umm

I didn't read this book, but I have held it in my hands, sillyness to the max.

I've dabbled in dreams before. Who knows what wild, strikingly realistic, benign imagery will be projected onto the backs of your eyelids. Perhaps a multi-hour long saga of postulous zombie vampires that are invading the log cabin where me, a handful of friends, loved ones, and random people are garrisoned isn't that normal, but it isn't that odd either though is it? We were losing people left and right, the bites of the zombie creatures produced an all too real feeling that made my unconscious body tremble with a dense, deep pain being manifested through some chemical connection of axons and dendrites between my brain and body. I was bit in my ear and it hurt, quite bad, but of course it wasn't real, fore, as I awoke, I found I was sleeping on my fist.

I somehow returned to the hellish dream even after waking up, and continued to exit and re-enter the doomed chateaus over and over until I reached even darker, further points of the now cathartic series that was my dreamscape. Old and new friends alike took up roles defending the house, raiding shopping markets, expressing their loves, and confusing me more than I thought possible. I was completely babmboozled for about 20 minutes as to what had just happened in this madhouse of a sleep session. That was some unreal shit.

I got a message from my teacher that woke me up, it said I don't have to go to school. So I will be throwing the frisbee in the park until I have private lessons. That is real.

old visitors

Recently, my friend Meghan took the time, money, and sanity to make a trip over the Atlantic and see me. Miss Kearns is one of my oldest friends as I met her in the earlier developing years of the first grade at Speas Elementary on Polo Road. Speas Bees to the core.

Upon her arrival, I was still in the process of changing flats and didn't even have bed sheets in my new house, but I was happy to giver her a large bed to sleep on, and let her decompress from her trans-atlantic journey. While I don't really tend to find Logroño the most enthralling or visually appetizing city, to Meghan, it was a paradise of foreign sounds, smells, sights and tastes. We took my typical riverside route to the plaza del toros and the park by its side. Meghan made me sprint to the lookout tower, and I was not ready to this as she sprinted past me yelling, RACE YOU THERE! I could not turn down the immediate challenge, although I hesitated for a moment, and still ultimately won the race after giving her a head start. This ultimately tore all muscles away from my bones and gave my legs the impression that they had been stabbed with swords, thanks Meghan.

We dominated the city of Logroño during the day, and infiltrated the narrow streets to find that which lurked within each of the pincho bars in the casco viejo. An early night resulted as we took a bus to San Sebastian the next morning for a bit of Basque beach bumming. Sadly the skies cried tears of lament for the majority of the time, and it wasn't really warm enough or nice enough to get into the water or catch any serious supplements of vitamin D. The people in our hostel were surprisingly from Australia, Canada, Ireland, and the US. It was an English speaking fantasy world of pastas and mixed drinks. Meghan and Jordan (from Canada) stood by my side as we watched the massive waves crash on the barrier rocks that spearhead the northern coast outside of la concha, or beautiful bay area with a  massive semicircular beach. We stayed up late and bunked up like in college again, but in a much more interesting and beautiful city than Boone, NC. The mouth-watering displays of pinchos displayed in each bar were too much to handle. We ate as much as our wallets and stomachs would allow at La Mejillonería, Xingusht, Xespult, (I just made up those last two, but they were some crazy basque names). With the power of the moon and spririts below, we were given one day of nice weather, and made it a mission to climb to the top of the mountain with a magnificently gigantic statue of Jesus Christ – Our Lord and Savior. It was wicked, and we repented by humping cannons and getting lost in a castle. The next day we had one more round of pinchos, and I ran to the bus to leave for Barcelona, Meghan was on her own from there on, and had a great time with my friends and wandering in Madrid.

Yuju!

recappage

Fuck

I wrote a ton of stuff 2 weeks ago, saved it, left it as I thought it should be, and went on vacation. After returning from the wonderful voyage across northern spain, continuing into Holland, and finding myself sunburnt after a final day skiing in the pyranees, I documented all of it.

A swift sabotage, planned by the crafty ACER, made swift work of my journaling.

This is version 1.1

 A fresh view from an elevated, more centrally located masterpiece of a flat (minus a foul stench drifting from the sink), is now my point of view. The air breaths  an energy that fuels the streets until the wee hours of the morning, with ALL of the cars in Logroño instead of none, and amazing old spanish neighbors that have the television as their favorite company and leave it on the most atrocious of all stations all night long at full volume so they can sleep. I swear to baby jesus that when I wake up in the middle of the night, I have traveled back into the 1940's, Germany is bombing all of Europe, and the neighbors have their old-fashioned, high-treble radio, tuned to Nazi propaganda, through their television. I would ask he/she to turn it down, but I am waiting until after an inauguración fiesta that my roomates and I plan to throw this weekend. Outside of the pedestrian streets I once walked through, I'm greeted by gypsy pan-handlers and strung-out prostitutes, the oldest bar in Logroño, and a police station located next to a hospital. This outdoes the day-cares which bred screaming children and phony parents, all of which who flocked to the delicious tortilla bar below.