Another week stuck in this infernal machinery. I keep on saying to myself that it will be over pretty soon. Soon this heat will be on my side instead of against me. It will be my ally instead of my enemy.

 Soon this part of the machine's system will be obsolete, another memory I will not be able to recognize as real or fake. I will take the components that I wish to keep and leave the rest to rot, or maby to transform into something else.

 So if this will be over soon, what's next? I keep on waiting for Godot in my living room sofa with my guitar resting on my genitals as an old TV drags me into fiction, but I know he (or more likely she) won't come. It's time to stop waiting, I guess. We allways keep saying that time passes very quickly, but what's really scary is when we actually realise the amount of time that has already passed and that will never come back; when we notice the holes we have left in our lives that will never be filled.

 This heat makes you forget about those holes. It burns so bad that everything in between  this heat and the previous one suddenly dissapears. We are left with a sense of continuity, months dissintegrating at these unbareable temperatures.

 However, cold will do its trick too, erasing what we are now. We will live a different life in which this moment will be a hole. But now it is heat's turn, and soon it will be my friend, covering up the mess I made.

If only I stopped waiting...