Zopilotes On The Street

That night I couldn't sleep while he had consumed a quart of whisky. Wandering inside my room without realizing the photograph of Cortazar stuck on the wall, without realizing the 259 pages of scattered notes that hung from the wall, and if I saw something like that, I didn't see the tacks that had secured all those things and words, I never saw anything that night, it was like being with eyes open and blind without beingIt was like riding with the auto-pilot flying over unknown lands. How horrible is to know you're there, you are here and you can not see anything to your around even though you recognize the site and time, and a few moments later the flight takes you through other parts of your mind and already don't you remember what you thought and percibias a few seconds ago, but after a while, you return to the point of previous reference or trasanterior or to the rear or you stand somewhere that condenses all those moments and places, and when this happens once, I assure you that it will continue infinitely happening. In this way, you begin to get lost in time and in the space and within all the possible meanings that are shed, they jump and you desentierras everywhere. When I arrived at this place and time, I tells that he was crazy, and I asked myself: do crazy? Do crazy and I realize this? I think about my condition of madness while I am insane? And if I do I'll Ojala? However, I did it, I kept realizing that part of my behaved as she had always done or as a man disturbed by a serious problem, but another part of my I looked at this crazy Act, and told me: that's me, and now I realize what they see others when I'm in crisis. .