Estoy muriéndome de sed 

y es tu propia piel 

la que me hace sentir este infierno.

I am conscious, and I am made of cells, and presumably the interaction between those cells somehow results in my being conscious.

I don't know how my cells interact, but that doesn't prevent me from being conscious. Do my cells know that they somehow result in consciousness? If they do, how do they feel like? If they don't, what reasons do I have to deny that, since I feel nothing like "being a tiny functional part of a planet-level consciousness, or something", such a consciousness exists because of the interaction between me and everyone else, between us, for that matter?

I interact with other people in a lot of ways. Does that necessarily mean that some kind of consciousness emerges at a different level? And if it does, why would I feel anything about it at all?

How do I know that two or three, or thousands, or millions of my tiny cells aren't asking "who are you, big boy?" And, if I wanted to respond loudly, just in case, how should I do it for them to hear the answer?

So we ended up in a goddam bar again. Everyone was there, I mean everyone. Of course that includes my pals, some teachers, two or three nobodies... but damn!, there was C, too. I mean old C!

Outliers are awesome. I mean, what are the odds? And yet there she was, as cute as always.

The encounter was very brief, though: I was leaving, and while trying to make my way to the exit across the irregular table pattern, considerably drunk, this girl sitting with these guys suddenly talks to me. First I'm like "why the hell is she talking to me?", but it just took me a moment to realize it was old C. I mean, damn! Of course I said something stupid, the kind of "hey!, wadda fuck you doin here?!", or something, and of course she answered the only damn possible answer, "having some drinks, or something"...
...of course I kept smiling like an idiot, still thinking "man, what are the odds?", and of course she realized it and looked at me like saying "stop thinking that damned thought; better think on me".

Boy, am I thinking on her. I mean, it was old C, for christsake! What are the odds?!

Coincidences are cool and nice and make you smile the whole fucking next day, just the way she does.

Boy, is this going to be a goddam cool scar or what!

So, what's the point? ¿Para qué lo hago? ¿Para qué hacer cosas?
¿No estaba decidido que, no matter how hard you try, there's simply no way to darle vuelta: El camino termina y termina en el abismo oscuro de la eternidad? ¿Para qué tanto esfuerzo entonces? ¿Para qué, maldita sea?

Si supieras cuán importante es para mí. Si supieras que no es sólo otra de las cosas que me gustan, sino que es la cosa. Si supieras que es mi vida eso que tan fácil se derrumbó esta mañana.

Tal vez es bueno, sabes. Necesito aires nuevos. Sólo no es fácil darse cuenta y aceptarlo, sobre todo habiendo dejado tanto ahí, en eso que quiero tanto.

Aires nuevos, que les llaman...