MARRAKECH I: Looking for my silence
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Red License Plate In Ontario
(Only those who appreciate me reach the final)
I guess the only way to find yourself others will flee. Away. When I travel with my friends, sooner or later, you hear those phrases, "I feel like a beer" or "Have you seen this ass?" Is inevitable, they have their charm but are phrases that all they do is remind you that live prisoners something, we all live prisoners of something, whatever. If you travel with who is with your partner, it is impossible to spend four days without hearing a comment about your mother, your dog or your shirt puchi communist or not leave the towel there baby ... and if you travel with family, good with my family I'll always be George, the small. That is forever ... I miss those trips.
My family laughs at me, but I want. They laugh, but I want.
Without knowing it, or maybe you, Ana and Alvaro gave me the other day a nice phrase:
"... And in my madness I have found my freedom and safety. freedom of solitude and security of not being understood as those who understand us exclavizan a part of our being. But do not let me too proud of my safety, even the thief jailed is safe from another thief " Khalil Gibran
And we were, after the last little kick to my heart, you can beat, say Sabina, was the best time to flee. I fell in Zanzibar, my hat, my glass and my heartbeat, my Russian and my red beard black. She will not ask anyone to marry me. Attitude.
I hate that phrase to take the bull by the horns, no kidding, that fear, because pussy take the bull by the horns and can run. I looked into the eyes of time and started to run.
I called my contact, let's call him Mr. M, and serious, with my word to slow I said slowly:
"get me outta here, M"
The Mr M, that guardian angel that I have long, moved a pair of wires and their response was swift:
"the world is yours", tell me.
And that dime, I said ... I
... Marrakech, now.
I just searching for my silence.
needed to get out of this, sometimes the weather catches me, grabs you and without you noticing, you're a prisoner of his trap. Run, run, do not you stop running. Work, car, subway, the Message, beer with it, you drool nieces, nephews, to which habeas, work, metro, bread, wine, shower, run, run a little faster, cinema, anger, sleep, breathing, kissing, back to Monday, Message a. .. coffee, more coffee, wine ...
Basta! do not be misled! No! The sun rises every day and how hard they try, will never get to the moon. Flee, that "you have to flee," look at the time, and played with. Do it. Do not fear, because he will fear you.
(Let scratched because it is free, cheese costs money, but, grate, no).
One of the things that I like to travel by air is because I always think that simply going to fall. Call me silly but I still do not quite understand why that air propulsion motors generate bla bla bla ... but weighs much a plane, I think. If we fall, nothing will serve these life jackets or those with oxygen masks, because if a plane falls, falls. All you can do is kiss your hand, you feel, girl or boy that will give equal, you will die, but it's better to go kissing screaming.
And my split personality is rubbing his hands with such a situation. Jorge vs. George in full launch.
On one hand, argues that it is statistically possible that the plane was go to the ground, the data is there. The planes do not fall. Peeeero on the other side is my "weird" sort of weird things happen. Conclude at the end, my death will, I know, very very absurd, but I do not think today was my day to die.
And not because the pilot is not trying. All these fancy stuff you're doing to take off only have an explanation, like a flight attendant and want to impress (single sex). I understand that if the runway is pointing to Lisbon and Casablanca let the man have to "focus on the nose", but there are ways and forms. I am calm, I had the wings of the plane and has two. The last time a plane ride, I pulled the .... Curious. Right?
I already en route with his eyes closed and summer orgasm face, "fuck I'm dying for a zumito orange" at the very moment that a flight attendant reported that, grounds for a strike, no catering service. ("Suputamadre" is an instinctive expression that I can never get out of my head when someone pisses me off that way) But I am or I am learning to be positive, is an art. If I passed that philosophy ignore me, I can do without a miserable juice. The girl next door gets very bad face and muttered the mother remembers Allah (ala's mother). Not if you have calmed down with my comment ...
"They are worse strikes which reviewed the plane's wings, better wings, juice." I look weird, and whisper "are the two wings, I counted." I look down. I read my book, listen to my music. I forget the rest. Seeking my silence.
(Do not read, but time will end atrapándote).
Landing in Casablanca saw a rabbit running down the runway (landing, sorry), that egg of yours!. It was damn fast, and I thought "fuck with rabbits Moroccans, are faster than those of Toledo" and courageous. Traveling just think a lot. And I came. Nostalgia come to me, Africa, the continent that third floor, I knelt down, kissed him, and bless. And it comes ... (bless you, and coming)
One of the dangers of traveling alone is that no one tells you, "is hell here."
Under the plane, I see a queue of people and throw me head Vincent behind and its people, step control and luck in the second uff ... I put off a guy's face Calculus teacher look at me wrong and I said "ajam the bullet jam jam." I
Ham? What does this ham?
a nice girl soon after I explained that this was a flight to Cairo. And then I focus. Seeking my silence, I just want to find my silence, I need it desperately. Brahms far away from you, away from everything. (Toledo is always within me.)
There are three things I'm excited to do lately. One is to tell my mother how much you love her, the other is to mourn, and recently had a wild desire to take a cafe in Casablanca and tell a waiter
"Play It Again Sam." 
And when I say
"excuse moi, messieur" say
"If you've seen Ingrid!"
and if he says:
"je ne pas comprendre, ça va?" , answer:
"cafe lait avec vous plait if."
I'm crazy, I know, and aspirin have no effect.
I did not, from fear in Morocco, are serious, imposing enough. I'm still a child.
could have gone straight Marrakech, but you never know where you can be your silence, my silence. So I took a train Casablanca-Marrakech. Beautiful, old, used, clean, a three-film.
And sitting there in that old station, with my old travel bag between my legs, I began to observe people. Two old men sitting and there is no nursing station. And entered a young, thin, stylish, and a French-style sunglasses (oh the French style!). The neckline was also French. He sat beside me and a French-Moroccan accent asks me the time. My forgetfulness not ever leave me alone. When I say ... that of Madrid. She looks at me quizzically, and not much attention. It is late for say "no no, no I was wrong" he thinks you're stupid, period. One thinks not know sit without falling to the ground, one that can not read a clock, and another tells you not want to marry you. And what I want my niece ... my princess.
We sat together, facing each other in the old train Moroccan. She knew where I was, me, no fucking idea. We talked, my voice cold and his voice Frenchified (strawberry?). Twelve years of subways and trains in Madrid and I do not speak or reviewer, no, I do not speak no one and a train in Morocco ... I do not understand anything. I like it. She pretty much helped me to not end up lost in a desert, but fate would have it come down in Rabat and I Marrakech. I wonder what to there (there), and to say I was looking for my silence, could not help lower your sunglasses and look at me wondering if there was an hour talking to a freak. And I was only able to freak face ... nice.
Sometimes my shyness abuse me. And there was silence for a moment I thought, if it would be mine, but nothing to see. And she broke the most stylish French:
- "give me your phone number or an email if ..."
As I like those "just." I ask him his name and time for:
- "Ghita" I answered.
- "Nice name." He said, smiling.
And after those two kisses gave my ego Ghita,
kept looking for my lost silence.
and reach Marrakech. Under the train station ... way to go out into the street.
madness begins ...
Taxi!
(that is, it starts ...)
are you still there?
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