A few nights ago I had this dream about a weird word that means absolutely nothing, "Castratania".
The whole world was covered in sand. No concrete, no asphalt just sand. Basically the whole world had turned out like a huge beach. Surfer's paradise one would say. So me and my best friend were riding on the sea shore on this strange vehicle. We were both sitting on the back and our driver was a crab. Then my best friend started talking with the crab about "Castratania". They both knew what it was and my character seemed to know what it was but I had absolutely no idea of what was going on.
The crab said: "Oh yeah, they've predicted it to happen in two years but I don't trust these guys" and he dropped us off. I started strolling around like nothing was going on when the sand split apart and water started flooding the place. My best friend yelled "IT'S CASTRATANIA" and I started sinking. We both started sinking. The whole world was sinking for that matter.
I started swimming under water trying to find my friend. Went through some debris on my left. Nothing. Then on my right. Nothing again. Then as I was running out of breath he tapped my shoulder and as I was ready to pass out and die, I turned into a fish. We both turned to fish.
We started swimming and talking just like humans but we were fish. Everyone had turned into some kind of fish. I know it sounds like a stoner's dream but I'm far from that.
8 months minus one week away from home. 8 months with malrboro lights, coffee, wine thursdays and daily 4 hours library study. 8 months with 001 communication and endless talks about the revolts in the middle east and the floods in Japan. 8 months without the smell of home and the people I like telling me to stop talking when I say punch lines I only find funny. But I keep swimming. I know it sounds whinny but I'll repeat myself here and say that sometimes it's lonely and some others it feels wonderful. Wonderful to the extent of whistling and walking or smiling for thinking moments from the summer. Am I going crazy or everyone else looks like their parents whispered in their ear while asleep when they were 5 that Santa Clause doesn't exist and they woke up the next day in the grumpiest of moods. A mood that still accompanies them.
A few days ago, as I was on my way back home from coffee and reading, a Mormon started talking to me. I don't mind having a conversation with these guys as long as they don't show up at my doorstep. We kept on talking for good two blocks, exchanging opinions and beliefs but he seemed so consistent like if he made me believe he'd gain extra space around his seat in paradise.
He said he knew that there was something more than this, but I've heard it all before and I respect it all together. Muslims believe that we're already dead and this whole life thing is just a test from God or something like that. As he was talking I kept on thinking of a conversation I had with my best friend. How he told me that when he dies he wanted to be fed to hungry dogs. I guess that's more original than the "scatter my ashes in the sea" or "don't worry he went to a better place." But that's just me. I end the conversation with the Mormon a block away from my flat, stopping and putting out my cigarette telling him that it was nice talking to him and whatever gets anyone through the day. He insists to arrange a meeting with me. I ask for his card and email. The easy way out. I'm not surprised he has a business card. He acts like a salesman trying to sell faith and I don't like that. I don't really need it.
I often hear second year students talk about religion like they've read the whole library. I'm surrounded with Richard Dawkins enthusiasts, so called punk rockers, hardcore dudes/dudettes with tattoos , hipsters that they wish they were born in the 80's and young girls that they declare their insecurities with exaggerated fake tan, painting themselves orange. I guess they're just paying tribute to Michael Jackson in a reversal kind of way. I'm sure that I fit in somewhere in these groups but I like to think I don't. At least not in the “fake tan” group for sure. My heritage gave me plenty of natural tan.
"I can prove you that God exists if you gave me 15 minutes from your time, sat down and talk with me." You can have two hours from my time, 5 hours, we can talk all you want, we can have a discussion but what if I don't want to be convinced otherwise? What if , what I believe in gets me through the day just fine and starting believing in God turned me to a maniac who thought he's the prophet and ran in a store with an ak-47 shooting everyone and then killed himself. We've seen many situations like this.
Richard Dawkins enthusiasts and flaunting non believers in general sound exactly the same with the extremely religious guys. With the difference that their leader exists, gives speeches at Universities and might publish another book full of punchlines that it'd be good to memorize before a night out. Just cause instead of asking for some minutes of the other guy's time you just keep bombarding people reciting lines from your "God", Richard Dawkins, and trying to prove them wrong does not make you any different from the most fundamentalist Christian out there. If you were a fish, you'd be a little one swimming along with a herd making fun of other same sized fish making hilarious remarks on their size.
I like to test others' opinions with stupid remarks trying to see if they'll support it. The only thing I've found is that there's a fine line between being opinionated and being an asshole. A fine line between a conversation and a lecture.
That's it for today. I'm going back to my reading. Much gangsta luv, your esse Felicito.
p.s: Did I mention that I keep on swimming?
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