Six Months in Texas

—
2018

Almost six months where the sun shines and people talk without knowing each other. They try to cultivate differences and avoid intolerance. The cover boys and the bum boys, the girls under the Crescent or the star of David, all live the American dream. The Marlboro cowboy sends greetings from dusty storefronts, but I know it’s just a trick to suck my lungs out. The sticky air carries the echo of life and birds singing at the window. The smell of freedom, hot asphalt, wide freeways, and a neighborhood half-breed kid who looks up to his father to memorize tips that will make him a good brother. Foreign words describe memories, make me smile and speak from the heart.

Montrose District has turned my existence into a million shades. There, a velvet goldmine escapes from routine, faces its fears, thinking of the calm that will leave somewhere in the distance. The epitome of the extraordinary in a t-shirt with jeans and a corset by Frank Sorbier, the bartender said it was all me.

The wind at my back, sometimes mocking, sometimes mournful, who wished it dead — left without a hat. Outside the car window the world purrs, disconnected and gentle, but the thunder and weapons continue to detonate. The day before yesterday, in the middle of the day, I played with my shadow and got sunstroke. We underestimate this hidden part of ourselves, the silent creature that is always at our feet and cruelly dies in the dark.

At 2 am, I wrap myself in a star map to the hum of the city, the neon lights of clubs, and the smell of the magnificent downtown stink. My shoes are wet, and I’m circling the streetlights. My friends all look at me — laughter and tears. How hard it is! Who would want to take on this burden?

The moon is so bitter at this time that tears distort the faces of passers-by. Balance is slipping, and the breath control can’t be bought at Walmart, so I wander around looking for a bus to hide a panic attack from the skyscrapers. There’s a pillow waiting at home, it’s seen the most beautiful things I do. I already know who I will be thinking about on it, but fatigue takes over. I just listen to my blood flow, feel its warmth, and fall asleep.

The past turns out to be pre-story, and the real story begins today. The changes provide a key, an antidote to the worst, an anti-die of boredom. Seeing another country, you finally agree with reality, but there is no adventure without trembling.