Ring the Bell

So far, Rio has treated me well. There are parts of the city that remind me of Colombia, across town the place feels like Spain: my two favorite places in the world. Throw in some Cuba and I’m home. 

I found a place sooner than I expected, the process was actually much less of a pain in the ass than I had anticipated; in fact, all of it has been quite serendipitous. I’m renting the former spot of renowned writer and tattoo artist Jonathan Shaw, and he wrote his book Narcisa: Lady of Our Ashes in that place. It's the only book that I've seen receive 5 stars after 115 reviews on Amazon. The guy is mad real and all heart. Plus he knew Charles fuckin’ Bukowski. Shit can’t get more synchronous than that. 

Last night I sat through a thunderstorm in that apartment. The thing is, I wasn’t supposed to be there. We were supposed to sign the leasing contract earlier in the day, but as things in the world go, I ended up there right before the storm. I sat there alone with a dying iPhone, sending out last messages to loved ones before I was only left with a pen, a pad, and my thoughts. 

There is an energy pulsing through the walls of this place. The book that I’ve been flirting with for nearly 5 years is trying to burst out of my chest, begging to be written. I expect to go insane at this small desk in the corner. I expect to lose myself in this storm and hopefully find myself again amongst all this chaos. 

But I have the right place, the right tools, the right people. I have the canvas to paint a masterpiece. I just need to believe. 

I can confront my demons here at this desk. Maybe I’ll win, maybe I’ll lose. Who knows. But I’m a live dog in this match and I trained damn hard to get here. This is my moment, this is my fight and I’m going in with my hands raised high.

I’m ready to go. Ring the bell.