My Apollonia

"Fuck The Godfather!"

That's the first line, the very first phrase of a book named Joey The Hitman. It's sort of a memoir of this guy who hangs around a real-life, honest-to-God murderer. I saw it a long time ago in a Barnes&Noble bookstore in the True Crime section. I wouldn't see it again for at least three years, before I got on the first cruise ship in my life. When I saw it on the library of the ship, I picked it up along with several other books, most of them novels which I only read about two-to-six pages, I don't remember why.

And that was the very first thing I read, I skipped the introduction by the author. I strongly believe introductions that aren't linked directly to the story (i.e. are part OF the story) aren't really part of the book as it is. They're a must read, but you aren't reading the book till you get to that one first sentence. Prologues do count.

So, anyways, I read that and a little bit further on. The premise was that the media and Hollywood had done their fare share of misdirecting the general public to what the Mafia was really all about...as with absolutely anything in life. Now I haven't read that book and I own it...It would take me a couple more years to be in one of those moods were you go "hey, what was that one book I saw once I promised myself I'd buy?". I haven't read it because I have the lousiest reading habits in the world, but, I love to read. Eventually, I'll get down to it.

The reason I'm even bringing the book up is for that first sentence. Some of you may have already experienced this, it happens mostly with movies and such other fare. You buy something because it sounds interesting and promising, and what the hell, the cover-art looks fantastic (so much for that old saying) and you expect something that will blow your mind, but instead you get something that blows your bowels, spraying hot, steaming shit over everything you own and love. Well, the same can happen with books, hasn't happened to me, thankfully, but I've been stuck with "Mehh....it sounded cooler on the jacket" books.

I don't think this is one of those books, but that first phrase bothers me, it's like an omen. It feels that it tries hard from the very begging to punch you in the gut. And it's just to get your attention. Usually, the books that really change your life do that, but sometimes it's just a bad sign.

I love the Godfather, I really really love the Godfather. Both the book and the movie, specially the movie since it was the first time I saw Al-Pacino's work, real work, and it was my starting point that would later develop into my fascination with him as an actor and with serious dramas and oscar-worthy performances. It would later bring me to Taxi Driver. But I digress, see I love the film for all the right reasons and the book as well, but as it is, the book covers a different ground in my Things I Most Absolutely Fucking Love chart.

I saw the movie for the first time when I was 13 or 14 years old, and I got the book as a present round those years. Almost 10 years later, I read the book again. And it would be this last time when I read it that I'd see things I didn't even notice back when I was a teenager. Since I started reading it back in January of this year, I've been announcing and promoting this book like no other (perhaps not as much as John Dies at the End by David Wong which will completely obliterate the universe you know and love from all the bad-assery that is that motherfucking book) for the sole reason that it is, undoubtedly, the one manual, the only manual, on men.

Men and all things men, and like Mr. James Brown said, this is a man's world. So naturally, The Godfather is a manual on society, politics, culture and ethics like no other, forget about Niccoló Machiavelli and his prince or Socrates, this book explains them all better and faster. And so, this post truly begins.

You see, there's this little thing...Honor, it gets thrown around in both the book and the movie a lot. It seems that to these people honor means everything, but the funny thing is that everyone has a different concept on honor. Sonny, for example, the eldest of the Corleone children and heir to the thrown cheats on his wife, is known for his extremely short temper and speaking out of order. To top it all off, during his childhood, he earned the title of the only person in the world who could make Don Vito Corleone angry.

Yet, he would never hit a woman, to him, to Sonny, it was Infamita to lay anything but a loving hand over a woman, even if said woman happened to be the wife of the one committing the crime.

Fredo, Connie, Michael, they all had different takes on honor. Fredo and Connie were the ones most lacking of, but Mike, Mike knew honor. Shit he had been the most honorable of the four, up until the run-in with the danger of loosing his old man and certain Irish cop's fist. The Don, fawgett'boutit, this was The Big Cheese. He was the Don, the very principle of dishonor would send shivers down his spine and cause the most destructive cycles, if needed, to unleash upon the world just to recover whatever honor, whatever dignity had been lost.

The Don was an old fashioned man, a reasonable man, a proud and serious man. A loving father and husband, and a very smart Caesar to his immense Rome called America, from his very own small, Little Italy. To the Don, as to the more real, actual-human-beings counterparts, like Bruce Lee or others, Honor was more than just a title or an ability. Honor had to be maintained and supported, it didn't gave you the right to walk on higher ground than the rest or, for that matter, to walk over anyone else.

And to me, honor means a lot. It always has, it always will. I, much like anyone else alive, would love to feel like a Don Corleone, A Vito Andollini Corleone, a respected man whom everyone trusts and loves. A powerful man. Or better yet, a Michael Corleone, a willful man. A Strong man, both feared and respected, more feared than respected of course. Death himself.

But most of us, are stuck in the middle ground. We're the Fredos and Connies of the world, a few lucky ones get to be the Sonnys, because dear old Santino was, at the very least, an honorable man. I'm flawed, broken, but I haven't strayed to far off the line. At the very least, I'd make both Dons, Vito and Michael, proud of me. But the thing about the book, the thing about Mario Puzo, the way he writes, the way he tells the story is that all throughout there are these little details that can't go unnoticed.

He conveys honor in a way that would make anyone thirst for it.

Yesterday, I got the chance to be at a thesis examination, a final exam of sorts for three dear friends of mine. Not best friends, dear friends, and I got to see them triumph, step up and do everything they were meant to do, socially speaking. Personally, they bested themselves a long time ago and they still do since every day is an equal chance to win or to fail. If you win, then you keep on winning. If you fail, you just brush it off, learn, practice and prepare to fight again 'till you win.

At the same time, I had a chance to stay with a fucking waste. A guy that by all standards and comprehension, is a Douche Bag, capital letters, no question about it. This guy, preppy little bitch, hasn't been the bane of my existence. I don't hate him, he just displeases me, a lot. And this is why; he conveys absolutely everything to despise in another person. He's no criminal, as far as I'm concerned or a kiddie pornographer or a woman beater or any other ungodly scum.

He's fake, you can breathe it in. But I don't mean someone who lacks the knowledge and tries, a lot of people mix that up, calling all the new kids at rock concerts and similar type of social venues "fakes". Usually, it's the elder stupid posers that call anyone else trying fake. No, this guy doesn't try, he does. He speaks with an unquestionable fixation in that everything he says and does is right, is true. His jokes, his ideas, his motivations, they're all the product of a person who strives to be taken seriously, but that you know are the product of mass media.

He is the mainstream real hipsters hate. Not because he doesn't know the bands you listen too or sings them right when they become famous. It's because he appropriates them, like he was there from the beginning. Speaks of them as if he has known them for ever and, worst of all, emits opinions based on his poorly constructed mind.

This guy is close minded, weak and the rest of him isn't even himself, it's all the things popularity had fed him. Again, don't confuse my anger with preposterous views and holier-than-thou attitude. I don't mind people who try, I even encourage people to get interested. This isn't that type of person, this is the guy who sees an internet joke about mac and suddenly he's an apple expert, watches a movie based on a comic book and is a comic book expert, reads a line on a popular internet blog about a famous book and suddenly knows all about the author.

All this, without ever even dedicating a moment to just open up a book, comic or reading about macs. He's views aren't objective, they've been spoon fed, and he walks with the utter confidence that what he's doing is right.

A friend of mine, the girlfriend of one of the guys presenting they're thesis yesterday, told me about him. About a part of his past. She told me how he changed, from pretending to be weird in that way when you know someone just tries to be weird, pretends to be weird, otherwise known as a very peculiar way of attention whoring, to the now, a preppy Abercrombie&Fitch poster boy, with a different speech pattern and a different view on things.

Neither of the Dons would've cared much for him. They would've called him a clown, and instead reprehend me for paying too much attention. Yes, he has no honor, so what? What is it to you? And I don't know, the proximity, the affection, the way I can't avoid him.

Then work hard, get out of there. You can't stand him, don't. They would say.

And that's when it hits me, just how flawed I am. I haven't had my big break, that success to trample the rest, the one where I can demand respect and build upwards from there. My big break, my moment, the one that hasn't come, or perhaps the several I've missed so far. And when you start thinking about missed opportunities, that's when things start to get complicated, for you, for your brain. You stay up, late at night, and think about how badly you've screwed those opportunities up. But some aren't there for the taking, some just come to brush of on your nose like a gust of wind and then go.

No explanation, no nothing, just a promise, a fleeting light.

Apollonia is a character in the godfather. After Michael, the one innocent man in the Corleone family, a civilian, makes his bones, because even he is a business man, and kills Virgil Sollozo, the only person who could ever get close enough to the Godfather to hurt him and the certain Irish cop, he flees to Sicily. Under the protection of Don Tomassino, he lives worry free in the hills of the beautiful village of Corleone, the place from where his father came from almost 50 years ago, in time of the story.

One day, a group of young women going about, frolicking as village girls tend to do, one of them caught Michael's eye.

From The Godfather by Mario Puzo:

"The girls, not seeing the men resting on the orange grove, came closer and closer. They were dressed in cheap gaily printed frocks that clung to their bodies. They were still in their teens but with the full womanliness sun-drenched flesh ripened into so quickly.

Three or four of them started chasing one girl, chasing her toward he grove. The girl being chased held a bunch of huge purple grapes in her left hand and with her right hand was picking grapes off the cluster and throwing them at her pursuers. She had a crown of ringleted hair as purple-black as the grapes and her body seemed to be bursting out of it's skin. 

Just short of the grove she paused, startled, her eyes having caught the alien color of the men's shirts. She stood there up on her toes, poised like a deer to run. She was very close now, close enough for the men to see every feature on her face.

She was all ovals; oval-shaped eyes, the bones of her face, the contour of her brow. Her skin was an exquisite dark creaminess and her eyes enormous, dark violet or brown but dark with long heavy lashes shadowing her lovely face. Her mouth was rich without being gross, sweet without being weak and dyed dark red with juice of the grapes..."

"...Her haunches moved like an animal's beneath the tight print of her dress; as pagan and as innocently lustful. When she reached her friends she whirled around again and her face was like a dark hollow against the field of bright flowers. She extended an arm, the hand full of grapes pointed towards the grove. The girls fled laughing, with the black-clad, stout matrons scolding them on. 

As for Michael Corleone, he found himself standing, his heart pounding in his chest; he felt a little dizzy. The blood was surging through his body, through all its extremities and pounding against the tips of his fingers, the tips of his toes. All the perfumes of the island came rushing in the wind, orange, lemon blossoms, grapes, flowers. It seemed as if his body had sprung away from him out of himself..."

"...Michael wasn't too pleased about his emotions being so easily read. But this was the first time in his life such a thing had happened to him. It was nothing like his adolescent crushes, it was nothing like the love he'd had for Kay, a love based as much on her sweetness, her intelligence and the polarity of the fair and dark. 

This was an overwhelming desire for possession, this was an unerasable printing of the girl's face on his brain and he knew she would haunt his memory every day of his life if he did not posses her."

Apollonia is to me, now, so much more than the most pleasant and unbelievably beautiful woman on the face of the earth. But far from it, I've felt a little like this on several occasions, mind you Mario Puzo's certainly goes beyond his way to make you comprehend in civilized and artistic terms that this girl was so hot, Michael Corleone may or may not have gotten a boner by just looking at her. I've felt, sort of this way before, but to best of my knowledge not like this before.

The truth is that I've encountered hundreds of Apollonias throughout my life, women who by some sick and twisted sense of the universe just appear before my very eyes to flee from my presence the minute I'm aware of their existence. And sure, in today's world, technology has made it idiotically easy to stare all day at pretty girls. However, nothing ever beats that feeling of coming across such gregarious beauty in real life.

And it would have it, under the experience granted by life, that I did indeed came across a woman with such features as those described by Mario Puzo. Everything from the almost skin tight ware, to the beauty of a dark brown flowing hair with big eyes, rich lips and a full womanly body, undeniably a glimpse of divine perfection on a girl, enough to leave me a blabbering, thumping mess of a man and filling me with a dreaded necessity of possession.

Unlike Puzo's story though and just how life would have it, I came across this woman, not on the florid hills of a beautiful and exotic island in Italy, under the cover of a local Mafia chieftain, escaping from the fiery embers of the law in America, but rather in line of a sandwich stand in La Guardia's International Airport in New York. The girl, as it would happen, wasn't also Italian, but Muslim.

For you see, life has this tendency, how to say it...to completely obliterate everything you believe in, just so you can build new beliefs on which to decompose later on. She wasn't dressed in familiar burkhas or other middle-eastern clothing to make that claim, I asked her, in an attempt to...I don't know, something. I had to talk to this one girl, had to, so I ended up asking what was with her and all the other women wearing the similar looking credential round their necks.

All I got out of her was that she was a Muslim and that her name is Hel-something. That's all I heard, I don't even know if that's how it's written and very probably I was breaking some rule to talk with this woman. Although her companions, the other girls, looked nothing like stereotypical Muslims, very few of them even wore that head piece that covers the hair, the rest was a track suit or sweat pants and a shirt. They were all in line to buy doughnuts and coffee or something (I'm guessing they weren't gonna try the ham sandwich).

But as I said, to me Apollonia means so much more. It's not just the pretty girls in my life that have come and gone. It's the concept, perfection that bests all other things in a way that you can't think of anything else but overwhelming possession. Wipes out every other thought, leaves you grunting like a savage.

How many times we've had that feeling, anyone, at all. Not of a woman, but of something, and how many times has that feeling passed without us being prepared for it. What of all the could'ves and should'ves in life. Those moments, or things or places or people were you just ask yourself "why can't that be me?".

Last night I got that feeling, I left an awesome get together for a party, venial I know, superficial, you betcha, but it was that very same feeling. And it stops being superficial when you realize that the small get together was filled with awesome and chill people. In my case it was, the other was a party with few good friends and alcohol, which I don't drink. I cannot convey this sensation but it goes with it all. Just a few moments a part and my night could have been different, and really, to some people, to me, it's much more important to laugh out loud with others than to attend a place were I only know so many people and none of them can make me laugh hysterically.

To top it all off, I agreed to a celebratory tequila shot which left me buzzed on the way home, and the way home was in someone else's car, next to a drunken loud mouth and Ibiza-level music. It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't what I would've wanted.

And that shit always leaves you thinking. What you wanted.

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.