FLOW OF CONCIOUSNESS OR MEMORIES FOR THE FUTURE

I AM NOT IN A GOOD MOOD. Last night Leo, the Michelin guy next door, whose house apears to the right of the blog (endemismo), and seems abandoned, was playing the damn video
games with machine guns and bombs, at TWELVE AM. Now fellow bloguers, if you have never
lived in a concrete house you have no idea of the amount of noise that constantly
feed your ears. Unless of course, you never leave for the yard with the air conditioning all
the way up.

Right now is the hammering from the jerk handyman/gardener across the street, fixing the house
to be rented by too big a family. Even worse, with adolescent children, that means these good for nothing species will be hanging out too close by, with their cell phones permanently on their ears and their similar friends.

Back to Leo, who is very quiet, and lately says hi, with a smile, something of an achievement,
since in that weird family, no ones goes to the back yard, says hi, or keep up the premises.
I have noticed a resemblance between them and the trailer trash beings portrayed in Hollywood films living in a concrete house with no paint left on the walls.

Squeaky, his partner, is shaped as a turtle. Her voice pierces my ears, her laugh drills my ear drums. She can not cook without banging the spoon against
the border of the metal pan loudly, or place the dishes without the glass clink-clank, or close the kitchen cabinet doors without slamming and banging.

That is next door. In the building next to this ADAMS family lot, there is a five story apartment
building with many unpleasant characters with too many children little or no education, and little or no money. Rent averages $600, for a two dormitories in concrete railroad wagon shaped housing.

The worst of them all is the little dwarf. Pardon. Little people if you may, even though she is not
a dwarf, is small, not too thin. Her body reminds one of pigmees and walks as if a plaintain or
foreing object is stuck in her sphincter, that kind of walk. I speculate that perhaps is consequence of having six multicolored children. A welfare single mother. Pays no rent, water,
electricity since the government does it for her.

The noises from her apartment on the third floor. Loud with the bass to the top shitty, vulgar,
REGUETON, a genre developed in the concrete-asphalt cement isle. It has been fifteen years
or more that this unmelodic, irritating music, without any social value has been around.

Like graffiti, it has become an pandemic. It is a joke. Most of the themes of this dull music
are sex, sex, drugs, gold, money, big ugly ESCALADES, Bentleys, Lanborghinis, swimming pools,
girls with b i g butts, huge b r e a s t s just like tumors. Also, lame criticism to the police, justice
system, high income families and so on. Maybe, just maybe, if there was some intelligent poetry/rhymes in their six grade written/sung poems with a loud annoying bass sound in the
foreground, one could attempt to listen to it.

Back to the noise from the little people. Her squeaky voice is similar to Squeaky, but is herd more frequently: I am going to get you, I am going to beat you, stay there, turn it down are
the most common screams herd down here forty feet away.

OTHER common noises in PUERTO RUIDO: Cars, motorcycles acelerating in this residential zone, car alarms, people beeping their horns to anounce their arrival. Others hollering names
as if they were in the neck of the woods. The air conditioner feeders, the air extractor from the
cafeteria, the swimming pool filters in COLEGIO SAGRADO CORAZON, who apparently bought
the right to pollute with all these noises, some of them 24/7.

The INTENSITY of all these noises become intolerable because all the yards in Santurce, at least
3/4 of any yard is covered by concrete. Thus every house becomes a resonance chamber. Considering how much noise wears one out, it is remarkable that we do not have more criminals,
suicides and such. SILENCE is really scarce in metro areas. It is like being in DEATH VALLEY,
in search for water.............