return. I follow the path. Meeting again, Mr. enormous. In the hotel ask for a remote control that never bring. I take the map and frame locations. Patiently seek the names of the streets. I have no index. I hear the voice of someone unknown to me says that if someone asked everything would be easier. But I refuse. I have all the time in the world. Meeting a couple of streets and go into the street. I want dinner. What is the right place. I go to Paradise. I pretend to look for someone and finally I'm out. A nice place. Nobody is treating me. Scape. Then I go to another restaurant. Before I look into the decorations. Yes Definitely. I had eaten there once. Did not want to repeat myself. I go out and keep walking. No place is perfect. In some crowded. In others none. Which seemed perfect closing. Passing through an alley. Some kids smoke illegal substances. Others dance. Encourages beer. I go to the taqueria. Wendy. I ask the woman who is Wendy. But again, I abstain. I think I answered that Wendy is the wife of the gentleman . As quickly. I had not realized I have all the hunger that you can have. Return. Same way. I find a man sitting in a corner, vomiting. It was the second time I saw him. Girls have prying eyes and the children jump like deer. Step by most florists. Remain open despite being incredibly later. I doubt all men and women. I say to myself that it is better to close. It's okay to be a day celebrated, but hey, nobody will buy at this time. And then, miracle. A bank truck. The driver has money. And the front passenger seat, leaving a man. Miracle, miracle. They've stopped to buy flowers. Happy Valentine.