May & June 2000

The (non) Equivocation of Philosophy and House Chores. I let the many moons pass without having a single sentence written. My will to write was wearied and enfeebled by the playstation, my alcoholism and house chores. I begin to understand, almost just now, how to spell the difference between

scrubbing bathroom tiles
accounting money for the store
paying house bills

and

the more ponderous existential dilemma
the destruction of society through language
the aesthetic pleasures of literature and art.

I begin to wonder what should be of prime importance to people. What is my first obligation? Is it to help with house chores or to read my books and write? Time is loyal only to one master. Most of my time serves my desire to drink. We’ve spent all summer in a perpetual hangover with a lot of pizza, tuna sky flakes and tomatoes with salted eggs. We had the grandest time as we laughed like madmen, slept like babies, and did the chores. There are chores, a bottomless well of booze but a scarcity of personal space. My rusting creativity has been paused by this lull of events which prevented me from creating metaphors.
Sometimes, I sought solace and found it. Late afternoons are crowned glorious during May in my mother’s sala. I’m glad to have solace rest in my arms right now. I am here in the room upstairs while the early evening was doused in depressing purple shadows. My ears are clogged with phones playing Pablo Neruda’s poetry. I also immerse myself in the gratifying idea of my parents travelling across the pacific. My cousin just sent an email with a picture of them dancing. I never saw my parents dance. The joy my parents have are never are never artificial, and because of that, so is mine.

The university used to cater a big buffet of intellectual appetite. I’ve now become anorexic to that appetite. Except, perhaps, English Lit with Marj Evasco. Her lectures are so pleasing to hear they’re like silver bells in your ears. While I thought I wrote a good paper or two in that class I often wish I can respond better to the lectures. I feel like I’m losing my gab. What worries me even more is the important task of being to say something unique.