Well how's your view of things today?

I've become a fan of the NBA. Actually, Boston Celtics' one. Their t-shirts are wonderful. Their play's amazing. My father had a lot to do in all of this. The complete show of the whole thing, NBA, is the definition of motivation: I didn't have such a funny time since the last orgasm, and I know what I mean with that. So great. Leeeeeet's go Knicks! Screeeeeeam! GET LOUD!. I didn't have a fucking idea of the game, the teams, the stuff: I cheer the Knicks and the Celtics up at the same time, and that explains what an ignorant I can be so many times. So happy about that. More than happy about the screams, the songs, The Show. So fucking yankee, but I liked it. It's a good exercise to know how to separate the sentences you've heard since you were born from the reality, and then, decide if you like it or not. It's such a difficult thing. It has a lot to be with getting older. I'm more than more than happy about that. Two minutes video of the final here, and here. Zoom didn't worked. It's nothing compared to the reality we lived there, snif.

At 7'05 a.m. in Spain's break of lawn we were landing in Madrid. Seven hours before that, a strange group of eleven human beings were under the heavy sun of New York, carrying on their baggage and looking at the city for the last time in such a different ways depending of the eyes that were looking at it. With that recent memory, and without sleeping at all, Madrid arose as a village which, on top of the big change, was still grey, and lonely, and reminding shit. Reminding things to be done, was the final thought. Yes, more than happy about that. What came next wasn't that lovely, somehow home's light had been gone, somehow (doesn't really want to know the fucking process of it) the food of the fridge was totally decomposed and the smell of the entire house was Hell's Welcome to Reality. You know, if it happens any other day, with your 8 hours slept, it's different. So fucking special when the case it's another, say, the opposite. As if God tried to tell me not to come back (let's assume he's a good guy, just for a while) last year happened not the same, but actually a worse thing: no light, yes decomposed food, no hot water, no heating. Don't know why, but that time didn't disturbed me like this one. If it's not because of my mother, I would have called to the fire department, told them to take away that kind of hell's smell of here, stayed in A.'s house for a week. But paradise exits sometimes, specially when a mother gives you life, clean your poo, then clean out the decomposed food from your fridge. I owe her life, that's for sure. More than more than more happy about that.

The rest it's about sleeping 9 hours, going to a Clinic Psychology motion in which I've add ideas to the conclusion that Psycholand needs another fucking direction not consisting in bullshit about medicine, biology, excuses, slogans, determined "That's Good, That's Bad" one that means "That What You've Been Hearing For Ages, Don't You Dare To Question It", what connects perfectly with the whole politics, economics, etc. thing nowadays... mankind's days. Happy about that, 'cause once you've seen a problem, once you know you can contribute to solve it, once you feel something inside you growing like heading somewhere... clearly defined? I don't know yet, I can't know it yet, but I'm happier that before about it, and that's a lot to say.

The rest of the rest... it's Stone Temple Pilots' Army Pants & Lounge Fly (EP Purple), A.'s new guitar which I've played today for the first time, the 23th, the gifts, the family, the weird feeling that I've grown like ten millenium in a couple of weeks.