Forbidden spanish
It’s been several years since I started wandering around these lands. A few months since I looked into the traffic of these lines. Turns out, a quarter of my audience is not from Spain. So they were not my audience. Language barrier, of course. Not like the other can be called an audience, just a few lost people who happen to be fluent enough to guide themselves. Here, you won’t find perfect grammar, sense, brillancy or something worthy. Only incoherent yells, joke attempts, vague futuristic ideas, unfinished projects. Maybe insults from time to time. Made by a lunatic, a bored lunatic, probably inside a moving train, when he’s exhausted and unfunny. Typing on a dusty screen, wearing uneven glasses, convoluted hair, comfy clothes. Are not we all like that at some point? I like to think people come here to see their reflection in a dirty well. How low they can descend. Very low, I promise. On a good day, I’ll be watching along from above, maybe pointing downwards while laughing....