Massive block

I´ve got exam tomorrow. I´m not interested at all, rubbish bussiness class, it´s not even part of my degree, ath this point i don´t even care about my degree, it´s a shitty degree in a shitty pretensous University which is part of a disgusting elitist academic system to distract the youths, still a good way of living for a while, fortunatelly the town is such a nice a and sunny place; keep meeting people from all around, kind of made me used to say good bye, hate to say good bye still, i see it as a part of a process to get detached from people, then from objects, sometimes it seems that for most of the people is harde to get detached from objects, quite comprehensible in a way, they tend to be less problematic; at the end of the day, the last thin i intend to get detached of is my own life; not in a suicidal mannera of course, it´s just that i reckon that it´ll get to a certain point where i´ll get to realize that i´m not owner of my own life; suppose that i´m still too young to believe that; hate feling young, rahter feelin old thant young, in the little world i´m immersed to, there always are symbols of supperiority, male-female, white-indian, rich-poor, among others, basic and notorious they are, never really fancied any of those, too basic for me, not very relative to the matter; anyhow age has been a standard for my own, that’s what i get so surprised when i see the elders as common tossers, hunting the basic satisfaction of childish desires, i am part of that as well, actually i´d say i´m quite hedonistic in a very wide range of my life: booze, weed, sex, tea, coffee, cigaretes, recognition, food; shit people should really be careful with these last two; is just as disgusting to see some one looking for recognition for recognition as someone ob(s)essed in the food for the food, although we all fall for these temptations, there’s a point where is just grotesque, therefore hilarious, maybe part of a very basic morbid instinct, as watching a wild animal tv show, when the beast runs desperate for its food, running after the victim of nature, that´s how i feel with quite a lot of people around here, watching the mexican politians is such a laugh, in a ver dark sense of humour.
I like to get disconnected of everything for a certain period of times, the length of each period variates, “getting disconnected of everything” how funny innit? As if it were possible; in the last five years i´ve sort of abandoned every place, sometimes i feel as if some kind of very ugly reality, with the eyes of the bottom of an ashtray and the breath of a puked toilet, is waiting to give me a good look into the eyes, straight at me, and i´ve just been running away from town to town, messing up other peoples lives, meeting, forgetting, chatting, celebrating, snogging, confessing, talking, knowing, shagging, arguing, forgiving, crying, laughing, smoking, traveling, dancing...and the i just disapear, sometimes everyone disapears, sometimes the places disapear, no matter how, the present fades out in a very explicit way, turning everything around once again, erasing everything and then setting it up in a similar panorama, like wind erasing drawings in the sand; the weird bit is that this time i don’t want to get disconnected, for the first time in several years i feel like there’s nothing that’ll surprise or scare me from my little friend “ashtray eyes”, i happen to have a good long term memory, i even used to swear my mum about how i remembered the very day when i was baptised, and different to the big J, i was baptised unconsciously when i was one year old, with the time i’ve started to consider that it might have been product of a picture of my baptism i saw, i also stopped to swear as a prove of a truth and finally, don’t really give a shit about been baptised or not.
I’m not entirely sure of why i’m writing this, or what i’m writing, why is it in english, why is so fucking long and boring, most of the time, it seems to me that every single action has several intentions, that every single action is a statement, consciuss or not, the performer of the act already represents so many things, but the act itself, so magical and unique, with such a specific audience limited by time and space; sometimes i get tired of this, trying to get or understan the message behind every little action, it doesn’t even make sense, it just gets me really paranoid about so many little stuff, although it also get me so many beautiful moments, that are mine and no one else’s. I suppose that is a part of why this text is coming up to the anonymous virtual personality of mine, i don’t understand a fuck, and i've got exam tomorrow.

.saludos