2015/06/12 - Friday (Ponferrada, Spain)
... computing... woke and felt too tired to walk... it seems, I am the boss of none, not even oneself... but fuck it... I'm gonna linger around town today, anyway... I'm in a coffee shop and in my headphones... the music re-invents what I see... I have Einaudi on repeat... only piano and no vocals as the sound of the human voice irritates me... I pop open my portable computer and see the webcam eye, I wonder what it sees?... cannot go back in time to what I had but I sure don't want to go on either, I think... I like this I think doubt, it is one of hope... I just need those few seconds of courage to finally have control of my life... if I had any of those seconds of control... maybe I would not allow my soul to deteriorate my life to this point where at times I desperately seek abolishing it... this cannot be who and/or what I am...
... flight echo... in the plaza the scarce benches are crowded... except the one shaded bench under the tree... an old lady feeds the pigeons... she sits in the middle of the bench with her purse close to her almost hindering her movements when breaking the bread into bird size crumb pieces... even with her generosity the pigeons fight amongst themselves for the crumbs and she shouts at the pigeons reprimanding them for their impolite behavior... is this what this planet is all about... fighting over crumbs as with the pigeons but what about the humans... is there anything we do not fight about... with who is the old lady fighting with to have the bench all to herself... her foe is not here right now or is it... does being here, out of her house's solitude connect her to the world when feeding meager crumbs to pigeons... picking her purse she gets up and dusts any crumbs of her skirt... she looks at her pigeons while holding her hunched back with the support of her closed umbrella... her baby steps lead her out of the plaza... the pigeon truce is over now that she is gone... their true fighting nature over food returned with a vengeance...
... no vulgarity... I dreamt about Suzanne and it was so pleasant... me in my simplicity and snuggled in her kindness... is this what I need to restore hope?... we were standing face to face... with our arms stretched out, and our hands tangled in a chaotic fashion as only lovers can decipher its' dis-entanglement, but not just yet... we allow ourselves to sway to the music, the area rug is our dance floor... with the blinds rolled up so high that they seem to disappear... the sun floods the living room highlighting only us... and yet no prying eyes could see us... for they would not understand or even know how to deal with our energies bonding us as one... our four legs, criss-crossing to allow an air tight contact between our chests... two hearts listening to one another and synchronizing to beat as one... with eyes closed, we dance to the music as our cheeks caress one another, we grant our senses to fall in love too... our lips meet, and the outmost of a sensual kiss is shared... the gentleness of our lips tells and may even remind us how important it is for us to be lost together... upon waking this morning, I wanted to run back to her and cry myself to sleep in her arms...
... answer me?... a mother and her 10 year old son... he is on the scooter moving with speed and dodging folks in the plaza... as she sits at a bistro table with her hand supporting her chin... she came out for him... surely... as her mind is in a reflective mood as the little boy zooms by her but she is not aware of him... unless he falls and cries, here his sound of distress may pull her out of her thoughts... so much body language sadness in her as she walks away with the little boy holding and pulling her hand... who is the grown up in this pair?... at the other end of the plaza is a church with a pair of giant ornamental doors... but in one of the doors is a smaller door... and a priest steps out through the smaller door followed by a dozen senior citizens, mostly women... no young people in sight... who will carry the torch to guarantee a job for this priest once this shrinking older generation passes on... and even though they ignore the gypsy beggar outside the door... she too may need to relocate in order to survive... will she cue in to the global economy?... why do I want to help them all???...
... elucidation... resting allows me to re-think, remember and recharge... maybe driving me to fatigue prevents me from making a sound decision... just like those clothing stores in the malls with loud music to clutter one's thinking when deciding to buy overpriced designer clothing... am I so friendly and helpful because I want to be loved... it is a desperation for something I cannot feel... a little boy in a man's body... soul searching with this writing (pardon the pun)... what I write in this journal/book will only attract losers who will recognize themselves in me... maybe they can save themselves... cliché as this may be... my best memories are of my kids as toddlers and the women I have loved where I felt needed... my life has been good... I will set my half soul free... it'll be my last act of kindness... but isn't this being at the mercy of my soul?...
YOU ARE READING
Paper Cigarette
Random...... ...Paper Cigarette (slices of life)... ...for better or for worse, what happens on the Camino does not always stay on the Camino.... .. it's a journal style novel (fiction)....... it's about a man who inadvertently finds himself on the Santia...
