rough memory

Correspondent of Myself, I explore this strange country to which I was once thrown and I try to relate everything that happens in it.

I have requested expatriation on several occasions, but they tell me that you can only get out of here through Buddhism or death.

The train of Buddhism, for me at least, has passed and the train of death is often late.

The rest of the routes to the outside remain closed.

“Keep sending chronicles and stop complaining,” they told me in the newspaper.

Well, Myself is a suffocating country, dominated by delirium, fever, anxiety.

A restless country, with daily revolts, weekly revolutions, with continuous changes of government.

Right now I just took a cold shower in order to calm the agitation of which I was a victim.

His breathing was labored due to restlessness, as well as a knot of lead in his chest.

The knots on the chest, always made of heavy metals, are the worst.

Sometimes, to defend myself from their burden, I try to imagine that they are made of gold thread, which calms me down until I think about the origin of the gold, which comes, they say, from some mines in which children of eight or ten years old work. .

Also men, of course, maybe women, I don't know, but I have read that the extraction of gold and diamonds causes unbearable human suffering.

So it doesn't seem right to me to have a knot of gold or even a heart of gold.

Finally, I return to the labored breathing caused by the weight of the knot.

I don't know if this serves as a chronicle.

To write it, in addition to the cold shower, I have needed to take an anti-anxiety medication because in the country of this Myself it is easy to get them.

They distribute them by the handful, like the candy at the parade of the Three Wise Men.

Shortly after putting it under my tongue, the knot began to untie, but I have a harsh memory of it.

For the rest, good: trying to behave until the end of the contract.

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