AntiAmba

I wake up. I look at the window trying to figure it dawn is close or I need to wait. Everything is dark. Again, waiting to feel the pulse of the city. I have nothing to do. It's 04:18 as I glanced to the phone glass. I am defined on not finding a center that is hidden in my mind as I fell multiple exogenous forces around an idea, like radiating circles that expand in my brain with an hidden order. I jump to one place to the other, to one principle to the next one. I cannot find answers to what is right or what is wrong. Sense just moves away and drains my energy. Contrary of complex systems, there is no natural equilibrium. I have been told I put very hard to myself lately.

When you arrive to Cape Town's airport domestic terminal, there are a series of billboards of an investment bank that is promoting safe and responsible asset portfolio management. Most of the pictures are about people coming from different backgrounds and professions, sweating, exhausting and bleeding to achieve some conform or life status. One of the billboards' includes a picture of a young male working alone in an empty office. All the city is sleeping. The  person is there finishing some kind of work on top of a deadline. I worked many times like the man in the picture. A recurring repetitive pattern in the knowledge era we live. Music is that piece of art that I like to hear time and time again, contrary to books or movies, that I shelve, once I read or watch it. I particular enjoy song versions. During the 80's, the music industry created a new revenue source, the 12" extended play mixes. In the beginning, those versions were merely black vinyl fillers, but