Shit on my cereal, it won't taste any different.

Oh, for the brightest day soon cometh

2011-06-25T03:02:00.005-05:00

And so I wept...

Now it would be pointless to ask for forgiveness. Not from you, whoever you are out there reading and thinking. I fucked up and that's the only thing on my mind at the current time. I fucked up, but regardless I wouldn't have changed the procedure. If anything, I'd been more careful, more conscient. I would've paid attention and perhaps changed the outcome of things. Even more so, I would've been humble, admit my limitations when the time was due for it.

All day long I have been repeating myself there's an alrenate reality where I succeed, and even another one where there isn't anything to worry about. I keep wishing how much I'd like to live on those alternate worlds, but that is impossible, because I'm allready living in those othere worlds.

It's exasperating and even the sheer thought of having to wake up tomorrow to face it all again worries me. This whole thing worries me because there seems to be no hope. It always seems that way. And I know there's a way out and I know there's a means to achieve all that I want but the road just seems blackened by it. It scares me, I'm scared.

Just to hear those words, to think of them as a dark omen of things to come sets me in a very umpleasant mood.

"Give up on your dreams"

I don't know how things will go from here on and I don't know how time will play out: on my favor or against me. Just to sumarize it all, I feel alone and desperate, clinging to whatever little hope there is that somewhere down the road someone will get interested, will fight and even have a winning argument. That somehow, someway it won't be all in bane and I'll be given one last chance to proove that I can make it out of here.

I fucked up, but just because I wanted time. I was buying my chances, leaving to chance that I was gonna make it unsacthed. I was wrong, I've been wrong for so many things lately and now I'm balancing the outcome, serving as a mark, an indent to the story and how it trasnforms from mere possibility to the last outcomes.

I've been put aside, forgotten by some, not out of spite or relentlesness. There's just nothing for me to inform, nothing for me to report or make sure someone notices...at least, I hadn't thus far. I always feel like running when the walls are closing in, who doesn't, really?

The last thing left for me to do is hope. Pray to whomever is willing to bend the rules and help, and hope. After all is over, I will find a way, given the worst of cases. But I don't want it to go that far. I want to make sure everything will be ok, will be resolved.

I wept for the only thing that can make me crumble and fall is failure, and I failed.

Unresolved Echoes

2011-06-20T04:37:00.005-05:00

I can't complain.

Sure, time has little to no meaning anymore and I'm behind on some very important things, but really, I think everything's as good as could be. The "thing" hasn't come yet, hasn't happened and I'm still overlooking my shoulders. But I'm at ease.

There's finally things for me to do, things for me to watch. I feel glad, happy even...at ease.

I guess, if anything, I should get the record straight. Yesterday was the first time I wrote since christmas brake, and that was the next to something I wrote over a year ago. So, I've wanted to say so much and I even went as far as to write what would've become a lengthy little post.

It didn't happen and probably for the best, I came to that moment were nothing made sense anymore, were going on would be dragging a point to far out for anyone to fully understand or even enjoy the writing. The stuff, however unimportant that I wanted to adress was how I saw a rerun of the clueless show, the one that used to air back in the 90's and how upstet I became from it.

I have no distinct memory of ever watching one episode with my full, undivided attention. Not like I did with this at least. I've never been a big fan of Alicia Silverstone, it actually took me a trip to IMDB to see of anything she did was worth mentioning and as far as I can tell the only other thing that was ok was this one movie, blast from the past were she shared screen time with one Brendan Frasier before he was looked down upon hollywood as the douche he is.

So naturally, the show based on the movie did nothing for me when I was a kid. I remember living the TV on waiting for it to end so I could carry on watching Kenan & Kel or some other shit. What I had seen was an episode that was both ignorant, dangerous in that embelishing the skank/bitch image from the 90's. You know, female empowerment not through guts, wits and brains but by clothe, attitude and money.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for a girl with attitude. Just that it has to be the right kind of attitude. This show, the episode, what it showed me, was that it was all driven by the sort of dumb stereotypes, even stereotyping people might think as too much. Dumb black kids tryng to be guetto, nice rich white girl who is too naïve for her own good, best black friend that brings moral support and leverage.

Problem is, it was filtered by that something you can see in a lot of Disney stuff now-a-days. Sort of a marketing strategy. This girls were no Daria and sure as shit were no Clarissa, they behaved like spoiled rotten kids pretending to be hot shit. Kind of like when people tried to market the Nicole Ritchie / Paris Hilton little mobile. You don't buy it, is what happens. They can show you two youg independant women from the city that are acustomed to the high rolling lifestyle, you call it bullshit and rain down on the two coked-out sluts.

The plot revolved around an old friend who was visiting town. Anyone familiar with plot devices would've known this is the one were the kid comes to break hell in an otherwise familiar environment. The girls, self-confident and reassured of themselves, describe her as a prude....who just happens moved to New York.

The moment I heard that, I nearly lost it. I guess that was my deal sealer, the story was obviously gonna show me this screaming, beating, she-devil child brewed up amidst the rotten smells of a beast that engulfed her in flames just to spat her back out, a beautiful mess of tattos and piercings, of died-blond hair or red or pink or yellos or blue or various shades of neon.

So beautiful in all ways she came, a man eating banshee in all ways and terms. Depraved and volatile, the sort of turn-on for a guy like me. You know, a suicide girl. With fucked up hair and shitty make-up or no make-up at all. Just her torn and ragged in clothe, body and soul, patched together the way you normally would...emotional stiches.

I mean, the story drove me there...Listen, I'm a pretty jaded person. You show me a couple of Beverly Hill chicks in "supposed" high coture miniskirts with matching jackets carrying small wimpy dogs with them, groomed out to look like barbie dogs, without being able to spur out one, just o n e phrase that indicates any form of self-respect, of actual self-conciousness, anything remotely fun or riské or anything at all, even if it's just a penis joke, or a toned one for that (this was, after all, a kids show...which I guess pissed me off the most) would assured me this young women were, at the very least, aware of their own sexual pressence.

It's that which I can't take, a woman or girl pretending. Pretending not to know, not to care, not to be aware, yet can't focus on other things, can't create or deviate, just pretend and hint. The episode made notions of going out with a team of swimmers, some mention to their tiny speedos and some shit (oh...there were penis jokes after all) and how much fun that would be.

When the New York friend makes an entrance I'm left to my own damn shame. Here I was hoping for a punk rock goddess, got a goth instead. And goth in terms of the show was a nice pale girl with black hair, black lipstick and a black gown type of thing. She wanted to see the last places were famous people died and smoked weed. Actually that was it, she pulled out one joint, the others went bat-shit crazy.

Because, you know, theres no such thing as controversy and vices in Los Angeles, especially not in Beaverly Hills, what with all the trying to look good, school and shenanigans this kids got themselves into, besides the social stigma of being caught indulging in vices. I mean, sure they were in High school, looked like 20-somethings and dressed like rich tramps, but to think they would even consider to be in the same space as one joint would be enough to get all offended and what-not, even though California is fucking hash land of the States, right besides Arkansas and New Jersey.

In the end, the girls who are the epitome of shallowness end up showing the goth girl from New York a very important lesson on life. Don't smoke weed, because users are loosers and to resolve her dady issues, since that was what drove her to drugs in the first place. Not the harsh realities of a metropoli such as New York were thousands of people drive a subway system every day without even looking at each other, were things like Punk and Jazz were born, were everyday is a continous look at both the constant decline of humanity and the remaining last breaths of life into mankind brought about by the same things that caused it's detereoration.

New York, birthplace to culture, modern and old, breeding grounds to all forms of artistic expression, lair to perverts and murderers, that rolls on tears and laughter from every single person. The most ugliest prettiest place on earth. Yeah, she lived there. She moved to that place, became a light goth and started smoking weed...beacuse her caring, loving father wasn't paying that much attention to her.

I call bullshit. On both the girl and the show. It sure as fucking hell ain't no Clarissa explains it all. See, now that's character, that right there is a girl with attitude. The "I'm to cool for school attitude that is much more beliavable in a woman.

I wanted to write about that. About how much it affected me in order to write up a shit storm on my blog. About how much it disgusted me. About how narrow minded I can be when it comes to that specific subject, or how mysoginistic I might be, and how I don't consider myself one, because I believe full hartedly that anything women can do, they can do it better. They sure as shit can make it better than me, which is why I have to make an effort to best myself every now and then. About how it bothers me, because it makes women like my sister or my mother or my friends go unnoticed.

And how, after all, I thank them because it makes women like my sister and my mother and all my female friends stand out, shine, take a goddamn stand. It makes them reassure how they're women, tough as any motherfucker, treating words like granades, showing with their natural born talents what most men could achive with flamwthrowers. They shift and shape everything they touch and grow as human beings into one natural, ever-lasting mind set.

They fight, they bite and claw and strait up fuck your shit up, if you so much as stand in their way, and they do all this looking like a gabajizzikillfuckyougoodandstrongillion dollars.

I wanted to write about how an exchange student from Korea changed all our lives when she stayed here. My closest friends and myself saw it all unfold right in front of us, this girl looked plain and simple. In the course of her stay, she returned the smile to the face of one of my closest friends, found great ipmortance in the menial things, brightened up each and every single gathering and right before she left, she changed Let It Be by the beatles forever.

I wanted to write about her, about the importance of a woman with actual soul, of a friend just like that which was far away in Germany, about friends near and dear with exhuberant amounts of soul that would soon be far away in Spain. About all the things in between.

But I didn't.

I didn't felt the drive to do so, the need to do so. Just watched the time pass. Winter brought on the rest of the days, and with them came despair and unpleasentness. Now I talk about it to make ammends, because I was beaten, defeated so to speak, except for one single moment throughout all these.

One moment, living continuosly in my heart, going to and fro, with all the people and all the goodness in it. All the fun and fidelity and just, all the brightness of that moment. One moment, in a stage in front of several people.

I write this now, my friend has ling returned from Germany, shortly my other friends will return from Spain. What's done is done, as far as my life is concerned and for every defeat there's just the chance and one victory which made it all worth-while.

Verum Can Vindico Mihi, Etiamnunc EGO Sumo Servio Meus Deceptio

2010-12-22T02:09:00.013-06:00

Hello, how are you? Good I hope. I'm fine, thanks for asking. I guess I could be better but then again we all could. I'm alive, that must count for something, right?

Well, I guess I shoud come to terms of writing....crap. I just screwed up a captcha. I'm downloading stuff now, I got into it big time since last summer...I think. I kinda got the hang of it and started using this FUCKING AWSEOME software which lets me download a bunch of stuff all at the same time.

Now I've got fricking discographys, complete fricking discographys on my hard drive. I feel I've become somewhat of more tech savy. At least I wish I did, I'd like to become a full-fledged computer nerd now, at least now the ins and outs of my computer and be able to do cool shit.

Anyways, as I was saying, I guess I have to come to terms with me at the curent time. I'm not feeling to hot and it's all due to school. I know it's a dumb thing to bitch about, and it's far and off the only thing I bitch about, but lately I'm mostly just bored. Bored and concerned. It's summer, again, and I'm really starting to get the hang of it.

I dislike summers as a whole. I dislike them because the time in-between periods of awesomeness there's just too much shit. It's hot, wet-humid hot, I've virtually have no friends, there's a stuff to do at home and there's nothing good on TV.

But what really got me down is my mind. My mind goes on stand-by during the summer, it just doesn't give a fuck. The first thing to go is a set schedule, I don't sleep like I should, sometimes not at all. Just this friday I experienced first-hand one of the most mind-altering moments on my life. I stayed up way past anything humanly possible, it was 7:00 in the goddamned morning when I decided it would be nice to crash. Right that instant I get called. My folks decided we should start an exercising regime, we went to jog out in a park.

I went from sleepless video-binge to healthnut-psychic decomposition. I got a shot of adrenaline once we got to the park, I wouldn't shut up for the life of me. Then I came home and dissapeared. I honestly cannot recall the events that led up to 4:00 in the afternoon when I woke up in my bed thinking I had sleep all that time, swearing it was a day after.

It may sound pretty lame. The truth is that it messed me up real bad, even until today...it's hard to explain. It's like something takes a hold of your mind, first you feel lost, confused, then when you "regain" conciousness you go on with the day, except that when you're not watching a screen, your mind makes up stories. Crazy, weird stories and you get tangled up in them. You end up feeling desoriented, angry or sad.

That's what happened to me, I got lost in time too, so to speak. I wasn't living on a set schedule, I didn't eat or did anything significant that day and whenever I felt sleepy, I'd doze off for a few seconds just to see weird shit and wake up, not knowing how much time passed and what the hell had I just seen in my dream.

The times would vary between seconds and minutes (as in a few seconds and 30 minutes or more). I wated to listen to music, but when I'd put on my headphones, nothing I listened to would fulfill me in that musical sense. I'd want to watch a movie but couldn't decide which, not because I have to many, but because I had no interest in the ones I have.

Are you following this? I mean, do you understand what I'm telling you? It's a feeling as if there's something you're looking for, something you must get but you don't know what it is, where it is and what must you do with it.

I don't really like summers. I just finished reading The Silence of The Lambs, took me less than a week and I guess it's the most fun I've had recently. Not that I'm complaining, not about that. Reading a book is one of the most satisfactory things you could do, and nothing beats that moment as you turn the last page to a great book. But really, beyond that and the interactions with real live people, I get lost. I wander here and there and just trail off.

Just now do I think "maybe I should really do something other than picking up my room and other random stuff I'm doing". I hope writing does the trick for me, otherwise I'm just gonna have a real crappy summer.

The truth lies therein within the words, and the truth is that a higher power has saw it fit to punish me, trap me in my insidious lie. There is something, but I won't tell a soul until it's resolved. I've been living these days with constant anticipation of something that just doesn't come, and that too is driving me bat-shit insane.

Right now, I just hope I get to fix it silently and without raising any alarms. So I take it all in, I bitch but I understand that I prefer this than the alternative.

So to pass the time, I think I better write each day, something. Anything. I know what I will write about tomorrow, I want to, I'm looking forward for it. And maybe...just maybe...

...

Perhaps not tomorrow, but monday or the day after that I get a break, and I get to retrieve it without anyone noticing and ridding myself of it. And with it, wash away everything else. It's just so childish but I dare not take my eyes of it, fearing a vengefull god.

So maybe I get a break, and my sentence gets paid and I get to be freed from the worrying and the waiting.

Maybe I get to relax and just live out the rest of the summer, watching animes and reading comic books...or normal books. And maybe I get to clear up my room.

And then, maybe, hopefully, the lambs will stop screaming.

No title #3, but a happy one

2010-11-23T01:30:00.002-06:00

It's that time again to just bent over a little. Get some of my chest and chill. Woo, ok, cool, let's get this started.

Uhmm....wow...haha, uhh....ok, you'll have to excuse me. I seriously can't find anything well worth to bitch about. I guess, everything's been ok, nice even. Wow, well that's a first...which is kind of weird, I do feel really tired. Really fucking tired.

Buuuuut, I guess there isn't much to complain about. I mean, there is, just not anything concrete, anything that's bad and big. I guess I'm doing pretty good. However, there is that lingering feeling out there, I couldn't describe it even if I wanted to, but it feels...there. It's not despair or tragedy or fear, it's just a feeling out there. Something just waiting by in the void, completely unaware even of itself.

Things aren't weird or anything, everyday life isn't a drag, but it isn't dull either. I guess I'm just lightly lucid. There's a ton of work. There's a shitload of things that need to be taken care off. There's a couple of classes I need to take care of, and lastly, I guess there are a few things here and there which need the touch. The "me" touch.

Huh? Weird. I could swear there's something I'm forgetting. Well, my deer blog, maybe it's the fact that I owe you an apology. Stragiht up tp your face, no holds bared, no two face or cockamamie schemes. I. Have. A. Facebook. Profile.

I'm sorry. From the bottom of my hear...I know, I know. I let you down, all that talk and walk was based on nothing, I know. Listen, I had to, things aren't looking great, BUT HEY! I've changed...and...oh my god!

So it's there, it's finally there. Maybe this is what I'm feeling all along. Of course there is nothing to bitch about, because the only things left to bitch about are work and school which are the same thing, happen at the same place and pretty much doesn't fuckin' matter. No, it's that particular that!

After a semester's worth of crappy classrooms, filled with boring people I've come to a breaking point. Ok, sorry, need to tell that first. So, I've finally come to terms with certain aspects of my personality that might or might not need to be changed. Yes, I might now be actually hated by people, not just be paranoid about it, but very matter-of-factly hated. Real, warm-blooded hatred that I can actually taste and feel.

Now that's all on me, I had it coming, bleaergh! on with the stuff that matters. It feels weird because I'm back at that center stage...and...Nothing has changed. I have, but not it, and therefore I'm in no center stage to speak off. Never was. But now, more than before, I'm set back, hiding or something close.

I didn't went back for all the glory and all the fame. I didn't even went back to garner as many friends as posible, nor to be the first or wisest. I went back to facebook for an array of reasons which is to move the fuck on with an impending list of "to do" things. This is were I am, at a fucking halt, because I haven't done shit.

I went back for many things, a certain her as part of those..things...Oh god, I'm sounding like a goddamn teenager. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO ME!?!

What the fuck happened between the summer and fucking now. Have I really stopped being that much pissed off at life? Is reallity so much more difficult to intake when there is literally nothing "wrong" with me? What the fuck happened?

Maybe it's got something to do with feeling...sort of Old. Maybe...I don't know, maybe I'm just not cut for this, the blogging I mean. Maybe I just need to stop and start paying attention, stop infuriating myself since it leads me nowwhere. Maybe there really isn't anything to be mad about and I'm just pushing that envelope because without it, I'd be lost. Maybe I need to find something new to do, get off my ass, get out there. But really just go out there.

Maybe I need to start paying more attention to myself. Maybe...Maybe I just don't love myself that much.

Wait

what

Huh

WHAT!?!

wait

WAIT

no seriously, wait

wait...

waaaaaittttt.....

waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiittttttttttt.....

WAAAAAIIIIIIITTT!!!!!...........

almost there

ready

here it comes

get ready

Oh my God, here it comes

OHH oH OHOHO OH OH OH

P S Y C H E D B I T C H !!!!!

Who the fuck am I kiddin', I love me, I love me and everything that surrounds me, which makes it all the easier to HATE EVERYTHING ELSE!!!!

What the fuck, did you think I was gonna go soft all of a sudden, I said I needed to vent, well I'M-A FUCKING VENTING!!!! I mean, seriously! When was the last time I had a good ol-fashioned rant. Last semester, almost last year. Kinda sucks, don't ya think non-existing reader.

Now I'm here, sitting on my ass at fuckin' 2 in the morning waiting for another day so I can move the fuck up that goddamn ladder that is my life. All the while being blessed and gifted with the company of the, read The most interesting set of people. First of all, fuck the kids. Really, all of you. Fuck you kindly!

And I'm specifically reffering to the brown-nose kids that haunt my ever lasting existence at my beautiful, beautiful carrear. Fuck you, ok, because I have absolutely no idea just who the fuck you are. You make no attempts to shine out, you're always dicking around with your fucking black berries and you seem kinda idiotic. And that's just the males.

The girls, well fuck! I mean really, like, really? Do you have to be like that? Do you have to look like THAT!? Do any of these girls know, even remotely think what it feels like to live out a perpetual feeling of that one extra on an adult film? Do ya? Everywhere I fucking look, one beautiful girl, two beautiful girls, A COUPLE HUNDRED HOT, GORGEOUS, just, AMAZINGLY STUNNING BEAUTIFUL GIRLS. And do they put out, no. Not for me. Not for me because I'm not the guy they're after, and I'm rude and I'm crude and Youknowthedeal....

It's the same thing OVER AND FUCKING OVER AGAIN!!! Stop, really, stop because I'm getting nowhere and getting there fast.

Then there's the idiots, which couldn't take the decency to come in the same fucking package. Don't get me wrong, sure some idiots, be them chicks or dudes are certified lookers, but some really just take the obnoxious little oh-how-I-wish-I-could-skull-fuck-you-with-a-pepper-shaker cake. This people aren't just dumb beyond any reasonable human reach, they're ugly and shady and just beating-inducing. They're not set with going to extremes, FUCKING EXTREMES to get that douche bag vibe just right but they also have to nail the "Ohhh god, how I hate you as a whole".

And the nice and quiet or outgoing but cool people just stay behind. All behind, no fucking contact, no nothing. I tell you, this guys, they're nice and I'm pretty sure a blast, but that pretty sure stays in a "maybe" sort of 79% margin of being the complete opposite because I don't fucking know this people. They want to remain that way, well fuck, you know, I'd like to have more than the occasional allies I've mustered up along my stay in this place.

And, I really, really love my college, I do. I'd be rocking that shirt if not for the fact that, that would be a really douche move. Never the less, I do love my school, assholes notwithstanding. And Facebook, really, just fuck Facebook. Fuck it. Really, just the hell with it. I hate Facebook, I really fucking hate Facebook. And I'm back. Yeah, I have a Facebook profile page and I know exactly why.

Because over the whole of this last semester, I really, really reaaaaaaally, have lost touch with a lot of people that are veritably away from me. And Facebook, be it the filthy dirty whore it is, is perhaps the only solution. Yes I have a Facebook, AND THEY DESERVE TO BURN IN HELL!!!!Samuel L. Fuckin' Jackson FTW.

But most importantly, I went back because I'm going insane here. Ok, there are a few friends within fucking ear range who just seem to have shut away from my life, out of nothingness. Just because, you know, it kinda seemed a nice idea.

...

WHAT THE FUCK!? seriously, WHAT THE FUCK!? WHAT. THE. FUCK!? WHAT THE FUCK? WTF!? It's like someone just sucked on a thermostat and shoved it all the way up my ass and just waited there to see what happens, because they heard off hand from that idiot that went to the same elementary school I went to that when I reach boiling points, the glass burst open and confetti starts to jitter out of my ass. That and it makes a funny noise when it pops. Also that when applying the right pressure PB&J sandwiches come out my ears and nose, while candy corn stretches out my urethra.

I really wish you could see me right now, so you could have the most vivid of images. I really do.

But what does it really feel to reach, yet, another end to another baffling semester/year? I'll tell you what it feels, it feels awkward, lame and somewhat stupid, yet there is an actual lingering feeling but it's not an unknown entity just flapping around on an emo hearless void. That lingering feeling is that besides all the mishaps and misfortunes that there were and that there will still be, there is some actual success to all this.

That in the end, some things worked out just fine and great and what-have-you-not...Or something like that. To say anything, the semester isn't really over, but soon. By the time I read this again, it'll probably be afterwards and I'll be able to actually gloat in my success. And I'm slowly but surely making it to the finish line right next to my hommies.

No pain, no gain...I guess.

Of Hard Work and Other Nuances...

2010-05-28T01:35:00.006-05:00

Now everyone with me, take deep breaths. Come on, one short, one long. Inhale....exhale. Good. We can start.

I am officially done with and set up for summer vacations. Good bye school, hello summer school, hot weather and the probability of a job.

THAT'S RIGHT BITCHES!!!! A J - O - B, A JEEZ-OB, A JEEZ-OB, A JEEZ-OB!!!!!!

Ahhhh, but enough about me, lets talk business. So forward start a new summer and people must surely be wondering now what the hell will you do with all your rightfully given free time, to which you might say "I'm working as well, asshole" which is fair enough, because you're right, I tend...from time to time...to be somewhat of an ass hat. But I'm referring to you're free free time. You know, the endless afternoons which at some point become 4:00 in the morning or something like that.

It's such a wonderful time in which schedules get reverted and everything slowly goes to hell, you know, in expectation for the coming autumn. I personally like to reserve this time to catch up. Just catch up. Yeah, catch up with TV series, movies, animes, anything. Books, comicbooks, games, board games, video games, flash games, house chores like hanging those portraits of your family or building that bookcase you promised so you'd have more free space.

How about stuff you postponed that's intangible? How about lessons? driving, cooking, fencing, hunting, swimming, knitting, drawing, taking pictures, singing, playing some instrument, skiing, French, Spanish, German, Japanese, Italian, Esperanto, Klyngon, Elvish, Java, Html....uh...The language of 4chan.

The possibilities are endless and really set up for just you. How about sleeping? hmm, how about that? Sleep, a good night sleep. Picture it, you haven't gotten a good night sleep throughout this entire semester, year, decade, whatever. Well buddy boy(girl), you've very well goddamn deserved it. Go to the master bedroom, into the bathroom. Hop in to take a quick cold-as-my-heart shower and then hop right back out and slide under the covers and count the days away. Make up for the last whatever that feels like 30 years of sleepless nights. Fuck coffee....for now.

Or maybe you wanna make up for time in a different fashion. Like sex. Go, get to it. No one will think lesser of you. I won't. G0 have sex, with your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or spouse, or roommate, or your local ho or buy yourself a hooker. Come on, you've earned it. It was a hard year. And again, I won't judge. I couldn't give more than two bits of a fuck. Maybe one, but we'd have to see.

Or do nothing, just bask. Meditate. Take a moment, smell the flowers, hear the birds, sit in a park and look around, think of lily patches and deep lakes in which you can dip in and relax. Think of sunny beaches with cool sand and nice amiable people everywhere. No drunken frat boys, no deafening speakers trying to get random college girls go wild. Just you and the most formidable big fat fucking book you can think off. A true page turner that after being read will actually make you think and wonder and not make you feel cheap and underrated. It ain't twilight.

Just do something and leave the wallowing for other time, for other people. Leave it to me! I can take care of it. What is it? Politics got you down, I'll rant and holler about those lying, demeaning sons of bitches doing their work just so they can screw the next guy and for what? A quick buck? Fuck 'em.

Work is a bitch? Take a leave of absence. You've been working your ass off, you've earned it. Book a day or two on the calendar. Fuck everyone else. Fuck Ray from accounting or Bill from human resources, let them deal with their shit, you've had to much on your plate for way too long. Get out of that hell hole and into paradise.

Can't pay for paradise? Make paradise wherever you go. Grab a towel, head for your own personal space and dip in water. Any water, just find water. Fill the tub in your house. Go use the family pool. Ask a neighbor to organize a barbecue, take a trip to the public pool, take a bus to your nearest beach, grab the car keys and head to somewhere with fucking water. It ain't that hard...except if you live in the dessert. In which case, it could be a little harder, but not fucking impossible.

Religion has given you the blues? Hey! Snap out of it. I'm only gonna say this once. God loves you, for whoever and whatever you are....Except if you take things to seriously. So if you've got an attendance record at your local temple and you've simultaneously eaten and drunk large quantities of the body and blood of Christ so that you could take a shit and give birth to a full grown savior of men, then, my friend, you're on the righteous path. Take a day off. Come next Saturday you'll do everything in your power to make of the sabbath all but holy (unless you're going for some double entendre).

Friends aren't speaking to you, family is a pain in the ass, you can't even stand the sight in the mirror and feeling a bit suicidal? Well, what do you want me to say? No, stop, rethink what you're doing. Buddy, if you're far down that road then there's little to jack shit I can do, right? I mean seriously, you're in a lot of pain, nobody loves you, the world is a shitfull wonder and nothing works on you, well you're either extremely unlucky or you're a coward and give up easily.

I mean seriously, everything can be solved. If not, then you know were the exit is. People fuck up every living day, doesn't mean there isn't an exit strategy that well doesn't involve calling it quits in your life. Even people with severe and profound issues can have a way out. I won't lie to you or make you feel better. Some are better of dead, but who exactly isn't for me to judge...unfortunately.

And I've seen some seriously sick shit to except anyone to differ. Like the guy who was obsessed with Björk and taped himself as he put a gun to his mouth and pull the trigger. That was one sick individual and now he's gone and, who knows, maybe he could've become someone, maybe he could've lash it out on some kid. Who knows?

The thing is, let someone else take the edge. You've done your share and now it's, well it just is. It's day or night, it's too late for one thing but early for another, it's dark and quiet or loud and shiny. Whatever it is, fuck it. Indulge yourself, you'll have time to go back to the office or school or whatever the hell is out there and then there's life and then there's eternity and you know what, I'm seizing every fucking day thrown my way.

Because now I'm not angry at particularly anyone. I got by on Brothers and Sisters, my newest televised addiction which is this show that is just a soap opera done with elegance and several twits in sunny California with a nice resolution. Soon as I get back on track, it's all the stuff that makes me happy and turns my brain into mush. And I will do that and feel no one bit of me going to waste, because is what I want and anyone else can fuck off with their opinions, shut up and join me, or mock me.

This summer I expect the return of three bestest friends, one of them a bloggin soul sister, and lots of free time to see them and talk to them and party hardy. I'm looking forward to make amends with movie theaters everywhere since the only movie I saw since December was Lovely Bones. That's right, no Alice, no Titans, no Iron Man, no Shutter Island, no Daybreakers, no Book of Eli, no Legion, no Edge of Darkness, no Wolfman, no Defendor, no Green Zone, no Hot Tub Time Machine, no Kick Ass, no Robin Hood and no Nightmare on Elm Street. Oh, and no Cop Out.

So, tomorrow will be the release of non other but Prince Of Persia: The Sands of Time, so there's something to look at. I lend my Xbox to a friend early on so I haven't gotten around anything from Bayoneta on. I have tons of movies to see in the house I've just bought over time. Despite anything, Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcet's anniversaries are coming up, but to me not as major as my dear old teacher and hero, George Carlin to which I won't stand down again, I'll make something of him this time.

More importantly even are the birthdays that follow. Dear and beloved friends whom I wish I could all see.

And that's it. No complains, no wonders, nothing. Things have happened, it's true. But the thing is that now, they don't affect me like they should. What was really gone and done were my grades and that's not something I'm affected by anymore. I did it. I passed, against all odds I pulled it off and to say the least would be I deserved it. I put my back into it, I tried everything and even went through troubled waters. And I came out.

My friends, some have gone AWOL, some are covering up the basics, some are coming out of the woodworks and making it count, some are fighting their inner deamons and what not, and I'm happy. I'll have time to bitch and moan later when I'm finally set up with a camera and an essay and work, real, actual, work. But for now, things are good and I can't help but indulge myself.

You should too. Hopefully, willfully, my friends. The bassit, the king, the artist, the demon drummer from hell, everyone will be at their best and will be there for when I start school, next semester. Also, I'd like to go on record and say that currently it's 4:50 in the morning. G'night.

Boris, they called him...He saw the whole picture.

2010-04-01T20:37:00.003-06:00

Here's a kicker for you. I'm pissed off.

Weren't expecting that were you? Truth be told, I'm overreacting. This time, I'm overreacting, because things aren't that bad. They suck, but aren't thaaat bad. But in the sake of good writing and some me time I've given myself, I'm fucking pissed.

Why? You know why, the usual why. It's not fair, I'm surrounded by morons, life keeps fucking with me by fucking over the little guy to get to me and then gets to me by inducing painful nothing-to-do revelations in which I just sit and watch my surroundings crumble and die, making me have wishes of killing sprees with a hacksaw in a little town filled with the most repulsive people on earth.

But right now it's a different kind of "I'm pissed", first because I'm miles away from home and anything that remotely resembles home. I'm stuck amidst crazy creatures that see not beyond their own superficial layers of wretched morals, twisted and torn into believing they're righteous beings with righteous laws that oversee any and all other impulses, however small they may be.

I'm stuck amidst people afraid of homosexuality and rebellion, bent on obscuring data and truth from those they deem unworthy, unprepared and week, without realizing in the process who is truly week. But like I said, things aren't all that bad. They're obnoxious for the fact that they can't be changed.

I only remain as a watcher, a passive observer who does not anything at all to change the current circumstances. Because I could but the price to pay for that would be even greater than any other, and because, after all, I couldn't bring myself to crush the hearts and spirits of those around me...Which, at the same time, is pretty much the reason of why I'm here in the first place.

And after all this ranting I find it...I'm no happier than before or relieved like in past occasions. I feel heavy with duty and tired, again. Tired like time hasn't forgotten about me. As if my work never stopped, never gave me a free afternoon to meet with my guys or a day to get my shit together. I feel heavy worked and somewhat week myself.

I took the name of Boris, referencing one Boris Yelnikoff from my favorite director's last movie, Whatever Works, and I felt compelled by many things. While, truth be said, this movie in particular didn't moved me in a way that Deconstructing Harry moved me, it still taught me much things. Obviously the main point of not waiting for things to come down on you, but stand on your own to feet, making it work, whatever works. Get it?

Boris was pissed all the time at all things, much like me in a bad day, but the man had class, had stupor, had it all figured out, whereas I lack much training. It's been a rough week and I really deserve another vacation after this is settled. But, I'll do good with seeing my friends again and talking to them all, specially those whom I haven't seen in a while.

I'll settle for whatever works.

Wait for it...

2010-02-07T17:47:00.006-06:00

I should be doing my homework...

But then what fun would it be TO RAVAGE, SLAY WHAT HATH CROSS MY PATH BE IT AN ELDERLY MAN, SOAKED IN THE JUICES OF KNOWLEDGE AND EXPERIENCE OR THE BRIGHTLY PURE AND LILY CLEAN FAIR MAIDEN, RIGHT IN THE RIPE OF THY LIFE, DESTROY THE LANDS AND BURN THE CROPS IN THE NAME OF BITCHIN!?!?!?!?!

Nonce.

So, without furthe ado...We begin.

Who the fuck I'm kiddin'? Days are starting to go slow and things are just getting complicated. It's what coming back to it all means, isn't it? The snow has cleared, the animals are out of their sleep, flowers and trees are starting to bloom and blosom and everyones bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Ain't nature a bitch, shoving it to our faces. Bullshit, it's back to work/back to school, the proving grounds and building blocks of our lives being defined and valued by the amount of stress that undergoes waking up in the mornings half hoping you could loose conciusness at will or magically be endowed with powers so destructive and dangerous like producing fiery-fucking-balls of doom or being able to fuck things up with your mind.

We could be waking up and finding out that there really is no mercy full god. Waking up to an alien invasion. Waking up to silky sheets, mid-day with a temperature below 30 minimum, or to the soft, loving taps of a light rain that mearly drizzles on your roof and windows. Turning on the news and hearing such wonderful things like there isn't any more poverty in the world, world hunger is a thing of the past, war has ceased and all the douche bags in the world have been impaled...starting with that fucking pussy from Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

OR AT LEAST HAVE THE FUCKING DECENSY TO WAKE UP AND NOT TASTE HATE ON YOUR MOUTH.

But no. There's famine, there's violence, there's economic recession and desperate measures. There's unprecedented natural disasters that hit unsuspecting feeble towns and the people trying to make up for it by broadcasting minute-by-minute coverage of the tragedy in an ultimate attempt to spread awareness, make the masses act out and unite in the name of peace and do whatever it takes to bring Haiti back to it's feet.

But in the making, they fail miserably, the only people interested are all around do-gooders, the dip shit celebrities that take their cue from Bono and corporate head masters bent on lobbying their way unto the pockets, wallets and pursues of the world.

We wake up in the morning to the world we deserve, this boisterous joyful little place that's beautiful underneath the heavy makeup that are hormonal cheap preteen wet dreams covered in glitter and sold everywhere from record stores to movie theater ticket booths, vainful magazine covers, one-dimensional empty promises of control and the pressure inducing realities we're all used to by now.

That is without including the people. The people alone could take billions of billions of countless of words to describe.

So you can say, quite clearly, that I've been having one hell of a week....RIGHT!?!

Up until today I've done a pretty good job containing my frustrations, attaining to the belief, the hard cold conviction that I have the choice to make of things a better situation, realizing only till now that I also believe in destiny and if destiny has it for this year to utterly suck, there's jack shit I can do about it. Safe to say, last days have sucked for one reason or another so I shouldn't hide it really, I should bask in it.

I've taken it as a mantra to say that some people just have it worse than me, and they do. Some people are really walking through shit storms. I've also realized, up until recently just now that, that doesn't really help either.

I'm pissed off and it's not just because of the things I haven't done or do but also because of the things that I don't have. Right now, something. Anything, just to get away. I think for a moment of those who'd want to escape, not just turn away like pussy-old me, but reaaaally run away from. Broken house holds, defective lives and dead-end-shit-filled existences. I feel bad for them because most will never run from it, because they can't. Others won't, because they don't know any better.

I'm tired now, I get tired easily this days. But I insist, because for what it matters, someone somewhere needs me, even though people loose track of that. People need me like I need them, that's why I usually say I hate society but I love people. For all the faith I loose in humanity, my faith in humans just keeps getting stronger.

Now, I'm gonna share to you this little secret.

Last night I dreamed of New York. I dreamed that I was there, twice. Twice in the same dream I traveled to New York. Shortly afterwards, I woke up and was overtaken by this deep sense of sadness. Just, really really sad and I couldn't tell exactly what had made me so miserable and didn't want to put all my money on dreaming the dream that hasn't happened, realizing in the process that what really upsets me are a bunch of things.

I haven't gotten over the fact that some time ago, 3 or 4 weeks, I got reunited with some of the people from my junior years. People I haven't seen in ages. It didn't go like I would've liked it to go. I was heavily disappointed and still moved on. Then there is school, then there is chance and fact, then there is temptation and promise and work and responsibility and then there's the ongoing wish to have powers of any kind.

I'm currently watching Heroes.

But that doesn't happen here. What happens here is that I become a silent winner, a dignified social aid of some sort without people getting hold of it and the awesomest little guy in the world of whom not many people have heard off. The bullshit comes and goes and sticks and rots, continuously. I try my best to fuck with the bullshit and horribly fuck someones mind.

I try.

I Fucking Hate You Facebook, I Really Do!

2009-11-10T02:14:00.005-06:00

I used to have a facebook profile.

That, alone, should work as the understatement of the year. I used to be amongst the millions of happy-go-lucky users of one of the most succesfull social networks of this, our current decade. Used, were; all key words in the plot that thickens.

To me, as to the countless, facebook used to be the shit. Now, quite literally, I consider facebook to be not more than shit. It profoundly sickens me that at random times in the day I think it through, long and hard to return. Should I give in? Let go of my pseudo-antisocial tendencies and stop my ongoing hate campaing against the network in question? Should I go back and have my grip on the pulse of the community?

It sickens me because for a moment, as tiny as it is, I think of the reasons why I should go back ignoring the fact that it is this same reasons why I left facebook, a badly hurt, agonizing beast on the side of the road shaking madly in cold and desperation, holding dearly for life with it's guts spilling all over the asphalt of the cybernetic highway were I so boldly ran over it high on frustation, hatred and a trigger happy state of mind.

At least, for me, that's what I did.

Most of my friends have heard the tale of my farewell to the evil site. Today I told it again. It's a tale for the ages, complete with unfulfilled expectations, broken hearts and a yearning for what never came. But it's not a tragic story, no one but the beast died in the process. And as I told my friend today, as I told some before, one day, someday, the evil site will fall, just like the many before it. A new one might emerge, but the one will die, as it did for me, as it will for many.

My hatred, my spur of disdain and this current rant, naturaly, is the result of a moment of weakness were, as I previously stated, I sickened myself, because I thought about it, I deeply considered going back, reopening my page and clicking away, finally coming to terms with the fact that there are people I never ever see anymore. And then I realized just how horrible a notion that would be.

Going back at the openess, at the focus group and center stage. At the one place were you're everything and everyone can know it. The hell with private settings and selectivty, facebook exists for one reason only and that is to terminate all and every strain of privacy there has ever been or will ever be. A person that prohibits information or turns away from the many things a facebook profile offers is not a true user of the site, and therefore no fun at all.

Lucky for me, I'm the dullest, most boring sunavabitch this side of the mississippi, or I can pretend to be and bitch, moan, reject and turn against the evil site. I can't go back, I won't go back. I don't want to, now that I think about it. It did me wrong, it terminated surprise and originality and exchanged it for a false-on sense of comepetivity at being the first to know something, or saying the coolest line of the week. Being the most interesting person ever and standing out from the group of a couple thousand billion people.

It was all a lie, and at the end of the run it left me with half-assed projects and no expectations. I learned, the hard way, not to believe the internets fable of the pretty interesting girl no one seems to care about, but you. That forgotten, wild specimen that just so very special only I have acces to her. I learned not to trust the coolness of my photographs or the way I dealt with imformation, giving in for the funny and unique or the honest and good willed, for it is all a death trap.

I fucking hate facebook now, because I fell for every dirty trick on the book and would still do if the wretched machine still had a chance. But I sprung from it's death grip, onto my own individual terms and turned my back on it. Fuck Facebook and everything it stands for. We allready have msn. Far as I'm concerned, it's all we fucking need. But the charade lives on.

All the dirty old tricks, all the people I welcomed into my life, half hopping to reconect with those whom I estranged, and keeping in touch with those whom I see allmost everyday. Thinking that in the years that've passed, magically, they've all transformed and now complete the full circle that is my personality. They all want to hear about movie facts and comic-based opinions.

They all want to hear the string of echoes that stir in my head, all the talk and walked based on my all-time greatest heroes, from the ones that I knew back in junior high, to the ones I know now. All those people want to hear the same rant 100 million times that firmly state Kevin Smith is a superior life form, Woody Allen is a fucking genius and Hunter S. Thompson is a demigod. All of them believe in the frightening posibilities of a zombie outbreak and understand chat room lexycon.

They're interested on the latest news concerning the gaming universe, they all love the 80's and enjoy watching anime. They all like the same music I hear and they are cool and crazy and free.

They're not. Not all of them can be this way. Not everyone can be a happy sunavabitch whom I can hang with and now that I understand it, I don't want them to be.

Because then what need would I have of my friends? To see them, talk to them? What need would there be to stand out? Why should I even bother showing up in our usual hanging spots? Anything I wanna know about them, I can just check it on facebook? Their current moods, their vacation pictures, their opinions, their concerns, their worries, their struggles, their merits, their conquests.

I could easily tell if they're dating or not. If our friendship is really worth the effort or heading to the gutter. Everything would be at my reach, nothing would be a surprise or a revelation.

Fuck Facebook and everything it represents.

Because I value the truth and beauty that is coming to school one day and finding out that my best friend has grown a beard, that somebody else started dating that one chick they've been eyeing out for a while. Because if somebody really cared about me being somewhere they would flat out say it, invite me or whatever. Because no one has the right to know something about me I wanna keep a secret or that I don't mind a few people knowing.

Beacause I don't wanna deal with cutting ties to people and situations, to past lifes and forgotten moments that remain so for a reason.

This is what I want, my voice to reasonate in the walls of my subconcient mind having anyone worth their salt reading them if there is any true and real interest.

This is what I'm happy with.

The Bitching.

The Complaining.

The make believe that everything is fucked, but I stand above it with reverence.

In this age and time, this is what I value. People are a mystery, one that only few are really worth uncovering. And in my weakened state, I was compelled to go back and taking the easy way onto uncovering the secrets of the soul that hid on those very special people. But I was wrong. There is absolutely nothing even remotley heroic or divine of loging in, typing some words, browsing some page and pretending to have something in common with someone just by looking into their page.

That isn't having something special with someone, that's cheating. There isn't surprise. There isn't context. There's just facebook and it's own particular habbit of exhibiting people.

Fuck Facebook. I'll decide what kind of awesome I fuckin' am.

God plays dice with me

2009-09-17T23:24:00.005-05:00

It would seem apropiate to renew my blog and begin this new post with a positive feeling...or at least make fun of anything.

But doing so would be a direct offense to everything I stand for, an offense to the universe and the matter that surrounds me and an all-together kick in the crotch with a pointy hollow steel rod welded to the tip of a massive pendulum that weights over 500 lb atached to another massive steel rod that measures a good 34 meter and has been lifted (or swayed) to a complete angle of 120 ° over a height of....you know what? The pendulum comes down from high above and weights a lot.

You don't need to know physics just to realize a heavy object dropped from a high height at high speeds that will inevitably colide with your nuts or your snatch is going to hurt a lot.

Because that's the pretty little joyfull oyster that is my life. It's in moments like this when I most truly and really miss George Carlin....Cause he always made me laugh and he always made me realize the truth the world hid through his words. It's in moments like this when I think of him and of Lewis Black and Hunter S. Thompson and Jesse Custer and Spider Jerusalem, because they all had it worst. And they all would know what to do in a case like this.

So it turns out, bitching is forthemost the designated feeling to be held at this point's notice. I did bad in school, I'm still a few miles off being the bad ass I want to be, I still get cornered and stomped, my love life is a contemporary play whose only purpose is to explore the inequities and misadventures of being an idealistic young adult with so much ambition but near to no drive to get what he wants in the modern age.

The modern age being a mish mash of a digitalized era were pop stars are 15 year old girls made to look like highschool skanks marketed to males from preubecsent hormonal age were anything in a skirt and a halter top is jacking-off material to the upbeat new and improved pedophilic pervert that holds an important spot in society but every now and then enjoys the vissage of Miley Cyrus cock teasing the camera.

A lot can be said of the modern age. Our current time. Our wonder years. Politics and counter politics become steady jokes as time goes by. On one side we have either the top notch model of the idealic asshole running the country. Any country. My country, your country. France, Italy, USA, Mexico, Canada. It doesn't fucking matter.

Or

The breath-of-fresh-air straight-out-of-the-oven newly designed optimized and easy to handel head of state, made to fit just right in anyone's mind bearing all that is needed out of a real man, an honorable man.

I don't hate President Barack Obama, I don't even dislike him. If I were a northamerican citizen I would've voted for him, and I don't believe in voting as much as Rush Limbaugh believes the holocaust never happened (and if this pun has already been used elsewhere, I'm sincerely unaware of it and sorry for plagarizing, because plagarizing, without knowledge, is still writing someone else's briliant ideas).

But politics have been simplified for us punny mortals. There aren't any more tyrants and warlords which make enthusiastic writers like me or the many out there viciously, blood hungered and make us step out into the rain, the mud, the filth, the shit and anywhere else were we can fish and reap the truth. There aren't any more monsters and crooks like there used to be, just stupid fucking morons posed there as warning sings.

"DON'T FUCK WITH US.

WE MADE THIS MAN A PRESIDENT"

So they read. And counter politics (as well as anything counter) used to be run by wasteoids and freak heads. People who spent too much time away from the sun, people who would wet themselves beofore standing off from their chairs or starve to death before ungluing themselves away from the computer monitor back when hacking was underground and penalty of the law. Those that, unlike the fearsome journalists, would seep and uncover all the secret little details in our world from the comfort of their pseudo-homes by way of the interweb.

Now all the edgy guys are comedians on television. The hackers are your next door neighbors (you know...as long as you're not that next door neighbor) and the internet is available to everyone, which in turn have made it a knack to deal with gossip columns and funny videos.

I didn't wrote porn on purpose, because porn has always been there, will always be there and is, perhaps, one of the last remaining remmants of the true society that have existed since Greece was the shit. Before christian conservatives and slavery. Before the new world, which has fall right back at the hands of the sick and the poor from which it was once denied.

And that is only politics...and a very, very, very light side of it.

It's the way of things. Which is why I miss Carlin and I long for Lewis Black. Because I'm roaring right now, deep from within my entrails lies something so powerful that's been building over time...again. But there's no need to release it like I used to, you don't deserve it and my blog doesn't deserve it either. It's my path, the one I've chosen, the one that's meant for me. It's the way of things and I hold no grudges against that.

Sufice to say, I love and hate my life. I love the joyus wonders that have crossed and keep crossing my way. Hate it for the little dwarves and elves that hid behind the shadows grinnin like morons and waiting for the perfect moment to dry hump my leg.

If you don't happen to know it, dwarves and elves are the most hideous creatures in the known universe. They're not scary, just utterly disgusting, like a leaving-breathing knee-sized aging sack of balls with teeth sharp enough to puncture little holes on your leg and nails so goddamn large and pointy and sharp they make little scratches. Needles to say, all of this isn't deadly, just somewhat painfull and really fucking annoying.

They sweat and stink of shit and piss and rot. They have the foulest breathes from eating nothing but filth and they tend to bleed when they get over excited, either from bitting their lips to hard or just as some twisted featurette in their nature.

Sometimes they bleed from their badly shaped scrawny decaying penis. But their squeel. Their orgasmic whaling is perhaps the most obnoxious sound a human can ever hear. It's distinct mark is that of a creature that's horrible in every single way and very horny.

We, as humans, are marked to walk through life with momets that equal one of these beings dry humping your leg. Men and women with worst luck actually get raped by these devilish fiends. Sometimes by more than one.

But we continue. It just so happens that the world and everything in it belong only to those able to walk through the filth and the shit and get their colons lightly desintegrated by these creatures and keep on walking, knowing that they get better at walking on mud and filth and shit every time, all the while wearing a make shift necklace of dwarve's and elve's eyes, ears and fingers. You know, as tokens of having defeated this moments.

This is how I feel at the moment. On the verge of something big and important, close to an exit but still knee deep in dank water and in almost pitch darkness. The important thing to do is know there is an exit.

Forget about the fucking government, the fucking media, the fucking bullshit. Forget about who's fucking who and who's getting fat. Forget about the needless and the useless and stick with the interesting and promising. I assure you, knowing that Kanye West is a total shitbag is not at all fullfilling since, personally, I couldn't give more than a fuck about Taylor Swift and knowing so does not make me a happier person.

Knowing that what happens to Batman in "The Dark Knight Returns" or how does Silent Hill, the original game go or the words to Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit and half a billion things about movies in general, is far more important. Even the little things, are far more important, like what happened this last couple of weeks. Those are the true treasures in a over-digitalized world were mantaining an edge is the least people could do.

Not cross it, just have it. I miss Carlin, but I know we all have a little of him inside ourselves, because we're all bastards.

And a bastard is what I want to be. Thanks for the time and the trouble, thanks for everything piece of shit/cake life. Thanks for showing me watchmen the movie and Eureka Seven the anime. Thanks for making there be religion and publishing books that defy it, defile it or flat out piss on it. Thanks for making me a bad student but the most awsemost guy that I even make myself proud and tap my shoulder for just being there, saying that or doing something.

And thanks to all my friends, past and present. They're the ones keeping me at bay. Them and the promises, because even when either one of the two have failed, I haven't. Not as a human being. Not as who I'm supposed to be.

Thank you. I am blessed.

And fuck god, the house always wins.

No Title #2

2009-07-24T00:30:00.005-05:00

Ever been in that situation when, just as you're about to look at the world with a clean-clear view or a different, yet positive new perspective, the Universe gets cute and "tests" you in a way?

I fucking hate those situations. Because I almost, almost, always loose.

Almost. This is enough for me to loose, just significantly, a lot. And I fucking hate it how what comes into contact acts in a way that my, at the time fucked up mind, plays it so that it seems everyone's against me. I hate it because it only happens when I try my best to be happy. Good Omens; just played that card, didn't I?

It's the paranoid dreams all over again, of saying one thing and then losing ground to my goddamed luck. Its many things. How I feel. How it makes me feel. One thing and already things look bleak, desperate, and stupid. I already start to play the scenes in my head, what is to come. I'm already fighting people in the future because of what they said. I'm calling them names, casting them dirty looks and rejecting them as people as it was.I'm losing ground already.

And all because of one tiny little moment. Now I'm a bit relaxed, I go with it. Fuck it, it's what you do. There's no two ways about it, there's no I could've, I would've and to think otherwise would be a complete loss of my time and a sure-as-hell one-way ticket down a long, sufferable and very familiar path to me. One were at some given point I realize I fucked it up. So fuck it.

To think at all that this is in part thanks to some people would also be sufferable. I have enough to deal about with myself than to have others trying to pitch in so if you whoever you are and will be in or out of my life, if you don't understand this, don't try too. Don't even bother in reading the rest of it. It's not even a message, it's a rant. A personal rant. Because after dealing with the fact that nobody reads this stuff then I might just as well use it as an outlet.

But it isn't what I want. What I'm really after is balance, comfort and commodity. To know that this one aspect of my life is in order because I've had it with the temporary friendships. But one thing that is true, beyond a reason of a doubt, is that I didn't felt like this the first time someone went away. And in all good measure, the circumstances will do their best to just sink it in.

I remember, though, a day in which it wasn't at all too bad and we all had our laughs and joys. And I remember that day, it stood out. It was a good day. But it was also the quintessential map of things to come. Now, as always, I stand and feel the cold, the confusion, the anger, the rage, the hate and violence that come with it. To know that I've been shaked.

Never again, so I said, and not so easily. When I wrote my eulogy to Carlin I said nobody could shake me that easily anymore. This isn't easy, far from it.That's what it is. The feeling of not wanting to do anything, dropping all attempts to change something. Not now, not while things are like this.

In 1 week time I go back to school. By then I must have resolved sleeping periods amongst a few other things. In the meantime all the pretty girls and undisclosed anger/hatred/violent needs can stumble up and form in a macabre state and mock me or leave me be. All the confusion can form up in a shell and crumble crushing me in its wake.

THE FUCKING SKY CAN VERY WELL LIT UP AND BLAZE AT MY HEAD, for I will feel that and drop a few "f" bombs in public. A lot can happen, much more to my dismal. One thing is certain though. Everyone, men and women alike, have their boys or girls and whilst all of them round up and chit-chat their merry-go way into exaltation, be sure to know, you can all kiss my ass. For I will sure miss my boy.

In 1 week time I go back to school under near to perfect period placements, towards a brand new semester filled with thrills and wonders, with the people I know and love and perhaps even new ones at that.

1 week...and one of my best friends won't be there.

A good-harted fiery individual who isn't afraid or bullshit ridden. Who fits just perfectly into our lives, who makes us laugh and chill and have a good time and who, safe to say as my real best friends tend to do, has shown me a way. Strong beyond anyone's personal view, hated by some, love by us and bassist player for the band.

1 week and a very fucking important person...won't...be...there.

Fuck.

Good Omens

2009-07-20T00:19:00.006-05:00

I could bitch about anything, I really could. The heat, the boredom, the weirdness of it all and how everything is mockingly connected to some distant fact in my life but as I write this while beatboxing, I suddenly want more. Not the usual rantings, about movies, why they are cool, why I am cool to know so much about them or comic books or daily situations.

I want rants, don't get me wrong I live for rants about anything. I'd even sit through a religious rant (Jesus Camp, nuff said). And why? why, because of the solely beauty of morbidity.

I'd sit through a religious rant or a political rant for the same reason I'd read all the coments on a youtube video, just to get sickeningly fed with people's opinion's that, mind you, sometimes differ greatly from my own. And that pisses me off, but I do it, because I might well not have enough respect for myself. BUT TODAY, today stands out for a reason and that reason is that I'm fed up with the FUCKING FUCKED UP-NESS OF THE SITUATIONS THAT SURROUND ME!!

So...I've been messing arroung, getting my thrills and daily adventures out of whatever the world can provide me, be them online, live, recorded somewhere or published and republished in the time span between 1917 and 2006. I've seen TV shows, I've finished complete anime seasons, watched movies that were on hold and I have even fooled around in other people's blogs and for all the time consuming activities, I fancy...It's not enough.

I mean seriously, it's not only that every day while fighting to stay awake some bone is thrown in my direction, some obscure or public occurrance happens and while I get round to write about it, all, if any, inspiration leave my putrid self in search of more meaningfull places, like my friends (who'd known?). And so I stumble back in my chair, rock my earphones and sit while listening to "I'm on a Boat" for the 128th time in a row.

Speaking of friends, I'd like to take this unbeknownst moment and confess that I've been getting my kicks from, amongst many places, a certain blog written by a certain young lady who fancies a certain knack for things electric and if she EVER gets to read this non-sequital pages of rantings and such I would like to share with her that strange feeling I get in those wee hours of the morning when the mood's just right and the light is ok, the tunes are enticing and my mind swirls with thoughts.

Right when I say to myself "hmm, It's been some days since I read anything interesting, I wonder if the certain young lady has posted anything new" and whaddaya know, SHE HAS!!!! Not only that, but it kinda stands out and suddenly brain up here goes "Shit this is good" and bye bye go all wishes to write.

I don't feel bad though, she deserves the attention and while it seems I'm sucking up to her, I fancy the girl and her friends, she's cool (as are most the people I meet). Cool people seem to attract two things: Despair and more cool people. SOOOOO to those days, were I mysteriously think "I wonder if there's somehting new" and there is and it's really good, I salute her with this old school rhyme (set to the tune of Easy-E's Boyz in the Hood)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stay up late
At around 2:oo
Just thought that I had to get my blogging soon
Gotta get readin' befo daylight sets in
Befo' my body get's used to the lack of sleep

About to stop, allmost said good night
Then I felt I really had to stay online
Tried to remember.
It was a blog
I didn't knew much, only that it ended in pop

At my laptop, started clicking some letters
Was done soon, clicked the key "Enter"
Got to the site and to my surprise
I was soon reading them posts, from first to last

Now I hear my iTunes play (play)
Hearing a theme song from a Mehca Anime
I't so witty and smart h0w this girl writes
Let me tell you what kinda' stuff you might find

There's a post about Woody and a picture of the 'chords
Something about pet peeves
How un-lucky are Dumb Girls

Went to the blog to humor her
Little did I know I'd return every now and then
A thought comes up what does it mean
I haven't charged my Nintendo DS, Oh Em Gee

Returning to the point in the song, I must say
It's so fun to read what goes through Mrss. Pop's head

´Cause girls like her are a dime a dozen
Somehow, it seems, her friends are just as awesome
I should know about that, I can read people moods
No doubt about it, Wendy and Babs got it going on too.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

My rhymes are guetto and dope and leet, all at the same time. Suck that T.I. (I hate that fucking asshole!!). Well that was my litte shout-out to a blogging soul sister, may she be in good times.

Meanwhile, as I try to find any meaning to life after Avatar and Michael Jackson, the world swirls past around and shakes me in the most unexpected ways from the comfort and stallness of my own home. Seriously though, I've got a high powered fan blazing away at me and my elbows are sweating. But enought of the nasty details, on with the crazy rantings...

I. HATE. THE. ENTIRE. CAST. OF. HOUSE MD!!!! Except for two people, Dr. Wilson and House Himself.

I have to get this out of the way because it's been eating me inside not to know what the fuck is going on. I've been watching it lately, trying to figure why everyone loves the show, all my friends, all my medial friends, allmost anyone I know that has ever seen a House episode LOVES house.

AND WHY!!!! WHY has been the question pounding away at my cerebellum for the last 2 seasong I own. WHY do people endure this. WHY does it still air after that fatefull first season. WHY does it feel strangely unwatchable yet I'm compelled to watch it to the last minute.

I GOT IT!!! Today, exactly at 3:15 in the evening, roughly 12 minutes after I awoke, I saw another episode (the one were Michelle Thatchenberg has a tick in her...lady bussiness and is caussing her to experience all sorts of shannananigans) and finally found out the why.

WHY does anyone see it? WHY is it still on the air? WHY has it won awards? WHY does no one bother to make any change in the storytelling? Because, AND ONLY BECAUSE, of Dr. Gregory "AWESOME" House. Because in the weird alternate universe of Dr. House everything seems, seems, normal. BUT IT ISN'T.

EVERYONE!!! is as stiff as a board, when people get sick, they get sick of the most unsual, rare once in 5 lifetimes diseases at the same time they have at least 2 or 3 other things that always put the guys off scent, there's no such a thing as ethic, much less medical or work ethic (how come they always find a way to get into people's appartments and nobody ever does anything?) and nobody listens to House, EVER, even though he is ALWAYS right.

That's the strange weird dull fealing that comes with the warm, fuzzy feeling I get when Hugh Laurie says anything at all. The show is un-oroginal, repetetive as fuck and everyone else (except for our very own Dr. House and Robert Sean Leonard of Dead Poet's Society fame) is the epitome of HATRED!!!

This people are stuborn and weak and increadibly stupid. There's the girl who has weirdly evolved from that cute, naïve girl who had a crush (read O-V-B-I-O-U-S) with House during the first season to a megalomanical bitch, who's nosy as fuck and gets involved in absolutely every case, besides I get the slight idea that sometimes she goes jus a little bit overboard trying to proove House wrong.

Then there's the black dude who is just as obnoxious, pedant, stupid and CANNOT PUT HIS FUCKING EYEBROWS DOWN!!!!! SERIOUSLY, BRAW, WHAT THE FUCK!! DID YOU GET A PLASTIC JOB IN THERE, WHAT'S WITH THE PERPETUAL LOOK OF "I told you so" YOU HAVEN'T TOLD ANYONE SHIT SINCE THE SHOW STARTED. Then there's the blonde bitch (what's his face, the Awestrelian one) who's the definition of stupid times a fucking asshole.

AND LET US NOT FORGET the power tripping, über BITCH that is their boss. Why did the producers got rid of Chi McBride? Why did they let Sela Ward leave? WHY DID NO ONE GOT RID OF CUDDY!!?!?!?! She's not cute, she's not hot, I don't find her the least bit appealing and Hey, you know? I get when House's *team* gets it wrong, I get it, They're supposed to, they're idiots. But his boss!!! If anyone listened to what cuddy had to say...fuck it, if anyone listened to what ANY of the supporting cast memebers had to say, people would actually D I E.

But cuddy...She's always threatening to fire House, to lay him on his arse, to let him go, to take him of cases...I just saw one were she had a patient and neglected him (a six year old) while House had a hunch and followed that hunch and discovered kiddo had a problema and started treating him and was well on his way to save him and stepped out of line and BUTTFUCK CUDDY came along and demoted him, told him he was off the case.

I get it and I think so do you, If anyone listens to anyone BUT House, people would DIE, countless of countless of people would die, but cuddy is supposed to be the boss, so why the fuck is SHE still working....AND NOW I KNOW WHY!!!

My rush, my exaltation, it comes from knowing how much I hate all this characters and how much I hate they always demote House, and deaminish him and try to ignore him and make him an idiot and when proven to be right no one gives the slightest thank-you to him. I finally understand that everyone is an asshole AND THEY CAN'T LEAVE.

Why? Simple, because then House couldn't make complete fools out of them and give them snappy comebacks and virtually defeat them at absolutely everything, starting, by being an actual doctor. SO SUCK IT PACK OF MORONS, they have to stay. They have to stay and endure the endless array of insults from a medical genius they ' ' hopefully ' ' will never be.

Because House is the ultimate bastard. He's rude, gross, dirty, unethical, inmoral, depraved, unclean, unshaven, immature and an all around bastard and you love him!!! They tell him to kiss their ass, he tells them to suck his dick. They go around demoting him, he goes beyond authority. They kick him out on the streets, he cane-hops his way round the back and into the hospital. They try to put him down, he rests assured that everyone will fall...and they do. Suckers!

So as to the rantings, I could bitch about the heat, the boredom, how Michael Jackson's death hurt me so much and how much Avatar filled a gap in my life. I could rant about movies like the summer's flop that was Transformers 2 or how I feel about Terminator Salvation or how much I'd like to watch Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince and bitch about what they missed and made up. I could go on and on and on and on about a lot of things, but I won't. Because I've already done two of the three things that secure a better tomorrow.

Prove the world Dr. Gregory House and Dr. James Wilson are the only two human beings on HOUSE MD and praise my friend's blog besides diggin in that people SHOULD watch Avatar (seriously, it is that good) and my little written mention to MJ (I'll promise an euology some day).

But the third thing, the one that assures me great things will come...

Today, as again I woke from a three-four hour sleep after staying up for most of last night up until 7:30, as I went through my day as expected by doing absolutely nothing, it came the time that I took a nap....

I dreamt of a theatre. In that theatre, far back on the seats, there was a man, far from the people on the primary rows. I walked by the man, looked at him and said

"....You're Johnny Depp"

To which the man responded "Why yes, yes I am"

And I said "Wow, How you doing Mr. Depp?"

And he said "Fine, fine thank you. Just enjoying the play"

To which I responded "I see that Mr. Depp, say you know this reminds me off Hunter S. Thompson"

Which made him say "You know about Dr. Thompson?"

To which I said "Oh shucks Mr. Depp! I love Dr. Thompson and I love his work"

And he said "Hey! So do I...uhh please....Call me Johnny, come sit here, tell me more about Thompson"

...

When I woke, I just lay there on the bed and said "Johnny Deep and I are Friends". If that's not a Good Omen then there is no God.

Peace.

A Cold Day In Hell

2009-06-19T11:39:00.007-05:00

I wake up wiping sweat with my hands as my eyes get used to the lack of light around me. Something glitters, off in the distance. Something...green. I reach out in front of me to a dark empty space. I make out a small dark lit room with a bed, two night tables at my left and a television set at my right. I'm in a motel room.

"Thought you'd never wake up"

Someone's in the room with me....a woman. She's staring out the window into the abysmal night from where a neon green light shines at us. Her voice is low and swift, like swiping through water. I try to compose myself. I'm in a couch sitting in the dark looking straight at her. I'm wearing a suit, it feels uncomfortable. The air is stale and hot, dry like my throat.

"Go clean up to the bathroom, we have to go"

I want to talk but the words don't come out. My mouth feels sore and stingy. Swallowing what feels like razorblades, I stumble to an awkward stand as I notice my whole body aches. My legs and shoulders hurt, my arms are void of strength, my hands feel weird and my head hurts. Bad.

I turn to see a door, open it and head for the sink. I turn on the lights, turn on the faucet, and wash my face and mouth. I'm wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. The shirt has blood on it. I look up to find my image in the mirror in front of me after being able to see properly. It scares me.

The left side of my face is bruised and my beard is full grown. It wasn't when I went to bed. But the bruising is bad. Either I was being a very naughty boy or someone really doesn't like me.

I fall back into the room shaking at the sight of my shiners were the woman stands taking puffs out of a cigarette looking cool and pretty. Her image somehow begs me to understand I was probably the luckiest idiot the night I came across such a beatiful dame. Either I said the right words or had the right money, she just looks too out of my grasp, but something about her feels like I just signed my soul to the devil. She doesn't fit with any of it. Not this room, not with me, not with those clothes.

I look at her and at the room, I know I'm not dreaming but I don't even dare ask her where I am. My head is turning, my heart is pounding and my left side feels heavy, stiff. Like something's pressing on my ribs.

"Shape up Tommy, we gotta make bail"

I smell alcohol in my clothes and wonder why am I bruised like this, why my shirt has blood on it, whose blood is it. My throat still feels like I swallowed a sword. With certain reluctance I muster -Greg- and sit on the bed for a while. She just says -What?- as I try to pick my thoughts and make up from down.

"My name is Greg"

A part of me expected her to say I was being stupid or crazy or tell me to stop playing, after all, she did call me Tommy with certain confidence. Instead a silence overwhelms the room till I finally look back at her and confront her stare. Somewhere, somehow, I struck a nerve. She stays mute standing in the middle of the room with the window looking out into the street. -Stand up- she says dry and cutting unlike before.

She doesn't pace her steps anymore and rushes me out the door, down the hallway, down the stairs to the parking lot towards a light brown Lincoln. She looks at me and asks -What's my name?- to which I stare at her, unable to respond. She's scared. She looks everywhere before popping up the trunk of the car.

"I know how this might look, I KNOW HOW IT MIGHT SEEM!!"

For a brief second I sense a small sob coming out of her mouth

"You told me to show you this if necessary. You said it might help. Tommy, we have to get out of here, now!"

After her small, nearly-impossible to hear little yelp, she motions me to look inside.

There's a man inside the trunk. Dead. His jaw is bent out of place, his eyes are white, his face is twisted and punched into a funny looking way. Some bones are visibly broken, piercing through his suit and somebody slashed his neck deep. Real deep, almost decapitated this poor bastard. I can see he's missing an ear and there's dry blood everywhere.

But the truly shocking thing at that moment isn't that I'm looking at a brutally murdered man, or the fact that I'm far away from home, or the woman, or the bruises, or the suit or the motel, but that I know this guy. I'm picturing him in my mind, fully dressed in business attire, with glasses waving his hand, extending it to meet mine. I know him, I can picture his house, I know it's his house. I have recollections of being with this man, golfing, fishing going and coming as if we were friends our whole life.

I remember him, for a second I remember my school before it all becomes a blur and wonder for just a split moment how are we conected.

I know who he was

I know I did this to him.

I know it was me who got into his house one night and did this to him. I don't know why, I don't know how. I just know I pulled up the strength and courage to do it.

I tortured and killed a man.

I can picture my hands beating him. I look at my hands; there are tattoos on my knuckles. On my left hand there are the four suits of a poker deck and on my right hand there are several markings on the backside of my palms that go up my sleave, god know how far up my arm.

When I went to bed I didn't had any tattos.

The knuckles on both hands are scratched and worn as if I've been whailing away at brick walls and shattered glass. I take a look around in search for anything that can tell me were I am. It's very dark. I look at the plaques in the car and they read NEVADA, but around me there are forest-like areas filled with pine trees. I'm not anywhere in Nevada.

I look at the woman who's now standing still on the side of the car, smoking frenetically. With the help of the light from the neon sign, I can see her eyes are glassy and bloodshot. She's taking drags off the cigarette and looking worried. She's also lightly bruised.

I'm still picturing the man in the trunk and how he looked like alive. I see him one more time. There's no way I can know how this man looked like when he was alive just by looking at the body. No one could.

I could run, shout, head the other way. I still feel something pressing at my ribs. Something is pressing at my ribs. I put my hand on over my coat and I feel it. I don't even have to look inside, I know it's there. For a brief second I wonder if it's loaded.

I move towards the woman, ask her name. Her glassy beautiful eyes look back at me. No doubt she's trouble. She stays still, swallows and says...

"Eve"

My head swirls, suddenly I feel relaxed. I grab the cigarette in her hand, take a drag and ask for the keys. I open her door and as she gets inside I get a strange feeling. I move on to the driver's seat and open the door.

Right before I get inside something stings and I turn around abruptly. Nothing. I move on, get inside, turn on the engine. It's all too natural. I drive out the parking lot and into the highway. I know I'm far away from home, have been for long judging by my state. I know I'm in trouble, somehow, someway.

I know I did that to the man in the trunk. Now I've got a hunch and by now the only genuine thing that scares me. I feel like someone's watching me. Back at the motel, before I got into the car...It was like could someone's eyes darting at my back, seering my skin.

We're a couple of miles away from the motel, none says anything. She looks forward without a peep coming out of her mouth. I can't even hear her breathing. Maybe because I'm having trouble hearing anything other than my own. A gun rests inside my coat against my ribs, I might need it. There's a dead man on the trunk and I'm making a run for somewhere at 2:45 in the morning.

I can't shake the feeling that someone's watching me.

A Cold Day In Hell revised

2009-06-16T22:41:00.011-05:00

FRIENDS AND FOES! BEWILDERING CREATURES OF CREATION! MY MOST BEAUTIFUL AQUAINTANCES!

I welcome you and all to a dark universe in which shadows hide dangers far beyond the reaches of the human mind and night seems to be the perpetual state of time. Reality seems tainted by the sins of men and madness creeps behind every step you take. WELCOME, be you all, TO A PLACE that would put FUN HOUSES to shame!!!!

Welcome, to the stage and chamber in which you shall play your biggest role yet.
A museum of sorts, should you look at the walls. Thou shall findeth that the doors..are...CLOSED!!!

Nobody escapes; nobody ever gets out, not before the trail, not before the laughs. A place built for, and BY, paranoid schizophrenics with delusions of being chased and split personality disorders. A look in the mirror means a look at your face or a sentence for life.

Crowded streets that turn empty at a sway of your feet, madmen leading a turbulent carnival at your expense.

I WELCOME YOU, to my world.

A world of deceit and black magic. A place without real love. Were innocent men mingle with troubled women and fall into a spiraling vortex of DOOM. This is my home, this is the place.

Night never ends in the FILM NOIR universe.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally, after a year put on hold, the subject has surfaced again. In my not-so-meticulous-though-I-rather-wish-it-was mission to shed some light on movie matters I have failed on previous occasions to make an honorable mention at one of cinema's most beloved genres and for the matter one of my own favorites.
Film Noir has raged and evolved in such a manner without actually loosing it's essence to which an unaccountable number of followers and scholars have broken time barriers. Here I am, for example, now 21 and clamoring at something long before my time. It wouldn't surprise me there were younger persons, perhaps ignorant to the fact that they also love the genre.

The thing is that, you can't overlook the superb quality in the storytelling of a Film Noir. I am one of the many who had no fucking clue I loved it after some time. I believe my first encounter with the subject was, and I shit-you-not, in a Garfield cartoon.

First, some history...and I promise it won't be shitty.

Back in the 1940's, even when Technicolor technology already existed (which means movies could be in color now, and did for over 20 years) some studios started distributing movies that used black and white filters. Not only that, as time would tell, but they also made some unusual uses of low-key lighting to create heavy shadows and dim scenarios. The obvious was that the movies had a darker, somber tone to them.

The visual symbols were plain. Film Noir, literally translated to Black Film. But the darkness did go beyond just the lighting, it went to the storytelling, to the cast and script and circumstances.

Movie critics, connoisseurs and the public in general started noticing the sudden back trail at the colorless features and notices one too many aspects in the films. Finally a French critic named Nino Frank baptized the genre as Film Noir.

Now to get real dirty, Film Noir has stretched to unimaginable lengths when dealing with characters and storylines, yet keeps a distinctive feeling to all. The movies dealt, in their majority, with subjects close to the decay of human nature.

Almost all are crime dramas, with the main characters being the average Joe, the hardboiled detective or the ambivalent gangster. All cut by the same knife, middle age men who were hard drinkers and chain smokers with questionable morals drawn to attractive women, who meant trouble, and trouble in general.

They would always be drawn to situations where the world was directly or indirectly against them. They were the good guys even though they were the bad guys. They were tough and loners, standing ground for no one but themselves and the few people they actually trusted (which in most movies turned up dead).

Fighting rackets, mob guerrillas, vicious scumbags from all sorts and sizes and in general falling desperately into a viper’s nest, a wolf’s lair. The dragon’s mouth. Street wise and able to withstand anything from a beating to a heavy dosage of mind alliterating drugs. These were the heroes; scruff, dirty, mean and real, these were the ones whom I believed in, unlike the pristine ones.

The women were trouble because they meant business. Film Noir never knew such a thing as the weaker sex. Sometimes they were straight up bad ass, others they used their sexuality coming on as fragile and naïve when in reality they were…well…bad. And then there were the times when they were the criminal masterminds, plotting to commit a crime and get away with it, letting some poor sap take the fall. These were the femme fatales, women who were as smart as they were sexy. And shit bang, were this women hot.

The dialogues were jewels. Over the top, 50’s urban oriented lingo; like wise guy talk. The detectives talked like the scumbags they were after and all of this, you can bet you sweet ass to more, to a Jazzy, cool soundtrack.

Film Noir saw its run end somewhere among the 1950’s after stories of ruthless cops, corrupt cities, dangerous good looking dames, criminal masterminds and a solitary all-for-nothing-no-holds-barred detective or their criminal counterpart that drew the line somewhere who fought all the previous were no longer interesting…

..Or so it was thought.

Film Noir resurfaced as Neo-Noir which in turn branched into a serious of noir oriented movies that go from the Sci-Fi Noir (Terminator, Blade Runner), Psycho Noir (Blue Velvet), and a weird but subtle, neo-noir of sorts called by Wikipedia parody noir of which stands out the, and I quote, quintessential Neo-noir of the 70’s.
Not for nothing it’s my favorite movie of all times.

Modern day, Noir based works of art could be found in Sin City (both the graphic novel and the movie), Max Payne (The videogame, not the shitball fucked up movie), some Batman works (The Long Halloween for example) and of course, the classics. I loved it, all my life, because I saw something in these people. Perhaps it was the fact they weren’t muscle masses like most action heroes whom I saw a definite line of separation. Maybe it was the cool atmosphere of cigarette smoke, whisky glasses and Jazz tunes. It could’ve even been the lonely guys, fighting of the world and the shit, one dirty fuck at a time.

But I love it, none the less, and now I invite you to look out for one of cinema’s most beautiful, inventive and impressive genres.

A Year In Movies... Sorta...kinda... ALLRIGHT FINE, IT'S JUST ME BITCHIN' ABOUT A COUPLE OF MOVIES.

2009-05-24T23:09:00.007-05:00

You know, to all there is I never really talked about Film Noir or the decay of modern cinema like I promised. Heck, I rarely ever write in here anymore. Figured people just don't seem to care much for anything not posted on facebook...Which is why I'll put this up there as soon as I'm done with it.

So....It's been quite a while. Matter of fact, it's been nearly a year since I did the Carlin piece. Took some time I guess and then I just plainly forgot. 'Lot of things happened since then and specially lot of movies came out. Some way more suckier than the rest. But what did stood out was amazing. Though, here's something I didn't expect even when some people had warned me about it.

Watchmen

There, I said it. Watchmen sucked, and for anyone in the know-how with this things, it really isn't a surprise. It was an ok movie, but Watchmen. Watchmen was something to get at, you know? in comic book terms, this was the adaptation that would've set the record straight. "Comics can be smart, who'd known?" people would say.

BUT NO, fuck that shit, we're stuck with the wannabe piece of crap delieverd by a fuckin' retard. I wrote once, I'll write it again. Zack Snyder, you're a fucking idiot...and I say that with love.

How was it? When he pitched the idea for watchmen, how did it went?

"300 was a FUCKING success!!!! (Money rolls). We HAVE to do something like that again"

"Well, Mr. Snyder, there are a number of graphic novels out there that you could ad..."

"NO TOMMY!!!!!, my wonderful assisntant, We won't just do any graphic novel adaptation, WE'LL DO A FUCKING MASTERPIECE!!!"

"Ummm, ok, may a suggest..."

"QUICLY TOMMY!!! What's the HARDEST.... no, that's not how it went ...

"QUICLY TOMMY!!! What's the MOST BELOVED COMIC BOOK IN THE HISTORY OF COMIC BOOKS!?!?!?"

"Well, sir, if I had to mention one, right out the top of my head...I guess Watch...."

"GREAT!!!!!!!!!!!! WE'LL DO THAT!!! QUICLY, CALL WARNER (or fox, however you wanna look at it), TELL 'EM WE GOT A GREAT-FUCKING-IDEA!!!!"

"Uhh...But, sir...Don't you think it would be a little hard to...."

"NONSENSE!!! It will be EPIC like EVERYTHING I direct"

"Uhh...ok...But, wouldn't you at least like to take a look at the novel to see if you'd wanna do it"

"...Hmmm, you got a point tommy, fine get me a copy"

(a few hours later)

"Let's see......girls, explosions, blood, end of the world, stuff I don't get.... :mummbles: ....uhh, OH MY SWEET GOD IN THE SKY, A BLUE PENIS!!!! I'LL MAKE THIS FILM"

and that's how it went. Seriously though, it was a good try. YEAH YEAH I KNOW I SAID IT SUCKED, but really, when it comes down to it, I read the fucking book, I know what happens. So even when I didn't get my favorite lines from the book in the movie, I still got to see firsthandendly, and bask, in thy fearfull simetry. Rorscharch people, he and Manhattan truly took the movie.

At least...I have that...And it would've been enough had it not been for the completely obnoxious and unecesary sex scene were Snidey took away all psychological depth and meaning when Night Owl and Silk Spectre (The second ones) had ominous sex to the beat of Hallelujah, or whatever the fuck that song is called.

Is ominous the right word for it. Don't know, don't care, Scene sucks. NOT sexy at all.

And Dragon Ball, does no one have any respect for fanboys and fangirls anymore? Snyder and Watchmen: The movie came out like Fellini and 8 1/2 compared to that irreverent piece of shit. Beyond shit, I mean the movie does it's best to suck, you get the idea it's a friggin parody or something. Goku is a pansy-ass angst-ridden teenager that can't get girls and can't do anything right? Bulma is an expert marksman, who misses every single little fucking shot? Yamcha is a Japanese surfer dude? chi chi (milk in mexico) is an asian hottie? pikolo is a fucking...something...

THE FUCKING LIST IS ETERNAL!!!! To say the least would be to say it sucks. They, somebody really really hit a nerve with that fucking movie. And people still want me to have faith on the american version of AKIRA. Oh yeah, pfff, sure. Go ahead, do that. Surely it won't be bad.

Tell you one thing, IT BETTER not be bad, because then legions of faithfull followers will do what they do best. Bitch.

Oh yes we will. We'll flod the hotlines and channels with constant ranting about how much did AKIRA sucked and it won't stop there. There'll be forums and mail petions and more forums and people will go on forever. SO IT BETTER BE, at least, VERY FUCKING DECENT.

You see, this is just part of what I mean when I say modern cinema has decayed. There's the casual flicker of light here and there but most of it is better still made up than adapted. A lot of movies have come on to suck, there hasn't been anything as epic as before, Pacino is loosing street cred, that can't be right.

The movie bussiness is certainly not what it used to be, at least by some standards. You still get your epic win here and there but seriously sometimes it's as if the people in charge wanted to make this about the benjamins and movies ain't completely about that. Real cinematographers do it for the lulz and for the prestige and for the inmortality of a realy good fuckin' story.

There hasn't been a clever long lasting Horror Flick in a long time. There hasn't been a truly epic war story in a while. A blissfull completely intelligent hillarious comedy...some people don't even know they exist. And it's all been thanks to the need for the green. What the fuck?

Still, light allways shines at the end of the tunnel. True, there may not be another Star Wars or Godfather saga in a nearby future or an Urban/in the Guetto story done with dignity or even a There's Something About Mary coming anytime soon, but there sure are good movies out there. One just has to find them.

Education helps, I mean if anyone went to see Fast and Furious and thought it was a masterpiece or a Wayne brothers production and thought it was a laugh riot and completely innovative then that somebody suffers from some sort of severe dumb-fuckness.

That's it for now people. Movies to see: Frost Nixon (Incredibly fucking brilliant), Miracle at St. Anne's or something like that (War movie aobut an african-american batallion, good), REC (spanish horror movie, later adapted into an american version called Quarantine; Both are just fucking spectacular), VickyChristinaVarcelona (I missed Woody Allen, good to have 'im back), etc...

There's several more, be sure of that, you just have to find 'em.

NEXT POST: FILM NOIR

That's it folks, good times, good year (school year) good everything.

Always Remember Who Is The Man That Set Me Free

2008-06-23T11:43:00.012-05:00

I'll take a brief brake from the movie posts and the bitching for this...

Comedian extraordinaire, political and social satirist George Carlin Died last Sunday in the afternoon due to heart failure at the age of 71 in St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica, California.

I don't expect a lot of people to read this much less know who this man is, however, I'm pushed by my inner bastard to do this. Sort of a goodbye.

George Denis Patrick Carlin was born in Manhattan, New York on May 12, 1937. A high school dropout, Carlin found his true path when, after being discharged from the army, started as a comedy team alongside Jack Burns with whom he would perform until the early 60's.

After that came a line of live TV Shows before actually pursuing a career as a stand up comedian in the 70's. Carlin went off to become one of the most intriguing and groundbreaking performers in history, reaching mass popularity when his (at the time) controversial record "Class Clown" which featured the Seven Words You Can't Say On Television routine was broadcasted live from a public station in New York City and The FCC (people supposed to censor and regulate anything broadcasted on TV, Radio and Press) fined said station. The seven words were Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and Tits.

Mr. Carlin was also the first person ever to host Saturday Night Live. I will repeat that. George Carlin was the man, THE man, to ever host the very first episode of Saturday Night Live. Beyond that, his professional life was primarily stand up routines with the addition of 4 published books, a collection of these including never before seen material and about 16 appearances on Film. He was named 2nd best comedian in Comedy Central's recount of the top 100 stand up comedians of all time. But that's just what he did, now let me tell you who he was.

Around my 16 years of age and 3rd semester of high school I was getting pretty much into pop culture and certain non-mainstream fads. One of them, was sketch, stand up and improv comedy. I would really much enjoy all the stuff from Jerry Seinfeld, later on Robin Williams, Gabriel Iglesias, The Original Kings of Comedy, The Original Queens of Comedy, anything by the guys at Def Jam comedy club, and my then favorite, George Lopez. All of them good in their own separate space. All of them talented, all of them pretty amazing as well. But none would compare to the moment I accidentally downloaded the whole You're All Diseased album.

The first time I listened to it I didn't know what to think. The man was a pessimist, way to pessimist. He was rude and raunchy and at moments even disgusting. That first time I heard Carlin speak, I couldn't believe that what he said came from an elderly man. Someone who opposes the establishment and says things pretty straight forward without breaking a sweat was new in my life. After I listened to the record for about 2 hours, I just sat there thinking, laughing still at some of the stuff he said. George Carlin went of to become one of my heroes.

I was a kid and different from who I am today. George Carlin was one of the many who help change my point of view about everything. He gave me something I had to seek and use and learn to use. Wit. He gave me courage, through his words. Unlike Hunter S. Thompson or Woody Allen or Stephen King, those guys gave me examples and ideas. I wish to be like them, but Carlin taught me how to function. I was shy before I knew about him, I was so self aware of stuff that didn't really mattered. I was weaker. Carlin gave me the push, gave me the help that nor my friends or my family could. I needed him.

Watching him on stage calm and non-threateaning gave me a new meaning of tough. He was tough, one of the toughest guys I'd ever known. Because he talked. He didn't moved a lot. He didn't shouted a lot. He wasn't buff or hard or, like I said, he didn't looked dangerous, but he was dangerous. He was blunt and crude and raw and tough. And that changed me. He was the first bastard I ever met, the first real bastard. Because this is how they come. They're not big, they're not physically strong. No, they're tough, they could stand a beating and scaring and torture but the way they'd talk to somebody could make you shiver in fear. The way he said things, the way he thought things.

He was a teacher to me like many have been teachers without them knowing so. He is the reason I write how I write. Free. I'm free because I listened to Carlin and I watched Kevin Smith movies and because I've been through grammer school and middle school and high school like any other kid went through those painfully embarrasing moments in which you don't stand up for yourself and everyone takes a toll on that. I've allways been a dork, but now I do stand up for myself and I do defend my ground and no one can shake me that easily. No one can get to me unless I let them and no one can scare me the way I used to get scared.

Now I'm not shy and I'm not weak and it's all in part thanks to him, thanks to Carlin.

George Carlin was a man of words. And he lived up to those words. He said things like he meant them and he said things that could destroy a fucking nation. One of the best things he could've ever said, "I fucking hate self help books, motivational speakers and all that shit. When you buy this books, you're not getting self help. That's not self help, That's help! If you did it yourself, you didn't need help to beggin with".

He challenged authority, government, religion. He challenged society and made them think for themselves. Pushed them as far as they needed to be pushed just so they could push back. He was a New Yorker by heart and a savior no less. He wasn't afraid. And he made us just as unafraid. If he didn't like something he would tell it to go fuck itself and so have we. He made me a figheter and an ideologist and he did it by making me laugh. No one will ever come close, as close as changing so much in me than George Carlin ever did. And no one will go on as far as to understand how much does he meant to me.

I said before that my inner bastar push me to do this. It isn't my inner bastard. It's me, is the human that I am. Carlin made us humans, not puppets or robots. He's my savior and now he's gone. I wanted to meet him, I wanted to shake his hands, to have a talk with him. Just like I do with Woody and Kevin Smith and Quentin Tarantino. Guess we'll just have to meet on another life. If heaven does exist, he's right there right now on the lower east side in an improv bar with Lenny Bruce and Richar Pryor. Hunter S. Thompspon is probably working the bar.

"We're all fucked. It helps to remeber that"

"If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, set them on fire"

"Most people are not particularly good at anything"

"I never eat sushi. I have trouble eating things that are merely unconcious"

"The only good thing to come out of religion was the music"

"I'm not concerned about all hell breaking loose, but that a PART of hell will break loose... it'll be much harder to detect"

"Well, if crime fighters fight crime and fire fighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part to us, do they?"

"Honesty may be the best policy, but it's important to remember that apparently, by elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy"

"I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately"

"Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping reservations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong"

"The very existence of flamethrowers proves that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves, "You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done."

"Those who dance are cosidered insane by the people that can't hear the music"

Goodbye Mr. Carlin. We will remember you allways...And thanks for the kind inspiring words.

Film Noir, The Decay of Modern Cinema and Why The Happening Doesn't Happen #2

2008-06-22T22:05:00.002-05:00

You guys, this is, like, totally my first followup post. Yay!!!

Ok, so. As told before by me, there is but one moment that completely and utterly obliterates this fucking movie (The Happening). No, it's not the fact that the ending sucks. No, it's not the fact that, regardless of how believable the plot can be, it still doesn't really add up for a decent horror movie. No, it's not the fact that Wahlberg's acting consists of clean language and a "I wanna take a shit" grin throughout the goddamn movie. And No, it's not the fact that most of the movie happens in the country side as opposed on the movie posters which was kind of a turn off for me.

It's the kids that get blown away by shotguns.

THERE, I FUCKING SAID IT!!!! WHO ON THEIR RIGHT FUCKING MINDS COMES UP WITH A SCENE LIKE THIS?!?!?!?! WHO ON THEIR SHITFULL LITTLE HEADS DARES TO MAKE AN AUDIENCE UNDERSTAND THIS?!?!?!?!?! ARE THEY OUT OF THEIR FUCKING MINDS?!?!?!?!?!

Sooooo....halfway round the movie, after we've put up with seemingly enough bullshit and welcome some cinematic sense anytime soon, our heroes and the addition to the group who are two teenage kids that don't look a year over 16, give or take, wind up in front of this house. Finally, some shelter to protect them from the mean, vicious, sucide inducing plants. As they come closer to the house, I'll say, it started to give me a certain sense of uncertainty while seating in the movie theater with my sister and her friend. I didn't said anything of course, but had you been me, you wouldn't have shaken that feeling either.

Come to think about it, nobody would've shaken that feel of uncertainty. It was a big, old "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" style house. From the outside it looked so decrepit that you could just hear it squick by looking at the damn thing. As the group of survivers comes closer to that house we see how it's pitch dark on the inside...and on the outside there's nothing but old, rotting window wodden blinds and a big ass tree. Old one too, as they say in the movie. So now you have what I called "shit factors" when I saw it. Shit Factors meaning that any of those two can give way to a moment were you conciusly go "Shit, I didn't expect that". Here being the windows and the big ass tree.

The window blinds looked like you could knock them the fuck off with your elbow. Now for some reason, I thought "Imagine what a shotgun could do to those things". We're talking old, non sturdy wooden blinds. AND A BIG ASS TREE, by now, it's pretty clear that anything plant is bad. So what happens? Good guy Wahlberg starts looking inside the house through the cracks in the window and when realising there's movement inside asks for help.

Here's an important lesson in horror movies. People's psyche is fired when watching this movies. I mean, anyone will get inmersed in the storyline of any horror movie, wether it's good or bad. Now, something life has tought us and Death Proof's very own Quentin Tarantino has remarked; In a horror movie, you don't hate the maniac killer, the vicious monster, the underlying threat to people's lives or anything related to that matter. You hate the assholes. The men and women who, among the events that unfold and threaten the very way of life in people, act like utter idiots. They don't help, they don't die and they repeatedly get in the way. We're talking the skeptics or the overly fanatic, the stuborn, the bastards or bitches, and finally the people that take advantage of others. Be it the sassy white bitch or the rapist macho mother fucker.

In this movie, it just so happened to be the owners of said creepy house. Upon asking for help, our hero encounters that the current tenants don't want to open the fucking door and let them in, not because they might be infected, nor because they might bring said sickness into the house. They won't let them in, get this, because according to the owner of the house, Mark Wahlberg and company could be the terrorists. AHA!!!! A redneck asshole who's got his head far up his ass to realize a man, a woman and three minors of which non of them represent a serious threat are not terrorists, even though he could hear them. Wow, talk about hating material.

The scene carries on, the kids get impatient. "OPEN UP BITCH!!!" shouts one of them (By the way, one kid is white the other is black). The one that does stands in front of the doorway, the other starts hollering from a window. The man still refuses and you can feel the tension. Suddenly the voice from inside says somehting like "OPEN THIS" or something and out comes the long, stiff barrel of a shotgun and voila. White kid goes down. Not only does he go down, we get to see from his back how all the little pellets of the shotgun shell pierced right through his whole torso.

Everyone shrieks in fear, the dramatic music get's pumped and just as his friend, the black kid, looks in horror at the bloody body of his now deciesed friend, another barrel comes from within the cracks and points to his right side temple and boom. There goes the black kid. Now, I have to admit that this is horror. True, undeniable horror. The kids get killed, that used to be a big no-no in the horror film industry and only the directors with the cojones and the compelling story line could pull that off. Why then does this scene piss me off so damn much I even dared to write all of this?

Simply put, there is no retaliation. The kids get shot, the other flee the scene and we know nothing of Tim Fuck and the hillbilly gang. Nothing!!!!!Nada!!!!Zero!!!! Two kids, two perfectly and incredubly inocent kids have just been blown away BY FUCKING SHOTGUNS!!!! And nobody does anything. That's it, that's what pisses me off so much. You waste your time and energy creating this scene. You strive to make it perfect, you wanna lead audiences to fear, to hate, to suffer. Good, now were's our goddamn price. As a director/writer/whatever you can't ask that much from an audience.

Hey that's me. Maybe you'd think "DON'T KILL THE KIDS", wereas I think "Go ahead. Kill the little buggers. It adds up for the suspense and thrill of the movie. BUT WERE'S MY FUCKING PAYBACK?!?!". That scene had me haiting a non existing sorce of evil. Non whatsoever. It wasn't enough the guy was undeniebly stupid and wild, clearly he's some country ass boy who, like I said before, must be the sort of stupid white american macho asshole to believe. Firmly hold the fact that this people might be terrorists as truth. Well it isn't enough to lead me into believing this, analysing the situation and draw up conclusions. Now you also want me to swallow up the fact that, not only can't I see his face, but neither do I get to see Trigger McHappy in all his republican gun enthusiastic shitface fucking existence bite the dust.

NOT FUCKING FAIR. You don't do that. The assholes, as unnimportant to the story IS STILL THE ASSHOLE and nothing says satisfaction more in a horror oriented movie, were violence of any kind is condoned, than watching most of this very own violence get wasted senslessly on the one goddamn asshole. Fuck the plants, fuck the people. If somebody really deserved to die, was White Trash Toby sitting on his stupid rural ass on that movie. And it might seem like I'm overreacting but come on. In horror movies, if you're gonna kill the kid, you best make sure someone pays for it. It's hard allready to see someone die from a shotgun blast that's not the bad guy, let alone a kid.

That's what I'm talking about. All I get was a voice, were's the promise that them assholes gonna end up killing themselves? Were's the scene in which the big ass tree gets inside the house and chokes that motherfucker to death? Dude, it's pissy. When you're watching such bullshit all around you, like an unworthy plotline, crappy acting, out of role personalities and stupid solutions to way too over themselves problems, the LAST thing anyone needs is watching the kids get shot, in the chest and in the head....with a shotgun....FOR NO APPARENT REASON...and sitting there as nobody does anything.

That's not the Mark Walhberg I know, that's not how Zoey Deschanel would leave it and there's absolutely no way in fuck end hell M. Nigh Shyamalan would let any of his stories go this bad. Not even a curse word, or a "YOU SHOT A KID, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!". Not even a face, I mean not even have a decency to show us what to hate but give us something to hate anyways. Last time I cheked, unfocused anger was not a huge seller.

So if this movie sucked so bad, why invest time on it? Why talk about it silly? I'll tell you why, because there are other examples of better movies. Examples of movies that don't seem to be better movies but are anyway.

This is Mr. Bitchin Telling you, It's all about the audiences true needs. Tune in next time to find out what movies are keeping it real in the revange department, which are the movies that are decaying the medium and what in the holy darn world is all that about Film Noir.

Film Noir, The Decay of Modern Cinema and Why The Happening doesn't happen. #1

2008-06-22T14:38:00.000-05:00

"It was done, it had happened. The people, the places, the images. It was all worthless now. Any attempt for me to fix this was now miles away in a highway of despair filled with broken illusions that could cut you up like shards of fine glass laid on the floor and terrified screams emanating from the souls of those as unfortunate and unprepared to visualize this horror.

Still, I didn't know what was worse. Knowing of this crime and it's effect on us, acting up on the impotence it carried within or being like the others, uncaring, unaware, indifferent. Nevertheless, we had been cheated, lied too and I felt cheap, maybe cheaper than some regular bar fly looking for a little adventure. Me the wise guy, I thought I had this all figured out but in the end it was me who got played for a fool. I felt like one too.

It all started about a week ago, or so. My lil' sis had her friends come over. Too young to be asked to the ball, too old to play with dolls. Perhaps that's why the house got to small for them. They needed out, they needed air and for multiple reasons I was assigned the task to take 'em out. Little did I knew that I was leading them and myself towards disaster. We took all the precautions; I even invested in my decision. Said that it must've been the right path to choose. So I got along with the idea that all was gonna be ok.

But it wasn't. I took them to watch....M. Night Shyamalan's The Happening.

The rest is history and to the day I still carry that burden over my shoulders"

...

Ok, so I might've exagerated a liitle bit. Big deal, that movie sucked and it shouldn't have. What the fuck, dude? It's Shyamalan. Motherfucker is like big on horror themed movies and suspense thrillers, so what the hell went wrong here?

The Happening, written and directed by M. Night Shyamalan and starring, Tough guy Mark Wahlberg, Pretty eyes Zooe Deschanel and John Leguizamo juts doesn't happen. Where's the intensity? Where's the feeling? Where's the meaning? Where the fuck is Shyamalan? Are we seriuosly supposed to belive this is him? Are we to accept that the same man who brought us to our knees with his rendition of a ghost story called "The Sixth Sense", the same man who showed us a movie about superheroes like we've never seen before with Bruce Willis on the lead role no less (Unbreakable), THE SAME GUY WHO SCARED THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ALL OF US WITH SIGNS (SIGNGS, PEOPLE, SIGNS!!!!! THEY WERE FUCKING ALIENS. WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU GOT SCARED BY ALIENS?)...made this?

Ok, reason numero 1 why I'm so outraged buy this. Shyamaln directed AND wrote this. Now, I have an undying respect for people who write and direct their own movies. Generally they're just increadibly good. But this, this movie isn't Shyamalan AT ALL. First, there's the plot

...................SPOILER ALERT.....................not that you should care.....

So, finally and after years of abuse, planet earth decides to take action and what best way to do so than letting plants, yes plants, kill humans. But they don't do it in a fashionable way. They don't raise from the ground and start strangelling people, neither do trees start stepping on people or are there any diabolical branches that rape young women slowly and painfully a lá Evil Dead. No, what do plants and other specimens of the green leafed species do to take on motherfuckin humans? They evolve and release toxins into the air that, when sniffed, humans give up on their logical skills and kill themselves. that's right, KILL THEMSELVES!!!! In the most gruesome way possible. As soon as they've, so to speak, been infected, people grab whatever is at hand to kill themselves. Not before acting weird (not making any sense in what they say, walking backwards, shit like that).

So far, so good. The storyline seems good, the premises are awesome and at first it all seems perfect. People star killing themselves, shooting themselves, willingly falling off from buildings, evem coming up with ignenious ways to die. All this are valuable elements for some scary shit, why, then, does the movie blow?

The acting. Come on, really? Mark Wahlberg? Marky Mark? You put him as the film's wussy. What gives? Wahlberg is this science teacher who becomes the leading man in what seems to be the end of time. Along his best friend/math teacher Leguizamo, Leguizamo's in-movie-daughter who adds up for the cuteness factor in the movie and his now-distant-due-to-relatioship-problems girlfriend, he sets out to find a place that appears to be safe. Safe meaning nobody who appears not to have suicidal tendencies grab hairspray and a blowtorch and come up with a way to melt their own face (Doesn't happen, but like I said, ingeniuos) are there.

So naturally, you would expect this guy to be tough as nails or at least pretty straight forward. WRONG. Wahlberg's character does not develop as anything in particular. Early on in the movie he's a concerned guy, not so big into action and oviusly not a threat to society. As the movies keeps going, his character fails to realize the imminent danger that surronunds the story line and even come up with any witt what-so-ever. Maybe it was the director's intention to portray an average joe as the movie's hero. But everybody knows, that regardless the scenario, survival horror oriented plots allways wind up with the main character growing a pair in the midst of battle. Besides, Deschanel is off her personality. She's a witty, smart ass gal, she can also be tough. So why make her the pessimist damsel in distress who's ever so scandalous little secret involved having dessert with some guy.

Really, the movie suggests she might be cheating on Wahlberg and she just had a fucking dessert with some guy. Then, it's the storyline itslef. So people and the media start pulling out their own theories and without a moments notice pull out the big pointy finger and bame it all on terrorism. Because it isn't enough they live in the fucking deser, they somehow got a hold of some chemical weapon that screws you up so badly that you'll kill yourself, again, in the most gruesome way possible.

This was actually a good point. Taking in consideration Shyamalan is of middle eastern descent, not only is he blatanly making fun off the publics paranoid fears in a tongue in cheek fashion, he's also exploiting today's biggest weakness of the american people. Terrorist attacks on small town in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, miles away from anything remotley important and with small population census. Only true red, white and brute americans would buy that. But beyond that point nothing supports the story, we're suggested that it isn't terrorits (NO, REALLY? YOU'RE FUCKING KIDDING ME) by another character. Instead he suggests, it's the plants. The plants evolve when facing new threats, and since humanity aren't exactly a ray of fucking sunshine, it was only a matter of time before plants went "WHO'S THE BITCH NOW?".

The problem with this is that it's to early on in the movie. Now we know what's wrong and there's no mystery. On the other hand, the character that suggests this is a goddamn farmer. A farmer for christ's sake, who minutes after getting introduced to the story IS TALKING TO FUCKING PLANTS. He also says that it's been proven by science that is you talk nice to plants, they'll respond to the stimulus, which is true. I know that, HOW ABOUT THE REST OF THE FUCKING WORLD? the plot is believable; both things are true. Plants do respond to stimulus giving the fact of quantum physics and other things, therefore plants do act on sweet talk AND it's also true that they evolve in a rapid manner when facing a new predator therefore creating new improved deffenses against other types of creatures. Mother nature is tough you guys.

So then, how does it work? Nobody ever really explains that, how do the plant pick and select their victims so they can sniff up suicide sented leaves? At first we're told it's big groups of people, then if the plants think they're threats, they have it in for them. At the end the plants get super sensitive and start "attacking" one person at a time (though we only got one example like this) but somehow the leading guys, which at this point it's just Wahlberg, Deschanel and the little girl, don't die or get affected by the plants. So I'm pushed to believe "OK, the plants attack people who has negative feelings, like anger or hate" but if so, then why did all the other people die. They surely weren't all angry. Scared out of their asses, but not angry.

At lasts, and I'm saving this because of it's hate inducing nature, the one moment in the movie, the point of no return, the minute were it jumped the shark and it all went to hell. The scene were the shit hit the fan....Look onto the next post, to find that out.

A Rose in the Gutter

2008-03-03T00:25:00.000-06:00

Twas one lonely afternoon, amidst a summer now gone
That I remember I saw a friendly ghost
Sure, I was half asleep and out of this world
But I know what I saw, and what I saw was a girl in grey robes.

She was sweet and quite happy
I can tell by the way her face looked
She was tender and sassy
I can tell by the feeling that gave me her touch

She holded my face between her beautiful ghastly hands
She looked dead on in my eyes
I was obliged, and quite happy, to look back
"Wake up" she said in a calm tone as I shuffled back to this land

I had forgot about that, about a nice day in which I came back
Though at first I gave credit to my imagination and my mind
I know what I saw; I saw a time to pass
I saw a moment that would sooner than later come to my life

That day I felt alive, unlike I had on previous occasions
No wonder I forgot, There was no reason to remember
But now I see why that day was so special
Call it a dream or a vision, but what I saw made me feel better.

....

Just as there's no decent or coherent explanation to what I just wrote, there's no reason to do so. A simple as a flickering ray, just a eenie-winny-tiny-teeny spick of whatver the fuck it is that holds your mind at bay in this realm. It's simply a word, a sentence, an hours-long stone cold talk or a close-to-insignificant gesture that things are going to be ok.

A rose in a gutter, it's one of the good cliches. Kind of cliche that's true, honet. Kind of cliche that works. We've allways got our rose in the gutter, a really beutiful thing that's on the most unexpected of places. That's that tiny spick, the flickering ray, the 1% chance that things will work out in the end in the 99% probability to fail. That's what it is.

To anyone who's ever been alive, that 1% is worth something, it's hope and hope is allways worth something. I remeber one day when I was 16 that I had that dream. I was in my couch, slowly falling asleep, getting to the point in which you're half awake, half asleep. Illussions start to kick in, and I started to see places, people mixed with memories. Like witnessing the formation of a dream, and right smack in the process of falling asleep, I saw a girl that closely ressembled a cartoon, the nature girl from Fantasia 2000.

She told me "Wake Up" and I woke up rapidly, allmost alarmed because it felt so. It felt as if someone had kneeled to wake me up. When I did, I just felt nice. And just like that I forgot about that day, I forgot about that dream and forgot about allmost everything from those times. Ocassionally I remember those moments with everything including how I felt, what it felt.

And there it is...Right now, I feel it. Creeping up my spine working its way to my head. That feeling. The drive, the inspiration and every single other thing out there that just lets me know that it is time once again, the memories, the dreams, the feelings. All of it, and then a little more that just make up for all the time spent, all the time lost. It's time. Slowly the irrationality kicks in. Each time more and more I remember, but this time is a good one. It's not like when I'm all sad and pathetic, no this is one of the good ones.

I'm not sad. It's the memories, all over again one by one in my mind. But they're not screaming or making fun at me. My head spins around that notion, I'm standing but I'm not alone. Everything that surrounds me isn't a reminder of darkened times and pittyful moments. It's taking hold allready, like in my last post. The nothingness, the what-could've-been scenarios. They take shapes, forms, images of people I know and love or hate. But they're not laughing. They're not even smiling, they just look back at me, pranks and jokes now spent, bottles on the floor, remains of an ongoing party at my back, a celebration of the weakend state of my mind, which lives no longer and they're looking at me just as I look back.

They know I'm angry, they know I'm furious, they know I'm drunk and high with strength and hope and exaltation and love. They know I'm not afraid and that scares them. It's my rose in the gutter. It's me, it's my mind, it's my friends, my mum, my family, my books, my stories, my movies, my EVERYTHING. It's realizing that IT NEVER STOPS and therefore THERE SHOULD BE NO FUCKING REASON FOR ME TO FEAR. It never stops, the shit, the suffering, the pain, so why the fuck should I. Me who has come all the way up to here being the way I am and doing the things I do.

Every single little thing that I've allways wanted to say and do. All the fucking things I've allways wanted to be, it's been building up, waiting, and it's time once again to let it out. My kids, my boys and girls, my dear beloved readers who might wander ever so carelesly into this space and find nothing new and interesting or stumble upon the key phrase or word they needed to read, this is me. The insanity, the senselessnes, the constant and abundant feeding to my ego on this rare special ocassions.

It's why sometimes I pass as an italian from brooklyn called Frank. It's why I suddenly speak in as many accents as I possibly can, because I want to do it. It makes me happy and what let's me go through. Fuck it, anything I don't care I'm training to be a New Yorker so I gotta be hardcore just as I am all fluffy and nice, I gotta get things done, I gotta get things said. At least, I know that there will allways be the next thing to a rose in the gutter.

Shaky Promises and Half Truths: The Unnerving Reality of What is to Come

2008-01-04T03:00:00.001-06:00

It's that time allready when we all look at the mirrors, take a deep breath and tell ourselves that which we need to so the day can carry on forward. We're on the verge of a new year, 2008. We're in the beggining of a process called New Year's Resolutions. All the things we said we would do, all the things we're doing are just the first steps into our prominent succes or our inevitable failure. The only thing that, at most, is definite, is our desire for the better in our own lives however and whatever the cost of it.

It's in this times were I tell to myself things are gonna go different from now on. It's in this times were I face those old ghosts of mine who, regardless of the many, many pep talks and all those self medicated spoonfulls of wisdom, courage and self-esteem, refuse to die or even walk away. But specifically, it's this time in the early morning that I just sit quietly awaiting the giant that approaches and this year's battle for my survival. It's here and now were my mind plays tricks on me, deceives into missery and sadness. Emoeness.

I begin to understad now, this is what happens to those who stay up late. After hours and hours of continuos conciousness, the wrong type of memories strike in. It's only the mentally ill who stay up this late and carry on. Beings without real souls who have not a care in the world for anything but themselves. Those who do, like me, suffer the consecuences of a world and a reality not made for us. It is what consumes us, what makes us act like utter savages. Worlds were thoughts are made up of ironic moments in our lives, hurful remarks and sudden thoughts of what-could've-been scenarios.

It is here were most radiant smiles turn grimm. Were brilliant minds turn to mush. They are this hours, the one were drugs, fear, pain and humiliation reign. It's here were they all work together to make up for the time they loose during the day, scheeming plans to take control of my life and those like me who wander in the unknown realities of this late hours.

I talk and write, so as not to loose my mind. I'm being bombed by irrational thoughts of envy towards people who do not deserve it, ongoing questions and impossible dessires. I feel dragged, compelled to stay here until I've gotten statisfied. Obligated to finish and call it a day. A crooked and faulty day. I wish it weren't so but I can't stop it. Not now, I lack the stregnth to stand up and not look onto the computer.

I look for answers were there is no question, I walk in circles threateaning the nothing that it better keep it's eyes open. For me. For what is to come. Yet nor I nor anybody truly know. People could have an idea, but nobody really knows. I feel, though I ignore, therefore I fear. Slowly and thankfully fear and anxiety leave my body. False sense of emptyness and lonelyness disipate with the immediate tick-takcs of the keyboard. I'm beggining to get back my senses.

I coulnd't go to sleep because I had to do something. Check my mail, see this page, something. Sometimes I see it as a sickness that never really heals. It's been some time since I actually had a goodnight sleep and therefore some time since I just lied down to rest instead of lying down, sitting or standing and talk to myself. It's hard to wonder, to face the truth and swallow my anger or pride. It's tough to stay up this late and fight the mixed memories and thoughts I get when there is nothing to do, nobody around. Everyone I know just might be asleep. Maybe not. I just hope they're not to fighting themselves. It's tyresome and probably very unhealthy.

I was, like, totally gangzta

2007-12-25T23:02:00.001-06:00

So the other day I thought I'd get started on something, you know, perhaps a short story or a full length story. It's just that I hardly write any more. Sometimes I just spent days at a time without picking one single pen. I blame my surroundings, by Odin's beard, I know I would've been a computer wiz or a literature freak had I not spent so much time in front of the tube. But what can you get? At least I know stuff, you know. I'm not completely screwed up.

I'm just saying 'cause, well, it kind of scares me. See, I tell everyone that I'm a geek. Saves me the trouble of letting someone down if, well, if they looked at me and thought "I'm pretty sure that guy totally rocks" and then it turns out I totally rock in a whole different fashion. But the thing about being a geek, well sometimes I just don't know that much. You know, I'm not a mathematical or physics genius and I'm really not that much into software or programing and such or my grades are just either average or below. It scares me.

I'm afraid to be just another asshole into some fad, like emos or the new generation of gangstaz. They're sickening, and then I could be just a more complex version of them. I really shouldn't worry that much, I just don't wanna come of as a poser. I was called a poser once in my life and it hurts your pride. I kind of deserved that too, by the way. You've heard about all this people in their 20's, 30's perhaps, and sometimes they look back at how they were in the 80's and say it was probably the worst they've ever been. EVER.

Well, that's just how I feel about Junior High School. I was a putz, a schmuck and an idiot. I dressed in Hip Hop Gear. Thing was that back then I was pretty dorky. Fuck, I'm 20 and I still don't know how to fucking drive. Imagine a kid with an Ecko jersey about 2 sizes bigger than his (and I was, after all, XL) with matching Ecko shorts that came somewhere near being pants and some suave Phat Farms on my feet. White, of course, as the winter's snow. And how could I forget the icing on the cake, Braces. Fuck grillz, I had metal braces.

At this point it comes into account that I myself could very well be considered white. Naturally when people saw me the last thing that'd ever cross their minds was that I was this nice sensitve guy who likes to watch movies. I was a dork (probably still am) clumsy in all and every single aspect and not that appalling. I didn't even had a thing. You know how everyone just has to have a thing. I didn't, or at least I didn't knew of any. At least any I could use to pick up girls. I remember back then as well that when I started talking about my "favorite" artists, Snoop Dogg and S.P.M. would come into conversation.

Also I would get blank stares and "who are them?" as responses.

I had abosolutely NO street cred which made things a lot worse. In fact, I still don't know what's worse. Having spent all those years not acting like I was all tough and hard or having spent those years acting all nice and cute with those cloathes and styles. After that time I realized just how stupid I really looked and how popular and mainstream had all that gotten. I mean the table turned from me being the outcast who dressed as a rapper, to the another one in the bunch...which is why I stopped the whole thing. I know I shouldn't care, but if I wanted to enjoy the company of more smart type people, I seriously had to stop people from believing that at any minute I could throw down some sick rhyme about bitches and ho's or popping a cap on some nigga's ass or me being this blinged out mack daddy playa who was to cool for school.

I've never been to cool for school. And that is me talking.

So in the long run, you know...I don't know. I mean, people say I'm a geek, but that's kind of getting to be the thing, you know. Or at least I feel like it. To tell you the truth, maybe I'm not really that geeky. I mean, I can talk to girls and be flirty and what not, and I can (at times) be good at sports and Sometimes I require the use of wikipedia to know about stuff. But in the long run, I guess I'm more geek than not. I'm into comics and videogames and movies and books and a shitload of other things, I just don't wanna use them as some cultural status so as to say how geek-y-eshly cool I am.

Now I know I shoul've stuck with that from the beggining, probably I would've had it a lot less harder. I still listen to Hip Hop, but I also listen to all sorts of music. Even the Hip Hop is sort of different. None of that Thug Gangzta bullshit, now I'm keeping it real with Old School Dance Hip Hop, Protest, Jazz Rap and the newly discovered Nerdcore. And I guess for as much things I don't know about, there's just this bunch of things I do and it's great.

What lets me sleep at night comfortably knowing that I'm in no way a sell out or fake?
Well, just my gut feeling that I'm not. Like it or not, at least now I'm happier.

No Title #1

2007-06-19T22:58:00.000-05:00

You'll get there...

It's around this days that I actually get the notion of doing what I do best and doing, if for anything, to clear my mind. It's practically this moments that remind me of why did I named my blogg like I did and why, given the everythings in life, did I dare to call myself Mr. Bitchin. In a nutshell, cause it's probably amongst the ten top things I do best. It's bad and all, but if anyone cared enough to read this stuff then probably I would consider the semantics of my name, maybe even debate the whole damn thing. For what purpose really escapes my mind.

Above anything and saying whatever anyone wants, might o will say, it comes to the end of another highly unsatifying year. I guess that's for the better 'cause to tell you the truth, I wouldn't care much if anything was fine and dandy. Perhaps I'd forget about it or give life the uddermost importance at all. But really, a few dignified strugles here and there aren't that bad on the long run, they're just too fucking stupid and too fucking obnoxious. Sometimes I get the feeling a higher power is just rubbing it on.

I bitch mostly because it's the thing to do, you know, instead of entering a night's long alcohol or drug binge. Bitching is my natural high. Like I said befor, this world with it's uppers and it's downers, never leaves me with a short array on things to bitch about. Allthough I must say not bitching about the government or religion or the established or just about all and every one of human mistakes takes away certain street cred, I say that selfishness just about is, in my opinion, one of the most honest feelings or traits in our human nature.

So I put it on me to bitch about the one thing I'm pretty sure nobody else would ever bitch about. Me. Who could? Who the fuck would? Life is for every one of us to judge. Just that it takes away the valuable energy I needed in the first place to overcome some shit. Shit happens, so people would say, but dag nabbit, shit has the nasty way of piling up when nobody is looking. When you're not looling. Shit hits me in the face when I'm not looking. And then I am, and I wish I weren't looking in the first place.

It is in this rare ocassion, that just like he did, I wish I were gone. Long gone and far away from here. Sometimes I go back and felt like I sometimes felt as a younger kid. Sometimes I even go as far as feeling sick and suicidal. Shit, I even go out and feel as if the curse just won't stop. I know what overcame me, and I fucking know just what it meant. Frankly, sometimes I think I bitch, because clearly and surely, I just don't get the fucking lesson. Sometimes, not even roughing me up, shaking me down and scaring the living shit out of me, will get the message through.

So I bitch, because I have no other solution or way out. I bitch my way out. And it gets worse in time. Fuck all the empty threats I've made in the past. Telling me that I'm a badass motherfucker won't do shit. Be me one or not really doesn't make that much of a difference. It's just reminders of being big and important and really not that weak. So fuck them. I'm not gonna end this saying I'll be there or that I'll make a difference or that I'll fight till the end. Every-single-fucking-body does that, and they don't brag about it.

No, they bicth about it.

# 13 With A Machete And Hordes Of Zombies

2007-05-07T09:19:00.000-05:00

Check it out, my 13th post. I feel so proud...sniff.

You know. Sometimes I really wish there was a real life zombie outbreak like in the movies. Like Romero's movies though, I do kinda want to have the upper hand by being able to walk right by the goddamn things and not like in the 28 days later fashion were fuckers run and shit. Zombie outbreaks are a very weird, very interesting social study reference and psycological research combined with amazing quantities of blood, that's why I love them so much.

Bare this in consideration. In zombie movies, the main characters are generally portrayed as to being a prominent part of society, be it the wimp or the muscle builder, the nerdy or the idiot, the hot I-don't-give-a-fuck chick or the elderly woman fighting her last breaths, and of course, the stuborn asshole. All these means, rest assured, that their personalities will be in constant debate, trying to figure out what the hell to the next.

It's so great, I mean being in the middle of that conflict and accepting things as they are. Working the differences and moving on with life. Truth is, in many movies the director and/or writters decide to infer certain aspects of every day life. First of all, every single shred of power that was held by money, social class, religion, etc... is overruled. Fuck that, I want to live. In this situations, the leader is generally the ones with the brains or the balls. They can either get out of a situation using their intelligence or brute force (and perhaps some very gory suicide tendencies...like bolting towards a crowd of those things with a chainsaw).

Second, fuck the president. A homeless man who is crazy and missing a hand, feet, eye or all of the above (previous) has the exact same chance of survival than the pope, probably even more. If any man, ANY MAN, who ever worked as a body guard was stupid enough to go on protecting that same person when all hell has broken loose, that man not onloy deserves to die. He deserves to be entertainment (as in the guy in the movie who dies the most bloodiest way). Think about it. Regardless of your beliefs, no amount of prayer will drive the undead away. A good wack to the head will do the job.

Third, and probably the one you might get to the conclusion that I'm sick, but try to follow me on this one. Feminity, fuck it. Girls wanna live to. Let's make a brief test. On one hand, you got a regular type of woman (the fuck do I know what regular is), on the other hand, you have a woman who doesn't give a fuck. Who do you think will make it...

If you're answer was one of them, you got it wrong. Who will make it is impossible to tell. In this situations, any live, reasoning human being will surely know that in order to survive, it is mandatory to give in towards you're sadistic side. Fuck how it looks like, even if it's my daughter, zombies will be zombies and period. The first woman might realize that screaming for help, waiting for her prince to rescue her just won't cut it. She needs to become fearless, reach for the nearest weapon and start the head bashing. Again, both have equally chances of survival. Maybe the other one becomes reckless and fuck it up for her.

This is probably the most interesting fact for me. The female psyche is difficult to crack in vast proportions. A woman that understands this, to me, is quite a turn on. HOLD ON, let me make my point. Picture this, a once really preaty girl has now blood all over herself, ragged or shreded cloathes and is really really scared. That might seem as the perfect vissual for a horror scene and not quite sexy. Here's how I see it. Here's a woman, the "weak" sex, that has just beaten her biggest fears, gott a hold of the situation and kicked some mayor ass. Here is a confident woman who knows beyond the reason of a doubt the price and preciousness of living.

She now sees things in a hole new perspective. She could've died a gruesome death and to avoid it, she performed a gruesome murder. Femininity isn't about being sugar and spice, bullshit, is about a woman's spirit, a woman's greatness. Fuck her nails, she wants to live. A woman like that, is a woman for me.

Now do you see were do I come off telling you a zombie outbreak would be kinda cool. No gobernments, no religions, no wars. Just like John Lennon said. That's the price. Get it, that's the price for human peace, the ongoing threat to our lives. Here, it isn't money or power that matter, it's you life...Besides, all my friends would know what to do in case of an attack.

Mister Bitchin, hoping for a better world.

Ha, life short mates. Time is fast not to do what you want to do, and know that you can do. Peace my darlings, and remember, it's not over till it's over. That goes for you too.

A Paranoid Is The Person Who Has All The Answers

2007-05-06T04:08:00.000-05:00

Police brutality, politicians lying, things getting fucked up.

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM US?

Whoever and whatever the fuck YOU are. I mean FUCK, can't I get a fucking break for every once in a while.

Fuck this, fuck anything. Yeah I bitch, but only here. In my everyday life I'm a self respected little cunt. Any day of the week, you choose, any fucking day of the week I'm a nice little easy going kinda guy who gives anything out. But what the fuck do I have to do to get ONE MISSERABLE FUCKING BREAK. I mean what. Do I fucking shout to people? Do I behave like a real bastard and spit, curse, break or shit on everything that I can?

What? Just what the fuck is needed? SHIT!!!! fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

FUCK IT. FUCK IT NOW AND FUCK IT FOREVER

Good guys finish last, I should now that by now. I should believe that by now. Just fuck it. Fuck it and be fucked by it...

Jesus...

I can't. Hell, I know sooner than later I might feel sorry for writting this and I know that my fucking luck is so wonderful and so peachy, I just now I'm gonna pay for this. I do the right thing and play by the book, I get the shit thrown at me. I do the wrong thing and send the book to go fuck itself, I get fucked. So what the hell, If I'm gonna get fucked, the least I could do is just bent my anger.

I just don't care anymore, I don't care what may come of this. The only thing I care about is it ending, one way or another. My fucking hippity hoppity adventure, my up and downs. Just fuck it. What will I get out of this. Knowing how to choose my friends. Fuck.

So, I don't give a fuck who reads this. If you know me or not, good. And if you do, well I was gonna crack sooner than later. Shouldn't be any fucking surprise. But didn't I said things were gonna be allright. Didn't I say that we would still be friends. I fought for such a long time. I fought the fucking truth for so long so not to hurt anyone. But what the fuck was I thinking. I was huting myself. I was killing myself. And then, just when I see my chance for redemtion, coming of clean, this happens. I become honest to my friend, I DO THE RIGHT FUCKING THING. And this happens, once again, just like before. No previous warning. Caught me right by surprise. And when it does, there's nothing to do. No one to call. No one to accuse or blame or even somenone to talk to. Just me and my writing. It won't be for long. Not for long.

You're never truly alone, there just is the feeling of being alone. But you're never alone. so fuck it. I might be wrong, nothing might have changed and by writing this I might be fucking things even more. But as I said before, the worst times I've been fucked were all due to me not listening to the fucking signals. The worst times came from me not following my gut feeling. The worst came from me, not being me. So fuck it, fuck what tomorrow might bring. I'm ready for it. There hardly is anything more hurtful. My parents and siter or one of my close friends dying perhaps. But hardly anything more than that.

So just fuck it. After all...

...

Just fuck it. What can I do, but wait.

And since my life is a joyfull oyster, there's a good chance you read this. I don't think you come to this page often, or perhaps you ever have. Doesn't matter, it would certainly fit with the past experiences. If you do, I'm sorry. But after a while, it just isn't fair. And I'm not angry at you.. I'm angry at the world. I'm angry at him. I'm angry at myself and I don't know if I did the right thing telling him. I don't know if I did the right thing trusting him. Maybe I should've told you first.

But that's not me.

Remember, The Day Anyone Doesn't See me Smiling, That'll be the Day It Get's Cold in Hell. And I'm still in love with the fucking world, 'cause you still have that look. Thanks.

Under the Dim and Flickering Fluorescent Lighting

2007-05-04T12:45:00.000-05:00

Reading helps.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeey there, it's been some time since the last time I wrote anything here. Not that you might care, just wanted to set that straight. Well I could tell you the ins and outs of my life and what has been going on lately but that much isn't necesary. Fuck it, it's boring to most people. And since I'm writing for mainly for me (because there hardly is anybody that reads this) I'll just have fun here and there.

Last night, a close friend of mine (kudos to her) passed me this link to a flash animation. Now, I'm used to watch stupid funny flash animations. You know, the kind you find at newgrounds or in youtube when you're bored and clearly have nothing else to do. But what I saw...just imagine that near the end my brain kinda came. It was fucking brilliant. Like something really, really smart in that the whole thing was as simple as black letters on a white background and a jazz soundtrack. It's a poem called Lotus Blosom, the catch is that it dealt with what I now hold as a sacred art called Deconstruction. Deconstruction is basically graving a concept, shifting it's order and setting a new one in which there really is no star and end, but more likely an endless trail of images and/or words that at first might make no sense.

Jaques Derrida (surprinsingly, a french) gave this term to the world in the 60's and employed it to literature. I could explain what deconstruction is or isn't as said on wikipedia. Effortlesly, of course, since no matter how carefully I chose the words, I just couldn't explain it. It's one of those things you have to see for yourself. Besides, how does one explain something that has an inexisting order?

My first run into this technique was about 3 months ago when I saw the highly anticipated (to me) Deconstructing Harry. In my opinion, this is Woddy Allen's best fucking movie (Woody Allen writes, stars and directs this movie). In it, deconstruction is done throughout the movie that leads the viewer into a long series of analysis to the main character, and onto ourselves. After watching it, I pratically pranced around the house like a happy little bunny rabbit. It surprised the hell out of me, got my heart pumping in a verry weird way I couldn't describe. I can't, The same happened with the poem. It feels almost as if finding out something new and exciting. Like I said, makes your brain cum.

I know that sounds disgusting, but fuck you. How else would you describe it? Imagine watching a movie and getting a hold of so many abstract ideas and thoughts that start making you wonder half a dozen types of different shit. Shortly afterwards, I began smoking. I know how it sounds, don't jump into conclusions...judgemental pricks. The first time it's life changing. It fucks you up. It makes you wonder, act, react, think and more things I can't think of at the moment.

After you see something like this, you start judging and going about the external way of things. Fuck everything else. I know I did. Life's too fucked up, there isn't any other way of putting it. You visualize what is that which is really valuable. What is really important and such. That's why I fucking love this jewish son of a bitch, and yes in that "PUT YOUR BALLS IN MY MOUTH" kinda way. Probably not, but you never know. Woody is one more genius this sorry ass world will one day miss dearly. It is my mission to meet him before that happens.

Because not a lot of times in this life will you really feel something as distant as a movie, talk to you. It changes you.

It fucks you up.

God-Fuckin-Dammit, I Shouldn't Have Any Trouble Managging This Stuff

2006-07-23T19:27:00.001-05:00

Recently, and periodically, I tend to suffer from writer's block...or so I think. The thing is that most of the time I don't know what to write about. For about several weeks allready I've been thinking what to write about. I've pushed people to read what I put here, I 've begged others. And still, until some minutes ago, I had no clue about what to write about.

From where the fuck do I get the nerve to not know what to do in a blog called Movies, Books and Anything Else, from a guy who calls himself Mr. Bitchin? With that kind of background, I can either talk about movies, books or anything fucking else. Anything else. Can it be any more goddamn general? How hard is it to write about anything else.

Worst yet, how hard can it be to bitch about anything else. I've got an array of things to complain about, the world is full of things to complian about, I could even complain about myself. But instead of bitching, I decide to be a bitch (a whinny one at that) who thinks it's to fucking hard to write.

I'm Mothafuckin Mr. Bitchin, I don't have trouble writting. I have trouble getting into a diet, I have trouble paying attention, I have trouble killing my over optimistic, self-fuckin-righteous friends who think their dicks are bigger because they're better players than me in videogames in a regular friday afternoon session of Halo, I have trouble in a lot of shit, doesn't mean I can't do those things.

But writting, writting is my one best abbility, that and getting along with people. So where do I come off having difficulty on writting? What kind of idiot am I not to be able to write on those basis. Anything else, as if I had trouble talking (or for the matter, writting) about anything else, it's ridiculous, it's idiotic, and it's out of the fuckin question.

You wanna hear about anything else, here's something.

You've ever walked down the street or the mall and you suddenly come across a Victoria's Secret outlet, and you're fascinated by the lingerie on display that you turn you're head slightly to see more, but then you turn you're head again as if you weren't interested on the display so nobody walking by you thinks you're some fucking pervert, and then you have notions of you're close relations or anybody that knows you is also in the mall, in a near-by area, and they're taking a look at you, and they're gossiping about you, and then you start to feel really uncomfortable so you're walking faster and you start looking nervous, so now you have the notion that whoever is near by is thinking "Jesus, that guy just went by a Victoria's Secret store and allready he is really worked up, he must be a pervert. Quick, hide the children."

That ever happen to you guys out there? Have you ever been in a situation like this or somehow similar? A cute girl is about to enter the same office building or bar or hotel or any other compound structure that involves at least one door that you're walking out off, or viceversa, so you do the right thing, and you hold the door so she can pass. Suddenly you get the notion that someone, perhaps even she is thinking "Oh, typical. That guy is looking to get laid. Only reason why he acts like that" and you start getting nervous, and you start commiting stupid shit, like bumping on other people, and as they say "watch it asshole" you go "I'm sorry" as little ignorant stutering bitch, and then you let anyone walk over your pride, that ever happened to you?

You're in school and the girl that you have a crush on is over there talking to some dimwitt, and as you approach her trying to start a pleaseant conversation, you set aside waiting for the other jackass to end talking with her, as a gentleman would do. So you wait and you wait, right besides them. And suddenly, to late I might add, you realize that this guy is actually testing his corting skills.

He also wants to get this girl, probbably has the exact same plan as you do, only with a different result. As you realize this, you're struck with the fact that everyone from your class is watching and you might have just commited some stupis ass shit, standing by this couple in process, making you look like the town looser, has this EVER happened to you?

Here's another one, how about them girls out there. I know a lot of pretty smart chicks out there who are equally (or worse) bullied, set aside, made fun off and other practical bullshit all the world's underdogs have to put up with. Has any of this ever happened to you? no, well it sure has happened to me. And I'll be a motherfucking liar if I told you that shit ain't necesary. It builds character, it sets rules.

Who needs the balls-first-fuckin army, Strict parents and all the religion in the world, when all of life's lessons are given exactly by that, life. Has this shit happened to me? you bet you're dicks and tits it has.

Victoria's Secret oultets, more than the lingerie it was the notion of an unapproved behavior. Fuck that, the world out there doesn't give a flying fuck if I google at lingerie or, for that matter, at women. Now, now I know that for a girl to look real sexy all that shit isn't necessary, I mean Keira Knighlty for example. She was in Domino and Pirates of the Caribean. Domino she had short hair, bad girl attitude, and from time to time, verry little clothe. Pirates, long hair, 18th century london-esque clothing, verry good girl attitude (yes I have seen Pirates 2, I know she has a little bad in her, don't fuckin push it).

Same girl, different attitudes, She looks hot. It isn't the clothes that make the woman, it's the woman that makes the woman (yes, I'm corny, Fuck you for minding). But that doesn't mean I'll disapprove thongs (your regular 18 year-old) and for fun, I'll look with undisputed interest at this displays they have on the Victoria's Secret or any other mayor-undermagets retail store. I'll even look at the posters with the flesh and bone models wearing the latest thing in lingerie, and I'll scream to the top of my lungs "HOT DAMMED", "GOOD GOD ALLMIGHTY" and my favorite "JESUS JUMPING FUCKING CHRIST, LOOK AT THE ASS ON THAT ONE" even if there's a pack of kids or nuns or nuns with kids walking by.

As a matter of fact, if said thing does happen, I'll stop the nuns and say "that's right sisters, you heard me. I thank the lord for women, and only that. You go tell him to shove the rest of his creations up his ass. Nothing has ever topped women. And while you're at it, you can also tell him to change the churches politics here and there. For example, gather all the nuns that beneath all that pseudo-pinguin's bitch attire you so proudly wear are still smoking hot, and malke them wear this for a change.

I'll bet 10 out of 10 in just few hours, more people will believe in God and the sanctimonium-whatever-tha-fuck's-next-jerk-me-off-why-thank-you bullshit you people have established as divine law than there ever were on the thousands of years since little jesus sticked it up the man, and eventually got fucked by the people he came to save. Might do you some good too since some of you are starting to look verry lesbianic. Don't think I have a problem with that. Gays and lesbians should have the goddamn right to do as they please.

They ain't hurting anyone, why should we hurt them? So sister, if you feel the need to get inside the store and go Hallelujah with the models, be my guest. I'll even accompany you and we can have a good time as buddys, Huh? Whata you say? Afterwards, we can go outside the mall and pick up chicks. And as for you kids. Girls, you know what drives a real man crazy, the look those young women have up early in the morning just after a few hours of waking up with no make up and no fancy attires.

Just theire faces and that pillow hair and the illusion that they are vulnerable that drives us crazy. Non of that Paris Hilton fake ass shit. We like our women to be curvilineous, more of it, we like them to be real, and by that I mean natural beuty like them hippie chicks, or like Rob Zombbie's girlfriend. Ocassionally, everyone has it's own tastes, I for example think tatoos are sexy, when they're well placed and well thought of. But the most important thing, is a good healthy body.

By that I mean the body of a woman who likes to take care of herself. If you don't have it by the time you're teens, worry not. Evolution is a slow process, but eventually, everyone can be good looking, hell, I know of big ladies whith whom I like to party with. Just don't fall for to much shiny shit, look after yourselves and be healthy. That's all you need to do. Sure this lingerie stuff helps spice things in any relation. But if a guy only wants you to wear this stuff, and only wants you to look a certain way, well fuck him, the dickless bastard.

YES GIRLS, I SAID THE "F" WORD. LEARN TO USE IT WISELY AND NOBODY WILL "F" YOU.

And boys, YOU WORTHLESS PIECES OF SHIT BETTER GROW UP TO BE RESPECTABLE HUMAN BEINGS. DON'T GO AROUND WITH NONE OF THAT MACHO BULLSHIT, DON'T GO AROUND DISAPRECIATING PEOPLE. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, READ NOW AND THEN. DON'T BE AFRAID OF SHOWING LOVE, DON'T BE FUCKING JUDGEMENTAL AND BE FUCKING PROUD JUST TO BE A SENSITIVE GUY."

I also hold the door for as many people as I can, not just cute girls. Sure the notion of getting laid by holding a door open rocks. And I'm pretty sure somewhere out there someone's gotten that for holding a door open. But it's not the only thing on my mind, look at all that I've written so far, and I'm not done. I have a lot 0f shit to think of. Fuck it, who has the time? And you know who is to blame, Corporate Networks. Those are the assholes putting on shows about "VAT IS IT DIKE TO VE A TINAYE" (that's supposed to be red as if you were mentally challenged, retarded for anyone who doesn't have a grundge with political incorrectness).

WHAT THE FUCK DO THIS PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT BEING A TEENAGER? Besides, were are all the ugly people, were are all the poor people. In this shows someone who is poor and ugly most of the time are preatty much normal. So where is the realism? Where are the bad words? Why is there just sexual innuendo, and not just plain kids fucking? I'll tell you why, because it's not HBO, it's just regular ass TV.

Fuck that shit, I want something real. School is all about the people. The real people, and the rest of the jerks who make it look like a fucking sitcom. Yes sex is on our minds, but it doesn't take up all the space of the brain capacity for everyone (I am, of course, refering to some people). So I do hold the door open for everyone. And if there happens to be a cute girl involved, probably I allready flirted with the idea on having sex qith said woman. I don't use the door as means to get laid, I use dating and similar shit to get laid.

Fuck the pretentious bullshit, I am an old fashioned genlteman sometimes, a dirty motherfucker others, and an all around good guy that put's up with a lot of shit. And about the school stuff, yeah I was through that. That shit actually hapened to me, and when it did I couldn't help feeling as if I had been exposed to my classmates. Well, fuck my classmates, I had a crush on that girl. What can I do? I'm a sucker for pretty faces, plus she had a rockin body and a great attitude. So had I been the way I am now, I would've stepped up.

First I would've told the guy "Listen asshole, I got here first, not that the girl in front of you is an object, but I think I've earned the right to speak with her. So excuse me while I frustrate your booty call, I'm sure you won't have trouble finding something to fuck." Then I would turn to the girl and say "I'm a dork and a nerd, noticeably, yes, by social standards I am a looser, but I'm way funnier to hang out with than the average muscle mass and the rest of them playas so, why not give me a try? You've got nothing to loose. It's not like I'll pay more attention to other girls than to you or that one of my friends will try to hit on you. I don't drink or smoke yet I'm fairly open minded, so....wow, this is the longest pick-up line ever, but hey...You're totally worth it...and it's not like I'm a bonafied Romeo."

Now I don't have that crush anymore, cause now I know about more girls who are equally cute, inteligent and fun to be around (if not, more) than this one girl, and I got the time for them. What I don't got the time for is to feel sorry, feel ashamed, feel embarrased. It was three fucking years ago. I have worked my way around any of that shit back then, let alone that, I don't have time to feel regret about anything I've been trough.

Because I'll be damned if I hadn't done some pretty stupid shit in my life. But you know what, fuck it. So fuck any pet peeves you might have and work your way around them. Hey I'm no Hollywood stud, and people still love me. I'm no 1st class student, but I am a smart guy. I'm no model citizen, no good role model and definetly not a hard working person, and I'm still one of the good guys.

SEE YA ON THE FLIP SIDE

P.S.
and start hearing some good music before I break into your cars, houses, and clubs destroying any of this reggaeton shit. That shit really makes me fuckin' angry.

BRING ON THY SAVIOR, THE SHEPPARD OF THE WEAK AND THE MAN WHO COULD BEAT YOUR ASS WHILE HE FONDLES YOUR MAMA OR YOUR SISTER OR YOUR DAUGHTER

2006-07-07T13:46:00.000-05:00

Today's post is dedicated to a verry close friend of mine. This guy showed me how to break free from my box, it could show you as well.

Ok kids, now that I've started with The recognition of my blogg, I think it's time we had a conversation about the man, and I mean the real man not some Hokus-Pokus-Conspiracy-Shit about high goverment official running the show. What fucking show? I say, but that comes later, now let me make the proper introducction.

Bow down motherfuckers.....and ladys. This man, he'll rip up you're materialistic, scared, inconfident, unrespectfull, unrelliable, unintelligent, close-fucking-minded brain, wipe his ass with it, make funny impressions with it, throw it to some prairy dogs, scream, beat, scrap, liquify, freeze, heat, pre-heat, wrap, sell, desintosicate, spit, urinate, and defecate on it with the sole purpose of making you a better person. Because somtimes that's what it takes, or at least that's what the bible says (coming from me, a non-believer, that's gotta mean something).

Geroge Dennis Carlin, one of the most influential stand-up comedians of all times, probably the only one still alive today, is one bad motherfucker. With several awards on his belt, being the first "Saturday Night Live" Host, EVER and the title of the second best comedian of all times in Comedy Centrals "100 best Stand-up Comedians of all time" being beaten only by Richard Pryor (RIP) , Mr. Carlin has made quite a legacy with his constant rantings and jokes of great social relevance (can you see the pattern I'm following here?). Sticking it up to anyone, from the guy next door to God, this man is not to be fucked with. The only joke he ever did that (for my taste isn't true) was that anyone with the name Todd is an softy fuck, seeing that I know of three different Todds that prove that joke to be wrong (see, not everyone is perfect, which just makes him even better). His impression in my life is of such magnitude, that even though I knew it, I had forgotten that my screen name, Brain Droppings, is in fact the name of his first book. Which brings us to todays reason of posting.

Just great, I mean just great. Listen, if you're one of the thousands of ball-scratching mongoloids that don't like to read...wait a minute, that wouldn't make sense because you're reading this. Ok, If you know any ball-scratchig, Football-fannatic, cheese enthusiast mongoloid that doesn't like to read anything that doesn't involves tits and the women that beare them with the uttermost pride because they're huge, then a death threat is in order. You people read this first, and then make those assholes get up of theire asses, that would probbaly have allready been welded to the couch, and tell them to read this, it will at least be an incentive for them to grow past the mental age of a 3 year-old with the ecceptional horniness. Now he would certainly kick Chuck Norris's ass. Here, let me give you a taste of Mr. Carlin's humor.

+When cheese gets it's picture taken, what does it say?

+Is a vegetarian permitted to eat animal crackers?

+Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping reservations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong.

+Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.

+I have as much authority as the Pope, I just don't have as many people who believe it.

+May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.

+Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?

+If the #2 pencil is the most popular, why is it still #2?

+Well, if crime fighters fight crime and fire fighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part to us, do they?

+I'm completely in favor of the separation of Church and State. My idea is that these two institutions screw us up enough on their own, so both of them together is certain death.

+At a formal dinner party, the person nearest death should always be seated closest to the bathroom.

+The very existence of flame-throwers proves that some time, somewhere, someone said to themselves, You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done.

+Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that.

+I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.

+The only good thing ever to come out of religion was the music.

+Religion convinced the world that there's an invisible man in the sky who watches everything you do. And there's 10 things he doesn't want you to do or else you'll go to a burning place with a lake of fire until the end of eternity. But he loves you! ...And he needs money! He's all powerful, but he can't handle money!

SEE YA ON THA FLIP SIDE

T.G.I. Fridays should change it's name to H.S.I.O. Wednesday, (Holly Shit It's Only Wednesday), that way people would drink more.

2006-06-29T20:46:00.000-05:00

Today's title was brought to you from the imagination of George Carlin. George Carlin, when you need someone else to be angry for you, George Carlin.

You know, it has caught my attention that even though I named this blogg Movies, Books and Anything else, I seldomly ever talk about Movies, Books or Anything Else. Which is why today I'm gonna dedicate this space to the imediate movie I can ever think about, the one movie that when someone asks me "hey, What's your favorite movie?", it's the the first to pop into my head...before about a hundred other movies I've seen come out.

Rendering what I firmly believe to be Robert DeNiro's finest hour in acting and giving him the signature catchphrase, the one thing that's believed every actor is granted in his/her lifetime.

*You talking to me*

Classic. This has to be the most contemporary, cultural and sociological Anti-hero. Honestly people, I mean, Al Pacino is by far my favorite actor, and to me, even Tony Montana (Scarface, for those who seem lost) comes out like a punk bitch compared to this guy.

I would like to take this space and remind you that, once again, this is my opinion and you're in all your right to differ from my point of view. Just, don't waste your time telling me about it (as if).

So, why do I preffer to have the hots for this carachter rather than all the other bad-asses that have been inmortalized by the big screen. Simply put, he was by far the most human. Taxi Driver is a raw, dark, twisted and very violent movie, and not because of the blood shed, but because it's social remark. The movie starts with Travis Bickle (DeNiro) asking for a job as a, ejem, taxi driver because he has a severe case of insomnia. But that's not just it. Early in the movie, actually from that scene on we know for sure that Travis is a very disturbed man. The movie never actually says it, but his mood and the way he dresses (An olive green jacket, oviously from the army) suggest that Travis has just returned from Viet-Fuckin-nam. He's constant monologues about how he feels about life and the city and everything else make it a fact, this man hates society and is more confortable living on the underground. His impulse to do good by doing bad things, his alienation from a decadent world in which the wicked rule and (as he sees it) the others must play along. It's just beautiful. Set in the grimm side of New York City with a jazz soundtrack that chills the bones, and portraying how a man that is so fed up with all the bullshit, dicides to train himself in order to fight all evil. Taxi Driver, one of the best movies ever made, and that's a Fact Jack.

Here are some quotes from Travis.

*The days go on and on... they don't end. All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go. I don't believe that one should devote his life to morbid self-attention, I believe that one should become a person like other people.*

*All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.*

*Each night when I return the cab to the garage, I have to clean the cum off the back seat. Some nights, I clean off the blood. I think someone should just take this city and just... just flush it down the fuckin' toilet.*

SEE YA ON THA FLIP SIDE

And Now It's Time For Another Of Mr. Bitchin's: What Do I Think About When I Have Nothing to Do And Someone Tells Me To Do Something?

2006-03-26T19:49:00.000-06:00

Big Mac's handy guide To:
Use Your Will Endowed Overly Active Imagination To Create A Really Crappy Videogame/Diabetic Neural Radio Toaster/New Bible,
Based On The Interesting Political Views Of Penguins & Yodeling Camels That Live On New Jersey From Were They Save The Universe On A Daily Basis From An Evil Force Known As Deborah The Wrinckled, Lobotomized, Star Search Rejected, AOL Founder, Care Bear Creating Irish Canadian Sarcastic Mustard Seed While Using A Short Title That Makes Sense.

Step 1. Make A Fortune
Step 2. Forget Everything You Learned In School
Step 3. Sell Something Very Simple At A Very High Price
Step 4. Build an Emipire And Wait For Left Wing Militants To Destroy It
Step 5. Save A Lot Of Money On Car Insurance By Switching Over To Geicko
Step 6. Wear a Jewish Ceremonial Gown To Work On Casual Friday
Step 7. Take Over Treadstone
Step 8. Get A Bigger Boat
Step 9. Note That Nobody Really Gave A Crap About The Mushroom Kingdom, He Is A Plummer From Brooklyn So The Only Reason He Saved The Princess Was To Get Laid
Step 10. Get To Move On Up To The Upper East Side
Step 11. Leave The Gun, Take The Cannoli
Step 12. Remember Everything You Learned In School
Step 13. Numa Numa
Step 14. Fight For The Right Chickens Have To Cross The Road
Step 15. Support N.W.A.'s Views By Stating That Undoubtfully A Bitch Is A Bitch And That The Boys In The Hood Are Always Tough Trying As Hard As You Can Not To Quote Easy-E
Step 16. Find Out Who Let The Fucking Dogs Out
Step 17. Get Dance Lessons From Poncho
Step 18. Save Hyrule
Step 19. Prove To The World That It Really Is Butter
Step 20. Call It A Day

Rendevouz with reality

2006-03-09T19:06:00.001-06:00

Oh kids, it's time for another of uncle Bitchin's continuous rantings of self experience. This time however, we'll take a different approach at things. Let's talk about things that people believe in and why. Does it actually make them happy or do they do it because of the fear of not belonging anywhere. Now for this time, I would like to quote several ideas from either movies, books, or anything else that comes to mind.

Stand-up comedian Lewis Black once said "You put a guy in a closed room without any way to communicate, including another person, and ask him to come up with a religion, and that person will come up with Christianity".

Harsh words from a hard core comedian (read stuff about him, you can actually read him shouting), but there is a certain amount of reality in what he says nonetheless. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying religion is bad, I'm saying fanatism is bad. When someone (other than me that is) starts bitching about the way we live and how it affects our lives when we don't have enough prayer, that's when everything goes straight to the crapper.

When some man or woman starts beating their kids for making THE LORD unhappy, that's when Christianity proves itself uneffective. When some guy dressed like a ghost says "We in KLU KLUX KLAN are GOD FEARING men dedicated to make this a better world..." Darwin re-checks his evolution theory to see where did he went wrong.

And don't even get me started with the middle eastern fundamentalists. I respect any culture, but beating the last breath out of a woman because her face is showing, well that's just plain wrong. You see, religion would be such a bad idea if it weren't for the fact that it makes most people uneasy, it starts wars, or it makes people like me angry.

It's just the whole santicty of it all sickens me, more so since I'm in a place were people preach more than what the really mean or do and then they pose themselves around it and make out the fact that they're bigger and better.

AND IT'S NOT JUST THEM!!!! It's the christian conservatives and the middleastern fundamentalists and the inbred and ignorant and fearfull who are deeply convinced beyond a reason of a doubt that they are right, that god spoke to them and passed on the truth being that they are indeed the chosen ones amidst this dark and desolate place were nothing but corruption and filth seep through the people.

I strongly believe in 3 things, Mom, Karma, and MY OWN DAMN SELF!!! Why? Because its far more harder for those things to fail.

Now raise your hands if you saw Fight Club, remember when Brad Pitt's character said "We are promised lives of rockstars, and then we get crappy jobs, crappy apartments, and all in all, crappy personalities"...Ok, he said something like that but that was the main idea of it all. You know what you should do and what you shouldn't.

Pretending to follow a superior being or an invisible force unto satanazing free thinkers, homosexuality, the pursuit of science and truth and even alternate religions or belief systems....well that's just wrong and a dirty comunist lie.

BE GOOD (that means satisfying your needs as long as your not a jerk). Peace.

2006-01-26T23:03:00.001-06:00

Ok, second post To all those who have wondered what the hell have I've been doing (probably just one), it really doesn't matter. Now before I go on and do what I'm supposed to do, maybe an explanation is at hand. So last post I went a little off board with my comments and such, it was due to my at-the-moment lack of inspiration.

You can even tell by my title that things were not really well planed...which may be a good thing considering that I don't own anything to anyone out there, which doesn't mean I can't change my title and a few things here and there to make this a more openly and enjoyable blog. Now, what Im supposed to do, belieave it or not one of my teachers has and will set homeworks to work in the blogs of the students, primaraly to work our language since we're in Mexico, this week's task (if I may call it that) is to talk about the song or music I first heard in my life.

Here's a fun fact, both my parents pursued their carreres in art, so to speak, being that my father is to the day a radio personality of the public radio (he plays music called "Canto Nuevo" that means New Music, which is kind of like your Bob Dyllan or Cat Stevens) , a retired musician, and a former hippie.

My mother likes all sort of music she consideres "good", so the first song I ever heard was a poem made a song (most of "Canto Nuevo" are poems made songs) named "Alfonsina del Mar" (Alfonsina of the sea) dedicated to an argentinian writer called Alfonsina Stronti who took her own life, surpisingly enpugh the song is rather sweet and calm to a point that my mother usedit as a lulaby for both me and my sister.

That was the first song I ever heard, later on in my life, my dad introduce me to such rock groups as The Doors, The Beetles, Grand Funk Railroad, Deep Purple and other 60's and 70's bands (they say I made funny impressions of Jim Morrison, not because they were really good but because there was a three year-old in his pijamas pretending to be drunk and high).

Then my cousins and my brothers, huge fans of hip hop, introduce me to the music (old school...bitch).

The rest...Highschool. You tend to pick up stuff as you go. Example. HATED punk rock music before I got to highschool. Hated it. Pretty weird if you ask me, specially since I really hadn't heard any real punk rock.

I was so used to the skater punk and happy punk (which I now know it's more of an evolution, kinda like new-wave gangzta rap; it sucks!). So naturally, being that I'm not a close minded prick or an idiot, I do have a wide variety of friends of which all like different styles in music and we all share our likes and tend to compare and adjust or however you wanna call it.

I first got into so-called screamo, emo and hardcore punk. It wasn't until way later that I heard my very first real punk song. The Misfit's Astro Zombies.

So that about does it, those were the first songs I heard in my life. Write to you later.

Popping the cherry

2006-01-20T13:36:00.000-06:00

Maybe, you want me to introduce myself. Well screw that, I don't trust the internet that much, so for the moment let's just keep our identitys for ourselves, what I could do is give you a description of me (you know just in case the profile thingy is not enough for you), Im 18, male, mexican, fat (though not huge), geek, and depending on what you say to me I can be nice or a dirty motherfucker, but not always. So have fun, and tell me things that you would like to talk about.