Time is up

I off to meet Frías. I told me we’d meet in the center of Plaça Catalunya.

The new era starts there.

I’ve got to run soon.

But I just stepped up the game. I came in and ruled again. I impossed the game. Only I want to play diferent dimensions. And I’m ready to go. This is it. The time has come.

I go to the nearest baseball field from my house. Walking. And won’t leave until I hit a homerun.

What’s the probability of that happening?

a) 1%
b) 3%
c) 9%
d) 10%
e) 11%
f) 14%
g) 15%
h) 49%
i) 99%

I want to explore i.

That game of words. That’s my art coincidence. We bumped into each other. And here we are.


PS Now I remember why I wanted to write so bad.

It’s two argentinean sisters from a good Buenos Aires Family of more or less my age: 44. I was taking a panoram picture that was violently interrupted by the unconsciousness of their disruption upon the local artist. A nobody, really. I crazy man from the Gotic quarter. That bearded bum. We love them all. Who get’s them.

Catalans walk away. A bit scared. Ticatalan stayed. We bond. There’s another division no one is contemplating. Till now.

You are up.

So I step up the plate. On the little mountain don Fernando Valenzuela. El Toro de Chohuaquila. A huevo. Su pinche giribilla me la pela. Fernando se perfila. Mide lo que miden los toros. Levanta su rodilla hasta donde llega, levanta los ojitos al cielo, y zumba. Bat. Swing. ALLS.

ALLS es como el picante para un mexicano: va bien con todo.

Yo me presento, humildemente, desde este rincón: Golman Elizondo Pacheco.


Apoyame a ir a Rusia 2018. Con el nuevo país: El TICO COMMONS.

Y vamos, maes, de este palo.