Full House.

strangers all around
the smell of bacon lingers
the animals sound

Today I awoke at 7:30 in the morning. Today I showered and changed clothes. Today I am sharing my apartment with eleven boxes of livestock.

Hoy es el dia de santo.

What does that mean for all of us? I'm really not sure. There is a feeling of excitement coupled with that of anxiety flowing thru my body. Two thoughts perpetually racing across chasms of my mind... 1. If I feel like this, what exactly is in the mind of The Iyawó, (formerly known as Principio) and 2. One day, perhaps remarkably soon, I will know because it will be me in his place.

The Iyawó sits in a corner of the apartment, I mean farm, with a sheet on his head. I sit along the wall with A. the Hun, one of The Iyawó's closest friends. She walked past the individual with a sheet on his head, and failed to realise who was sitting beneath it. The sound of birds clucking pervades the solitude of my mind. No longer is this my apartment -- it has become more than an apartment, more than a farm. The events taking place from the afternoon of the day before, until the sun rests on the seventh day are all out of my hands. I have relinquished control of the course of events and in the process have set a ticking clock. Something I had once taken for granted; something that had kept me secure -- now missing and inside I feel it like the bitter cold on this January day.

The door chimes.

A new noise that gives me feelings of anticipation, much like that of the ringing telephone, and like the ringing telephone, one that will soon be ignored.

I long for the drugs that would keep me docile. I long for the sun shining thru my windows. I long for my bed.

The people who have entered my house, most of which I do not know, walk my halls like I once walked my halls. Today it is their house, I but a guest permitted to sit on a milk crate in an obscure corner chronicling the events as they unravel before my eyes. A. the Hun by my side watching the madness unfold.

My eyes burn from the smoke in the air. Cigarette after cigarette lit in my smoke-free apartment. Clearly whatever respect I pay to others when I come to their home is equivalent to that of nothing -- but I digress.

I have five fresh wounds and a new piercing on my body from the stress of the day before -- all self-inflected, but I don't have a problem. I understand why people cut -- the stress from the events out of your control flow out of your body like the fresh sangre that trickles down my leg.

Today will be a day that is remembered for some time -- has this sacrifice been in vain, or will that too be as appreciated as the life of the animals, one held sacred to the process?

Gotta get off, gonna get... Out of this merry-go-round...