Lapsang Souchong

Hello friends,

What a beautiful day. I want some tea, but it’s still a nice day.

Yesterday I went to Whole Foods to write. I didn’t do very well. I’m going to enter a literature contest, short stories specifically, so I’ve been writing a short story about a man living in Alaska. The problem is the story has no plot. There’s this man in the woods, watching the snowflakes fall, walking around to check the traps he puts out for rabbits. One day he goes to Sitka and makes a scene in a cafe. He meets a woman who claims to recognize him. And that’s it. Nothing happens. The thing is I like to write fantastic things, I like to imagine weird scenarios, but I’m not very good at interlacing a plot. I wish I was. I have discovered that it’s much easier to write a short story when you know exactly how things will end. For example, I’m working on a story about a man walking through his house at night. His wife’s asleep, his children are asleep. It’s a sinister tale. The man talks about something inside him, a hidden desire he has to release that night. He is afraid his wife will judge him. He fears the world will judge him. But in the end it turns out what he wanted to do was not sinister in the slightest, but actually something quite common, but I wanted the story to be a kind of “fuck you” to “literature,” or to people who believe they create “literature,” since literature is something you either create or don’t create. But if you talk about creating literature, if you talk about how you create literature, you’re an asshole.


Maybe today is a coffee day. Later I have to work in my friend’s mom’s yard. There’s nothing in the world I less rather do. But hey, I need the money. Everything about this world revolves around money. At least everything in our culture, ie Western culture, ie the United States, ie Seattle. Seattleites are obsessed with money. It’s a disease. They like to spend money onĀ Eleno’s Greek Yoghurt. They like to spend money on everything. In Seattle is where you most see the following concept: If it’s not expensive, it’s not useful.


My desire to drink tea is getting stronger. I would love to have a good lapsang souchong, possibly the best tea there is, but I will have to settle for the free sachets in the staff kitchen. Then I’ll go to my office to plan the class for today. I really want it to be a good class. Today we’ll cover important topics like the verb “to like”. Actually, it’s the only important topic we’re going to cover today.

I’m writing this in Spanish, but if you’re reading it, you’re probably reading it in English. It’s a new technique I’m trying out. I write in Spanish and then translate it to English. It’s just that in Spanish I feel more free. I don’t feel anyone is going to judge me. I can say whatever the fuck I want. But in English, in English I’m like a turtle who doesn’t want to poke its head out. I’m like a child clinging to his mother’s skirt. In Spanish I’m a lion.

For several days now I’ve wanted to write a post about Instagram and how lame people are on Instagram. But I find it very silly. After all there’s only one thing I want to say, well, I don’t want to say it but rather mention it. Mention it in passing, as if it didn’t matter. But now I’m not even going to mention it, it seems too dumb. Now what I want is tea and a good breakfast.

I’m going to go and see if I can get them.