I have found a bizarre error in the *Martenblog*. It is not a, as they say, *show-stopping* error, but an error nonetheless. The last six or so entries are always rewritten to mongoDB (locally) when I call the aptly named executable *blog_to_mongo*, which is actually just a link to a node script in a distant directory not covered in my *PATH*. At first, I *put this down* to a change of date format in some new(y) version of *nodejs* - the *fs* module to be specific. **Yes!** My fetoid brain insisted that the...
Marisa is mopping up *un monton de agua* whilst talking to herself. Her father and a number of other locals were standing near the door to the building and since she is technically not supposed to be in my room with me - or rather, her father may *flip* (her opinion - not proven to me). My room in fresneda is as such: Note: I don't have the patience to get bluetooth working on galictis-vittata, so the photo will be added later. My semi-crisis from earlier has passed to an extent. I do not feel any particu...
They sit on the couches before me yelling at each other. Or so it seems they are yelling. Their voices are naturally very piercing to me. I have bearly entered the room less than 10 minutes prior and already feel like fleeing. At least the television is not blearing. It surely will be a bit later, however. The hated instrument of stupidity is perpetually in the background in this house. How anyone can have a free thought is beyond my comprehension. I discussed my alienation with Marisa yesterday during our...
This morning is *Thinking Plague* morning since, in reality, they are the only civilised music from the only civilised band appropriate for a civilised morning in a semi-civilised village in a pseudo-civilised country on a laughingly civilised planet. *Ayer*, Paco and I took a long walk together in the evening. Marisa and Mari José were away at the doctor in Graus. Marisa is always seeking medical help for this or that ailment and it will eventually end in her demise, methinks, but that is another topic al...
I failed to wander back to yesterday's blog entry and therefore complete it. So, the next morning, here I sit in bed with Marisa drowsing beside me. The bed is a fold out of a sofa type, with a matress both old and terribly uncomfortable. Surprisingly, however, I slept better than I have in weeks. Fewer inquiet episodes mirrored my customary insomnia. Today is day six of what I call *recovery days*. That is, it has been six full days since my last alcoholic drink. I feel fantastic mentally. The most import...
While I am sitting on this balcony full of plants that impale buckets of soggy soil, I sip my café con leche. I have neglected this journal and that is surely a pity, as many bizarre things have occured between the last entry and this one. They will be lost in time like, um, never mind. ### Today we go to **TORLA**. The village named *Torla* reminds me (in name, only) of Tuzla. There are obvious connections here and if you cannot, at a glance, recognize them, then you will surely die the flame death. Mari...
I forget exactly what year it was now, and definitely what month, but when I was living with Jana in Praha, I began to go to [Alcoholics Anonymous](https://www.google.es/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCwQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.alcoholicos-anonimos.org%2F&ei=i2hkVdLtC8apygPPzIKACQ&usg=AFQjCNF97MQJFxZi4cZxTt1BKN6QGmdR0w&sig2=giFBJqRYdAdVPtp8LdvHEQ&bvm=bv.93990622,d.bGQ). I have no exact recollection of how long I actually attended, but it was probably on and off from between ...
Around the corner, out of the plaza and a small jog along the road is the so-called *guest-house* in which I have stayed one night and in which I am typing this. The *living room* is comfortable in a sterile sort of way, mocking what may be thought as an *ideal* for *living rooms* in *guest houses* in this part of the world. I am sure that each apartment in this building has one strikingly similar. A television with a blank screen stares off to my right, burning its needy hole in the space on which my *abri...
The following photo should land Christián in prison for several lifetimes. I mean, really, what right does he have to sniff so casually a jar full of richly flavoured marijuana? What's worse is that he did it in a good friend's kitchen! He didn't even volunteer to bake the stuff into tasty pastries that would leave us lying around for most of the day pining for our future years that will see us sitting at a battered folding table in the sixth level of hades playing either *Hearts*, *Spades*, *Rummy*, *Poker...
It's Christmas once again and I'd like to wish all of my dear readers dreams crushed in the wake of the bulk of progress, ever moving and obliterating every good thing in its path. Yes! **Death!** Families gather under the spotlight of commercialism and stragglers like myself are at times let into their midst. The grip of this season is unmistakable. It is icy in the north and it is sweltering in the south. It is precisely *-3C* where I am, actually. The bed is cozy, however lonely. The room is stark excep...
I'd actually rather not talk about continuations and I ask kindly for you to never mention them again in my presence. If you comply with this request, I'll be delighted and send you a photograph of my friend [Christián](http://christianmnewman.com/blog/) being asphyxiated by a wildebeest.. So let's jump right in. As I was writing on [1 December](http://blog.thinklikeamink.org/#/entry/324), the attractive young woman at *Plus Ultra* gave me two phone numbers upon my arrival in Logroňo. I contacted *Marisa*...
