Eight

Do you believe in inexplicable connections, almost magical, with something or someone?

I don't know if it's an obsession of mine for trying to find a proof of transcendental elements in a world where the spiritual and the magic are judged as stupidities. But the eight has followed me... I'm sure, and I'm stubborn about it.

Salvador, my name, has eight letters.

Martínez, my second last name, has eight letters.

When I lived in San Nicolás, my house had the number 208.

My actual home has the number 208.

The apartment I live in is number 1808, in a building with number 588.

My first feature script is around eighty-something pages in its first draft.

My student number in ITESM was 595888.

My girlfriend since almost eight years and now fiancé is called Gabriela: eight letters.

The first phone number I remember was 76-88-83.

My musical idol is called Bob Dylan: eight letters.

My cinematographic idol's last name is Scorsese: eight letters.

There are many things that connect me to that number. Why? I don't know, and I'm not interested in knowing. Is part of giving life the credit of its capability to surprise. I'm sure that if I make a deep analysis of my life and what surrounds me, I would find many other things.

Blessed eight, until now it has been a great trip. Lets stay together.

Brainfuck

December 2009. The screen was there, desolate, sad, cynical. My sight wandered between one window and the other, continuously. Something like the people with the habit of changing the TV channel again and again, without stop. Is like trying to catch the most amount of images possible. Make them yours, be jealous, not letting them go. And above all, give them no truce.

The pages of what was priority stayed, as a couple of weeks ago, at the end of my interests at the moment. Coffee, facebook, twitter, view to the urban landscape, the analysis in Senses of Cinema is fuckin' great, coffee, facebook, twitter, what the fuck do we hand in tomorrow?

A very dear friend of mine and very putilla coined (or at least introduced me) a term for the people of the current generation, in which the social webs and other spaces, not only work as a tool, but create little things... little pleasures, very very addictive, that make you become a captive client/user. That term is digital autistic. What an appropriate term!

The worst is that digital autism doesn't seem to be the exception, but the rule. Either because you're a laptop slave thanks to your profession or study, or you simply have the possibility to access social webs by cellphone or other media the activity that appears every 5-10 seconds, is frankly scary.

I don't want to get to the point of having a blackberry or iphone in my hands. The worst thing is I will. 2010 looks like we'll be one step closer to being Wall-E-esque people. We're getting there. I have no doubt. People tend to think that I'm kidding when I say Wall-E is a prophetic movie. I think they're in denial.

I hope society proves me wrong... I don't think so. We've already crossed the point of no return and there's nothing left but to keep on with the same ridiculous obsession for the quick, the immediate, the quantity and no quality... Artificial autism. Good, we're on our way.

Disgusting!

A Start From Scratch

The hangovers continued, the insomnia nights, the days of dreaming, the combination of Vitamin C and E for a better immune system, the hours stuck in front of a laptop trying to write and only getting to be a big virtual voyeuristic, the LBSII pills for a lazy bowel.

Stories in my head pounding randomly during the day, stories that find their way out in the most imprudent moments, my attempt to trust in my memory and that my ADD doesn't get in the way when I get the chance to vomit on the keyboard everything I need to, seven years of an uninterrupted love relationship, its formalization, the support and stimuli necessary, the muses.

The honor of having people by my side who ignorant people call crazy but are geniuses, the drunk gatherings with my blood siblings, the drunk gatherings with my chosen brothers, the mediocre movies, the trash movies, the movies with soul, the soulless movies, the movies that tear your soul apart, a new country, a new city, new people, re-encounters.

And the drinking gatherings continue, and the hangovers, and here I am again, in front of a laptop with nervous and hesitant fingers, and everything starts over again from scratch.