The bitter joint | Opinion

Sometimes he goes around the world with his soul made into a joint where sadness and twisted dreams take turns leaning on the counter and ordering another round of their old poisonous wine with the right that comes with being old customers of the joint, and not There is no choice but to give in to that black drunkenness that they do not pay for but we, users already drooling and with our pockets drained from paying so much for drinks that we believed were forever included in the list of banned labels due to their extremely bad side effects, but then, against all odds, Foresight, on a Friday night you are standing in a place that looks like a mix of an art gallery and a bar, among many people dressed vaguely although most of them are wearing that type of clothing among cool and avant-garde that sophisticated people use, and on stage there is a thin man who controls machines with elegant gestures producing fibrous, energetic music, while three women perform a dance that has the coarseness of the aerobic and the fluidity of the aquatic, especially one of them that appears naked on a platform and, while the man continues with his virtuous execution, casts a blinding spell of perfect movements that have nothing to do with harmony although every pore of that body, every muscle, is where it should be. , occupying the exact place it should occupy in the universe—that is the sensation: that the body is completely “fitted” in time and space—and it is threatening like a lurking plague and an arrow stuck in everyone’s existence. those who are there to remind them what being alive is about, and the man, whose name is Diego Frenkel and who has sung or will sing “my thoughts stop due to excess speed,” places an imaginary epitaph on that bitter joint, decrees Its closure for a while allows you to breathe until the next drowning, until the next black drunkenness.