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There was a guy in front of me in the line, and after more than half an hour, he came around to say it was fast! It reminds me of an unknown girl at uni, who complained that she didn’t want to get used, used to lines, used to abuse, used to boredom, used to anything. And in San Pablo it seems, sometimes, that everyone has gotten used.

San Pablo, in many ways, is the enbodyment of everything i despise: Being full of oneself, boastful. Holding too tight to certainties. Being abusive by default. Numb violence.

And still, i must always admit that i needed San Pablo to make me who i am.

Then, maybe, i needed this city to learn to hate it.

and maybe this is just a way to say that i am tired and numb, that i am wary and hurt. And maybe San Pablo has not really scrattched me, it might just have reminded me of the wounds i had buried.

But i don’t even think San Pablo has this naive quality of the ruthless truthfulness, i think it is just scared.

And so, there you have it: I’m on the road, going through SP, again, yet again, going to shows (RATM last week and Air in the morrow), staying at friends’ place, lacking the stamina to tell everyone i was around, randomly finding people so that they can get pissed that i didn’t call (really sorry if it makes a difference), uncertain and uneasy.

Posted by Wordmobi


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