3. Little Meetbag in Plumberland

I like it when someone like a plumber comes to work where I live and we tacitly decide to ignore each other in our own lack of comfortableness. It's always better that way... unless the plumber is hot. In that case, I think we've all watched enough porn to know what happens next... Anyway, it's not the case now. He's ugly and old. I can cope with ugly, I can cope with old, but not both at the same time, that's my policy.

I'm going to Germany soon. I was going to go to Berlin, but honestly spending five days drunk in the forest in the unexistent land on Bielefeld sound way more appealing. Actually, it sounds like the most brilliant plan ever. I'm so lucky I'm me. I have the greatest ideas.

Last night I found an amazing way to sleep. I had totally forgotten about it, but it came back to me and it worked immediately. Maybe it worked because I was dead tired, or maybe because I'm amazing.

The thing is you have to lay down looking up. Relax your body and start thinking of your toes. You have to start feeling them until you are really focus on what your toes are feeling. When you're done with the toes, you move up to the rest of your feet, ankles, legs, tights, etcetera. The thing is, as soon as you can focus on a body area, you start feeling the specific pains you have in there, and you are also able to really relax the muscles. To really relax, you need to make the same mental process you make when you are masturbating and you are about to reach an orgasm. It's that exact point when you clear your mind of everything and you lose yourself to the tactile sensations of your body. If you can do that with your toes, legs, back, shoulders, and every part of your body, you will find it's like a resting orgasm. You don't even have to follow a specific order, the different part of the body will call you until you go with them and relax them.

Now, the best part is when you reach the brain. Then, your mind goes immediately blank and, unless you are thinking about how fast you will fall asleep, you will fall asleep really fast.

Of course, it's not the magical cure for anything. My right foot still hurts like shit and my back has new pains that even weren't there yesterday. But I know that if I do that and continue to exercise my poor beaten meatbag, someday I might feel better.

I hope there's a train to take me really early to the airport.

I hope there's a train to the magical fields of Slumberland.

I hope that little animal in the garden is a squirrel and not a rat (both equally possible in Furry City).

Je suis en train de lire Le Petit Prince. Je pense que je l'ai déjà lu en français, mais je ne suis pas sure. J'ai faim. Je crois que je vais prendre le déjeuner maintenant. Je suis sure que j'ai eu un rêve merveilleuse mais je ne me souviens pas du tout qu'est que c’était.

Tout ce que je me souviens c'est en me réveiller et penser "Fuck, fuck life, fuck this, fuck that, I want to sleep"... Je sais, c'est pas normale en moi. Normalement, je n'ai pas de problèmes pour me lever.

2. The Importance of Being Bananas

I think I might be going a little tiny bit Bananas.
How do you actually know? How do you realize when are you going crazy? I always assumed that the kind of craziness that would eventually invade my last pieces of brain would be highly self-conscious. And so it appears to be, now.

Maybe it's because I've been working so much that month, weeks, days and hours start to lose their structure. I don't know what a weekend is, any more, or if an eight hour shift serving tables is too much or too little.

I like it, being Bananas. It makes everything more interesting. It's in these particular moments where I lose all short term memory or capacity to understand basic human behaviour. Xavier just came home. I opened the door.

“Are you alone?” he asked. “Where are Cecile and the kids?”.

I was confused. “Maybe they went to the park,” I said. He laughed, of course. It was almost nine in the evening, close winter night, five degrees with all luck. The park...

Watching so much Futurama is nice. I liked Archer better, but Futurama gives me better dreams. I am dreaming a lot about living in the future. I like that. Of course, we already live in the future. And now that I came to the futuristic city of London, I can certainly say so. What's so funny about the future is that it's so technological and dirty at the same time... it's a little bit cyberpunk in a way, like in a Blade Runner way. But London is not really like Blade Runner. Now Tokyo, that must be it. London is a little bit more like... The Clockwork Orange, yes. Nineteen Eighty-four, of course.

I, on the other hand, am a little bit like a little lost puppy. I am a ball of sweet rice, a crab in a circus show. I am a robot's best friend. I am a Banana, I am the Banana.

Today I saw Ilka, outside school. She asked if I could store her big suitcase for a few days; I asked if I could stay four days instead of two in her house in Germany. We both politely said yes, and we really meant it.

I still have to find the reason why I get along so well with misanthropist even though they're the opposite of me. Or why I get along so well with negative people when I'm so optimistic. Why are my best friends always depressive while I'm clinically joyful? Maybe my old theory about the happiness/misery curve was right, maybe it is the same: both states reach zero, nihilism, only through a different path.

Whatever the reason is, the real question should be “Why do I always attach to a blond girl?”. I don't recall a moment of my life where I wasn't stuck to a blondie like a butterfly to a windshield.

Now I'm the blonde. And -tell nobody-, it's a fake blond.

Fake banana blond.

But with time, just like the banana, I'm turning brown.

:::

No Internet for a few hours and I've read five books, and written words flow through my fingers like flying lollipops.

The big Christmas tree in the kitchen is hurting my brain. “How” and “why”, I would ask if I didn't know the answer already. Of course Chiara was right, my kids will be so lucky. Not just because I would let them play videogames and watch cartoons, but also because I would even let them have a Christmas tree, even it would hurt my brain. Of course, I wouldn't spend a penny on it, but I wouldn't mind them decorating one in the little garden we would have. I would have to be a cannabis plant, I suppose, and that Christmas tree I could certainly like... it wouldn't hurt my brain, at least.

I think I had an epiphany some days ago, or was it today? But I can't remember what it was about. Was I drunk? Was I tired?

I remember hating humanity yesterday. But before that? Or just while I was falling asleep, maybe.

I think the big pile of paper clips is hurting my brain too. I must kill it, transform it into collages.

I know, I know... I said I would, long ago. But this time I mean it.

Maybe tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow (which, from now on, for the lack of simplicity that in this particular occasion the English language presents, I am going to call “postomorrow”).

Some money just fell straight into my ear. I like the money for the simple reason that I am proving myself what I could never do before: I can save money. The same with exercising every day (though I'm eating more than what I'm actually burning). So far I could save more money than what I thought I would. Well, not really. I saved more that what I honestly though, but not what I ideally thought I could save. That's what high ideal standards are for: not being achieved. I don't know what would happen to me if I ever achieved one of those. I would probably explode as confetti into outer space.

The little green eye kid is starting to grow a feeling on me. I don't know if he's interesting enough, or not-sexist enough, my only two non-negociables, specially since chocolate-is-for-girls guy. I can't believe how my generation is behaving. Seriously, this is the future, the XXI century. Perhaps Futurama is right, after all: not even in the year 3000 we will be free of sexism... and owls.

Reading Tintin is like watching a movie. But I think that's likely because I actually watched all Tintin movies when I was a kid... and the stories are the same. So, maybe I'm just remembering them. Anyway, reading, watching, remembering, all the fucking same to banana brain here. A few days ago I watched The Meaning of Life again. Unluckily for me, hats don't suit me at all. People don't wear enough hats. How much is enough? Forty-two, of course.

I think I might be dreaming right now, because the Internet only worked on the webpage that I thought it would work on, and not on the rest (where I was just plainly hopeless). Maybe all this money that came to me is all dream money and the Tintin story I just read is a vague memory of a movie I watched as a child. The dream feeling is strong. After all, all the things that I thing are about to happen, are just happening, like my fingertips falling on the keys, like the sounds from the kitchen, like the Queen staring at me with her fabric-eyes down from the fiver that rests on the bed.

Everything is going to be allright. Don't panic.

When the Internet comes back, everything is going to be allright.

:::

Ok, normality NOT restored. Internet is still away. I think he might have fallen in love with some Internet chic and ran off to a place where they could love eachother without being judged, because he is poor, but she comes from a well educated and respected family, but he own a very big dong.

I need to find the way to actually make Cafélix happen without having my brain exploding. I need someone to take care of the paperwork, someone I can pay and rely on. I know who that is, of course, the sexiest muthafocka in town. But let us not ruin the surprise. Let's be cautious... for now. I need to earn all this money and more to make Cafélix happen without the stress of not having enough money to make it happen or -the worst possible nightmare- making it half-way through.

Brain, as yourself I command you not to explode.

Not quite yet.

1. The Dead Body

A few days ago I saw, for the first time, a dead body.

I didn't intend to look at it, not because I wasn't curious, but because I somehow expected my first time watching a dead body to be a little bit more... glamorous, whatever that means.

Once I dreamt I was in a wooden cabin in the forest. There was a lovely old man. The cabin was very very tall, and inside there was a mezzanine, from which the old man jumped killing himself because the ceilings were so high that it was impossible to clean them. Since then, I never quite liked very high ceilings: they're out of reach, which can obviously lead into suicidal behaviours. Last night I dreamt that I was in a beautiful Mediterranean island. All my friends were there with me, in the high-ceiling wooden hostel, but they wouldn't wait for me while I went to the room to change into my swimming suite, and they went to the beach without me.

I started crying. I wanted to go with them but I didn't know where they were. So, I started walking through a nice sunny garden, where there were turtles hiding behind the flowers, probably. Waking through the garden I reached the main street, the one next to the ocean, and I sat on an outdoor table of a nice coffee shop. I could have been Italy, or Spain. The outside tables were small and round, made of a metal structure that supported a round decorated tiled stone.

As usual, I had my guitar with me, so I started playing. All the people inside the coffee shop were old and they looked like they were from the neighbourhood, definitely not tourists. The door was open, so they could hear me playing, which made me a little nervous and insecure. In addition, my guitar was out of tune. I never knew how to tune it properly... I should definitely learn. I tried to do it, in the dream, but the instrument started bending and breaking apart, which made it extra difficult.

Anyway... the dead body.

I knew there was a dead body even before looking at it. I was walking down Kentish Town Road, going to the restaurant, as usual. I saw the ambulance. I saw the people stopping to look. I heard the sights. So I knew.

I don't like being the kind of people that stops and stares at an accident, so I just kept on walking... but I couldn't help it. I took a squint.

There they were. The two paramedics were putting the dead body of the young woman on the stretcher. There was no question she was dead. Her face was so grotesque as one could possibly imagine the face of a dead person: eyes and mouth wide open, tongue out.

I only saw it for an instant, it was literally less that one second. Even tough, the impression still remains. I never stopped walking. Next to me, the big Jamaican man was walking at the same pace.

"I am starting to believe I am the Angel of Death," he was saying. "Everywhere I go there's a person ran over, an accident, a stroke...". He wasn't talking to anyone in particular, but I turned to him and said: "Well, mate, you're starting to scare me a little bit...".

We talked for a little bit, walking down Regent's Canal to our respective jobs. He worked at the Camden food Market, of course. I don't remember his name. I didn't find him interesting at all. One minute he was talking about death, next minute he was telling me how much he would like to be my boyfriend, without even knowing my name.