[check out this post on my personal page, where it looks better]

Let’s start with a video of Walter White, Jesse Pinkman, and Gustavo Fring playing Badfinger’s “Baby Blue” on a rooftop.

I love playing this song on guitar. On my real Alhambra dreadnought, I mean. Did so this very afternoon, on a nearby forest path where I don’t have to worry about people listening to me excerpt for the three or four people that went by, usually with dogs, in the couple of hours I spent there. Also, I recall Breaking Bad from time to time. If it weren’t for that second season, that suffered due to the writer strikes, it would have had a perfect run. What a glorious time it was. I doubt anything similar could ever come to be, given how society has gone to shit.

Regarding the madness and pure evil that has been ravaging through people’s consciousness this week, I only have this to say: the patsy is likely going to hang in prison, and new laws will be made that protect Israel and Israelites. You have most of your congress over there getting fucked in the ass by their owners. Things are going to get much worse before they start getting better, and they better get better, because once they’re done with the inhabitants of Gaza and Iran, the chosen genociders may turn their gaze to Europe. Apart from financing our ethnic cleansing through mass migration and releasing criminals onto the streets, I mean.

As for me, I going to visit my general practitioner to handle the health-related reasons that are leading me to a change in career, back to programming, from which I should have never strayed. Given that I’ve acquired further health issues since the determination was made, a long time ago, that I’m 52% disabled, perhaps I’ll end up getting a new assessment. I can’t be very able if merely working as a technician sends me to the ER with arrhythmias and a massive hemiplegic migraine (which I suspect was a minor stroke).

I’m feeling hopeless, perhaps even depressed, but my guitar is always there. The fingertips of my left hand are shot. I’m fantasizing about moving away. Maybe I should take a hint from Bobby’s playbook, and live in an old, derelict windmill in Formentera, Balearic Islands. Somehow I haven’t stopped daydreaming about his sister. I imagine myself saving her life. Even though I can’t care about human beings, I have been burdened at some point with something like a savior complex. Can’t do anything about that other than endure it, which is also the case for many of other issues I’m saddled with.

I’ve also thought about Izar, this person I inexplicably had to write about. A grief I never suffered in real life but that I’m now burdened with too. Why did I have to write it? Why do I keep remembering as if it had happened? What’s the point or the reason for all of this? I ask about reasons, but I’ve always been extremely wary of reason and so-called intelligence; your subconscious carries the sole truth that truly matters. In the end, though, I’m only left with questions, and with the feeling that I’ve been abandoned by the side of the road, at night, in the rain, bruised and broken, to drown in my own blood.

I guess that’s all I had to say, except the feelin’ just gets stronger every day.

Just one thing before I go