The Train Goes Slow in the Rain

I discovered on a Wednesday not long ago, that the train goes slow when it rains. A trip that usually takes 25 minutes took 35; one more minute per station, how do I know these calculations? Well, I'm weird and think of these things while they happen (or later after). (hahaha laterafter).

I walk up to the train station (which is on its own a 13-17 minute walk from my house), and as it always happens, I see the train already departing. Fuck. I say. Fuck. I hate it when I see it and I'm just so unable to catch it. I rather wait an eternity than to actually see it leave before getting to the station. I rather be blind before seeing it depart without me. (So dramatic, Joel. Thanks, Joel. You're welcome).

So, as it was a cloudy day, and it was only 2:twenty-ish pm, the train was running in intervals of 11 minutes. And again I cursed. Damn. Fuck. When I got to the platform there was nobody. Nobody. Of course, everyone had already left in the stupid train, leaving me! Bastards. The banner with the moving, red letters said: "The next train to Sagrado Corazón (for some reason there are lots of space between that and this): arrives in 8 minutes". Shit. Oh, well. The life of pedestrians. So, I waited.

In the meantime I started gnawing the nail of my middle finger, as it was too long. I'm also weird like that. I keep one nail long so that I can scratch pleasurably whenever I want. If I had all my nails short (and believe me, after biting them, what's left is only good for caressing, not scratching) I would die of itch. I would. And it's not like I am prone to itches, but sometimes you itch, here, there, somewhere, sometime, and you just have to. I took a bite out of it and spat it over the hand rail, and wondered if the people that were under the platform (its an elevated platform bytheway) noticed a piece of clear nail falling from the sky. What was left on the tip of my finger was an askew uneven design of nail, it poked out on one corner, like the tip of a dagger. "El próximo tren hacia Sagrado Corazón llega en 3 minutos". Three minutes. So, again I went onto my nail, I looked at it at different angles, against the cloudy sky, or in the shadow, I bent it, it hurt, I flicked it with another (shorter) nail, it made a snapping sound. " arrives in 1 minute". And that's when I heard the train bells. Very particular bell too. Very train-like, hopefully you have heard train bells, it's like (oh my god, a revelation just came to me!) it's like a school bell!

I get in the train and there is someone in my seat in the back. More quiet cursing. Asshole. So I sat on the seats of the middle, next to the window. As the train pulls off, a light rain starts to fall. Then the rain presses on harder; it beat the steal ceiling of train hard. And then, the train slowed down. I could see the rails clearly. I could have counted them if I wanted, instead I read a book I brought. Never did I realize that I was going to be attacked by a tree.

The train has a gutter on the side of the ceiling. When it is not raining it drips water, lots of it actually, maybe from some cooling system or maybe its air conditioning residue, I don't know (I should ask). So, when it rains the gutters spills gallons of water, and since the gutter has an opening next to the door, sometimes people get wet.

So it was the smoothest ride ever on the train. I could hear the screech of the metallic wheels as they turned on the rails, it went on forever, of course, the slowness of the train made sure of that, but also, the sound was milder, not as teeth-cracking as it sometimes is.

I arrived to the station. It was a station that I had never stopped before. It was the first station after the train goes underground. It was pretty. But, also, interesting, because of the chute-like tunnel from which the train comes. It looked like a covered slide, like the ones in water parks... But it had the rough surface of concrete, and a cryptic feeling. This is far in the tunnel though, the station is actually quite pretty and comfy, with high, bowely (if that's a word), church-like ceiling.

Anyway. I got out of the train, and went to the University. Needless to say that my shoes, my socks, the bottom of my pants up to my knees, and my backpack got soaked, despite the umbrella. You see, that's why I love huge umbrellas. Not huge, hugeamungous umbrellas, even when they are nuisance to carry. As I'm walking I can see only my feet and some space in front of me, because the umbrella is covering half of my head and face (well, it was raining extremely hard). The rain was so hard that the whole view turned into a gray, unfocused haze. And then it happened. The tree attacked me. It happened like in the movies. A movie of a natural disaster that you see trees overturning and branches fall, and you say, "that doesn't actually happen to people", or "it happens but no one really sees it happening". Well, it happened to me. The branch that fell from the tree was at least 24 inches long, and maybe it had like an inch in diameter... It was gray, and it looked old and empty on the inside. So I guess it was a dead branch hanging to the tree by mere instinct. But when the rain fell on it, it became more brittle and it fell right in front of me!!! I said: "whoa, shit", and jumped backwards. I couldn't help to look up, even in the rain. "The tree's attacking!". The branch snapped in two as soon as it hit the ground.

And then, the day went on. Wet. Gray. Beautiful. I did what I had to do at school, (I left at like 8:30), and the night passed with no more experiences. Except, that I think I saw someone that I knew from high school on the bus from Pizza Hut (oh yeah, I went to Pizza Hut and (me and my friend) and we ordered hamburger meat on it, and they gave us italian sausage, we thought that they thought that we would think that we didn't know the difference between the ingredients, but we knew the difference, but we ate the pizza anyway because we were starving); so, I think I saw a guy I knew in high school. I think he looked at me for some time and recognized me, and I did the same but I wasn't sure. But before I could confirm he was who I thought he was, he stepped out the bus. I said to my friend: "see if he limps", "limp?", he asked, "yes, he limped in school, because of a surgery", "oh". But neither of us could see behind the glass window of the bus in the dark.

Quite an adventure. Slow trains. Wrong pizza. Limping memories. Gray rain. Tomb-like tunnels. Trees attacking. (Treebeard!)...

This was a boring post, wasn't it?

Natalie Portman Again!

Natalie Portman (*Joel drools*)... she is hot even with short or no hair or pink fake hair...

Cavities

POEM: Poem

As part of what's becoming a Poetry-hating series of poems, this is the first poem that came about. It is rightfully titled: Poem. And it hates itself. Sort of.

Poem

by: Joel Feliciano
©2004/2006


Literate verses will not be found
between this and the next stanza,
they will have no rhyme,
they will have no sound,
Just a huge extravaganza
to tell people how I go around
writing the most literal words,
so they get meanings of mine
without hassles in their minds;
for this poem is for the worlds,
for all who long simplicity...
its for all whom I'd like to astound
by the nerve of this letter surround
which wants to keep you on and on,
reading with no thinking of before,
and enjoy the beauty of a con
with such delight, and credibility
and such passion, that you know
there won't be another stanza,
as I said on the verses before,
because this whole long rhyme blow
is just mechanics and lucidity,
and sun, and sound, and music, and fun.
So, soon will end this bonanza,
as your eyes must have already found:
this poem's end its near to the ground
and I hope its purpose was drawn.


October 2004

POEM: Postmodern Joel

(This is a repost of a poem that I wrote in a very "elongated" post some time ago. I am reposting it because it deserves to be on its own, it is from that acclaimed (*snickers*) post titled: Joel: Poetry-Hater. By this time I had fully understood what postmodernism was all about, hence the title of this poem.)

I, (Poetry-hater, rhyme-lover, postmodern, bittersweet writer...) present you!... chan chan chan chan chan! (drumroll): a poem by me.


Postmodern Joel
(a cultural poem that is vital)

by: Joel Feliciano
©2004-2006

One day in May, I discovered
what postmodernism meant.
It was such a truth uncovered
that my grand mind only dreamt

of a boy who struggled
trying to find words to say
for a poem that juggled
in absudity and dismay.

Joel, the boy was called
by his brother and sister
by his missis and mister,
until they were appalled

by his postmodernism phase;
when he started to tatoo
intricate poems on his face
caused by an “evil craze”

inside his mind and index finger.
To his yard he darted one day
before lunch, on the grass he lay
rhyming words which lingered,

so they could have a nice sound
and impress many masters.
But he lacked cultural ground,
held nothing but disasters.

So he waltzed to the library,
took some pretty looking book
that had cultural poetry.
He read, and read and then went red

‘cause he understood nothing
he intended to understand.
He came back home pedalling,
and started to tatoo his hand.

He stopped half way up, couldn’t do it:
write culturally about his town,
or him, or whatever was around;
and so follows, what he came up with:

after waking from a deep sleep in May:
Postmodern Joel, it was titled,
a cultural poem that was vital
‘cause of its absudity and dismay.


October 8, 2004
8:35 PM

Two crushes: Ana María Polo and Natalie Portman

I think I'm in love.

This is Ana María Polo. She's a judge. And she has a show like Judge Judy, or Judge Joe Brown, it is called: Caso Cerrado (Case Closed) and it is an awesome show because SHE is in it. I watch it almost every day. Isn't she the most interesting woman ever?! I shouldn't be having crushes on older women... But it is a crush, only a crush. I know I will never see her in real life. (Or who knows, probably I could) (You see, I still have hopes).

I've found pictures of her where she looks a little ample on the hips, and she is horrible at posing, but it doesn't matter. I don't care. Oh gosh. Her eyes are so charismatic and forgiving almost, they have a deep, true "something" in them. But ooh, she is though on the court and she will tell you to shut up and if you do not shut up in her court. And when she slams that wooden hammer. Oooh! Her authority is unpresedented. I think I'm in love with her toughness. I don't know. I don't know! Why is love so blind! Why!






But wait! There's more!







You know this girl?

Yeah you do! Natalie Portman. Hottest girl in the world. The less make-up she wears, the more beautiful she looks. Have you seen her in the movie Garden State? If you haven't then you MUST see it, and see HER. She is the most enchanting girl in that movie... as opposed to her queen Amidala in the first episode of Star Wars (but that was a mistake, I know, and she knows).

Just look at her. Look at her smile! She smiles and laughs with the hugest, widest mouth, and with so much excitement that it makes me smile even when I don't know what she's laughing about. Just watch her. Just do. Yes. I would fall on her feet if I saw her. (No, I really wouldn't, I'm too shy for a performance like that). Well, I got to go. I have to quit looking for pictures of her. I have to quit looking AT the pictures of her. Oh if could just kiss her cheek.... *sighs*


Yeah, I'm in love.

(pictures courtesy of yahoonews and telemundo.com)

Adivinanza

If the Diet Sprite Zero has no calories, no sodium, no carbohidrates and no sugar, then what is it?

Si la Diet Sprite Zero no tiene calorías, ni sodio, ni carbohidratos, ni azúcar, entonces ¿qué es?

A new species!

Scientists have discovered a new animal in the waters of the South Pacific. And it is so particular that they have had to make a whole new family of taxonomy to classify it.

Interesting isn't it? It is also blind. To put my imagination into gear, I'm guessing the hairs are very sensitive, and with them it attracts its prey and walks and finds its way.

Anyway, here's the LINK to read more.

WEIRD STORY: Joel and the Beanstalk

Joel and the Beanstalk

by: Joel Feliciano
©2003/2006

This is a boy, a very strange, enchanted boy, he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise is he. And then one day, one magic day he passed this way, and while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this I said to him: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to plant, to plant beans.

And then he planted the beans on his yard, and a beanstalk grew ever bigger, because he used floral grow, and because of that, the beanstalk had many orchid flowers on many of its ends. But the boy, who's name is Joel, couldn't stand the beautiful smell of the orchids and told a friend of his, named Jack, to cut it down, to chop it down into pieces. But then Jack climbed the beanstalk. Halfway on it, he saw an eagle, a bald eagle (it was actually bald, the chicken skin and all). And the eagle said that he was no bird to be so close to the clouds, and of course, Jack knew that. But the evil eagle used its beak to cut the beanstalk under Jack and he fell through ages of air. Somehow, Jack survived, he was sure he was going to find some golden eggs in the sky, but he just had a bad luck day.

So Jack cut the beanstalk into pieces. Into squares. And brought them to the kitchen. He brought water to a boil and put the pieces in it. Little green stuff floating in plain boiling water. He then poured two entire cans of tomato sauce and some very teary onions (the onions were actualy crying, although not because of their own acidic gas, but because they were going to melt like something that melts horribly in boiling water), and then he put the top on the pot. An hour later his recipe was done: broccoli and cheese soup with beanstalk stems (or whatever), and he gave some to Joel. Joel, the strange enchanted boy, who wandered very far over the land and the sea, didn't like soup, so he said: "I don't like soup..." But Jack insisted, he said that this soup was very good, and that it didn't have the consistency of a normal soup, that it was more like eating (having) cream of wheat.

So Joel said: "Yes, ok, I'll try it". Joel took the plate and looked at the white, creamy stuff in it, that had some red because of the tomato sauce, and of course the grean pieces of beanstalk. And Joel took a spoonful of sugar and let the medicine go down in the most delightful way. (Joel was a sicky boy, and didn't like medicine). Joel said that the soup that was not a soup was very good. But then, he's eyes began to swell, (well, not he's eyes, but the skin over and underneath of them). And he asked: "What did you put into this creamy soup of wheat?". Jack answered: "I put some latinamerican horse glue", and he laughed and evil, booming laugh. "You know I'm allergic to glue!", Joel said. "I KNOW!", said Jack, and added: "Oh, I also put some of that beanstalk you made me cut into pieces". And Joel said: "What?! I'm allergic to orchid too, duuuude! Do you want to kill me?!" "DUH!", answered Jack.

And then Joel called his sister to ask her what was her favorite movie, because he didn't remember, and he wanted to go to the grave knowing that (for some reason). And then she said: "My favorite movie is... (and she actually paused for the whole time it took you to read this parenthesis) The Matriz 3, (and zhe actually zaid Matriz with a Z, which iz very annoying). And Joel cried: "Nooooo! That horrible movie! I am really going to die alone in this world". It was more of a statement than a question. "Is there not going to be a better triquel?!"

And then on his cellphone caller ID appeared a number of 500 digits. He answered, and it was a Korean boy who said something in Japanese: "Konichiwa". Joel did not understand and said: "Who the fuck is this?! How did you get my number?!". And the boy said: "Konichiwa". Joel said: "You calling me names, huh, you fucker!". And the boy goes: "Arigato". "I'm gougnt to fuck you up, bastard!". And the boy's voice changes into a deep hollow voice, almost god-like really, and now he speaks in Spanish: "Yo sé el dolor que tienes. (I know the pain you have), porque yo lo he sentido también (for I have felt it too), y te voy a ayudar a sanarte (and I'm going to help you heal), pero tienes que comer mierda (but you have to eat shit)". [A shit-eater in Spanish is someone very arrogant]. And Joel said: "But I'm a shit-eater come-mierda!". But the boy, who's not a boy, and has a god-like voice said: "No, tienes que comer mierda real (no, but you have to eat actual shit), y no cualquier mierda, tienes que comer mierda de goldfish (and not just any kind of shit, you have to eat goldfish shit), y luego acostarte en una cama rosas rojas (and then you have to sleep one a bed of red roses).

And Joel, spent all his savings on ten dozens of roses and a big old goldfish (with a fishtank combo pack, it was an offer: 19.95). And he stared at the fish, and fed him huge amounts of food for a long time, until the fish finally began to take a dump. Joel, took the fish out of the water by the tail. The fish was wriggling, gills gasping for... for... water; and the thin strand of shit dangling. Joel slurped the brown string of shit off of the fish, as if it were a spagetti. And then he laid over the petals of the roses.

The morning after Jack found Joel on the floor lying over a thousand red roses, with his eyes swollen like Quasimodo's. The autopsy revealed that Joel had died from food poisoning, the boy-who-was-not-a-boy's-with-god-like-voice's recipe/prescription was for orchid-beanstalk food poisoning, and he did not mention (or didn't know) that fish shit had very small particles of latinamerican horse glue (due to the fact that horses branched out of goldfish in the evolutionary chain).

The morals of this story are: Do not buy fish tank combo offers in the pet shop when you know you may die soon; don't tell all you i'llnesses to your friends, they might take advantage of them; and of course, don't take candy from stranger, specially when the candy are beans, and specially when that stranger is me.



December 2003

POEMA: Barquitos en la Noche

Barquitos en la Noche

(Boats in the Nighttime)

por: Joel Feliciano
© 1998/2006


La inocencia infantil brilla
Toda la noche, todo el día.
Una bengala infinita
Que se apaga tras los años de la vida;
Pero cuando aún sigue presente
Es tan bella como la risa.
La inocencia infantil brilla
Pero el destino la arranca,
La espanta.
Pero cuando aún sigue viva
Es tan hermosa como la sinceridad
Que se da o no se encuentra.
Es... como barquitos en la noche
Cuando bajas de la montaña
Y miras la ciudad encendida...
Que alumbra sólo en la oscuridad,
Y así mismo brilla:
Barquitos en la noche
Navegando, sin regreso, a la eternidad.



Octubre 1998

In the meantime...

In the meantime some teen/adolescent poetry (altho I think it is one of my best pre-university poems). Next Post/Previous (whatever).

I mentioned it in a past post CLICK HERE

About porn

I wonder how people will react if I post some pornographic writing here. Something that someone would find in... I don't know... a porno magazine. Although of course it is not totally porn, it is literary porn, though graphic. I wonder if people would get offended by it, or gasp at my nerve of publishing it. Or I wonder how the image of "me" will change in people who personally know me. I wonder. I shall post it. Soon. A first chapter at least. And see what happens. In the meantime...

Growing up happens in a heartbeat

The other day I was looking for DVD sets for TV shows. And I found

The Wonder Years.

Have you seen this show? Probably one of the most complete TV shows ever. It was a sitcom, but it was filmed with movie cameras instead of TV cameras, and, although there was comedy in it, it was not all about it, it was about the drama of coming of age. Maybe I'm just being hyperbolic, but I haven't seen another show with a narrator, have you? It just makes it very dramatic and very close to you.

Anyway. I wish I could buy the seasons, although they're not as expensive as I expected, I cannot get it right now. You can click HERE to check it.

In one of the websites I also found the very last lines of the series:

Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place... a town... a house like a lot of other houses, a yard like a lot of other yards, on a street like a lot of other streets... And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back... with wonder.

I wish I could go back and live it all over again.

CUENTO: El Mejor Amigo

El Mejor Amigo

por: Joel Feliciano
© 2006

I

Ya era tarde, se nos acabó el tiempo. No lo pude decir. Mi mejor amigo... está por ahí no sé dónde.

Sí, mi mejor amigo, lo supe aunque no me lo dijo.

II

Era víspera de la graduación de sexto; éramos sólo niños; hacía calor y jugábamos en un pasamanos.

-¿Sabes qué?

-¿Qué?

-Me aceptaron en aquella escuela.

-¿Ah sí? -bajó la cabeza. -¿Y vas a allí?

-Sí.

-¿Por qué?

-Porque es buena escuela.

Él estaba sentado en cuclillas jugando con la arena, yo guindaba del pasamanos. El silencio hizo gritar a la campana hasta que se cansó. Él levantó la mirada y dijo:

-No te vayas.

En ese momento no supe lo que quería decir y entramos al salón.

III

Gran fiesta fue la graduación, jubilosa, bailamos y gozamos y reímos y brincamos hasta que su mamá lo llamó diciendo:

-Vámonos.

Nos despedimos como si ese fuese otro día más.

-Adiós. -dije.

-Nos vemos. -contestó él.

...Sin imaginar que esa sería la última vez que nos diríamos adiós.

IV

Ahora, que ya es tarde, comprendo aquellas palabras... Pero cuando fui a buscar nuevamente su amistad a la casa, ya no estaba.

-Se mudaron a qué sé yo dónde... lejos. -dijo un vecino.

Se me acabó el tiempo, no lo pude decir.

Qué no daría por saber qué ha sido de su vida: si maleante o sacerdote. Si recuerda, como yo, aquellas palabras cuando gritó la campana y él levantó la

mirada:

-No te vayas.

Pero en ese momento no supe lo que quería decir y entramos al salón...

Octubre 1997

CUENTO: Trilogía del escritorio

Trilogía del escritorio

Por: Joel Feliciano
© 2005

Primera parte

Y cuando el papel en blanco se levantó y flexionó sus esquinas superiores con pose de karateca, el escritor supo que no escribiría ni siquiera una palabra hoy.

Segunda parte

Y cuando el escritor blandió su bolígrafo de tinta china como una espada de esgrima contra el papel, el papel se arqueó por el medio y con un zarpazo le tumbó el arma; el escritor supo que no escribiría ni una palabra más.

Tercera parte

Y cuando la cara del escritor ardía con heridas rasgadas por las sus filosas esquinas del papel, el escritor supo que las siguientes palabras de su vida estarán escritas en su epitafio.

It is Ok.

When things are going great, it is good to say: "I'm good" (although someone said to me that that is the incorrect way of saying: "I'm well"). It is great to recognize ones own achievements, to know that things are going in the right way, because this "now" is Ok.

1ro de Febrero, Today, last year.

Hoy, hace un año, a esta hora, 2:30 AM. Yo estaba en otro país, pasando la primera noche con gente que acababa de conocer, pero que me regalaron los siete meses más extraordinarios.

Today, a year ago, at this time, 2:30 AM. I was in another country, spending the first night with people I barely knew, but whom gave me the seven most extraordinary months.

Cinco Hábitos Extraños

Pues, me ha llegado este juego, gracias Yolanda, en el cual debo confesar cinco hábitos extraños y/o bochornosos. Vamos al mambo. (diablo qué cursi quedó eso).


1. Dejo que me crescan las uñas de los dedos (generalmente solamente dos dedos en cada mano) por ninguna razón específica o especial. (A veces creo que es porque soy medio vampiro) Pero después me repugnan cómo se ven y me las arranco con los dientes. Al día siguiente me arrepiento porque no tengo con qué rascarme. (Y rascarse con unas uñas chéveres es tan bueno).

2. Tengo que dormir boca arriba, con dos almohadas mínimo y con el abanico prendido, aun cuando haga el frío más peludo en la historia (si no hay abanico, me tardo horas en dormirme, aun si hay aire acondicionado, it's not about the air, it's about the sound). Entonces, siempre me acuesto de lado y siempre me digo: "Joel, sabes que no te vas a dormir si te acuestas de lado", pero todas las noches lo hago y todas las noches lo digo (o casi todas).

3. Mis pies pueden apestar todo lo que ellos deseen, pero no pueden verse ni sentirse sucios en ningún momento. De día no salgo en chancletas, y si es de noche y hace mucho calor tampoco, la humedad hace que se le peguen cosas a los pies semidescalzos. Detesto andar descalzo, se me pegan tierritas y cosas y se me ensucian. no.

4. Si estoy hablando por teléfono tengo que dejar todo, porque si no pierdo la atención y la concentración de lo que me están diciendo. Y si se quedan callados al otro lado del teléfono por mucho tiempo digo: "adiós" porque no me gustan los silencios largos e incómodos. Después me quejo de que no me llaman.

5. Colecciono los Lego's Bionicle. I'm a dork.

6. A veces caminando me pongo a pisar las grietas y/o uniones de losetas en el piso, y a contar los pasos entre las grietas. A veces la regla es NO pisarlas. Y a veces en mi mente voy narrando somo si fuese una carrera de caballos o un partido de fútbol soccer: "Y tiene que pisar las tres siguientes grietas en cinco pasos exactos... ahí va... ahí va... ¡lo hizo, lo hizo, lo logró! ¡Ha hecho lo imposible!. Cosas así.

Sí, ya sé que puse seis. Es que se me fue la cuenta, porque también soy despistao.

ahora, a quién poner de "víctimas", jum.

David - http://vervenna.blogspot.com/
Nicole - http://nicolececilia.blogspot.com/
Ojitos - http://ojitosdemar.blogspot.com/

STORY: Broken Smile

Broken Smile

by: Joel Feliciano
© 2006


Subconsciously my mind wanted to capture the blooming of the dark umbrellas on film. That's why I brought my (digital) camera that day. The rain was thin and annoying, and the clouds were swirling in the sky. I was waiting for the bus with a bunch of people under a tent. Some raindrops were pounding on the leather of the roof.

I was busy taking pictures of the people walking from the tent to the bus, opening and closing their umbrellas, when I noticed her, on the sidewalk, her face towards the rain, her eyes closed in a trance, a smile on her face. I took a picture of her. The drops dripping from her bangles, her hands limp on her sides, her head thrown back facing the ashed sky, her clothes soaking wet, plastered on her breast, on her stomach, on her legs. I took another picture and then thought that there were a lot of crazy people in the world.

My bus arrived. I tucked my camera in my jacket. Grabbed my umbrella, pushed the little black button, (I'm always aware of these small details, sometimes I'm annoyed, my girlfriend says that that's the nature of photographers, I guess she's right). So yes, I also noticed how I shook the umbrella so it would extend and then bloom with a flapping noise. I noticed the bony, metallic structure of the inside, and the little drops of rain that bounced off the black fabric just before I set the umbrella over me. The same thing happened when I stepped in the bus, but in rewind.

Through the dropleted glass I watched her stading there, smiling at the sky, unmoved, unbothered by the sharp cold drops of rain.

I checked the pictures in my camera, a stern-face guy lifting his umbrella, the inside of the flower of another, and then her. She is so happy.

I was shocked the next morning.

It has been raining for two days non-stop now, they announced floods on the news. One reporter even said that the world was drowning in tears, tears because of the light feather-like drops of rain.

She was still there, same clothes, same position, but her white blouse was stained with blood. She was still smiling, though, right before she fainted.

I ran with my black umbrella and covered her face from the rain. Her deep blue eyes were opened but they were lost in a raging storm.

"Are you Ok?"

I leaned to her face, her lips were slit and swollen, her teeth were bathed in blood, one of them was chipped. Watery tiny red rivers escaped her overflowed mouth.

"I lost my umbrella," she said spitting drops of blood and pointing to the sky.

"Who did this to you?"

"I don't know," she said looking away from the sky.

"Where did he go?", I quickly assumed that some brute guy did it.

"I don't know. I just lost my umbrella", she repeated, and I thought that she was really loosing her mind.

"Where? Where did you loose it?"

And she pointed up. I don't know why I ventured out of the comforting shade of my umbrella, but I did. I looked up to the smoked sky, one single drop stung my eye… A black dot was dancing in the clouds. I blinked, I focused, the dancing dot was still floating in the air.

"Do you see it? It kinda looks like a flower, doesn't it? It blew away yesterday, when I was walking."

That's when I noticed the puddle of water where she was lying, and the halo of water made by the falling drops from the corners of my umbrella, I noticed the bareness of a nearby tree.

"Is that why you were smiling?" I asked.

The winds in her eyes dissipated, she looked directly into mine, almost like she looked through me, she gave a weak smile and said: "I was crying."

Leche Sola

Hoy me bebí un vaso de leche sola. Hace tieeeeeeempo que no bebía leche sola, siempre era con chocolate o con azucar o con mantecado.

Six months!

Today, six months ago, I started to write in this blog. Wow. Time passes by ever so swiftly.

And here is my first "official" post, it has so many errors, but at that moment I didn't care. "Is home where the heart is or anywhere but here"

This date also marks the moment where this blog will change.
First: I don't think the translated Spanish version is ever coming (altho I might be wrong)... there is just so much... So, I'll just alternate languages between posts; and as you have seen, there are bilingual posts, so... whatever.

Second: aside from diary/comment content that this place has, I'm also going to put some actual short stories, some in english, some in spanish, some on both.

And that's it. Yep. See u.

Bits for the Brain

Did you know?

Melcocha translates as: taffy!

It is soooo weird!

(melcocha, for those who don't get it, has a very negative connotation in Puerto Rico, it is a "something" that is gooey, mixed with a lot of stuff and kinda disgusting. It isn't something you'd buy in a candy store or in any store, it is something you create with any ingredients, just picture: mud with stick and shit, and mold and eggs, well, thats a very gross, graphic, hyperbolic example, but melcocha is not something you eat. Unlike Taffy!

You learn something everyday.

Toda la Ternura. by Nicole Cecilia Delgado

(All the Tenderness)

Hi. It is not common for me to publish/post poetry here, and even less so poems that are not mine. As I have said: I'm a poetry-hater, (I'm more of a story kind of person) but sometimes I get an interesting idea that there is no other way of putting down if it is not on a poem. But that's not the case today.

The other day I went to derivas.net (a blog-like literary online magazine) and found the Poem you are about to read (original and translated version, of course). I read it and found it so tender and so simple, and it looks so small, and unimportant and fragile on the page... but after you read it you find the power in words, the power in being direct, simple, and true. The size of the poem has to do with the subject, and title. Here goes: Thanks to Nicole for lending it to us, and for writing it.



Toda la Ternura

por: Nicole Cecilia Delgado


Me gusta cuando empiezas a sobarme-

toda la ternura que te cabe en la cabeza
y también, sin querer
la que no sabes posible

evidente y expuesta
en el gesto valiente que te acerca
a mi vulnerabilidad





All the Tenderness

by: Nicole Celicilia Delgado


I like when you start to caress me--

all the tenderness that fits in your head
and also, unconsciously
the one you don't know possible

evident and exposed
in the brave gesture that moves you closer
to my vulnerability

The mirror of wonders

Have you ever thought of looking at yourself?
No, not just stand in front a mirror and look at yourself.
I mean, really look at yourself, as if from someone else's eyes.
Could you stand your own image/presense
for more than the couple of minutes you spend in front of the mirror?
One doesn't notice how one changes, because one is always looking at oneself periodically.
But, we don't see ourselves all the time, like your boyfriend/girlfriends would.
It just bothers me that I cannot see myself, how I act or how I speak or how I look from someone else's perspective. I guess I'd have to keep a camera fixed on me all the time. But isn't it unconfortable to see yourself? At least at first?
Movie actors must be cured from themselves... I envy them.
Doesn't it bother you? I guess this is me and my insecurities talking...
But it would be cool to invade someone else's body just to see me, (and to see how that "someone else's body" feels...)
I'm just very curious about weird stuff like that. About imposibles. About existential questions like: doesn't it wonder you how your body stands on its two feet?
It wonders me.

The Horribly Bad reviews surrounding the movie: BloodRayne

I like to go to this website: www.rottentomatoes.com , (a movie review website) (I wish there was a BOOK review website just like it...).

Anyway. I stumbled upon BLOODRAYNE. I was stunned by the bad reviews that this movie has. Well, I saw the trailer, and it looks horrid (and sounds horrid), but I mean, there should be at least someone that likes it. So, I went to rottentomatoes.com and found out that there is only ONE good review for this movie. And when I read the ONE review is not that good at all, it just say something like: "you should be drunk before going to watch this movie". Another thing that impressed me was the lack of reviewers that actually wrote something about the movie. Now, there are at least 200 reviewers that write in rottentomatoes, only 30! have reviewed this movie. So, I kept on reading, there must be a reason for this.

And I found it.
The movie has hugeamungous names: starting with: Michael Madsen (Kill Bill 2), Michelle Rodriguez (Blue Crush, Resident Evil), Ben Kingsley (academy award winner, Ghandi), Billy Zane (Titanic), Meat Loaf, even Charlie Chaplin's daugther is in this movie, and as Rayne we have Kristana Loken, better know as the badass-beautiful nemessis in Terminator 3. So, why is the movie bad? Because of the director, as stated by the reviewers. The director's name is Uwe Boll, from Germany I believe. His previous movies were: House of the dead, and Alone in the Dark. As you may have noticed, both movies are videogames, so now Bloodrayne starts to makes some sense.

It happens that this director has bad directing skills (sorry for redundancies). And no wonder I was wary of the trailer, there was something inside of me saying: this is stupidly horrendous, and my instincs were right. I have not seen House of the dead, nor Alone in the dark, because of the bad trailers (or wait, I think I saw Alone in the dark, but it is THAT forgettable...). But, I wanted to know more, I wanted to read what this director said about the critics. Instead, I found an interview that he gave just after filming. And as I read I could see the ineptness (is that word?), I won't say ineptness, I'll say: superficiallity of his words. Maybe the language barrier is what's holding back his "good words" and/or intelligent thoughts... But it is painful even to read his answers to the questions, its like he is trying to sell the movie at all cost. We all do that at some point, but in almost every question? And he has this teenage word-choice/mentallity that bothers me. Don't get me wrong, I might sound like he does sometimes (or a lot of times) but, come on, on an interview? Anyway, with that it was proven to me that he's not worthy of my 5.50-6.00 dollars (or 10.50 - 9.50 if you are not in Puerto Rico). Although, I might just go see it, just because I bothered to look info on it. I might see it if they show it here, but by the looks of it I don't think they will show it. Good for me, then.

Now, see for yourselves:
Trailer: http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/bloodrayne/trailer/
Interview: http://filmforce.ign.com/articles/561/561872p1.html
Website: www.bloodrayne-themovie.com

Don't go into the website, it's flash and it takes a lot to upload if you have Dial-up.

goodbye

Un pensamiento encontrado mientras limpio / A thought found while cleaning

La vida feliz
Y el mundo contento
les pertenece
sólo a los inocentes.

. 20/julio/1999
. 11:40 PM


The happy life
and the content world
is only owned
by inoncents.

. July 20, 1999
. 11:40 PM

The power of a phone call

I hate phones. I hate them. Two reasons: 1. since I don't speak much then the phone takes away that 85 percent of body language that I used to communicate, then there's the nagging thought that one only uses a certain amount, lets say 50%, of the words of ones native language, so that takes away anothe 10 percent of my communicative abilities. So then, that leaves me with only 5% of spoken speech to survive a phone conversation. Don't get me wrong though, I'm always grateful to recieve a call; its just that... I don't know, that I get so unconfortable when I get to a dead end in the conversation, and nothing interesting comes to mind. Reason 2. then there is that horrible feeling of waiting for an important phone call and then it never seems to come, or the other way around, when an unimportant call arrives at the worst moment, when you are busy or when you just can't answer.

So yes, it is stated that I don't like phones (too much).

But it is so awesome when you get a surprise phone call at the right moment, it is like if it were magic. It depends on the person, it depends on the day, and just by saying "hello, how are you; I wish you well, I'll see you later"; it just makes your day. Or doesn't it?

It gives you such great excitement. When there was no phone postcards were the "thing", they are somewhat more personal because you can see the handwriting of the other person... I don't know if that is more personal or not, I just think it is because you get to keep the memento. Unlike a phone call. But, phone calls are just so immediate. I mean, if you think of someone you can always give them a call that very moment and be happy with yourself and maybe, just maybe make that other person happy.

I should start doing that. Whenever I think of someone I shall call them, even if it is like three thirty in the morning; I would say: "sorry to wake you but I just wanted to tell you that I was having a dream and you were in it and I just wanted to tell you about it, ok, you can go back to sleep, see you later". I wonder how'd they feel, would they be mad that I woke them just to tell them that? Or otherwise be happy that I did? I don't know. Right now people are so afraid of going with their first impulses or their first thoughts just because of what the other person will think or say. But how many good wishes and smiles are wasted with restrain? Although also we avoid sorrows and deceptions by keeping our first thoughts inside, but I'm speaking about the good-first-impulses and the good-first-thoughts that pop into your mind, keep the other ones, use them only when you want to make someone miserable. But yes, to wake someone in the middle of the night to tell them that you had a dream of them, would that be good or bad? I guess it depends on the day of the week or if you really, truly cherish your sleep-time (then turn your phone off during the night :-p ).

Why am I writing this? Well, I guess I'm in the need of a phone call, a short or a long one from whomever, at whatever time.

I had a picture on my msn messenger of a cell phone with a text messege that read: "I wish I recieved phone calls more often", it was postmodern, it was funny and sad too.

Its just that time of the year when I start to get depressed. Not that I get depressed every Christmas, because I don't... really. It's just that things accumulate in time in my head and then there is a point when there is no way for me to unthink them, and among those thoughts (uncertainties about the future are included) there's the thought that I don't get many phone calls. That I'm not worthy of someone else's ephimeral thought.

congratulations/felicidades

congratulations congratulations congratulations
Somewhere I heard that if you repeatedly say this to someone, good things will happen to them, so, congratulations
(not to be confused with merry christmas, which I will wish you soon)


felicidades felicidades felicidades
En alguna parte escuché que si le dices esto repetidamente a alguien, muchas cosas buenas les van a pasar, así que: felicidades
(pero no confundir con feliz navidad, lo cual ya mismo les desearé)

Relationships: Forgiveness and Love

For J & J
From J

Watching tonight's episode of Nip/Tuck I found that relationships are too complicated. Yes, I would like to know this from actual experience, but due to lack of it, I have to learn somewhere else; either from people I know or from the next best thing: tv. True. Not the best teacher... but...

Anyway. I've been following this series form some time now and, aside from the twisted, and far fetched, fictional things that happen, there are things that one may believe. I mean, people are capable of anything, those things that you don't even dare to think of, other people do; and this show actually shows (sorry for redundancy) some of those things, it is in you and I to judge or not (altho we don't want to judge, we always do). My point is that I believe that the thing on the show happen, and they happen everywhere (or at least in the countries with liberal cultures) and that they happen all the time.

But the weirdest and most unbelievable thing to believe (another redundancy) from the show are some of the relationships. For example, take Sean and Christian, best friends since forever, full-grown men, business partners, plastic surgeons; the storyline goes like this: Sean learn that his son is actually not his son, he is the son of Christian. What does that mean? Christian had sex with Sean's wife, which, by the way, is their best friend too, since forever. I don't remember the circumstances of how that happened exactly. So, as you may deduce, Sean separated from his wife (it was the high point of their crumbling marriage anyway) and recented Christian.

Then, I missed some episodes and don't really know how they all got back together to even talk to each other. But they did. And I can only think of the people that go to Jerry Springer, how many relationships break there (either if they are real people or not, because I still debate the legitimacy of the people that go to that show), and I think, how much love did these people put into the other? To scream I hate you in tv and to beat them up in public ridicule? And then I see the fictional characters of Nip/Tuck and somehow they seem more real. After an understandable time of what... grievanve? solitude? thought?... The characters are back together.

Like, Sean and Christian had so much history in the past that this huge thing slash event in their lives, that would totally rip their friendship apart, was still not able to "totally rip their friendship apart" (deja vu) (redundance). How? How are they still able to speak to each other? How are they still able to even look at each other in the after such a big lie. (Altho Christian didn't know that the boy was his son, still he had sex with Sean's girlfriend/wife). Was it that their history together is stronger than a lie? Was it the need of having his best friend back? Was it loneliness? Was it that their love is stronger than a lie? Maybe its a combination of all of that, but how many times does this happen? People willing to forgive in able to keep loving?

Look now at Sean and Julia's relationship (Julia is his wife/exwife). In tonight's episode they get back together. She has been dating another man; throughout the whole of episodes you can see her moving on with her life, with very few or very minor hints of trying to get back with Sean, except in one episode in which they couldn't resist each others prescence and had sex (I missed this episode too). On the other hand, since their break-up, Sean has been hinting that he would like to get back with her. And, after they find out in tonights episode that the baby Julia is going to have is his baby, and not of that other man she was dating, they grumpily/ tenderly/ quietly get back together in the winter on Christmas Eve (more romantic and kind of cliche it couldnt be, but it was all believable). So again, was their history stronger than their turmoils? Did they need each other? Were they lonely? Did they sit in nostalgic longing? Was their love stronger than their troubles, the lies? Did they need to forgive themselves and each other? Was it a combination of them all? How many times does this happen to real, non fictional, people? People willing to forgive to be able to keep loving?

I guess it has to be a mutual forgiveness for the relationship to keep working. But I also think that one has to start the process. Unlike tv, where forgiveness happened relatively at the same time for both characters, real people have to give in first, the one has to say sorry first... And that's where the it all comes down to, to that scary moment of humility and pasiveness (pasiveness is not the exact word, but I forget the right word). Being afraid of rejection and of "what will happen" is what stops many relationships from forgiving. And ergo of loving. (I always wanted to use "ergo"!)

With this post, what I want to say is that it IS posible, and that it DOES happen, to re-mend relationships. Just like the characters in Nip/Tuck, you have to be perseverant; you have to take the first step; you have to trust your history; to evaluate your current happiness level; to test if that level of happyness included that other person; to trust that other person; to check if it is in fact what you need; and in the end just to follow what your heart and mind dictates you. What can you do if you keep loving? Try again. If it doesn't work, move on. But, if the love is still there between the two, why fight it? Because of dignity? Dignity is also vanity. You can sacrifice something in order to get something better back, would you not?

So again the rethorical question looking for an answer: Who is willing to forgive in order to keep loving? Who?

I would.

Ganas de escribir

Escribo. Escribo. Pero ya es hora de dormir.

Trampolines

Why are trampolines so fascinating? I didn't know until I tried them. And, I always wanted to try them.

How awesome and scary it is to jump and just let go. It takes some time to get used to. You jump and you don't have to care about the hard floor... It is so totally unlike human. Humans are always afraid of the floor, of "falling" to the floor, specially adults. But when you have a trampoline its... just undescribable.

Oh. Where did I jumped? Hmm. At this awesome place/warehouse-turned-park where there are trampolines all over the floor... Oh god. It is so great. And it hurts the next day, so its a good AND complete workout, as I've read.

So, jump away people. Because I will never stop. (altho there is not much time left for me here in "fabulous Las Vegas"... bummer to that, oh well, i'll be back!!!) Yes!

The history of the name

Well. I intended this post to be very clever but it will not be.

The history of the name Las Vegas. Well, I wanted to know why Vegas was called like that. And I had the idea that it was because it was a small valley, because a vega in spanish is: plain land in or in between or in the middle of a mountain range smaller than a valley tho. Valley=valle. Small valley=vega.

Anyway. It turned out to be just that. The founders had no real imagination to come up with a good name, so they took a dictionary and looked valley and found vega, so there you have it.

(the story about the founders is totally mine, but I dont want anyone to feel undermined by me undermining the history of their town, if it were to me I would come up with stories for every country, like for example Puerto Rico translates into Rich Port, nasty name. Who came up with it? Well, unoriginal founders/conquistadors who found lots of riches in the island or near the port, or they considered the island a port, who knows... so, that's it for this long parethesized disclamer).

Parenthesized. Hmm. (that's for Danielle).

About Endless lights or Barquitos en la noche (boats in the night)

I wrote a poem a very loooong time ago. It is called Barquitos en la Noche, (Boats in the night). The boats in the night are the lights that you see when you see the city from a high place, like a mountain.

Well. If you didn't know... rigth now I'm in Las Vegas. It s such a weird and awesome place, both at the same time. Its a huge plain, a humungous valley, during the day you can see the mountains at every cardinal point, and they are brown and devoid of vegetation, contrary to Puerto Rico which the mountains have lots of green among other colors. At night, the valley is different: lights in the middle of the desert, you can see it from the airplane, its like a giant square of lights in the middle of a black nothingness, as if it were a bright island in the ocean.

The lights are endless. Once on the ground, or rather on the ground but on higher ground in relation to the rest of the valley: you can see the lights and the horizon is so black. And the streets are so straight, they cut the city from one end to the other, as if it were a grid... or a computer chip.

Once I come up with something more to say I'll come back.

Talking about boxes

Sad when the past is reduced to the contents of a box. The fact that the memories are in the objects and the objects are forgoten in a box. Why is it sad? Memories in your mind are stored in box-like neurons, and when you randomly remember them it's such a good feeling, but then, in the present you realize that that moment will happen no more.

My mother is outside sorting through heaps of boxes (plastic boxes, futuristic plastic rubbermaid boxes) and I can see her through the window, and suddenly a song begins to play. It's one of those songs that you put to newborn babys (or any baby) so they can play with the hanging objects that move on top of their craddle. And I look over, and my mother is holding a doll. It is a white clown, big black eyes with long eyelashes, red nose, red lips, white face, white hair, white dress and hat with colored hearts. I have no memory of the clown. But the clown has a small card hanging from the neck. My mother said: "It's your sister's, it was a gift for her 10th birthday". While the song played she held it in her hand, and the head of the clown moves side to side. And she looks at it. In her mind there must be eight thousand thoughts, maybe the same thoughts that run through mine. Why is this precious, little things forgotten away in this box? And then she wound the key in the back of the doll so the music would start again. And then she set it on top of the washing machine, apart from everything else.

Then she took out a black gorilla. I remembered that one. And she goes: remember this one? And in my head I remember how funny the stupid gorilla sounded. While it grunted, like a gorilla, his hands would flip him, and he'd do a somersault and land on his feet and then laugh!

Then she took a small bunny. "What about this one?" The bunny was my sister's too. And she loved it when she was little. She would laugh a lot, because when you pull the string it would vibrate and walk and if you had in in your hand it would tickle.

Why do we humans keep this things to torture ourselves in the future? Why do we put so much into things: toys, pictures, cards, mementos? Why do we put so much into other humans? Joel, because that's the way of the human. Our greatness and our punishment is in being able to put value on things and people, to put care and love, and to suffer because of them, and to be beautiful and better because of them.

Comment manger des raisins/How to eat grapes.

Le premier chose que vous devez faire, quand on manges des raisins, est ouvrir un raisin pour le voie. Vous devez diviser du raisin alors que vous pouvez extraire les graines. Et puis, vous pouvez manger le coeur du raisin sans problème. Et finalment, vous pouvez jeter le rest du raisin dans votre bouche. Et vous vais savourer le grand saveur des raisins. C'est très magnific.

The first thing that you should do, when you eat grapes, is to split the grape. You should split the grape so that you can extract the seed. Then, you can eat the heart of the grape without problem. And, finally, you can throw the rest of the raisin in your mouth. And you will savor the great flavor of grapes. They're magnificent!

Ajem. Harry Potter y Religión.

(this goes in Spanish)

Hola

Es que tengo que hacer unas preguntas de religión. ¿Cuál es la diferencia entre la religión Cristiana y la Católica, si alguna?

Lo que sucede es que siempre he creido que los cristianos son todos aquellos que creen en Dios, independientemente de su religión. Y si de pronto se buscan en algún diccionario, lugar donde puede encontrarse las definiciones más objetivas, te va a salir:


Cristiano: del cristianismo; persona o ser viviente.
Christianity: Christian religion, founded on the life and teachings of Jesus.
Catholicism: The faith, doctrine, system, and practice of a Catholic church.
Catolisismo: Religión que profesan los cristianos que reconocen al Papa como representante de Dios en la tierra.

Ok. Dadas esas minimísimas definiciones, no me entra en la mente que hallas las llamadas religiones cristianas. Si es lo mismo que la católica, lo único que no quieren tener como que ese nombre encima, sabe Dios por qué.

Desde que fui una vez a una iglesia de estas: "Fuente de agua viva" mi escepticismo se agrandó. Cuando la supuesta presencia de Dios era internalizada por las personas por sugestión más que por el milagro divino. Dije sugestión. Me habían invitado a la iglesia unos amigos que estaban locos de contentos al haber encontrado algo más fuerte que ellos que los protege (supuestamente). Pues, un día dije que sí. Y fui.

Y cuando fuiii... había un señor alto, gordo chiquito y flaquito, un señor alto gordo chiquito y flaguito... (ay, perdón, no pude dejar pasar la oportunidad de cantar eso)

Bueno, pues cuando fui, la actividad era muy muy muy diferente a mi usual y conocida iglesia católica. De entrada, estaban muy empeñados en que yo diera mi número de teléfono y mi dirección, yo con la sospecha. Comenzó la cosa y lo primero que hicieron fue presentar a las nuevas "caras" en la congregación. Eso sí estuvo chévere, conocer a tu prójimo, ¿no?. Pues nada, me levanté y dije mi nombre ta ta ta. Ok, entonces luego comenzó a hablar la pastora, por largo rato, y luego se puso a cantar, cantaron como 2 canciones "upbeat" y entonces depués una retrajila de baladas rompe-venas. Entonces es que se ponía la cosa rara. Porque la gente empezaba a llorar y a llorar. Y entonces después se empezaban a reir y a reir. No me acuerdo cual vino primero si la risa o el lloriqueo, pero de lo que sí me acuerdo es de haber sentido un sentimiento colectivo que no tenía nada que ver con la presencia de Dios, y sabía (o crei) que no tenía nada que ver con Dios porque ya me había sentido así en otro momentos, y era por causa de la música. Cuando estás por largo rato escuchándo música sugestionable, o sea, tarde o temprano vas a caer. Es como ir a un concierto y escuchar tu canción favorita de tu cantante favorito y la canción es bien melosa y corta venas... Pues así. Y entonces luego la gente se paró para que la pastora le pusiera la mano en la cabeza... la gente se caia al piso y le ponian un sábana. Me rehusé a participar de semejante ridiculés.

Disculpen aquellos que se sientan ofendidos, pero esa es mi opinión.

Entonces, descubrí la "diferencia" (entre comillas) de la religión cristiana (o una de ellas) y la católica. Me sonaba más como un culto de engaño.

Así que pues, quería saber si me convencen de lo contrario.


Todo esto viene a que leí un artículo, al cual llegué por casualidad (porque uno siempre cae por casualidad) cuando buscaba info sobre la bolera que harán en plaza las americas. Los links me llevaron a la info que buscaba, pero uno me llevó a un foro de un website "cristiano" puertoriqueño, en el que aparte de decir bien grande: "este es un foro es CRISTIANO", tiene un artículo sobre Harry Potter, y me enfogona encontrar fanáticos que le quieren sacar cuarenta patas a un gato.

No es que esté defendiendo los libros de Harry Potter (aunque Sí los estoy defendiendo), pero es que me hierve el cerebro encontrar personas que no pueden aceptar diferentes tipos de literatura. Yo acepto que Harry Potter puede tener alusiones directas e indirectas a cosas bien... demoníacas (como por ejemplo cuando el ave fénix coje fuego de momento, yo hice :-o )), pero entonces también tiene otras cosas como lo es el amor, la fidelidad y la amistad. O sea, ¿cuánta intolerancia hay? ¿Es que no se pueden escribir o inventar fantasías? (Porque los artículos (son dos) atacan también, efímeramente, a Lord of the Rings, Alice in Wonderland y El Mago de Oz). Sin mencionar que, de seguro, la persona que escribió los artículos le encontrará connotaciones demoníacas a alguna novela homosexual, o de divorcio o hasta del Da Vinci Code... jajaja estoy ASI de seguro. O sea, cualquier cosa que vaya en contra de la doctrina es del diablo.

AARGH! cómo me retuerce!

Cómo me retuerce que no halla criterio para cómo está escrito el libro, de la imaginación extraordinaria de la JK Rowling (aunque mucha de su semiótica debe tener mucho research)... La doña que escribió el artículo (no sé si es doña o no...), empató muchas referencias de los nombres y situaciones que suceden en Harry Potter, que si Harry tiene la marca de la bestia en la frente entre otras cosas. Puede que tenga razón, como también puede que no, pero entonces censura al libro diciendo que es una irresposabilidad de los padres dárselos a sus niños. Pero, ¿cómo entonces vamos a saber qué es aquello a lo que no debemos acercarnos, si no lo podemos leer para hacer de nuestros cerebritos una opinión propia? Católicos y "Cristianos" (en comillas también) se contradicen cuarenta mil veces y nunca pierden, nunca quieren perder.

A mi me encantan los libros de Harry Potter, tienen aquel atractivo de ser más o menos innovadores (aunque no tanto, porque hay otros libros de fantasía igualmente profundos...) pero más que eso es la facilidad con la cuál se pueden leer, y no es que sea un lenguaje sencillo, sino por la forma clara y concisa de la historia. Son pocos los párrafos que quieren ser poéticos/arregladores de la sociedad, después de todo es un libro escrito para niños, pero las situaciones van más allá de lo que un niño pueda entender, en ese aspecto sí estoy de acuerdo con la doña, pero de ahí a decir que leer los libros es prácticamente el comienzo del apocalipsis... Por favor. El planeta tierra se está sobrecalentando por culpa de la gente irresponsable, y los huracanes son resultado de ello, así como los terremotos y otros desastres.

Y me encanta el site (dicho sacásticamente para aquellos que no pueden ver mi cara (todos)) porque en donde dice: "esto es un foro CRISTIANO", dice: "a todos los foristas les pedimos discreción con todo lo que publiquen" (and I think: Fair Enough). Pero entonces más abajo dice lo siguiente entre otras cosas (los paréntesis son mios):

# Se prohibe la pornografía (ok, no problem), insultar a otros usuarios (ok), ataques personales, uso de malas palabras (why?), obscenas o de índole sexual (está bien, matenerlo clean, chévere).

Pero entonces viene la mejor!!!!!!

# Se prohibe todo comentario que vaya en contra de la doctrina cristiana y/o hablar mal o hacer comentario alguno en contra de los auspiciadores de RadicalesPR.com.

Hablar mal de los auspiciadores se las paso, porque sin auspiciadores to el mundo está chavao. ¡Pero se PROHIBE comentario alguno CONTRA la doctrina "cristiana"! O sea, más inconstitucional no puede ser. Y no le pongo este mamotreto que escribí en el website porque hay que estar registrándose, (stupid registrations), a lo mejor me registro sólo pa maldecirles la existencia.


Se acabó la diatriba (aunque no hay NI UNA! palabra mala! o de aquellas malas de verdad).

Ay! les pongo los links de los artículos de Harry Potter:
http://www.radicalespr.com/content/articulo/articulos.aspx?articleid=361&zoneid=2
http://www.radicalespr.com/content/articulo/articulos.aspx?articleid=368&zoneid=2

Me voy a terminar de leer Caracol Beach, que tiene sexo, crimen, sangre, alucinaciones, homosexualismo, drogas, fantasías, locuras, peleas, diatribas, odio, resentimientos, prejuicios, brujería, dioses paganos, muerte, fantasmas, tigres de bengala que vuelan, y aun así es mi libro favorito porque tiene de todo además de amor, amistad y reconciliación.

adiós
Joel

To be left

You have seen it many times. You have probably had it happen to you, hopefully not too many times. To be left. To be left when you don't want to be alone, or whenever the momment is the incorrect.

The other night I was watching the wrestling on tv, and you're thinking: "what! who the hell watches wrestling at this day and age?", I answer: "A looooot of people", then you reformulate the question: "what! who, in their right, educated mind watches wrestling at this day and age?", and I answer: "A looooot of people".

But that is not the "thing" I want to say. What I want to say is this:

Last Monday night I turned on the tv to watch my wrestling show. I happened to know before hand that one of the wrestlers was found dead on Sunday morning. And I knew there was going to be a mourning session at the begining of the show, as it is custom. But I am moved by people crying, I can't watch people crying, a lot of people crying, it's like an energy that sticks and makes you cry too, something like collective laughter.

Well, there is the heap of wrestlers all gathered, in their wrestling attires, no storylines, no rivalries, and from the women wrestlers (algunas atacás) to the the biggest guy wrestler were crying. People you would not expect. Or maybe you would (because I expected it from them) but you can't believe it. Big, muscle wrestlers can cry too. And I found myself shed tears too. And it was not the fact that Eddie Guerrero (the wrestler) died, because I didn't know him, it's the fact that he was a character, a very well rounded, cheerfull, and sometimes in pain, character, and just knowing that death comes to everyone, even characters, is what made me cry.

Also, hearing what the wrestlers had to say about Guerrero, hearing what they had lost, friend, husband, companionship, with him a lot of things were gone, not only his physical state, also his presence, his aura was gone. And for some reason I could relate. I have not lost someone close to me, I don't even want to think about it. My grandma died when I was in fifth grade I think, and I don't remember how I reacted. I know I didn't cry. I remember that. But when there was no more of her around, was when it hit me. When there was no more oatmeal in the mornings, or when I peeked into her room she wasn't taking her afternoon nap, and I could jump on the bed and wake her up with a start. I also lost my pet bird, it was sad seeing him not alive, after all he sang.

I also could relate to the wrestlers because in love, and in friendships there are also losses. If your greatest love leaves you, it just breaks you (of course if you still love him/her). If your greatest friend leaves you it leaves this huge emptyness. So that's why I also cried. Not only for Eddie Guerrero, but also because I knew how they felt and I knew how IT felt.

When I was younger I once asked my aunt why was she crying for a dead politician? It couldn't fit in my head, why would she, when he didn't anything for her, nor even knew her. She said: "Because I know how it feels to loose your parents". I didn't understand then. But life has that nagging way of retaking things from the past and reteach them in the present, to then be recalled in the future as a lesson learned.

One never fully knows somebody, but who cares if you fully know somebody, as long as they make you feel great, as long as they are true to you... Hopefully we won't get hurt. People will show you what they want to be, or what they want to become, characters are reflections of people; and when Goofy cries you cry because Goofy is always so goofy, and it's just sad to see him down.

We are so young after two decades of life, sometimes even after more (i don't know yet), we still have so much to learn. But oh, how wrong it feels to be left.

Joel.

Subjects for the coming days.

A complex of intruding
Review on Pantalla Breve (shortfilms)
My birthday
A story premier
About casting
Subliminal sexual messeges in board games
Review on San Juan Cinemafest
Campaign against "lol"
Tangents and digressions
Protruding things
My Shortfilm
Something sqwishy
Something in Spanish (who knows what!)
A reminder on JIP
Deep sea creatures
About forgeting and things to forget
Update on the mother of all knots
Tripping to Vegas and SanFra.


wooh! I have a lot of work! I'm sweating already, and its cold tonith. Maybe I'll keep that order, or maybe not. I'm unpredictable. Sometimes. Not too many times. Often. Hardly. eeeh I'll shut up.

Freak Rain

Yes. I know. Rain is a recurrent subject of mine. But I just can't get enough of it. The other day I was sitting placidly talking to a friend on the messenger, when I see this freak rainfall starting. It had gusts and blasts of fat, cold drops that was just beautiful and I had to take a picture. And here are some.

November

November is such a poetic name for a month. Don't you think? Just the sound of it makes it want to hug it tight. Where do the names of the months came from? I know I heard it somewhere but I don't remember.

November. New ember? In Spanish: Noviembre. I don't know. I just like November, as it happens to be the month with the most holidays, tied with July I think. Also it is the month I was born. It is the month that welcomes the winter and Christmas season.

It just a month that gives me hope for whatever it is that I do. A month that look forward to. Specially Thanksgiving. Hmm. And there is such sweetness when you say November, Noviembre, it kinda flows, unlike October which gets stuck in Oct, or May which kinda leaves you wanting more. Noviembre. Like tomorrow.

Great word. Great month. Great memories. Great thoughts.

A Great and Horrific Song for Halloween

This is a very-hard-to-translate song... With that said, I have to warn this is a guerilla translation, done on the spot, yes, I know it is irresponsible but... hmm... I don't really care.

You may find the song at your nearest P2P program or music store... So that you can listen to how awesomely gruesome this song is. And catchy. Its not the best song of the band, but it stands out, at least to me.

The song was written by Mexican band: Café Tacuba, pretty much and probably (redundant?) the best punk-rock-alternative-folkloric band ever in the history of Mexico and Latin America, famous for reinventing themselves often and for their very original lyrics and sounds.

But first, some language barriers...
The song is called:

Alarmala de tos.

"Alarmala" can mean many things, if it had an accent (alármala) it would translate into "alarm her". But it doesn't have it. So it might be a weird (but totally possible) conjugation that means: "he/she alarmed her". The whole song uses that weird conjugation so... Although the correct conjugation would be "alarmola". So I don't know.

Then it says: "de tos", which is "of the cough". Yes, I was like that too: "he/she alarmed her of the cough"? What the hell? Something like "she warned her of a disease"? But it doesn't make sense in the song. On the other hand: "tos" can also be short for "todos" which is "all". So that would say: "alarmed her of all"; "all" meaning "a lot of people". That one translation would be the best, altho I will use it "alarm her of all" because in the present tense it just makes more sense as compared to the rest of the song. If you say "alarmed her" it implies someone did warn her of something but the song doesn't say...

No further ado


Alarmala de Tos/Alarm her of all

por Café Tacuba


La Lola paciente mendigaba,/The Lola patiently bummed
sufría, su jefe la obligaba,/she suffered, her father made her,
con ella sacaba buena lana./he gets good money with her,
La pobre era jorobada./The poor girl had a hump.

Su madre le metía el talón,/Her mother stepped on her,
era perversa y de mal corazón./she was mean, and cold harted.

Su hermano vivia en el reventón,/Her brother lived his life to party
él era el filo, amante de un panzón./he was the lover of some fat panzy.

Ese día, pasaba normalmente,/That day was passing normally
cuando su padre atacola de repente,/when her father attacked her unexpectedly
violola con un deseo demente,/he raped her with a demential desire
y ella quizo morirse en ese instante./and she wanted to die in that instant.

Mató a su padre cuando este la seguía,/She killed her father when he followed her
mientras su madre con su hermano le ponía,/while her mother put her brother against her
pensó que ayuda jamás encontraría,/she thought that help would never find her
hasta que al fin, halló un policía./until at last, she found a police man.

Alarma, alarmala de tos,/Alarm, alarm her of all
uno, dos, tres, /one, two, three
patada y cos. /a kick and more*
(X2)

La Lola su historia lloró,/The Lola her story moaned
auxilio al "tira" imploró,/help to the cop she groaned
el "azul" sonriendo la miró.../the "blue" watched and smiled...

¿qué creen que fue lo que pasooo?/what do you think happened neeeext?

Siguiola, jalola, atacola, golpeola, pateola, escupiola, tirola, violola /He followed, he pulled, he attacked, he punched, he kicked, he spat, he threw, he raped her.(X2)

Siguiola, jalola, atacola, golpeola, pateola, escupiola, tirola, matolaaaa.../He followed, he pulled, he attaked, he punched, he kicked, he spat, he threw, he killed heeeer...

Con una pistola./With a pistol.

Alarma, alarmala de tos/Alarm, alarm her of all
uno, dos, tres,/one, two, three
patada y cos./a kick and more*
(x4)

Alarma.
Alarma.
Alarma.
Alarma.
Alarma.
Alarma.
Alarma.
Alarma...

Alarma.



*"cos", I don't know what the hell "cos" means, and I couldn't find it in the dictionary, so it must be short for an odd Mexican word that I don't know, if anybody knows, please enligthen me. And again, that chorus is what I chose it to mean, or what I can understand or draw from it... if you have info on this, again: turn my brain-lights on.

On another note, I'm proud of me. I translated that and it even rhymes a bit in English.

Do you think that song is horrible? Perfect for Halloween? I think it is. It is also funny and peculiar to find it in a song. You should find it and hear it. If you do, and if you like it, and you would like more, then you should also find: "Las Flores", a simple, short, funny, beautiful, and very comprehensible song (unlike the one above), that one is my favorite yet. I might post, and translate it one day.

Ok, I'll see you.
Don't eat too much candy, it gives you cavities and makes you fat.
For now...
Happy Hallowennie.

Joel.

Thought of the Month / Pensamiento del Mes

Qué bueno es hacer cosas solamente por el simple hecho de hacerlas. Hacer cosas sin sentido, o que no tienen ningún propósito. Qué bueno es hacerlas, y es muchísimo mejor cuando las haces acompañado.

How awesome is it to do things just for the heck of doing them. To do nonsensical things, or things with no purpose. How awesome is to do them, and better yet to do them with the company of someone else.

(This thought was inspired by the beautiful memories of a friend, who melancholically remembers the past. Who doesn't remember the past with yearning?)

And the time turns

It is 2:30 AM. At some point right now, the world spins a little slower to make the United States fall back an hour.

How does this happen? I don't know. It is an event that occurs there. Maybe there is some old guy living in an old lighthouse at the center of the country, where there is this huge clock on top and the old guy climbs the steps to hold the clock's hands. This man has survived death many times, because by stopping the hands of the clock he opens an invisible fold in the mainframe of this existence where, if he were to fall inside, he would be trapped in a space and time that doesn't move, doesn't age and doesn't change. "Sometimes it doesn't sound bad", he thinks, but he knows better....

First JIP: Why dogs dont like it when you blow on their faces.

www.joelbuki.blogspot.com
presents...

a
Joel's Interactive Program production...

Why Dogs Don't Like It When You Blow On Their Faces.

Staring:

Joel

Joel

and

a dog.

Based on an idea by goody


Dogs. I wonder what's it like to have a dog. A dog is not a bird. I've only had birds as pets, and fish... and once a turtle. But they are not dogs. Dogs have a tendency to act like people, they could become good friends. Turtles don't care about you, they just want to eat. Fish... you can't really caress a fish (although I did try!). And birds, they are lovable and caresable, and they do click and sing to you and sometimes even poke your skin with their beaks, but they are so fragile... they are just not a dog.

Right now I don't want a dog. There is no space in this house to have one. And he would be making all kind of messes. But I would like one sometime. To blow on his face and see how it frowns and grimaces, like a baby tasting something sour.

But why dogs don't like it? I don't know. Probably because when you blow you are exhaling CO2 and you might actually be taking his breath for a while... Who knows. I've blown on my birds and they shake their heads furiously for one microsecond. How did I come up with this explanation? Well, have you put your face in a really really really fast fan? Or have you taken your head out of the car window while still in motion? Don't you kinda loose your breath? Its like, so much is getting in that you can't exhale what you have inside. Well, I guess its the same principle. Hmm. I might be onto something. I might win a nobel prize for this deduction. Or I might have just guessed something that had been previously discussed, and I didn't know...

Oh well, I'll update whenever I get a dog. (you might want to sit down for that...)

I introduce to you: Joel

Hello. I introduce to you: Joel, he is my other me. And remember that I am Joel too. He was on a trip in the French Islands, he has come back with a nasty sun tan (no, it doesn't look right, it's not a nice looking smooth brown, no, its more like a stretched, toasted, roasted nut).

I noticed that he came back because he started to talk to me when I was writing an email today. Yes, I noticed. I didn't see him leave, and I didn't find the note he said that he left me telling me that he went on vacation. And I didn't see him enter, he just started talking to me, as if no time had passed. As if I was going to accept the fact that he abandoned me! The nerve! Joel, shut up. You see! You see! He's now telling me to shut up! I mean, am I not aloud a little bit of resentment or a little bit of anger? Stop being so melodramatic, Joel. I'm not being...I should really kick you in the balls, bastard! Accept that you are glad that I'm back. I AM glad that you are back, but you didn't say anything, you left me alone. (now he's rolling his eyes).

You are just jealous that I went to the Islands and have this stunning tan and you don't. Prefiero mi jinchera a esa bronceadera que traes. Stop speaking in Spanish. Que no. Yo hablo lo que me de la gana. But what about the people who don't speak spanish. Well, they can always find a dictionary. You really are something. Whatever. Now, say sorry and translate. ¡Que no! You are such a baby. Whatever.

Everybody, this is Joel, the tanned one, Joel has gone off of the computer. He's being temperamental. He's glad to see me. He just doesn't like other people to see his feelings. It's nice meeting you all.

And today is Monday again

It seems that I can't get enough of Mondays. Hmm. Maybe that's a sign. I should make something up and write. Just for the sake of writing. I guess I could just let my mind run now... I don't think I want.

I was watching the wrestlilng, and they are showing a stupid "comedic" sketch that has gone on for too long. I wonder who's writing the scripts. Today has been the worst show ever.

I guess that is not interesting. I guess I've lost the will to be entertaining. Maybe tomorow. TomoRRow.

Hoy es Lunes 17

(Today is Monday the 17th)
(and Today I write in Spanish, I'm in the need of my accents and conjugations)
(Translation services are available at www.freetranslation.com, or you could wait until I do it)

Hoy es lunes 17 de Octubre. Hace exactamente una semana que no he escrito un carajo. Que he estado en el limbo, que ni siquiera me pego a la página blanca por miedo al noséqué. Tengo dos cosas interesantísimas en la cabeza para escribir, y por alguna razón no encuentro la fuerza para hacerlas. Tengo que obligarme. Estoy decayendo, como está decayendo mi blog. Tan emocionado que yo andaba con mi blog, para allá y para acá... que si le escribía todos los días. Nada. Lo que sucede es que estuve esperando respuestas y comentarios, estuve esperando ver la vida al otro lado de la página, y resulta que la vida al otro lado de la página es invisible. Resulta que el otro lado de la página no me pertenece a mí, que aquellos lectores que viven en esos bordes son dueños de sí mismos aun cuando vuelan por los cielos de mí mundo escrito. Resulta que a pesar de que esos lectores se inmersan en mis mares voluntariamente, no los puedo obligar a que reaccionen y mucho menos que reaccionen ante mi. No puedo obligarlos. No puedo. Resulta que este lado de la página, el del escritor, es difícil de aguantar, porque el escritor quiere saber la opinión del lector, pero he llegado a la conclusión de que no es necesaria, es bien recibida e importante para el crecimiento escrituril, pero no es necesaria para mi, porque este lado de la página, mi lado, es mío, para mí, para mi propia satisfacción. Lo que escribo está hecho para que se lea, y seguramente se está leyendo, lo único es que no hay récord de que está sucediendo. No importa, yo ya cumplí con mi lado de la página, y si se lee bien, y, si la iniciativa de comentar está en aquellos al otro lado está presente, mejor. Pero ya no me voy a rochar. Ya no. Lo que va a suceder ahora es que me voy a sentir contento simplemente de ver mis párrafos en la página.

Tantán!

Stupid Rain!

Sunday, 3: 58 AM
(Joel finishes talking on the msn messenger with a friend).

Sunday, 4:00 AM
I'm excited because tomorrow I will be a tourist! I will be going to the castle of El Morro, take pictures, take the blazing sun. Sweat with no care... But there is a thin rain falling right now. I hope it won't be wet tomorrow. Well, not tomorrow is technically today. But, until the sun rises it is still tomorrow to me.

Sunday, 4:30 AM
(Joel sets up the alarm of his cell phone for 10:30 AM).

Sunday, 4:55 AM
(Joel's cell phone suddenly rings) Hello? And I hear people talking for like 5 seconds. And then they speak to me. And then I don't understand. And then I say its 5 in the morning and then she (Heather) says "I'm so sorry!" And I go, "It's fine! I was up anyway" and I smile. But she goes "I'm so sorry, I'll call you tomorrow!" And I go, "It's ok!" But she was hanging up already.

Sunday, 5:01 AM
(Joel, finally, puts his Da Vinci Code book down and thinks:) Stupid book! It's a hatefully written book, (hatefully, meaning clumsily written, as in it being very insipid, and almost technical), It's a hatefully written book! But... The mystery is sooo compelling. (and then Joel goes to sleep).

Sunday, 10:30 AM
(Joel's alarm goes off but he doesn't hear it).

Sunday, 10:54 AM
(Joel wakes up, because his body has something to do today, but doesn't remember, then his mind give him a bolt; and right then, he hears a thunder and the rain falling on the back yard. Joel says: "Stupid rain!", turns around in bed, and falls asleep again).

Sunday, around 1 PM
(Joel wakes up again from a very good dream, he doesn't remember, but it was very good; he goes back to sleep).

Sunday, 3:21 PM
(Joel finally gets out of bed).

Sunday, 5:00 PM
Stupid rain! I was supposed to go to El Morro! To be a tourist! I even charged the battery of my broken camera! (which works! nonetheless). Aarrgh!

Sunday, 5:13 PM
Lets go watch Flightplan! (Joel suggests to a friend (Randy), he says "Ok").

Sunday, 7:05 PM
(Joel's phone rings. A call he's been expecting from another friend (the other Joel). But Shites! The movie is about to begin, so Joel's brain is bombarded with distractions: of people walking by, of the sound of the theater, and the conversation wasn't as good as it should have been).

Sunday, 7:20 PM
(The movie starts.)

Sunday, 9 something PM
(The movie ends and Joel has to pee, the bathroom is full of people, so he waits. When he goes into the stall, he surprises himself to see how much liquid he was holding in.)

Sunday, 9:4something PM
(Joel is having an amazing strawberry and cream frappucino from starbucks, he had never had one before, and a raspberrycheescakebruller or something like that).

Sunsay, 10:30 PM
(Joel watches wrestling reruns on a local channel).

Sunday, 11:03 PM
(Joel calls his friend, the one who called at seven, to arrange something).

Monday, 12:30 AM
(The wrestling show is over and anxiety falls onto Joel)

Monday, 1:29 AM
(Joel starts to write this post, anxiety building up. Luckily another friend logs in (Matt), this time on the AIM messenger, and the anxiety recedes for a while).

Monday, 2:49 AM
Stupid rain! The hole day has been wet, with a little rain falling at random hours. (And as he says this, a light rain starts falling.) It's been rainy for the past 7 days, why did I think today was going to be different? Plans have a way of not being accomplished. Damn it!
(And with that thought, Joel's anxiety boils up from his stomach once again, thinking of his previous arrangement).
The future, like today, holds uncertainty, holds a lot of rain.
(But Joel loves the rain!)
I shall be all right. If rain falls I will curse at it for a while, but then I will go under it and be showered.
(Anxiety of the future, it holds uncertainty, a lot of rain. But Joel loves the rain!)

Monday, 3:00 AM
(Joel puts Sunday's date for this post (instead of Monday's), but he changes his mind, and leaves the post for Monday at 3:00 AM. Then he hits "post".)

On how we meet our friends

It is weird how people get to know other people. To think that at some point you wouldn't even talk to someone, and the next thing you know... that someone is so special. And afterwards you think back, and don't even recall how it all started.

It is the mystery of friendship. The mystery of the mind to gradually forget how love progresses from none to all. Have anyone stopped to think about this? How is it that you find friends? How is it that they become such an immense part of us? What was the process? Was it just by hanging out? Layers and layers of different qualities build upon layers and layers of lots of other experiences and then, without the slightest clue of what's happening, that person becomes the person you call on the phone when you are bored, when you need help, when you need company, they are the people you call when you fear for them, people you call because you care for them.

Only once was I aware of this process. Only once. And it is still so unexplainable, because, even when I was aware that that person was going to be a friend, I still couldn't grasp the moments in which we knew we were friends. I guess that that sense didn't come to both of us at the same time. What I remember is just hanging out, or like talking about what movie you like... I don't know.

What I do know is that, even when you never really know when your friendship started, you will always remember when it ends, or when it begins to end. Friendships can be lost with an act, with a word, with abandon. I don't intend on keeping myself uncommunicated of that person of whom I was talking, because I don't want to let happen the same things that happened in the past, friendships not broken, but forgotten. I'm sure I'll find them again, sometime, in the meantime I'll keep hanging out with the friends I have, and I'll keep wondering how weird, simple and complex it is to find one.

Appendicitis

Some books have good appendixes, they inform you of things that you specifically want to find in that book. But other books have bad appendixes, so, they suffer from appendicitis (an inflamation of the end of the book... hmm)

Just a random thought.

Neglect

Yes, I know. I've been neglecting my baby here. I should be put in jail... lalalalala I've been busy writing a novel (or a pretense, or an effort of a novel, but I'm trying).

So, leave me alone!

:p

ps. I have not forgotten JIP, I already have two titles... it is exciting to think about what I'm going to write, keep them coming!.

Neon Lights in October

Oh, I love the previous post. It is like Northern Lights (if you've ever seen them, because I haven't, but I can always imagine). Whenever you put your mouse pointer on the text, it glows neon green, it is beautiful. Don't you think?

I'm sorry. I know I'm naive. And impressionable. But I don't care, I like little things like these. They make my life interesting.