Sé hablar español

Orale, ayer fue el primero día que sentía actualmente como yo sé hablar español. Afuera con unos amigos, hablando sobre bebidos tropicales hecho con mescal, me dé cuenta que estaba hablando mas o menos en fluidez. Puedo comunicar ideas complejas de la vida, nuestra situación, etc. sin tropezando por muchas palabras, y si, Pablo es muy paciente pero yo puedo decir que yo he aprendido un nueva idioma. Que increíble. Y el pensamiento que sigue entonces es, "soy un ser humano mas poderoso que sabía."

Este día antes de despertando tuve un mal sueño. Fui atrás en Nueva York. Gente no amable, ni feliz, y un lugar con mala energía. Me amo Nueva York como alguien puede amar una novia con quien le no esta en amor nunca mas. Con un sentido de nostalgia, una reminiscencia cariñosa de unas veces, pero con un deseo a mover adelante. Al despertar, la realización seeping into my reality que todavía estoy en Mexico, que lejos de Nueva York, el nube de pánico comenzando a alejar, me dé cuenta and at this junction I would like to switch back to English to facilitate some poetic waxing.

I realized that I was desperately afraid of the possibility of being forced to return to my homeland. How absurd and ironic, but indeed it fills me with a sense of dread to picture the gray-cast cityscape stretching, towering over me, imposing me with its concrete impertinence. I would be reduced to sickly, desperately, grimly forcing the utmost layer of my facade into a nightmarish attempt at geniality, hardly even feigning happiness, solely attempting to morph my present situation and the energy permeating my emotions through sheer Sysiphean force of will. Eventually I would see fade the dull residual glimmer of peace and calm that had alighted upon my heart here, in the open sea-salted wind brushing across thousands of gallons of crashing ocean, past my half-nude corpus up into the high dunes and black cliffs overlooking a Pacific sunset that has burned into my memory, for as much time as will pass until one day it is eclipsed by another even more memorable, more entrancing, more warm--or by the dust of years of forgotten dreams.

I've found a peace of self here, or away from New York, perhaps in fact my prior situation. The clarity of my presence now is a gift I can't compare. What a delight to feel so fortunate for each element of your morning's reality that makes its way through the fog of sleep as you shake away a bad dream.

Update, 12:49AM:

Also, later today I smoked some weed, which helped me get over sort of freaking out about losing my only bank card. I still feel pretty high and mellow. The weed here is pretty good. Did some nice drawings. The people here are good and kind, for the most part. Pleasant energy abounds.

I'm listening to Belle and Sebastian's Late Night Tales: http://tinyurl.com/z33aac5

Now I'm going to douse myself in bug spray and watch the latest episode of Better Call Saul.

Sweet dreams, all