12.05 PM
11.53 am
I've been looking for ginger again. I find only twisted tobacco and rum. The women indulge in their routine of prowling around everything recognizable with a foreign smell. They carry on the soles of their shoes a price noted. They sit freely in the park and let numbers and hieroglyphics show. The sun is a fire of light. It is an urgency melting ephemeral lives. You can degrade the trees in the park. Diffuse with yellow. Place palm trees in the cardinal points and pelicans, even if they are brought from the museum. I do not see the sea. I don't hear its waves. This is not Amsterdam, with neon red and pink. These dolls do not have their own stained glass windows. They are puppets with multicolored strings, some have purpose. Others would be disposable material of the system.
11.55 am
The streets are all the same. People shout. They try hard to sell you anything. I don't have it. I bet I make it up. You want a watch? It's an orient. How many stars are we talking about? It just says made in China. The letters rub off. I doubt it'll even stand up to rain. Have you seen these new Mi bands. They're Chinese, same thing, but they have lights, multiple displays and tell time. They dislocate around 12:05 p.m. What do you wish you had, some girl? I just think of fruit, ginger, colors soaked into falling down walls.
These palefaces think fast. I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who gets stuff brought to him from abroad. Everything should be legal. He has papers. Should everything have papers? What do I want papers for? -I was asking for cheap ginger. Man, that sucks. What flavor is that?
11.58
I'm just wandering now. There are no compasses. Not many things exist. The sky has lost its colors of the day. Rain is a fact of life soon. Rum is cheaper than food. Can we buy wine? Multiply the loaves and fishes. Oh, look, he has a dachshund. This is not my dog. It just walks near me. It's your dog. It's your dog.
12.00
Space to shelter the soul. I admire your talent. I imagine the pink pelicans, staining the blue. There is no ugly art. Only memories, fingers, butter. Gravel. Cement.
Funny, you made me laugh several times with this one and the reason I stopped by and checked is because I wrote the next diary, but I like to add something to it.
I guess there's no wine, and if that was the case, someone did drink it. So there's no ginger, how about ale? The bed was wet. I suspect it was the dachshund and if it wasn't him, it was the cat.
There's a mud rain because of the Sahara or more likely the wind blowing this way, which is kind of strange since before it came from Antarctica, which is the opposite direction and cold.
12:05 someone was born and someone died or who knows more than one person jumped for joy , while the pelicans flew away, and I pull the trigger. Are there any bottles left?
They say our beer is among the best in the world. Prices have skyrocketed so much that they have gone around the moon. Before they were about 15 pesos, now they have gone up to 450 pesos. (I don't remember the flavor) They still have the same drawings. There is or was one called Hatuey, you can read 12 degrees. But strange. He was an Indian chief. He didn't go to school (haha).