Chronic Pathology: Guest list of the sky – Actuality

Chronic Pathology: Guest list of the sky - Actuality



One of my best friends has the nickname of a magician. Not by hitting the letter I'm imagining, nor by taking a rabbit out of a hat because, in addition to undermining animal rights and being unhygienic (as it would leave your hair full of leporid feces), it is allergic to animals. His nickname is due to the fact that he is at a party and, without giving it away, he disappears. We all know that Emanuel is like this, so we apologize for the way. We live the conversations with intensity because we never know if it's the last one on that day and that makes us enjoy the moment. But we do not make it an event. If every time he disappeared we celebrated, we spent our lives in foliage punishing the liver. It is that drinking alcohol socially is accepted, being drunk is disapproved. We accept a "I only drink at parties" without questioning whether they are public relations or nightclub porters. I like Emanuel but I do not have a special appreciation for magic which, by drag, does not have a special affection for his art of disappearing when invited. I always think that the best magic happens when they cheat in the trick, because to hit it becomes banal and, let's face it, I do not like to be deceived.

I am one of those who think that they can always follow the trick, conditioning the capacity for illusion. Like at Easter. If we follow the trick, we realize that Christ is resurrected in the end. I'm being spoiler, I know. But I always feel it ungrateful to be resurrected after three days. She must be resurrected faster. It's just that, at the exact moment when I take my stand, I see my best black and I leave home with an expensive and very difficult branch to arrange (because at funerals of known people it is known that the florists get overwhelmed by work), they tell me :

"Vidal, there is no funeral. He was resurrected.

There's a mix of feelings, that's for sure. But I was happy, I swear I was. I just wanted to hug him, talk about eternity and give him some advice about friendship, to see if he chooses his friends better. It is that a person when he dies always knows many things. But they soon warned me:

"Oh, you can not talk to him any more. About ten or fifteen minutes ago he went up to heaven. By now you must be sitting on your father's right. But I said do not worry, it will not be long.

I do not doubt that he will return. But for the delay, it is only fair that you think that you are imitating the MEO technicians, that when there is a problem with the internet, they say they always go between nine in the morning and May of the following year.

Dying and resuscitating already leaves me with the flea behind my ear, having a relationship with Carnival makes me believe that they could have prolonged the satire. And there is something that further corroborates this idea: the days when you can not eat meat. Ash Wednesday I even understand, since it is after the Carnival and many people have their stomachs turned around because they made too many gifts with the Pikachu and sent penalties with the Teletubbies. As for Good Friday, I do not see anything more satirical than people who claim to be religious and do not eat meat on that day, replacing it with a nice cherry pie at lunch and a whole lobster at dinner. To be religious? Yes, of course, as long as it does not compromise gluttony – which happens to be one of the seven deadly sins. If, by any chance, they commit the sin of eating meat on that day, fear nothing. There is always the possibility of paying a bull to the church, thus stamping a place in the guest list of heaven.



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