wake up or fall asleep before my eyes an orange rectangle with a white stripe in the middle, black letters and green, orange, or red stamp in the corner. The inscription declares whether someone is or is not available. Muted tones, so at least no longer jumps up nervously at each "plum" because I know it's imaginary. It only jumps when the cable is knocking on the handset, because it resembles the sound of tapping chat on Facebook. Fortunately, Facebook has me oczojebne colors from Skype, so they do not dream of me at night.
I wonder whether this is dependent on the communicator, or the persons I am missing. Jamming music and discomfort of thought with new views of the kilometer not exactly a walk helps - the movie in my head is independent of external stimuli and displays itself. It's not DVD - was not included in the pilot.
I know one thing - when settling in a certain place - which means that I spend somewhere more than a week, say - addiction is worse. No constant movement causes the brain chooses for me to suck. On the way there is no time and the damage money on internet cafes - it's on land. On the water it is much easier - limits data transfer facilitated by SSB, focusing around me - to go beyond his own head and leave the trash, which it owes. On the road or at sea doing rubbish at most in a backpack, which I throw away all the junk every day in search of something "definitely lost" or "may I have stolen."
For many people, being in the way of the pleasure, vacation, rest. For me - the necessity - like vacuuming in a room once in a while. The road is there, not to drown in the dirt, do not perish under the piles of garbage. And sometimes in order to recall the priorities - the eternal lack of knowledge about the need for cognition. About how I know not enough to persuade precisely in the way - so, as recently discovered (ashamed to admit) that Picasso is not enough that not only Cubism, the additive was previously perhaps more interesting, and above all created najbłękitniejszy , the most intense portrait, which I had the opportunity to watch.
Pablo Picasso "The portrait of Senora Soler
But back to cleaning. Wherever" they settle, "is always going to mess with me. I was looking for a place that would allow me to cleanse the brain of the dirt . I did not find it in any of the thirty-four countries I visited. I can not find it comfortable in Portugal. Maybe a place with the greatest activity has taken over my brain was Havana, and I know for sure I want to go back there, but then also in Barcelona I wanted to. Besides zwiedzałam Havana on a dose of adrenaline, it's hard to talk about clean judgment situation. Maybe just my own trash disappeared for a while for gruzowiskiem Havana streets.
the world are the people who clean their brains quickly, wywalając what is needed (painful? Can loftily say fighting their own demons, "though Goya is no longer in fashion.) and preparing them to accept the "new data". Most of us see in them is usually insensitive monsters, modern Frankensteinów, sociopaths. But maybe this will be the man of the future? People have mentioned, as we all live in a society that invented paper shredders, waste incineration, purification of the city - so much that they went a step further and installed the whole contraption in their own heads. Now I do not dream them up at night, orange rectangles, because they removed trash memories and expectations, rectangles disappear together with a click on the "x" in the upper right corner.
And as for the seats - at least that Barcelona has one advantage that the end of November I walk slowly, listening to Prokofiev and undo the jacket to enjoy the warm autumn sun ...
No matter if I am falling asleep or waking up - I see this: the orange rectangle with the white stripe in the middle, black letters and green, orange or red sign in the corner. Letters tell me if someone is or is not available. I turned the sound off so I do not react nervously on the “plum” sound anymore – I realize that is just an illusion. Now I only jump when I hear the cable touching my headphones cause it makes the sound similar to Facebook chat. Luckily Facebook colors are less sharp than those used on Skype so I do not see them whenever I close my eyes.
It makes me wonder if I am addicted to electronical means of communication or the people I miss. Jamming my thoughts with music and blinding myself with new views during my long walks through the city does not really help – the movie in my head is resistant to all external impulses and it plays itself. My head seems not to be DVD – there was no pilot in the set.
But I know one thing – when I settle in one place – and lets say it means staying somewhere for longer than one week – my addictions are becoming stronger. The luck of constant traveling causes the situation when my brain is making a pass at my ass. On the road there is no time or money for internet cafes – at least on land. On the water it is even easier – data transfer limits on SSB always made it less complicated for me to concentrate on the surrounding – which meant leaving my head and the garbage I have inside. On the road or during the voyage I have garbage only in my backpack which I keep on turning upside down everyday in search of something “I surely lost” or “had been stolen from me”.
For lots of people hitting the road is a pleasure, vacation, the way to have the rest. For me it is a necessity – like cleaning my room from time to time. The road is to save me from drowning in dirt, dying in trash. And sometimes to remind me of priorities – like constant luck of knowledge or the need to know. About how little I know I discover mostly on the road – like most recently (I am ashamed to admit) I discovered Pablo Picasso from before cubism – even more interesting. And I saw for the first time the bluest and most intense portrait I’ve ever seen.
But I need to get back to cleaning – wherever I go or settle – my garbage go with me. I have been looking for a place to clear my brain from dirt and have never found it though I’ve visited thirty four countries. And probably I will not be able to find it in Portugal as well. Maybe the one place that took control over my brain’s activity was La Habana and I know for sure that I want to get back there – but so - I desired Barcelona. Moreover I was visiting Havana with such amount of adrenaline in my blood that my vision could easily be blurred. Probably my personal trash was hidden behind the rubble of the streets of Havana.
There are people in this world who have the capability of cleaning their brains very quickly, throwing out what is useless (painful? You can put it in a bit bombastic way saying “they fight their demons” – though Goya seems not to be fashionable anymore) and preparing them to receive “fresh data. Most of us see in them insensitive monsters, modern Frankensteins, sociopaths, but maybe that is a man of the future? Still - people I mentioned live in the same society as us – the one which discovered shredders, garbage incinerators, city cleaning institutions – they’re just one step ahead of us cause they use it also in their heads. And they do not have dreams about orange rectangles cause they already deleted the garbage of memories and expectations and the rectangles disappear with a click on an “X” in the right upper corner.
But when it comes to places – Barcelona has at least the one advantage – in the end of November I still can walk slowly through the streets, listening to Prokofiev and unbutton my coat to feel the warmth of the autumn sun ...
* * if there are mistakes ... sorry ... white wine guys - u understand ... : D
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