My head is buzzing. So many thoughts racing through my mind. I don't know if it's the mix of botanical extracts I took in the morning or if it's the passion for creating. It could be a mix of both. I want to write a sort of diary. Something that shifts between the realm of fiction and reality. Words that describe what I perceive happening around me.

I’m writing this from the tropical forest of the Eastern Andes. The side of the mountains where the rivers flow to the Pacific. I think of O, he was the one who made me realize how curious this mountain range is. The water that collects on the eastern side of the Andes mountains descends to the Atlantic Ocean. While on that water that collects in the western side other side of the Andes, descends to the Pacific Ocean. I’m amused to think that water from the same cloud can end up in either seas.

Back to my room. There is no internet here. This allows me to concentrate on writing. It's useless to look at the screen of my cell phone. I'm not going to find a dopamine rush there. So, I take advantage of the benefits of the forced digital detox and dedicate myself to writing. Pressing the keys and spitting out words. Narrating what's happening in my head and in my surroundings. Playing around with words, merely looking for inspiration.

I don't remember yesterday’s dream.

I am a ghost.

Reminiscences of Oaxaca.

Again, back in my room. Yesterday we had pizza night. We talked about robots and transhumanism. Personally, I am fascinated by the subject. Just the idea that this concept exists, blows my mind. The people at the gathering didn’t share my point of view. The idea that there are people who want to connect to a machine seemed horrible to them. Anti-natural they said. I tried to think of arguments to explain why I am interested in the subject. The topic of medical applications came up and it was interesting. However, I feel that there is something else. There is something about transforming matter, inventing, an evolutionary process that is beneath those who are leading this process and that is the part that captivates my attention.

I think of the invention of glasses. I think of the invention of cars. These subtle technological changes that now constitute steps towards this paradigm shift that we are experiencing. The people who are making the changes are shitty people. Like E.M. However the people I was with yesterday are good hearted and nice people. And they should be closer to these technological processes to decide and contribute to their creation.

Are we slaves to our technology? I think we are. But giving up freedom allows us to reach other places. I feel that all this impulse to merge humans with digital media will never stop. It's better to get closer, take ownership and shape the future that we want.

What else should I write about?

It's raining outside and the air is fresh. The rain-swollen river is loud. I hope that the rain stops soon so it doesn’t destroy the road again.

There is a huge mosquito and I’ll have a hard time catching it.

I’ll stop writing to hunt it.

Done, one less mosquito, now there’s are only a thousand left.

I think of M. He went north, to the Caribbean. He likes to rant about everything.

I think of B. How strange, quite ridiculous actually.

The truth is, I'm not a writer. I'm a distiller and that's what I came to do in this forest. I came to distill and teach about distillation.

I think of N. I can't let negative thoughts invalidate my desire to write. Create for the sake of creating. Create to evolve.

Well, I'm not a writer. I like to rhyme. I like to improvise rhymes to the rhythm of musical beats. It's a kind of game between my memory, my mouth, and the moment. Sometimes I feel present and each word is measured, each phrase has a meaning. Other times I feel like a medium between two worlds. It's as if suddenly I only feel my skin and I am aware of my muscles, the air coming out of my mouth as I articulate noises into words. My voice, that sound expresses everything that my brain’s synapses are firing. My ears are listening. But my focus is on my skin. It is in the middle of these two worlds, I split into three versions of myself. I observe from the one that is between my internal world and my projection towards the external. I don't think about words and the sound of them works in an abstract way, it ceases to be mathematical.

I like that state. Now that I write it, it reminds me of my childhood. The joy of discovery.

Why am I writing this? What am I writing this for?

One more paragraph and I reach a thousand words. It's still raining. I'm tired and tomorrow is going to be a long day. I have to drive for several hours. I'm going to change climate zones and ecosystems. I'm going to follow the waters on this side of the mountain range on my way to the Pacific coasts. My brain feels dry. This exercise is going to cost me much more than I imagined. Right now, I lost all desire to do it. I'm not in the mood. Like the moment before going out to exercise. Only 100 words left. A couple more sentences.

Another anecdote?

An interesting topic like solar flares, uncommon scientific names, or unconventional food plants. It feels so far away, that old hatred returns. That feeling of schoolwork. Of filling space out of fear of the void produced by a poor grade. Just remembering sitting there repeating that nonsense makes me angry. The printer never worked when I needed it most. Everyone in the family understood that frustration. The black ink always ran out first, the blue was its replacement, and I never printed any text in yellow. The only time I used red, I received a scolding from my teacher because he said that that printing in that color was a lack of respect. That text was a letter with my parent’s permission to donate blood.