I wanted to be a famous
island- buying Hollywood actor, a hip punk controversial top list man of Rolling
Stone Magazine , a California dream surfer lover with all the blond skinny girls and
handsome guys around me, a drunk Brooklyn bisexual poet into Wall Street riots,
a forever young overdosed teenager contemplating the ocean in a penthouse on
Cartagena bay. Those were my MTV 90’s fuck off brain frustrations full of lust and
Now my frustrations are more diverse and abstract. I still haven`t found what Im
looking for but how Lorca said in Living Sky “I won’t complain if I don’t find what I was
looking for, But I’ll go to the first landscape of dampness and pulse to understand what I
seek must have a target of joy as I fly in the midst of love and sand”.
Lets talk about money at the end but now an overview of the status quo of my deep
back-story. I have no doubt that my anxieties will ever disappear until all beings of
this entire universe become free light and I’m very optimistic about that. Meanwhile
the plan seems to be to understand acceptance and patience. It’s ok if I don’t want to
wash my hands every time that I go to the bathroom or if I can’t always figure out the
difference between push and pull on every door or if sometimes I think nobody looks
at others more than me in the subway.
It seems that the only thing that it missing in my life is all that I have, TIME. Everyday
I am engrossed in a new top list of something: 1001 movies you must see before you
die, weird, weirder and weirdest documentaries, 111 indie folk albums you must listen,
69 Italian classic porn movies for this summer, top 10 demons that may visit you at home.
I say to myself calm down, you don’t have to know all the swagged-out trends in the
overwhelming web and also have time for pechiche, making art, visiting friends,
calling the family, sun gazing, reading all the books around the apartment , running
in the park, , cutting my nails, cleaning the bathroom and reading the art
section in the New York Times.