For la France (English US?)

While browsing through Facebook someone tagged  a person and it felt like rubbing salt on of my  wounds.  Immediately  I jump out of where I was and think to  myself “I  need to get out of here. But, where? “My mind is wandering,  mostly because of  weird stuff going on in a French city. In the other side of the world, the Old  World. The most important city in France, to be exact Paris .  

The mini Arc of triumph… Right now I’m on my way there. I’m sure it’s going to make a nice story.  I don’t  even want to delve in  too much politics or any kind of analysis for that matter, like I usually do.  Who cares what happened, they are dead,  I’m alive and thankful for it. And yet I’m heading to a place just to pray for their souls.

War is everything while peace can still be obtained by the look on a lady’s smile. It is Saturday,  at least according to the Chaldean calendar, however you want to call it . Life goes on and for better or worse. Right now I’m not thinking about how to ignore and just let go. Dealing with treacherous people is not an easy task . I still haven’t learned the art  of  switching face so easily, that may be my biggest weakness. I learned that from a British French unfortunately…

Fortunately this will be the last time I write about this. Baudelaire used to say his mother cursed her womb because he was a poet. Include people who communicate better by writing in that statement, if it even matters.  

After I get off the train, I go to Washington Square park to the mini Arch of triumph (can’t spell French so leave it in English ) there is  a guy playing guitar and another one, both showing their solemnity.  In the meantime I hold my tears while thinking:  “This is screwed, my life is kind of screwed and now this…” Dead French citizens and some  “martyrs”.  Pray for all of them,  predator and prey.

I feel this has been long enough,  there is not  many people under the arc, not waiting to know if more people show up and make a decent group. There are  others still living Friday the 13th. What a coincidence, no? I’m certain Jason does not exist, while war seems to be all around me, internally and externally.

After going there, I go eat to one of those Japanese noodle places and think trying to understand why something like that could happen, “unlike France,  at least Japan has kept control of their Muslim population, in fact of anything alienated to them”. ..

Something striking goes through my head “Weren’t some Japanese  journalists slaughtered by the same kind of people who committed these acts? “. Are all countries against this so called Caliphate? If this is World War III, I can’t wait for World Peace IV that’s for sure. Considering it now, there was never a World Peace I, before or after World War I. Then how can there be peace? I’m alive and if you’re reading this you probably are too. Maybe that’s a peaceful enough thought.

Thank goodness we are alive, but please, lest we be aware of our surroundings. It is too beautiful to be worrying about tomorrow, yesterday or even 30 minutes ago. I just misunderstood Hebrew and Arabic, while hearing some people talk in a foreign language. Who knows if are they being solemn or celebrating. I rather not ask them what language they were speaking or at least tell them to please communicate in lingua franca  by yelling at them “Speak English, please!”. Just smile and wave, it is not of my concern right now, I just want to get home and finish this piece, waiting for sheep and lions to live together peacefully. 

Washington Square, Friday 13 2015

Washington Square, Friday 13 2015


Maldigo la hora en que vi la luz. En que nací de un útero  tan cálido  para reinventarme en la frialdad.  No sé cómo te conocí y me arrepiento de ser quien no se quien fui. Muerte, muerte es mi verdad, cómo un niño enfermo peleo por y para morir.