wolverine meets mickey mouse

walt disney bought marvel entertainment. i've never been much of a marvel fan, but somehow i don't think this is good news.

a lullaby.

it's a slow walk, you know. a slow but steady one. i know where it leads me. and so do you, even though you dare not mentioning anything. you won't do it, of course, i know that much. and in the end there will be a lecture that i will care not to listen, truth be told. at this point, i see everything repeating itself, the same lethargy creeping over, the same quiet indolence slowly settling down, slowly eating will away, slowly consuming any desire, putting out any fire still burning, soothing me into oblivion. like death caressing the wounded, singing a lullaby into darkness.

burning matches

as if that worried me. but i find it funny to have you telling me that - you, of all the people. especially after the last days, and the incessant nagging about something so childish and silly. it's easier to point the finger, even if you do it in such a subtle way - i give you that much. but you know, respect for each other is not lost only for something big happening, something serious. i'd say that most times, it doesn't take something big, but a considerable amount of small things to happen. small things, near insignificant things, that slowly undermine the respect one person has built towards another. happened for the second time here. you won't have much more matches to burn.

one of the reasons why i dislike my country's journalism sometimes

is because portuguese journalism always takes itself too serious, never trying to be at ease and do something different, amusing and entertaining. like this. for example.

sit down stand up

i definitely need to stand up more often.

heh. why the hell not?

H8 is the one for me
It gives me all I need
And helps me coexist
With the chill

You make me sick
Because I adore you so
I love all the dirty tricks
And twisted games you play
On me

Space dementia in your eyes and
Peace will arise
And tear us apart
And make us meaningless again

You'll make us wanna die
I'd cut your name in my heart
We'll destroy this world for you
I know you want me to
Feel your pain

Space dementia in your eyes and
Venus will arise
And tear us apart
And make us meaningless again

Muse, Space Dementia, in Origin of Symmetry, 2001 #3 // Hullabaloo Soundtrack disk 2, 2001 #8

metalanguage (the rain drops)

(the rain drops) between the lines we are naked (the rain drops) yet no one can truly see us as we are (the rain drops) only as they think we are (the rain drops) words words (the rain drops) form over function over meaning (the rain drops) there is room there is room for misunderstanding (the rain drops) for anger for hatred (the rain drops) never for comprehension (the rain drops) never for love (the rain drops) words words (the rain drops) blunt weapons sticks and stones(the rain drops) unafraid, we are unafraid to used them (the rain drops) unrestrained always unrestrained (the rain drops) and then it's too late (the rain drops) it's too late and we go on (the rain drops) we go on we press on (the rain drops) ruthless murderers we press on (the rain drops) we kill we destroy (the rain drops) restlessly we run we press on we go (the rain drops) part of us never returns once gone (the rain drops) it stays nowhere alone (the rain drops) part of us remains nowhere alone (the rain drops) worn out (the rain drops) disillusioned affraid (the rain drops) words meaningless words useless (the rain drops) too late it's always too late (the rain drops) we see ourselves we watch ourselves (the rain drops) from above and beyond we watch ourselves (the rain drops) we wonder at ourselves blunt weapons of destruction (the rain drops) our gaze through ourselves through flesh and blood (the rain drops) what mattered nothing mattered something should have mattered once (the rain drops) once (the rain drops) the sands of time flow and reflow we remain (the rain drops) never returning we remain nowhere (the rain drops) you ask why i ask why the answer lies nowhere (the rain drops) nowhere under our eyes right under our eyes (the rain drops) never look up always look down on (the rain drops) dare it to see (the rain drops) never did never dared never tried (the rain drops) eluded always eluded (the rain drops) right there right there nowhere (the rain drops) until it's time make or break when it's time (the rain drops) time upon us will we see (the rain drops) nowhere nowhere (the rain drops) nothing else to hide all meaningless (the rain drops) before the end (the rain drops)

for nothing at all.

I jumped in the river and what did I see?
Black-eyed angels swam with me.
A moon full of stars and astral cards
And all the figures I used to see.

All my lovers were there with me,
All my past and future.
And we all went to heaven in a little row boat.
There is nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.

I jumped in the river,
Black-eyed angels swam with me.
A moon full of stars and astral cards
And all the figures I used to see.

All my lovers were there with me,
All my past and future.
And we all went to heaven in a little row boat.
There is nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.

There is nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.
There is nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.

Radiohead, Pyramid Song, in Amnesiac, 2001 #2. One of the reasons why I find Amnesiac their best album.

characters.

some of my friends - well, those who read the book - think that i'm quite alike holden caulfield, the protagonist of salinger's the catcher in the rye. i acknowledge that as well, but not without pity; for if i had to be like a literary character, i would rather be like howard roark, from ayn rand's masterpiece the fountainhead.

sometimes i look around, and look inside myself, and think i would like to be like him: never compromising, never breaking, never beaten, always proud, always secure.

on the picture: gary cooper as howard roark in king vidor's adaptation of the movie, the fountainhead (1950)

the art of war

some people should read sun tzu's the art of war more often. but then again, how many people know how to read nowadays?

i'm sorry, but i'm so sick of it that i couldn't resist

besides, i love the whole demotivator idea, so here it goes:

yes, it was me doing it.

well, with that bum of hers, it must have been doggy-style, that's for sure.

people walking in the streets say the most hilarious things. and it was taken out of the context, of course, for i had no way to know the context at all. no matter. it's funnier this way.

the right moment

there is no such thing as the right moment, as in the right moment to say or do anything. there are only things that must be said and done - and delaying them for the sake of a right moment will only lead to have them said and done in the worst possible moment, in the worst possible manner and causing way too much damage around. preparing the way usually does not eliminate the thorns around it - only causes them to grow thicker and sharper than ever. somethings cannot be avoided, after all. just as one cannot avoid death, or ask her to come another day, for there is still so much to be done.

pariah

and suddenly i feel a pariah in my own office. the reason: farmville, that facebook game. everyone around here is playing it. everyone around here is talking about it.

everyone but me.

the long run

in the long run we're all dead. let's twist it then. if in the long run we're all dead, we might as well not move an inch towards anything, for all goals will be irrelevant. there will be nothing to achieve if we achieve something just for the empty satisfaction of knowing we'll be dead and unable to enjoy it further. but we can also thing that if in the long run we're all dead - which, sadly, is true - then we might as well aim for the short run and do everything we can and enjoy it as much as we can, as futile it might be. well, truth be told, we don't know what lies beyond death. it might be nothing, and as we snuff out of existence we just snuff out of existence. there might be heaven and hell, or maybe not heaven and hell but just something anyway. we don't know. the afterlife - or afterdeath - might as well be a terribly boring place, and we better have fun while we're alive. or, in the other hand, it might party all day and night long, so all the fun we have here in our earthly world will seem redundant once the holy-gin-and-tonic starts flowing beyond our coffin. who knows.

so true. and there's a subtle irony in that change: it often goes exactly for where we wanted it to go. when it is too late.

these are my twisted words

and you can download them for free on the w.a.s.t.e. website. yes, it is the new radiohead song, and it's awesome.

Rules of Metal (adapted)

I can't resist, my friend, to steal this one from you, but it is too damn good. It truly made me laugh my ass off while I was in another of my depressive moments, and that's one hell of a feat. Mind you, my favourites are the Progressive and the Speed ones. Anyway, here it goes:

In order to understand the differences between each metal style, let's imagine a certain situation and its outcome, according to each style of metal:

"High above in a castle, there's a princess who was kidnapped, locked in there and is now "guarded" by a terrible huge menacing dragon..."

Power Metal
The protagonist arrives riding a white unicorn, escapes from the dragon, saves the princess and makes love to her in an enchanted forest.

Thrash Metal
The protagonist arrives, fights the dragon, saves the princess and fucks her...easy and quick.

Heavy Metal
The protagonist arrives on a Harley, kills the dragon, drinks a few beers and fucks the princess.

Folk Metal
The protagonist arrives with some friends playing acordions, violins, flutes and many more weird instruments, the dragon falls asleep (because of all the dancing). Then they all leave... without the princess.

Viking Metal
The protagonist arrives in a ship, kills the dragon with his mighty axe, skins the dragon and eats it, rapes the princess to death, steals her belongings and burns the castle before leaving.

Death Metal
The protagonist arrives, kills the dragon, fucks the princess and kills her, then leaves.

Black Metal
The protagonist arrives at midnight, kills the dragon and impales it in front of the castle. Then he sodomizes the princess, drinks her blood in a ritual before killing her. Then he impales the princess next to the dragon.

Brutal Death Metal
The protagonist arrives, kills the dragon and spreads his guts in front of the castle, fucks the princess and kills her. Then he fucks the dead body again, slashes her belly and eats her guts. Then he fucks the carcass for the third time, burns the corpse and fucks it for the last time.

Grind
The protagonist arrives, screams something completely undecipherable for about 2 minutes and then leaves...

Doom Metal
The protagonist arrives, sees the size of the dragon and thinks he could never beat him, then he gets depressed and commits suicide. The dragon eats his body and the princess as dessert. Thats the end of the sad story.

Gothic Metal
The princess in a velvet costume starts singing soprano. The protagonist completes the duet by adding the beast part, while the dragon plays the flute. Suddenly he swallows up the pipe and accidently scorches the beauty and the beast and suffocates to death. All their souls are damned in hell's eternity.

Progressive Metal
The protagonist arrives with a guitar and plays a solo of 26 minutes. The dragon kills himself out of boredom. The protagonist arrives to the princess' bedroom, plays another solo with all the techniques and tunes he learned in the last year of the conservatory. The princess escapes looking for the Heavy Metal protagonist.

Industrial Metal
The protagonist arrives wearing greasy overcoat, makes obscene gestures towards dragon, and gets escorted out of fairy tale land by security guards.

Speed Metal
Suddenly there, short solo, dragon is confused, someone's screaming weird stuff, princess realizes she's been deflowered, dragon and princess are still looking for the one who did this.

Christian Metal
The protagonist rides in on his way home from church and sings a mushy power ballad to the dragon about how much Jesus loves him and that the dragon should turn to Him. The Dragon is immediately converted, and when the princess wants to thank the protagonist he replies, "Sorry, but I don't believe in having sex before marriage."

Glam Metal
The protagonist arrives, the dragon laughs at the guy's appearance and lets him enter. He steals the princess' make up and tries to paint the castle in a beautiful pink colour.

Battle Metal
The protagonist arrives with a legion of a hundred brave footmen, war chariots and a dozen elite warriors and, as a master tactician, flanks the dragon in a bloody siege that lasts six hours. The princess gets bored.

Nu Metal
The protagonist arrives in a run down Honda Civic and attempts to fight the dragon but he burns to death when his moronic baggy clothes catch fire.

Emo
The protagonist sees the dragon and moans about how hard it will be to get the princess to fall in love with him. He gets eaten. The princess is very happy, because he was a whiny dork anyway.

Grunge
The protagonist doesn't get eaten by the dragon because he stinks too much from not washing his hair in months. The princess won't go near him either, and he ends up dying on the town hall steps with the other grungers due to the over consumption of white cider.

Pop-Punk
The dragon can't eat the protagonist because he can't catch him because he keeps bouncing up and down. The princess won't fuck him either, because he likes ska.

Chasing happiness

Happiness. More of a curse than a blessing, truth be told, but it seems to be everyone's goal. To achieve happiness, they say. To be happy.
Humans themselves are the definition of improbability.
And yet, having anything better to do at the time, I pledged myself in the pursuit of happiness. Not in the human sense, mind you, of willing to be happy, or struggling so hard to be happy that one gets extremely bitter and frustrated all the way. No, I merely wanted to find it. And here I say "it" because, well, back then I knew nothing of happiness' true shape. Was it human or animal? Or a plant, even? Male or female? For all I knew, it could well be a smooth, round stone lost in some river bed.
I will bother you not, my dear reader, with all the details of my expedition. I fear it would get a little bit too long and that you would become not just a little bit too bored and annoyed. I'll thus skip that part and all i'll tell you is, I've found happiness.
And since I did it, I find myself in position to tell you that happiness is one of the most remarkable things in the universe. To begin with, it is shapeless, and this feature strikingly means that happiness can indeed be male or female, human or animal, or plant, even. It can be a smooth round stone on the river bed. This it explained to be when we talked, remember ing old shapes it took. Happiness' shape varies with the will and the desire of its founder. It has been the smooth round stone in a child's hands. It has been a lover. It has been a well plundered field. It has been a puppy and a kitty, sometimes even a flower - its favourite, it told me, was the white water-lily, but since they are so hard to get happiness has to go as red roses most of times, and it secretely hates it. It has been a shooting star bursting in the night sky. Once, it has even been an apple falling to the ground near some man.
By now, you, my dear reader, have undoubtedly found other remarkable things about happiness, like the fact that it speaks. "Well of course I do", it said when I asked the same thing, but I'm skipping too many bits of our conversation. What you have not yet guessed is the shape it took to address me, and that's something I'm sorry to say that will be left out of this little tale. As I said, its shape depends on it's founder desire, and I had no desire of any kind, other than to find it - which, I suspect, made me unwillingly cause some trouble to happiness. But above all, happiness is truly courteous, and after some thinking, it decided to present itself to me in its true shape.
We struck into conversation, of course. Casual conversation. Ironically enough, when I asked how was it, it replied "sad", which truly amazed me. The last thing I expected was happiness to be sad. It makes sense, though. As it explained to me, most people seek happiness not knowing what they truly want - and sometimes not knowing whether they can bear what they want, or whatever the road to what they want implies. And even though everyone finds it now and then, it is just for a simple, ethereal moment, one that eventually is over, a kiss that eventually breaks. That, it said, is its true nature: not to be constant, a goal in itself, but something that human beings get to warm their hearts and bring a smile to their lips now and then. They walk around oblivious to it though, and their aching desire to be happy, as they say, makes them miss it rather often. Its sadness came from this: from people's unability to comprehend it.
"I suppose you don't have company that often then", i said.
It did, but as it replied, its company never lasts long. People miss it so often, and at some point they remember some moment of their life and they realise they were happy in that moment. It was true, happiness told me, it had been there in that moment. But they had not noticed it, and the memory that surfaced years before was no longer happy, but incredibly sad. No, being happiness was no easy task at all. Many where the days then happiness itself thought about it like a curse.
Just like me, I thought, but I didn't say it. I asked instead what could be done to change that.
Happiness told me it didn't know what could be changed. Perhaps there was nothing there to change, and things were meant to be just the way they were. But such an idea did not satisfied me. Things should change, I thought. People should learn to be aware of happiness, so they'd value all the more - and it wouldn't feel as miserable as it does now. I thought that could be my next goal, but for such a quest I would need to find someone truly happy. And somehow I suspected that it would be even harder than to find happiness itself. But that, I might leave for another tale.

on uselessness.

it's pointless. it feels like a mute trying to yell at a deaf. everything is lost in the process, and all that's left is anger and resentment.

it's always tough to say that must be said.

one of these days, my friend, i'll get finally fed up and tell you that i have a mother already, a good one, and as such i don't need your cheap advising - or nagging - all the time. and then you'll be sore at me for being rude and all, and you'll tell me that you're just concerned about me and all that. don't want to show ingratitude, and honestly, i suspect people who truly care about me are getting in short supply. but there are other ways of showing that concern, mate, other than to annoy me night after night.

here's a story, the story of a knight. not a righteous one, like those in fairy tales, for righteousness is a virtue that hangs dangerously close to the abyss. so he was not a knight in shiny armour, not by far - as a matter of fact, his armour was rather worn out, its once polished metal plates dull and lifeless, scratched and dented. he wasn't a dark knight as well, for not all things righteously good in the face of the earth are necessarily evil. he just was. he just wandered, like a wreck of a broken ship waiting to be cast ashore. and it happened that he was to face the heart of evil, to see that so many good and brave men see only to fall into despair. and he fought it, as the evil took the shape of a black knight, a wicked one, riding a black wyvern. the wyvern flew around the forgotten battlefield, and its shrieks made life turn away in terror. but our knight never did. he stood his ground, and forced the black warrior to come down to him, to fight him in his own terms. and they fought, swords clashing relentlessly, tears and sweat dropping to the dusty ground. even. they were even, for they were truly one and the same fighting each other. they were not alone though, for not far in the battlefield, watching the battle with an empty gaze, there was a woman. the dark knight saw her, and laughed, a bitter laugh that no mortal ears should have ever listened. but the weathered knight knew. he understood, and he fought even more fiercely. for her. for himself. and he managed to draw the first blood, to slash through the dark knight's skin and flesh. he didn't kill him though; he could not bring himself to kill him. and as such, he let the demon warrior go, to ride back to his lair of sorrow, knowing that one day he would return, more powerful than before.

the woman was there, waiting for the knight. and there they stood, staring into each other's eyes for a long while. they should have left together. they should have locked their hands, they should have held each other in their arms and swore never to leave. only, they didn't. and the gaze they shared in that god-forsaken battlefield was also their last. she left, vanishing in the dust the same way she came. and he left, left to wander again in a bitter freedom that he know to be over one day, perhaps not that far away.

and there he is now, riding the black wyvern as he embraced his shadow instead of fighting it back. giving into fear until becoming fear itself. never giving pause, never letting go. what happened to him is no one's tale, for no one truly knows. all that it's know is that he become a shade of what he once was.

if the world was to end now, you would finding me humming this song.

come on, come on
you think you drive me crazy, well

come on, come on
you and whose army?
you and your cronies

come on, come on
Holy Roman empire

come on if you think
come on if you think
you can take us all
you can take us all

you and whose army
you and your cronies

you forget so easy
we ride tonight
we ride tonight
ghost horses
ghost horses

we ride tonight
we ride tonight
ghost horses
ghost horses
ghost horses

radiohead, you and whose army?, in amnesiac, #4, 2001

disillusionment.

dreaming is still free of taxes. which is good. but dreaming, too, has a price, a price that can be way to expensive for some to pay. i'm not talking about money. i'm not talking about anything material, anything that, whether we have it or not, turns to dust as we turn to dust. i'm talking about disillusionment. i'm talking about the feeling that settles upon us when we understand that what between us and our dream lies reality, with its unbreakable walls. somethings can be changed. some sacrifices can be made. but not everything can be changed, nor all sacrifices can be made. we cannot change our past. our background. a handful of small, seemingly meaningless things that are truly what we are made of. we can deny those things as much as we like, but that's a hollow exercise. reality always wins. it does not play by any external rules: it makes the rules, enforces them, and plays the referee. jury, judge and executioner. life is nothing but its very own game, the game of reality, whose rules cannot be broken, and can only be bent to a degree. a short one, mind you. everything else is petty in comparison. and everything we blame for our disillusionment is truly innocent - and even if it isn't, having a go at them it's often pointless, a waste of ammunition. that's just the word: waste. we waste ourselves in petty struggles because we deny the obvious: either we adapt or lose.

it's like a concrete wall (II)

still it is funny to see how reality doesn't seem to stop us until we cannot move at all. until we completely smack ourselves against it.

i'm still waiting for the answer.

conditioning.

sometimes we get to a moment when we need someone to tell us that we are wrong. that things are not as we see them. and even if they are, they can be changed. sometimes we need someone to show us some light, but reality, it seems, allow nothing but darkness. it reminds me what i saw a long, long time ago, the hopelessness, the quiet despair. i wondered. that is not set yet, it's nothing but a possibility. sometimes, though, it feels like an inevitability, and that feeling is the only belief i have left, for that moment just before all the lights go out.

credits=0*

never so close to be literally speaking.

*re-edition

it's like a concrete wall.

usually, there is only one thing that stands between us and our dreams.

reality.

don't panic

it cost me thirteen euros, the paperback edition (not with this cover). books in this wretched country are way too expensive, i tell you, but i needed something new to read just as much as i needed something to make me laugh.

thirteen euros for a paperback edition of the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. what a fucking rip-off, i thought. until everyone on the bus i took was staring at me like i was crazy because i was laughing so hard. no rip-off: the story's introduction alone is worth at least thirty.

Characters: Urza Planeswalker

A long time ago, I thought about describing here in a handful of posts some of the characters in movies, literature or games (yes, games have often excellent storylines with the most interesting characters). Think it is a good time to get it started. And I'll start by Urza Planeswalker, the main character of the longest and best story arc in the trading card game Magic: The Gathering.

Urza's story can be followed across several books. What makes Urza so interesting and complex to me is the way he spent his near-immortal life fighting against evil in his own and unortodox way - often in the edge of madness. Urza's mortal life ended when, to finish the war against his own brother, Mishra, he poured his memories and emotions into a strange bowl-shaped artifact called "the golgothian sylex" - and as he did this, he wiped out the land of Argoth from the map, sank the world into an ice age and locked the plane of Dominaria away from the rest of the Multiverse. As a consequence of the sylex blast, Urza also became a greater being, a planeswalker - an immortal, god-like creature capable of walking the planes at will, with the Mightstone and the Weakstone that set both brothers apart lodged into his eyes. He then understood the evil of Phyrexia, an artificial plane where the evil Yawgmoth created an army of darkness by meshing flesh and artifice. Urza then decided to dedicate his power and his immortal life to decimate Phyrexia. And for four millenia, that was his single purpose - to destroy the phyrexians and avenge his brother. Along his way, he has been into several places, all of them marked by the destruction that always followed in his wake. Serra's realm, an artificial plane of pure, white mana, collapsed under a Phyrexian invasion. The island academy of Tolaria was blasted away by an experiment with the time flow. And eventually the whole Dominaria was invaded by Yawgmoth's minions. Along his way, Urza made several friends, and all of those met the same fate than the places touched by the planeswalker. Xantcha, the phyrexian sleeper agent, sacrificed herself to save Urza from the demon Gix. Barrin, the master mage that was Urza's most trusted lieutenant, blasted himself with a powerful spell that wiped the whole of Tolaria when the planeswalker abandoned it during the Invasion. And his greatest creation - Gerrard - was ultimately the own who killed Urza, in order to unleash the power of the Legacy into the skyship Weatherlight to destroy Yawgmoth. It is said that, when Gerrard was about to kill the planeswalker, Urza's face was peaceful - peaceful for the first time in more than four thousand years.

And as Urza died, one can't help going back to another moment of his life, when after blasting Argoth away with the golgothian sylex, Urza met his former apprentice, Tawnos, in the desolate shores of Yotia. The Urza told Tawnos to tell Kayla, his former wife who he neglected entirely, "to remember me not as I was, but as I tried to be". And that sentence alone defines his whole life. Urza was never what he truly was. His whole life was a sequence of attempts and failures, of never giving up, until he found piece at last when everything was lost for him. When he was himself, again.

Aliens and androids

Ridley Scott will be the director of a new movie in Alien franchise. This new movie will be a prequel to the original movie, also directed by Scott, in 1979. While a good friend of mine, with whom I discussed the subject, advises me to be optimist about it, I can't help feeling skeptical about this installment. Alien is not only one of the best science fiction movies ever, but it is also a movie masterpiece, regardless of the way we look at it. Its first sequel, Aliens, directed by James Cameron, did not disappoint: turning from the suspence from the original movie to a more action-oriented movie was interesting, and Aliens turned out to be a great movie. But Alien 3, directed by David Fincher, was poor, frankly poor. And Jean Pierre Jeunet's Alien Resurrection was even worse (despite Sigourney Weaver and Wynona Ryder featuring on the cast).

Meanwhile, the other sci-fi movie directed by Ridley Scott, Blade Runner, was chosen by movie fans as the best science-fiction movie ever, leaving behind crittically-acclaimed movies like Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey and Lucas' Star Wars. Fair enough: Blade Runner is truly an awe-inspiring movie, a masterpiece that, like Alien, survived the test of time unlike many other movies (let us remember Lynch's Dune). Moreover, Blade Runner is also a lesson in how to adapt a novel into a movie - Scott clearly understood that the novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, by Philip K. Dick, could not be, so to speak, "directly adapted", and made a movie of his own, that shines besides the novel - not because of it, not despite of it.

holy shit

... is exactly what comes to my mind when i finally get to hear the first single from the resistance, muse's new album that is due to be released in september. the song is called uprising and, considering its sound, it will surely be something amazing live.

"john here is one lucky guy"

... she said. yeah, right. damn lucky. we'll see until the end of the year whether i am lucky or not.

the times, they are a-changing

and even though nothing is as it used to be, some things remain the same. small things. almost insignificant things. but they are still there, if we want to take the time to look carefully. they can still be seen in earth around us, they can still be seen upon the sky as the gloaming falls. and although faint, by looking at them it is still possible to tell if the next dawnbreak will be a sunny one, or if it the storm is coming again.

can vengeance be righteous?

the problem with vengeance is, it seldom has a precise aim. it is seldom driven by a cold mind, by reason; most times, revenge is solely an emotional act, one which makes it all more dangerous. driven by emotions, we tend to forget our goal - and what could be a "righteous vengeance" (if such thing is to exist - you tell me) turns out to become a bomb that we don't care where it will fall and explode. talk about losing focus - that's exactly what happens every time we let ourselves be driven by emotions only. it is irrelevant if in this process we hurt ourselves alone, or eventually, if we hurt the target of our personal vendetta. but if we end up hurting innocent people, people that had anything to do with it at all, then everything is wrong - and whatever reason our vengeance had is lost in the bloodshed.

countdown and announcement

this blog is approaching its end, hopefully.

that said, i'm looking for someone who could draw me a new blog - or rather, someone who can make something out of the drafts and ideas i have in my mind. most important, the service cannot be much expensive - some beers, or a dinner cooked by myself or in some fancy restaurant would be perfect, along with my eternal gratitude, but i'm more than willing to negotiate the price. my idea is not something that extraordinary, but in a way, one could say it is from another galaxy. if you're interested (or not), reply to the e-mail address i have on the right menu. thank you.

things i recently discovered about myself:

i lack the "empathy". in other words, i'm a ruthless cold-hearted bastard who doesn't give a shit about people. it is half-true (no irony intended).

just a suggestion:

the Internet Meme Database.

erosion

looking back, it was a storm long overdue. years of petty arguments, mistakes - some small, others not that small -, and a belief that somethings are meant to last. they might be, but not by their own design. gravity always wins. and so does erosion, regardless of the force behind it. the strongest rock is worn out by the wind and the elements, a process that might last millenia but that is as certain as the dawnbreak. and their dawnbreak was a long time ago, so long ago that they might not even remember it any more. the sun as long since gone. and all that's left are the memories, and a vague feeling of wasting time. they took it for granted, they were naïve enough to think that if they didn't touch it, it would be fine. it never is. it needed protection. it needed nourishment - love needs nourishment, needs to be fed, needs to be felt. they were oblivious to it. and slowly but steadily, the elements took their toll. now you might look back and see what you've lost and i wonder, can you see why that happened? can you understand your failure? can you learn the lesson? time will tell, the same time that ultimately was the agent of their demise.