congratulations graduates. way to go.

when did you graduate? was it yesterday? if so, i woke up drunk after four hours of sleep with a bruise on my face, having to get it together to go eat dinner with my girlfriend's father and grandmother. i should have been thinking about you.

so what's the next step?

discuss.

or maybe you don't read blogs any more now that you're graduated. good LUCK in the working world!

hanging out and being mortal.

1. i don´t know what happens when i leave Here, or when i leave anywhere, either literally or metaphorically, just that change will happen again.

or don´t pretend to know the meta-Anything, but i can fix myself in the details, and learn to drink beer at room temperature.

and on top of it all, i´m in LOVE. and you can laugh and fill your heart with alcohol, i don´t mind. in fact it´s fun. the next round´s on you.

if you need me you can find me in the Womb.

2. how long do stars live?

we´re here, get pissed off, attack and get attacked, then think it´s alright because god gets the joke.

what if he doesn't? what if he´s in bed all day depressed chain smoking cigarettes? or that we are the voice that he can´t get out of his head when he´s trying to jerk off.

what does he think about when he jerks off anyway?

3. walk up the stairs to the balcony to look at the lights of the city, or spend time in someone else´s bathroom, it´s all the same.

and it´s alright.

you´re really mostly just water, anyway, and i´m willing to bet at least nearly all insignificant, self-important bastard, so try to chain smoke yourself to sixty, and good luck. just don´t leave me waiting there to give you a blue ribbon.

cigarettes, cortázar, water.

my birthday and wine, bitter wine. wine is the rite of writing, or viceversa. but literary cum puddles leave a discarded blogged stain in time.

listen to him, he likes to hear himself talk, likes to hear himself form NICE SENTENCES, the one said to the other in the eternal give and take.

and last night the virgin mary hovered over your bed like a ghost while you were sleeping, wine bleeding from between her legs and staining her robes, what does she mean?

went to eat mexican food, god bless her. fajitas and quesadillas and aji and guacamole and sour cream and etc.

on the corner by the restaurant we witnessed a robbery. three naive northamerican girls trekking through a bad neighbourhood, one of whose backpacks was pried off her back while she screamed, the Blacks Strike Again. perhaps angolans, this time?

last night i enjoyed my chilean soap opera, MACHOS, the bittersweet story of seven brothers and their lovers. holy fucking shit: the father has just told one of his eldest sons that his son's wife was actually his mistress for fifteen years.

needless to say, the man went kind of crazy. running around yelling in the ocean and such.
i can't wait for tonight.

the metaphor of stumbling through discarded wrapping paper slipping through my mind's hands?