Undetectables.

And then the moon shined down on the rest of the world,
and everyone decided to sleep. 
And they slept and dreamed about sleeping.
And they dreamed about working, 
and of their everyday affairs.


And once awakened, they thought about dreaming, while working, or while doing 
their everyday affairs.
And once, they even decided to share their dreams with each other.
And they shared about their daily labor
and of the constant routine.
And a bit timid and ashamed, they swore to never ever speak again.


For they were each other´s dreamkeepers
and their secrets were not to be said. ever
To everyone else that dreamed of other something elses,
and never about their jobs and their everyday affairs. 


They never spoke about that awful day.
They swore to keep them safe and unsaid.
They hid their dreams from the rest of the world.


And the world left them out of it´s shell.
They  rode in and out of existence, as if it was a galactic horse corral.
Unacknowledged of their disappearance, the world kept dreaming. 


And the moon shined down on the world,
And everyone decided to sleep.

Day Four: The Thicker Stew.

She is one of the teachers you heard screaming along the hallway. Unintelligible words and gibberish. I didn't have much of an expectation, it was still obligatory to go to class, maybe that is why I hated Hight School. So much structure and rules and conduct manuals and obligations and demerits and discipline... and then again people still consider it one of the key environments to grow as a person. I call bullshit.

She was tough. You had to study for this class, unlike so many other teachers that would do a half-ass test or class, to make it easier for themselves in the moment of giving out a grade or perhaps reading our tenth grade mediocre papers. We had to read Herman Hesse, he was German, yet we read the english version of his novel about Indian culture. We had to give an oral report on Buddhism. I didnt understand it very well back then, but I thought it was interesting. I hate oral reports, they make my mouth dry, my stomach churn and my hands shake. I am not made fo the stage, but she made us stand up on front, to try to explain to a bunch of 15 year old how life is suffering and about voids and how we achieve Nirvana. Not the band of course, when you think about it, Nirvana is a crappy name for a band... cliché, one could say.

She made us read colonial literature, about the making of America as a nation, the ideals forged by the forfathers. How Columbia was a beautiful woman that shined her light in the entire continent... we didn't speak about imperialism, or coup d tas, but she made us think. We were trying to understand that country that stand above us, that country that controls everything, and we were trying to understand ourselves, I guess.

She made us write a paper about the true America. I had recently found my love for words and was a bit excited about it, I had also found out recently, my passion for politics. I wrote a paper which I was scared to give to her. A week or so passed by and one class she gave out our papers, one by one. She didn't call my name, I was petrified. She had one paper in her hand and started reading. I recognized my words coming out of her mouth,she read the entire paper in fron of the class and then handed it out to me. I was embarrased, but deep inside I understood, that feeling was the feeling I wanted to have for the rest of my life. So I decided to be a writer, I decided to study politics. I think I was right.