home or flying, morbid text

Some days you are in
Some day you are out
Matter of how you feel
Or of luck, I guess

Anyway
I was just thinking
Wondering
Where the servers of Gmail are at
And what if?
They all get hurt
All of my gmail conversations would be gone

Just like that one time
While working in Mexico City at the Hard Rock Café
When by mistake I re-formatted a whole hard-drive
From a Mac
Full of designs and information
Those were the days when back-ups weren’t as common
Just a dumb mistake
But a very strange sensation of liberation as well
The data that was driving me crazy
And that absorbed many hours of my attention
In a jiffy… gone!
How fragile is information
And life for that matter, even more…

Anyway, but there are these days
When you ask yourself
About your properties and states of material states
I mean, you move from cities
Some friends keep and stay
Some people in your life just come easy
and then easy go away
Some others, luckily, stay,
Same with some family members
Lovers and friends…
All changes
even the things that don't move
they change, because they don't
paradoxical or stupid
but it is true



But there’s always this hard-to-let go feeling
Always the lost
And the possessive character of humans
Among the metaphysical, metaphorical and/or tangible properties
Always hard seems to be to change
To permute into another phase of yourself

So as I wonder where are my almost 2 GB of gmails living in this world
[I think close to the San Francisco area is actually where Google lives, so I guess around there…] anyway
I wonder too,
How wonderful might be the final let go of death!
I mean, I worry about if there are scratches on my CDS
Or if my photos are too dark
Or too bright
Or if I wrote you the proper lines for you to know how much I care
Or if I made the changes to the catalog OK
Of it was a bad decision to skip the gym today…

But one day…
All won’t matter anymore
One day
Like it or not
I will have to let go
No more problems with the bills or the money
No plans, no worries if I feel fat or lean,
No worries if the sony is fully charged
Or if I owe the IRS some more cash
No worries of my Mexican past
Nor of my American present
Nor of the future, even less, of course!
Of the future
I guess there’s no future once you are dead
Hard to tell…

One day
Just like that
No more worries
No more checking e-mails
No more balancing out the color levels of the pix
No more buying gas for the automovil…
No more veggies no more meat
One day
Kaput and just like that

Wonder if they have heaven-web-mail up there
Or an inferno-intranet…
I will wait and then check
Too bad, I don’t think I can come back and tell…

There are days to fly
There are days to face home