Oh, for the brightest day soon cometh

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

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

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

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!?!

ok

wait

WAIT

no seriously, wait

wait...

waaaaaittttt.....

waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiittttttttttt.....

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

ok

almost there

ready

ok

ok

ok

here it comes

get ready

Oh my God, here it comes

oh

OH

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...

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.

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...

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!

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

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

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

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)

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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.

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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

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

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.

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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.