Read the newspaper from Chile after a long time of blocking the news. Video of Fernando Chomalí talking about how Catholicism is profundly ingrained in the Chilean culture, which is of course, true. He uses that as an argument to deny the declive in popularity of the Catholic church during the last 15 years, he says he sees a society that even when declaring themselves non-believers, they still want a liturgy when a beloved one dies, which is also true. Is that a lack of coherence and congruence or is it just the final emancipation of traditions from religion, of rituals from beliefs.

I’ve dedicated a significant amount of time thinking about rollercoasters. Significant compared to how much time I’ve spent thinking about other fairground attractions or many other objects for what matters. 

I first became intrigued by rollercoasters while listening to Tang and the Bangas’ tiny desk on NPR Radio. The whole band was sobbing as the main singer was spouting lines out in their characteristic spoken word style: 

“I've always wondered why people rode rollercoasters
When did feeling sick become equivalent to thrill? 
When did nausea become the new X pill?”

I forgot about rollercoasters for a few years, until they were brought up to me again a week ago or so by Sontag, but now in relation to love. In an interview with the Rolling Stones she said that people seek to fall in love for the same reason they queue to get on those very big rollercoasters. Not as a metaphor (would she ever?) but as a concrete comparison of human behaviour, seeking some sort of masochistic excitement. 

A few days later, I read Sapolsky saying that the human species is the only animal species that willingly engages in artificial and constructed situations specially designed to experience fear. Because anxiety and excitement activate the exact same area in the brain. So, basically, we enjoy rollercoasters for the same reason we enjoy scary movies. We want to feel fear, so then, when it ends, we can feel the relief of it. 

Now I enjoy looking at people riding rollercoasters, the frenetic laughter, the smiles, the green faces begging for it to stop, the men pretending to be tough. I used to love rollercoasters, the speed, the danger, the loops, the twists and turns. I don’t enjoy riding them anymore. Maybe because fear arises naturally on a daily basis without the need to self-induce it. Maybe it is because I’ve found other ways in which adults release endorphins, or maybe it’s because I’m already in love, so I don’t need to know how it feels to just fall. 

My dear Vytautas,

I didn't realise at the beginning that these letters were the perfect queerisation of the binary understanding of inward-outward. To converse with you but with myself, dance with your thoughts as I try to develop my own. Build upon and (as opposed to "or") besides.

The holy mountain became really holy when i got you into that boarding school. I'm not sure if I admire Jodorowsky's idea(l)s as much as his performance / artist persona. I sometimes find myslef jealous of his friendship with Lihn adn Parra. Biomes exchanges on fire.

My grandma died a while ago, she was a literature professor. I miss her.

From her, I inherited this one book, "La poesía de Nicanor Parra: anejos de estudios filológicos". By the end of it, in an interview, Parra remembers his childhood and how he didn't like to see his father, after getting a bit drunk, picking up the guitar and start singing. He would walk behind his chair and loosen up the strings.

Parra is a master in finding those "small contradictions". All the anti-poetry he promoted is about that. About observing from a marginal POV, from excentric positions -> begging for meaning.

All anti-poetry is a dialectic, a way of asking - dismantling. The purpose is mainly to expose. Impertinent - subversive - humoristic - critical - coloquial. I always preferred the anti-heroes.

I specially like it because even if it doesn't seem like it, it is intrinsically hopeful. With every fallen column comes an implicit scream for unity.

I remember that scene from the Wizard of oz. When the dog Toto rips the curtain to the side and the wizard, after realising he's been exposed, shouts over his loudspeaker: "pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!"

Here's to finding those contradictions and exposing them.
Here's to T-shirts with cheesy slogans and presentation slides full of mucus.
Here's to poking the system, to loosening up its strings.

Thank you. For your time, interest, your inwards and your outwards.

To write a diary doesn't only require poetry, but it also requires discipline. Discipline and poetry are not and should not be enemies. Given my lack of poetry, I know I can inject at least a bit of discipline. Schedule and Structure.

Schedule alternatives:
Everyday before going to bed
Everyday on my way to uni
Every wednesday night
Whenever I can (No poetry, no discipline. What do I have to offer?)

Structure:
I could reflect on the day: what did I learn? what did I unlearn?
I could answer a questionnarie: how many times did I check my phone? how many ppl did I greet?
I could reflect on my practice: what is data? what's new media? what the hell?
I could write a rhyme: For every day, for every round, you'll non-stop scroll down. Until your thumb hurts, and your head pounds, and your lungs beg for air like in the lockdown. Till then, my friend, till the sound of that church stops this merry-go-round non-sense and brings you back on your feet to the ground.