The Musings of a Solitary Walker

I had no idea how to start up this post.

I've been in the blue lately. Haven't been in the mood to write or else...

I just see my life going everywhere and anywhere at the same time.

Last Wednesday I hit up the City to hand in some résumés. I want to change job or at least I'd like to do something different from what I usually do at my beloved Instituto.

No cellphone these past 4 weeks and no way to text my friends or get phonecalls.

In some way this has been a kind of relief, a kind of freeing from Mother-n Technology.

I sent my friend Johan an email just to know if he could join me on my trip through da City.

After walking for twenty minutes, I made it right up to Televisa's core.

I'm kind of excited about the fact of potentially working in the City in something different and most important, something I'd love to do for life.

As I went promenade along the green Reforma Avenue I started thinking about my past, my present and my fate. I wanted to cry and laugh at my misfortune - if you let me call it like that.

Wise Shakespeare once said 'All the world's a stage...'

Well, I think my thoughts might make for a very good soliloquio.

I sometimes think I'm going crazy. I'm so full of shit inside - metaphorically speaking - and from a couple of years until know I haven't been unable to vent it. I think I should start drinking or taking meths or so.

On my way to the center, I ran into very quirky scenarios: a girl riding a green bike, a baby wearing bunny-like rompers, the scent of freshly cut melon, pretty girls wearing flip flops...

I love quirky stuff and believe me, I really dig filling my eyes up with them. It kinda feeds my messy mind.

I made it to Bellas Artes and my favorite art icon, Magritte was waiting for me. Just for me...

One of the most - or should I say the few? - exhibitions I have attended. Can't describe the feeling of being right in front of my beloved paintings: Le Viol, Le couer du monde and Le Grand Style.

Delight and orgasmic.

I even had the chance to tell people about a dream I had, all written on a huge board inside a room.

That's what clung me to Magritte, the way he relies on dreams.

Last night I dreamed of a tarantula when I was walking down wooden stairs.

The night before yesterday, I dreamed of a skinned-liked rats trio and a golden rooster.

I'm still trying to figure out what this might stand for. I love dreaming. I'd love to dream forever...

After the trippy exhibition I met good ol' Johan and grabbed a bite.

Good ol' Johan's a cool friend, one of the 'most beautiful people' I know.

In some way he embodies everything I've longed to have and to be: he's got a muscled body, he's got the perfect teeth and suntan skin, he's handsome, he's got a fucking cool car, well... He's everything I'm not and everything I do not possess.

Cannot help thinking about one of my favorite people on earth, Alfred Hitchcock and his weird director-actor working relationship with Cary Grant. Grant was everything Hitchcock wished he were. The same thing happens with me and good ol' Joh.

Johan wishes he was smarter, disciplined and responsible as I am or I strive to be.

Moral? No man is content with his lot...

Uneasiness intoxicates me even more and I know I should do something about it before I start slipping away.

Anyway, I always enjoy having some time with myself, even when I know the more I keep on with the show, the more I want it to come to an end.

Q: Have you ever read Othello?