May 1, Delivery I deliver the Project at the annual maximum of excitement and stress. Scenes I want to remember do the last few weeks tasteful and difficult: walk through Riverside and Loreto's birthday party with Adriana, beautiful talk with Smita and a trip against the grain to pick up the Mac package in the industrial Bronx. Everything seems to prevent me from drawing like a convict, which I do at the cost of toxic night hours. Some minutes of anxiety tell me that in the Project, there is more than the Project at stake. Among many occurrences, I find metaphors of salvific pain, and I pretend to be their gurus: the metaphor of childbirth and birth, that of death and resurrection, that of the Initiates and sublimation. The project is very late until the very hour of delivery, in which the critics dissolve any pain (Angelo Bucci, Andrés Jaque and Juan Herreros); then it is nothing, the Project fades between joy and sweat and I fall asleep with nothing to keep.

May 3, Mountain
We go to "6 Flags", an amusement park of mountains and Russian cliffs (hence the youtube video). Studio's colleagues drew all the stress out of the last week. We screamed, laughed and ate dinner on Long Island. Later, I sleep as if I had come from skiing.

May 6, Tourist
After delivery anaerobic stress fades away as nervous pain. New tasks emerge as souvenirs afloat. Even in New York, I plan to prepare the counterattack I will make on my return to New York, in 9 days. After three months of disrupted fidelity to Columbia, downtown to downtown during the day. I buy gifts, I go to Chinatown, breakfast at Nolita, we purposely lose ourselves by Midpacking; I pass by Central Park, I return to Cielo with Esther Cordero and Inma Cano !, I recognize an old acquaintance from Jaén. What I did not do it again.

I feel this way, early and on vacation, waking up in front of a time that still does not count. I guess that means that, finally, I'm finishing the Master. They are going to serve food and the blue light on the plane reminds me more and more of a home speeding up their schedule. Sorry to be getting up early on a Saturday morning after a feverish week of work. The pristine and innocent blue that comes from the window brings me a first image of the brief Mediterranean west, which is where I was born, which is suddenly relevant. Next year I will definitely stay in New York, I will work on a project or research (I do not know very well how to define it) of a Market that is in Ruiru, Kenya. The wings hit hard and I want to tell my family, who is waiting for me. Even a flight,

May 8, Salon
Still drowsy, I ask where I am: a familiar voice I think that answers me in El Puerto. We had garlic prawns at a lunch of over an hour; the dirt on these streets does not seem so dirty. Nightfall in Cadiz and I sleep in my house.

May 9, Andén
The train that takes me to Jaén allows me to compare myself with what does not change; the stations through which it passes are very modern, and people who go up and down exhibit their gnarled accents. Already in Jaén, I have a very pleasant reception that I fear I will undo when I go to sleep. We were talking about explosions and purposes until well into the night and now I fall exhausted in bed,

May 14, Local
We take a tapa in a beach bar and then, away from the cold wind coming from the Bay, we have dinner. Yesterday I passed through Jerez and today I see Magdalena again. Start the habit that I will have to leave tomorrow,

May 15, Bahia
I go back to the Board Building, which looks at Victoria Beach. I take a look at the sea; It is true that it has silver reflections. It smokes in the cafes, I observe the beautiful wrinkles of the brown skins that have grown under the light and the breeze. A breeze of calm or joke dyes the gestures of the clerks, the waiter and the shopkeepers to whom I ask where the bus is. People greet each other on the street with a joke. The joy I see reminds me of Sao Paulo, and the groceries under the Copacabana Apartment.

May 15, Terminal
With twenty minutes I thank the visit of my brother and his family in Barajas. The Airport is bright, unusually quiet and with a wonderful and massive wooden deck that reminds me of the words "forest" and "disappearance". We said good-bye and ran to the plane.

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