Chispa de Rebelion

The eyes are closed. Let the music talk to you. Let the cards your dealt determine what you do. When the game relies on luck. No use in trying to control it. Just respond. Don’t think outside the square. There is no square. Just paths. Sons. Daughters. Lovers. Haters. Money is a tool. Use the right tool for the right job. Sometimes things break. Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we get frustrated with people we would thank god existed if we believed that god existed. The waves turn the ocean from a deep blue to a bright white when they smash against the green coast. The bus makes more noise than the view ever could and the trees flick the sun on and off. The ocean through the trees. I like this. The volcanos look like shark teeth. White. Against the blue. A backdrop for the road. The clouds hang around the lakes waiting for permission to leave in the afternoon. Black asphalt and yellow paint snake through all of this. Our contribution to this landscape. So we can see it from car windows like television screens. A landscape cut in two. Contrast. Good and evil? Sometimes. I see it, but I don’t understand what I am looking at. Peso’s are spent and forgotten. We backtrack to find them. In the process we spend them again. Time is wasted if your unconscious. I’m trying to keep my eyes open. Blinking clears the dust from the streets of roads that are unpaved. It feels late in life, but I look forward to the second wind against my face. History that’s not mine. It’s theirs, and it might hurt. I wouldn’t know. Twelve executions in a town that everyone has forgotten. Spark the rebellion Neltume. But that fight is over. Another one will replace it. It always does. It might have already started, democracy works for both sides. Fighting? It’s not worth my front teeth, but is it worth someone else's? I’m lost in translation. Lost in Chile. We didn’t even know what was at the end of the lake. Nothing. An abandoned hotel. Elevator shafts survive the decay. I asked about ghosts. There are none. No story, just a bad investment. When you need help, people help. The police become taxis. Drive us out of the country. Very seriously. Without words. Straight police faces in a beaten up police truck. I smiled for the two of us. New countries, new people, new colours, lakes and the other side of the Andes, new accents. Same prejudices. Lack of understanding. Fear. Finally hatred. Dislike. Negative energy. Poor people are lazy and should work harder. Like us. Yeah. They should also choose richer parents. A higher social class. They should also choose privilege. This attitude like a cancer. I’ve heard it every country. Everywhere. On the road. On the road. Card games and bus rides. Small towns and big cities. A bag full of things I don’t use. But refuse to let go of. I do miss the place where I was able to disappear. Even if I left because I was vanishing.