Deep Retribution

There is eh…

There is this movie. It is called “The Breakfast Club”. I put the title in quotations because that is the way you are supposed to write titles. This movie “The Breakfast Club”, it is about five kids who are in detention a whole Saturday and they…


There is was a series with Will Smith. His name is not in quotations because it is not supposed to. This series, it was a comedy. A sitcom. You were supposed to laugh. It was about Will Smith who was sent to live with his aunt and uncle to a place very different from where he is from. In the business they call them “fish out of water” stories. I am not sure if that was supposed to go in quotations. Will Smith, he does all kind of funny things like get drum lessons for his little cousin and is always getting into trouble. In one episode, his father shows up at the house. His father left him when he was a baby. After pretending like everything is fine, Will Smith confronts his problem with abandonment. I am not sure if  “abandonment” is a word. The word is in quotations to emphasize that that is the word I am referring to. He says the phrase “How come he don’t want me?”. You know why that is in quotations.

Today eh…

Today I am holding a mental battle between the part of me that wants to see a certain girl´s picture, and the part that does not. Will Smith’s question is constantly appearing in my mind, the “he” replaced by a “she”.

In “The Breakfast Club”, you do not know why any of them are in detention. You know they are very different to each other. They like different things. They go out with different people. They do not like each other at first, but over the course of an hour and forty minutes, they learn that despite their differences, they are very similar to each other. They long for acceptance.

Suicide is the third cause of death in people between fifteen and twenty-five years of age. It kills more people each year than car crashes. Cancer does not kill this much people anymore, or AIDS.

They deal with suicide in “The Breakfast Club”. Out of five kids in detention in a given Saturday, one of them wants to commit suicide. This was 1985. Every fifteen minutes someone commits suicide.

I cannot think of anything romantic to say.

Nor something hopeful.

Just sad stuff.



My eyes are actually not leveled. My left eye is slightly lower than my right eye. If I tilt my head slightly to the left, no one can notice.

Sahara Desert Tour

There is a certain poetry in watching someone die slowly on a hospital bed.

There are long silences and often you don’t know what you should say. Even if you have something to say, you don’t because it makes no difference. There are no important moments in watching people die on hospital beds. There are only long hours with people you know and love and who are slowly but surely slipping away through the cracks of what we call existence.

When you let go of somebody, regardless of the characteristics of the bed they are on, it’s kind of the same thing. There are no words you can say that will change the fact that they are leaving you to pursue something else: Something worthwhile; something different.

Lately, I have been wondering about change. I have been wondering about a lot of things, but particularly change. Like, should I change who I am? Am I just OK, and not outstanding? What is it I am doing wrong? This is me, five years ago. This is me today. This is my room, my clothes, the games I play, the movies I watch, the people I talk to. This is my window and my curtains, my walls and the things written on them. This is my school, my friends. This is my car.

Is it the same? Am I the same? Am I repeating the things I did when I was younger, for the sake of not changing? Have I not grown?

This is me when I broke up with my first girlfriend. This is me when I broke up with my second girlfriend. This is me when my third girlfriend broke up with me. This is me when my fourth girlfriend broke up with me. This is me when I graduated high school. This is me when I started college. This is me, young and old, depressive and happy, with my personal wall way above anyone’s head.

Heartbreak is just heartbreak just like my window is just a window; Just like my car is just a car, my guitar is a guitar, and my life is a life. It is not a different kind life. This is me breathing. This is me waking up, eating, dreaming and walking. This is me chasing. This is me crying. This is me laughing at stupid jokes and this is me learning to walk. This is me kneeling before the ever-increasing bar I have to jump over.

It is the curse of the addict to forever chase what he needs. Is the me of before addicted to the me now? Is the me of now addicted of the me after? How would I know?

How would I honestly know?

Unbearable is a funny word.

Usually it means something you can’t stand. Something that is simply impossible to “bear”. A word that here means to stand or get through.

It can also mean that something cannot be turned into a bear.