Noblesse oblige

-Part II-

I never was so sure. Not until now. What's immutable? Nothing. Plus ça change, blah, blah, though. And yet, I knew changes weren't permanet; but change is.

Grab yourselves. Fasten your seatbelts. Certainties are abound tonight.

And fear, my oldest companion, siamese fucking twin brothers, them: fear and doubt. Fear, ol' pal, where the heck're ya going? First, doubt left; now you seem to be dimming. Shrinking into oblivion. I'm afraid — isn't it weird? — of losing my doubts. Of becoming one of those "I know" no-good zombies. Heavens, no! It starts like this and then you wake wearing a tie. Yikes.

But I'm afraid it'll happen. Eventually. And then I'll die.

First, I'll be sure. Sure of something. I'll know. Then, I'll lose all my fears, I'll have them disappeared. And when you've no more fear, it's frightening as hell.

Shame

-Part I-

She never saw that coming, ya dig? It was all over in few seconds. A whole life, a lifetime in three seconds: bam!

The only thing she could think about was what was it she'd be having for dinner, since she won't be dining with him anymore. She will never, in fact, share another meal with this despicable person. No, sir.

And then, out of the blue, she grabs a lipstick from her purse, ya know, and start making lines all over her arms — those white, long, beautiful foxey arms of hers. Brother, we all freaked out. What was she doing?

But it worked. The guy just panicked and his coolness was history.

She spinned on her heels and took off. He was like: whaddafuck, I need you, where're ya goin'?

She's gone. And here we are, waiting for her. Five more minutes or so and she'll tell you herself. And d'ya wanna know something? It's worth to know why. I'd never have guessed.

Being a melodrama in sixteen parts

-Introduction-

Under any circumstances let me tell you what to do. You can read it; you can listen to it. But if I ever notice you following my lead, you're history. I'll shut up for good.

Now, have a seat, children, and wipe your noses, for the melodrama is about to begin, even though it has already ended.

Have this in mind: it's all true, and it is not — it couldn't be. But I'm not making this up while I go babbling: you are.

One last thing, before we go, and I won't repeat it: it ain't worthy.

Signal to noise

Far, far, friggin' fuckin' far away. That far. Unreachable.

My mind wanders, go parsecs before I even be aware of that. In seconds, it covered time-space beyond your comprehension. I chase. I lose. I gather what it leaves behind, breadcrumbs, hints of whatever goes through those synapses while I'm not paying attention.

Man, it is wild.

Useless to say it doesn't make any sense. It's not a puzzle: it's noise. Pure white noise. And if you can unscramble it, brother, you've some sick, sick mind. Better look for help.

Whatever's left doesn't bring closure, doesn't give me a clue. And I'm quite too close for comfort anyway. So this is it. Short periods. Nonsense. Idiosyncrasies. Noise.

You. What was it you expected to find here?

God given unpleasantness

Red can of Pringle's in my desk makes way of pencil can, although it carries stuff wich ended up there without me having any idea how.

Zoot and Lisa jam endlessly. They take turns. She plays an impossible (for her age and size) baritone and he blows his remaining brain cells into a tenor-sized alto sax. They change chords. They avoid 20 minutes-long solos. They abhore Jarry Garcia's party. And, boy, they groove.

Mindless typing just before working hours. The ennui downs on me. It's gonna be long 'til I finally get outta here. I'll make my day worth, for what I care. I'll make your life harder, for all it's worth.

Ain't I a sport?

Bad DNA

She drove real fast down that driveway, revvin' it like it was armageddon and she'd spotted the way out.

She swears at every turn: it's the last fucking time. No more ms. Nice Gal. No more. Enough.

Driven. She's fed up. She won't be able to play along anymore. She needs a gun, a chainsaw, an ACME anvil-materializator. Right now, she could use a portable ACME hole. Several of them.

Bad DNA. The whole human race. Armageddon never sounded so sweet.

Put the blame on Mame

Act like you have no idea what the fuck is going on. Fake a momentaneous lack of sanity. Dodge. Run to the hills and play some riffs on your way out. You gotta be kiddin' me.

I do prefer to play the dirty bastard. The fucko who has all the answers—and most of them are rather unpleasant. I will make no prisioners. I make no compromises. I stand for what I've done and brag about it. I'm not allways right, you see, I seldom am. But I did it, and nothing you fancy-pants can do will change that.

Yeah, you can now shove your $3k cell phone and start crying. I'm the muthafucka you'll never have anything to control with. And I change my mind a lot. Better watch your back.

All in all, at the end of the day, it's been Col. Mustard. With the rope. In the dining room.

Me? I did it, no qualms about it. Mine is hell. I'm hell.

Happy solstice, by the way.

Settin' the pace

I can't hear, you know. It's a babbling indistinguishable sound. It coulda be one of those electronic music people pay not to listen to. A friggin' musical moiré.

So, excuse me if I don't stay for the whatever you wanted me to stay for. It's a matter of not being able to get too dumb — the only fear I have, actually.

To become dumb: that's what scares me the most. So I'll scram this time. Thanks for being elucidative. And let me add, on my way out: since you're that dumb, shouldn't you be good-looking?

Save the drama to ya momma

Maybe one day I'll reach that nu state in wich anything is everything and everything is nothing. And nothingness rock. Big time.

Maybe I'll see the Buddha and recognize myself, but I very doubt it, and I'm not willing to hold my breath and wait.

Even though maybe I should.

In the meantime, I'll keep being your run-of-the-mill selfish, insecure, full-of-hopes kinda guy. Supermarket shelter material. Ordinary to the bone. And suffering every minute of it.

And if you just say those words I crave, I can grab it on the fly and call it a day.

I'm about to exercise my right to write bad english. So, in the next few days, it's gonna be sort of weird. And, maybe, fun.

-----

Pattern recognition.

Ever took a dive into the magnificent maze of women logic? Take this phrase from a girl friend, f'r instance:

If the shoes look just right on a woman's feet, she's in pain.

Utterly, excruciating pain, she latter explained. In fact—she wanted—, the more beautiful they look, the more ugly it will be when they come off.

Ouch. So much to learn, so little time…

Happy bloomsday.

O nome do novo OSX (Intel ready)?

Smelly cat.

gotta be smarter than this. it'just not quite cutting. sound changes coming soon. keep wondering. i'm slick but the slickest.

Ainda ébrio do ócio. Semana longa, já se pode ver.
Segunda-feira de muito jogo.

Ratfuckingracedosinfernos.

ain't no time to play.