One Emotion

Sometimes, a picture is worth a thousand words. Another space: One Emotion, check it out.

December 23, 2004

Fake

All is fake. All is relatively fake. All is, very probably, relatively fake. Fake, bogus, bull, phony. All you perceive is subtle illusion misleading you to some dire finale where you realize what something is, what you thought it would be and ultimately, what this particular thing will never be. A simple concluding event, just to cut all the fakery crap.

The keyword is clearly “fake”. What is not clear is the fake factor, it is fake?, its degree, How fake could things be?, its perception, Does everything I see is fake?, its development, How fake could things become?, and its impact, Shall I act upon this or is it fake?.

The keyword is still “fake”. fake as not true. True as genuine. Genuine as glowing with the true essence of things. Fake as wrapping any tiny part of any essence with soi-disant shiny foil. Some people do it compulsively and ultimately find themselves trapped in shiny fake land. Shiny fake land is nice. Shiny fake land is somehow reassuring. Until, all that shiny foil you wrapped so well can’t hold you and your fake ideas, feelings and perceptions: you awake from shiny fake land, cast away in cruel reality where shiny things aren’t so numerous. In some cases, the gap is huge.

The keyword is “gap”: A disparity or difference as between two figures. Figure this. This gap is a part of you. No man lives in reality. Simple harsh reality has no place in your mind. The fake crap is only here so that you remain sane, happy. Only the fall from fake, from shiny fake land (or maybe just the fall from grace) is real. It sure hurts, but it’s true. Deal with that.


Rien n'est vrai, rien n'est faux; tout est songe et mensonge,
Illusion du cœur qu'un vain espoir prolonge.
Nos seules vérités, hommes, sont nos douleurs.
Lamartine (Alphonse de), Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, le Tombeau d'une mère.

December 04, 2004

The mood and you

There’s a martini at your table. The dim lights create devilish shapes in this drink of yours. The overly saturating brown-red-ish color smoothes in slowly in the perfectly cut lime that’s perfectly diffusing some sourness in that overly too sweet drink. The ice offers your drink sweet tickling sounds when you gently move it towards and taste it. The smoke you exhale from the best cigarette you smoked all day easily sweeps on the surface of your cold drink teasing it with its hot nimbleness. The music you hear is soft, sweet and fills all of you. Yes, the mood is good. Yes, you are good.

You watch your cigarette slowly burning and you recall how you slowly burnt. You’re watching some segment of your life burning its way to your hand. She is no more. She is not more or less than she should be. You watch this simple story that burnt you slowly fading away into ashes and smoke. The smoke still teases your drink and the sweet absolution it brings. The smoke is without significant effect, just like she is. You inhale one last breath of this devilish cigarette just to have one last taste of this sweet obsession. It tastes good, but not as good as it did, not as good as it could be. You look at the cigarette, just to feel the sweet burn one last time. You put the cigarette out. The drink awaits your now-lonely lips. Yes, the mood is good. You are good.

November 21, 2004

To sex or not

We are young. We are horny. We have sex. We have pleasures with sex. We have troubles with sex.
The keyword is “young”: we are young. we face raging hormones, hormones programmed to be at their utmost efficiency on our fully grown fresh bodies. Continuous Horniness is an instant effect, whether good or bad.
We are young. We have amazing stamina. We have incredible desires. We have unimaginable fantasies. We want to explore.

The keyword is “explore”: Every sexual experience is a new one. Every kiss has its own taste and adventure. Every touch brings its own feel and every smell, its own dimension. At least, this is the way for those who notice the fine differences in every sexual experience. There are some who are avid explorers of any new “land” and some who simply refuse (for whatever the reason) to wander in sex land.
Those who cultivate fierce diversity have a distinctive quality: They stroll to more luscious ones, cuter ones, easier ones, more amusing ones, more skilled ones, to ones with different colored hair, or to just different bed sheets. (Well, for some, the bed sheets are the same, only the after-smell in them changes). The counter parts of these people consider these doings immoral. Blah!
When the people with such erratic behaviors are faced, the classic reply is “It’s MY Life! It’s MY genitals! Go get a life and get laid!” Blah!

The keywords are “blah blah blah blah and blah”: The Rambling behaviors and the more “ethical”/”honorable” ones. When you fuck too much with your own genitals (or maybe play with too many), you’re fucking up your brain. You’re fucking up your brain just as well when you strictly don’t fuck, when you aren’t “getting private” with other’s privates. (silly sentence, yes, I know)

If you belong to the conservative and morally correct group, congratulations! You are good for giving ethically correct but futile discussions about various interesting subjects to most young people: sex before marriage, sex before dinner, sex before sunrise, sex before breakup…
You usually don’t get any sex (by choice or not?!), but you sure like to talk to others about it, maybe too much. You talk to brag or you to forcibly inflict upon others your vision of a sex-free world. You are regarded by good ethically correct parents as a blessing boyfriend/girlfriend for their child, they all want you to date theirs kids, you are hot stuffs baby! You got what life is really about pretty early in your life and you are very proud. But still, you aren’t getting laid, and the hormones are raging wild in your body, and basically fucking up your brain. But, yeah, every great cause has its sacrifices.

If you belong to the more hip group with 24/7 sex attitude, congratulations too! Boy or girl, you are a sex machine, pure and simple: blondes and brunettes, tall ones and tiny ones, long ones and wider ones… they have all been “tested and processed”. You have tasted, touched and smelled. No body can resist you. You have some incredible techniques that can make a washing machine scream from utter orgasm. You know all the secrets. You know all the “good spots”. You know desire. You know the other dirty side of life and you like it.

The keyword is “sex”: Sex is good. Sex is great. Get lots of it. It’s only when you’re having lots of sex that you realize (or least should) that sex is nothing, sex is bullshit. But as with so many things in life, experience will make you wise…

October 24, 2004

Obsesión

You just saw her. You just really saw her. Oh my god! This is instant utter infatuation. You look at her. You really look at her. Some weird unknown things are stirring inside of you, things you didn’t know existed, things you’ve lost for a long time, things that are shifting and moving so much in such tiny instants… somewhat like a storm.

The keyword is “storm”: a storm hits you. You stand physically unmoved as world around you is victim of an extreme whirling effect. Yet, somehow this blowing storm warms you; with all the agitation hitting you so suddenly, you somehow found a place to be, and someone to be with in all the places you want to be. Ladies and gentlemen, you are witnessing a crush.

The keyword is “crush”: “You’re crushing me baby. You smash me nice and soft, heavy and good.” You stand and perceive nothing around her, just her and the fine particles of air she’s exciting - if it was only those!- with this euphoric perfume she’s diffusing. Stop it. Just stop it.

The keyword is “stop”: you stop it. A crush should end, ASAP. A crush shouldn’t settle. A crush is amazingly obsessive.

The keyword is “obsessive”: What’s more addictive and obsessive than reliving the same wondrous experience every time you see her? You want to see her every day, every hour, usually you can’t, so you imagine her, you think about her just trying to grasp a glimpse of these ecstatic feelings hitting you when any thought implies her. Of all of this you make out a great collection of mental pictures and flashbacks that you reconstruct and put in your favorite places, and thus create a perfect crush wonderland. You see her again. Your crush wonderland is more and more wonderful; you just add some more pictures in your silly mind.

The keyword is “picture”: You picture her sweeter than anything you ever tasted. You picture her nicer than anyone you’ve ever met. You picture her smiling at you like she never smiled at any other. You picture her happy with you like she never was with any other. You’re obsessing; you picture her as everything you want her (or any other girl) to be. You’re just stuck with a perfect lovely image of the girl you want to be with: “the one”. You simply picture her as the one.
She might be, stop thinking, stop feeling, take a breath, just go and just say “hi”…

October 16, 2004

Stupid thoughts about stupid thoughts

The stupid thoughts. The stupid thoughts in the stupid rarely frequented depths of your brain. But then, as you vaguely recall, you have been visiting these depths in your mind more and more recently; they are no so strange. These are your stupid thoughts about stupid people, your stupid thoughts about stupid acts, your stupid thoughts about stupid circumstances, your stupid thoughts about stupid thoughts, your stupid thoughts about the other’s even stupider thoughts…just you and your stupid thoughts.

The keyword is “you”: of course, the stupid thoughts are yours. You mainly didn’t cause the stupid things that induced the stupid thoughts. Yes, this is the others’ doing. You’re only thinking stupid thoughts. You see stupidity and you think about it. Pretty simple… and stupid. But know this, the ambient stupidity only reflect the inner one, that is the one inside of you, yes you. You see stupidity because you know what it is, you just didn’t witness it so clearly before, you felt it before, which doesn’t render any of your stupid thoughts invalid: at least you know what you’re talking (or thinking) about. You see everything and everyone as stupid. You’ve been stupid before. You know what stupid is. You see it well now. Why now? Why not before? Stupid, stupid, stupid!...

The keyword is indeed “stupid”: everyone is stupid at some point of their lives. It’s just a phase. However, some people tend to overlook all acceptable boundaries of stupidity by just holding on to this happy feeling directly caused by stupidity, trying to relive it, amplify it, expand it, exaggerate it to the point where, in their stupid heads, stupidity is just impossible to conceive.

The keyword is “conceive”: Stupidity, maybe, is about different people conceiving different things differently. But somehow, all stupid people are alike. if observed over a long period of time, their conduct is basically the same. There is a stupid pattern for stupidity, so stupid people basically perceive/conceive things similarly. So, why do you see things so differently and expose this stupidity?
Why don’t you feel stupid (anymore)?
Why do you feel everyone is playing the same stupid game(s)? Why is this game so stupid?
How much stupidity can one possess to be called stupid? How much stupidity can one repress to be called, just as well, stupid? How much stupidity can someone hold?
How come all she ever did was stupid? How come all she does is even stupider?
Why does everything you hoped for turns out, eventually, to be stupid?
Why so see so much stupidity?
Maybe you’re just too stupid to find out…

October 02, 2004

Love Explained, Simply

You’re in love. Or are you? Of course, you’re not sure, most aren’t and never will be. Quite intriguing for a feeling supposed to be so strong and overwhelming in every aspect of you…

The keyword is “intriguing”: Love is about intrigue. You don’t know how you both started, how you managed to stay together, how you sometimes just “clicked”, how you sometimes couldn’t stand to look at each other, how it all suddenly ended and how it really didn’t end at all. We are powerless to love. We know nothing. We feel a lot. We do much for nothing, most of the time. We play endless games to keep the intrigue. And when the intrigue is gone, the love is gone, the thrill is gone. That’s the way it is.

The keyword is “is”. What the heck is love? What’s it about? Well, to start, it’s about two people who somehow, someway, at some time found each other. Cute. Yeah, the start is usually very simple. Most simple things, however, tend to become incredibly complex. So you both met. You are together. You’re having lots of fun. You’re having the most interesting conversations you’ve ever had even though they’re probably the same recurrent conversations you had in all your past relationships. You have your occasional misunderstandings on occasional things but all is flowing well. Are you in love yet? Well, it depends… most of us go through relationships not ever thinking about anything, we go with this submerging flow of desires and passion. Don’t get me wrong, it does feel great to just go with this flow but, in this kind of situation, you usually can’t conceive that there’s a big dam blocking this stream of emotions in you; you’re going to get hurt real bad if you don’t (or don’t want to) look ahead.

The keyword is “hurt”: Love hurts. It just does. You hurt when you miss her. You hurt when you can’t be with her. You hurt when she hurts. You hurt when you hate her. you hurt when she hates you. You hurt when you’re both hurting. You hurt when you kiss and she doesn’t kiss back the way she did. You hurt when she’s not what she was. You hurt when she is still what she is and you are still hurting. You hurt when you are slowly breaking apart, you see it, but can’t help it. Love just hurts. Love hurts like nothing else. In fact, a major indicator that you’re in love is the pain
The greater the pain the better your chances are you are (or maybe just were…) in love.
Talk about simple…

August 05, 2004

The usual

You wake up. It’s your usual morning. You’re on your usual side of your bed. You brush your teeth as you usually do, you grab a bite, and you sip your usual coffee to face your usual day. You go to your usual job and do your usual work. You return home, through the usual route you usually take back and forth each usual day. You finish your day with your usual activities/hobbies/chores. All the usual has ended. You finally return back to your usual bed.
You cannot sleep. Not so unusual, but weird: you really can’t sleep; Unusual thoughts in the usual patterns of your mind. Some mutiny in your soul? Why? You just can’t sleep. You just want to sleep. Why again?
Let’s see, what could be the unusual problem in such usual times? There is no problem. You only want to sleep.
Is it a lost love finding its way back? An old love haunting you still? A fervid love burning its way through this usualness of yours? A tiring, endlessly tiring love shaking every thing you got used to? Usually, you wouldn’t care but you can’t sleep.
In such an unusual search for peace, a usual problem arises: uncertainty, unusual daunting uncertainty. You hate that. You usually avoid that. Usually, you would be sleeping.
You want a usual love to fit your usual desires for a usual life. Your usual needs will be fulfilled. You will sleep as you usually did. Why do you want that?
Why sleep in such usual grounds, where every thing you see or do has been seen and done as usually as it can be?
Why sleep when the only thing that heats you beats you down? Your heart is beating regularly as it usually did, but burning so unusually deep.
Why sleep when the only thing that heats you uses you?
Why sleep when your only use is to warm who usually is stone cold, no emotions, no care?
Why sleep when your only used to heat the unusual, the somewhat unavailable?
You are not what you usually were. Why sleep? ...


Can anyone count how many "usual"/"unusual" I have used ?

July 03, 2004

The art of being lonely

You are listening to your favorite song. You are sipping your favorite drink. You are in your favorite place. You look around, you are alone. You may be surrounded by numerous and various friends. You are alone. There’s no one next to you, no one to just look you in the eyes and confirm “Yes, I am here”. There’s no one you can just gently hold and just think “Yes, we are here” as you take a slow soft deep breath. Yes, I am talking about the “one”…
[Awkward silence]

The keyword is “alone”: you are a lonely soul. You are a lonely soul who hasn’t found another soul so you can both just share your sheer loneliness in both of your lives, as silly humans in this world, in all events. Being with another soul is just about sharing time together, and time is the most precious thing any human can offer: it’s the only thing that’s inherently and generally limited. Finding the “one” is finding that one person you are prepared to spend most of your time, and probably your lifetime, with. This is great, but hard to accomplish. Finding someone with “the one” potential is just as great and just as hard.

The keyword is “potential”: we strive in all relationships to discover any “the one” potential. We really want to find it. Needless to say, that these “the one” potentials are all very relative to everyone. Ideally, in its most simple form, you have some kind of basic set of prerequisites you want someone to have. Most relationships, at their first stages, comply with the following: “ I build my prerequisites list (it must be noted that the contents of this list are directly related to the experiences and outcome of previous relationships). I meet him/her. I don’t know him/her. I want to get to know him/her. I spend considerable time with him/her. I get to know him/her. I check if he/she conforms to my prerequisites list. If it does then he/she is a “the one” material. “
This is a simple and very realistic logic. But, life has a way of twisting any kind of good and sound logic. Call it bad luck, bad choices, bad behaviors, bad grasp of things, bad grip on things... You are alone.
You follow all the rules. You create new ones. You grasp every opportunity. You induce new ones. You go with the flow. You are imaginative. You are alone.
I frankly don’t know how the whole thing works. I frankly am starting to think that I only have taste for the “basically” (c’est-a-dire from day 0) unattainable/impossible. Weird thought, stupid even but sometimes it makes so much sense. This thought needs more reflections as to how and, more importantly, why (just asking myself why renders me scared).
Either ways, I only know when the whole thing doesn’t work. Here’s what I hope to be a comprehensive list of what to do to remain completely lonely, labeled “The Art of Being Lonely”. This is a humorous approach to a sick sad problem… heh, c’est la vie…


The Art of Being Lonely
OR
How not to find the “one” (or anyone)


1. Be an idealistic.
This is very helpful in your quest for utter loneliness. Stick to your silly ideals and philosophical point of views relationship-wise. If he isn’t prince charming because he isn’t charming/shinning/rich/smart or stupid/cute/introverted or open/virile enough, don’t even bother to try something with him. If she isn’t sexy/skinny/hot/smart or stupid/blond or brunette/elegant/curvy enough, she isn’t worth it, next please. Really stick to your hardened ideals, you’ll find him/her, don’t worry, just wait…

2. Be a coward.
Don’t be afraid of throwing everything down the drain (ie. Breaking up) at the slightest problem. If things aren’t working out now, how can they workout later on? Right?

3. Be amazingly introverted, Don’t share any feeling or thought.
You are your own self. No one should be able to “get into” you. you should never “open up”. Stick to the basic, most formal, most casual treatment toward your partner. Success guaranteed.
Notice: This isn’t just directed to guys, usually accused of not being able to correctly express themselves. Girls can indeed express themselves much better, but then again, they should want to…

4. Be a fearful bitch (For Guys and Girls).
Your last relationships ended so badly and caused you great amount of pain and trauma. Any subsequent experience will just make you relive your past moments of pain and suffering. You must wander from partner to another. You must make their lives a living hell. And then, just dump them. This tactic can seem confusing as you are indeed meeting and “bonding with” numerous guys/girls, “I can’t be lonely” you say. But, indeed, even though you are usually with someone, you are lonely, and in the long term, you will still be.

5. Be needy/ego-centric.
You are your own self. You should indulge your self. Your needs are what count. Your desires are to be satisfied immediately and completely. You are the one who does all the talks. You should be the one who makes all the decisions. You are the one “in control”. When you are finally content, you might consider thinking about your partner’s wants. This “advice” when coupled with number 6, “Be incredibly jealous” is extremely effective. However in some very rare and strange cases, 5 and 6 prove to induce considerably long relationships; brain damage to both parties is believed to exist.

6. Be incredibly jealous.
You got him/her. You must own him/her now. He/she must not go anywhere without your prior consent/knowledge. Any person he/she talks to/looks at is considered a potential suspect. You must bring hell on him/her. You must not let anything pass by. Frequent threats to breakup and emotional blackmail are your favorite weapons. You must have that leech very tight. Aw. Aw. Aw.


I hope this says it all…

June 27, 2004

Worthless, Wasted

Unforeseen, it suddenly began.
We held on to something that wouldn’t go away.
I held on to something that wouldn’t go the way.
Worthless thing and wasted end,
Worthless trouble, wasted time to mend.
And it’s just like they said,
The way you just did.
And it’s just like they said,
“Slow down, you’re falling down, you're falling dead”
“Slow down, you’re falling apart”
“Get out, you play no part”
Pointless talks, wasted cold sad breaths.
Worthless fire, desired but wasted,
Blinding passion, wasted warmer breaths,
Worthless kisses, wasted sweetest flavors I tasted,
Worthless looks, from the affectionate soul,
Worthless game, worthless roles,
Worthless smells and wasted memories they bring,
Worthless voices of a wasted angel, once with wings,
Never caresses on worthless hands,
Ruined moments, wasted time,
All wasted…
Worthless fire.
Just a liar, a worthless liar.
Expected, it ended.
All wasted…

June 23, 2004

After it, After all

After all that’s been said and done, after all the shit, I am smoking the new day’s last cigarette. It’s the last draw. Slowly but surely, I inhale the cigarette’s last breath and swiftly throw it. It’s done. The dawn is breaking with the first colors of the day, red,pink and blue, in some strange reviving blend. The sun is far in the horizon, slowly but surely it comes. I go to sleep...


This follows the "Too good to be true" post.

Too good to be true

It’s amazing how good you can sometimes be with people, girls to be specific. You do play the good guy part, since this is no play to act in, this is serious and since you really are no actor or just don’t want to be. The girls see games everywhere; everything is a big giant nerve-wrecking time wasting shit inducing play for them.

The keyword is “play”: maybe it’s the “Barbie doll” effect; they are used to playing with people or miniature idealized (but stupid) versions of them or maybe they see people (and guys to be specific) as miniature pets to control and put into multiple kinds of awkward situations: within shit, eating shit, surrounded by shit, stepping continuously in shit etc. the shit element seems mandatory. And fuck the cliché. Everything about them, sooner or later, turns into shit. A day will come when she’s just doesn’t want to see your shitty face anymore, out of the blue, or out of the brownish yellowish beige-ish I-don’t-know-what-ish shits. And yes, I am a good guy. I am doing the right things. I am showing respect. I am showing that I care. I am trying to work things out. I am considering her (their) needs. I must be considerably stupid.

The keyword is “stupid”: good is stupid. Plain and simple but, frankly, very hard to stuff into my crowded little shit gorged brain. Good is shit and shit is not good. I really ought to know by now. I should try being a complete shitty asshole sometimes that is, if I can be. No, I am not stupid. Apparently, I am doing stupid things: things like caring, feeling and related, things good guys typically do. You merely can’t bet your time on a girl. I need a woman, a real woman, not a stupid shitty wanna-be girl who thinks her stupid shitty flings and childish impulses are the next best things to try to me. After a while, in the end that is, it gets really shitty.

The keyword is “shit”, it’s the main keyword, gentlemen. Better let your heat guided missile in your pants command you, at least, that way, your needs are satisfied, you are never derived from your main objective, you are fulfilling your species ultimate goal: impregnating as many females as possible to ensure the species’ survival, you get plenty of exercise, and you’re a complete asshole. That way, the chicks can really ultimately dig you, because you remain unaffected, untainted, untouched by their flapping shits. That way, you are really “too good to be true”…

Note: If you are a girl and are offended by this, sue me, I really know what I’m talking about, if you don’t agree, wtf are you doing here, go here.

June 22, 2004

Play with me bass…

You are loaded, bloated, elated, and intoxicated. You sip drink after drink, each one with its own savor. You are no longer here, but you still exist somehow. Each drink awakens a particular sense. Everything feels like you never felt before. You revert to your basic, most impressive instincts: every perfume is a delight, every touch is sheer pleasure, every kiss is pure renewing ravishment. You put on some music, good music, fuckin’ good music. You are no longer here, you surely exist, but you really don’t know that you do.

The keyword is “exist”: you are in your own world. You exist only through the wondrous beats and rhythms captivating your silly but active as ever mind. You think about nothing, and everything. You are nothing and no one. A deep breath, you are here still. You are there still. You know nothing. You feel nothing. Yet, everything makes sense. All that you’ve know, lived through, sought for, cried for and desired lies now clearly in front of you. You face nothing, but see all. You’re at your lowest point, and you really know yourself*.

The keyword is “self”: you are now someone else, someone that isn’t you, but that can’t become who he is without you. Or maybe, this is just plain old you in a radically different perspective. All your hopes, dreams, desires, fears, regrets and sorrows mingled with the toxic elements you just imbibed and the hypnotic beats surrounding you arouse a particular state of being, so pure, so simple, so damn powerful that you can’t merely deny. You are now what you never were, ever is and what you will be, you are who you really are, no extra flavors, no supplements, just raw unsharpened, unshaped. You are no longer forged by social boundaries, tradition or morals. You are free. The music you play reflects in your most inner self. You live the music, feeling its every beat, variation and tune. You breathe by the beats. You breathe through them, for them. You are a slave to this music. You are not free, but happy, intoxicated.

The keyword is “intoxicated”: the music is a spell tampering with the deepest parts of your mind. It’s just the only thing you exquisitely feel. Your alcohol level is sky high. Your mind is fighting this sudden rush of artificial elements. The fight feels good and that’s what it’s all about. Your mind doesn’t respond correctly or correct anything anymore; you discover your true identity. You are lost. You are no longer here. You are no longer holding back any memory or thought. Suddenly, for a brief moment, you awake, to find a friend or a lover. No talk or look is necessary. There is a strong, maybe wasted, connection between “the wasted”. The music is hypnotic. You are numb; comfortably numb (Pink Floyd fans, Hi…).

The keyword is “comfort”: music is my life, well a good part of it. In all that I have been through, music was there. Music is just human experience nicely put into elegant sounds. To make this point clear, Imagine this: you’re making out with a girl, the moon is high, her perfume is all over you, her kisses are all over you too, for a moment, you stop and just listen to the music playing and say: “Damn! This is soooo gooooood”. The “this” is not necessarily just the music, the “this” is the experience as a whole embellished by the music. Whatever the situation, music will bring its own dimension, this will broaden your perspective, and this is always gooooood.

* Quote from the movie “The Salton Sea”.

June 20, 2004

Nice Guys Finish Last

My next post was supposed to be about the "Bad Guy" syndrome, that is basicaly nice girls being unbeleivably attracted to stupid bad ass boys or typical assholes. I found this thread on the net, it almost says it all, just wanted to post it, i will post my "version"/"vision" of things later on...

Meanwhile, comments are welcome: email me!

Nice Guys Finish Last by Garrett Hols

It’s amazing that assholes can get girls. Actually, now that I think of it, it’s not that amazing. They are assholes at heart, but to meet girls they lavish their undying love. IT’S A CHARADE. They act nice, friendly, and they listen… until they get into what they’re after. Their prey thinks they are in love with them, however when they realize what assholes their predators really are, they pretend like the asshole is really nice inside. The girl tries to change the asshole into a nice guy, but assholes will always be assholes. She gets upset and goes to the nice guy to complain about the asshole. But she claims to love the asshole… now this is where the theory begins. She doesn’t want to look like she is easy so she wont dump the asshole right away, instead she will stay with the asshole.

Girls are idiots. They don’t realize that the nice guy has been there all along. He never had to pretend to be a good guy to get girls because he is naturally like that. However, girls don’t see it for some reason or another. They look at the nice guy as a friend, a trusted companion to whom they can tell their sad story to about their asshole boyfriend. But the nice guy isn’t THAT naïve. He was trying to score with the girl he listens to all along. The problem is that since he is a nice guy he keeps listening.

Since girls get attached to things that pay attention to them, they think of the nice guy as a friend. A FRIEND. They don’t say, “Oh he’s hot” or “I want to have his children” about the nice guy, they just want the emotional support. When they get the emotional support from the nice guy, they don’t need it from the asshole. The nice guy gets the **** end of the stick while the asshole gets all the action. I am starting to wonder if being a nice guy is really the route to take to get action… I have been down this path for all of my post-pubescent life and it has gotten me NOWHERE… at least not in the women department.

Perhaps another reason why girls fall for the asshole is because assholes ignore the girl they are with. The women wonder, “Why isn’t he paying attention to me?” so they explore why. They poke and prod and get closer to the asshole. They start to get easier with each attempt to get closer. The asshole finally says, “I’ve let this beauty dangle long enough, time to boat this bass”. It is then he puts on his charade and the girl feels like she has won him… even thought all she has won is an asshole.

Once you have gone down the path as a nice guy or a “listener” you can’t turn back. The girl will always go after the assholes because there are always nice guys there to listen. Once you realize that you are a “listener” you cant do anything about it… just pack up and close shop. There is no way you will get into her pants… ever. There is and never will be a situation where the nice guy will get the girl he has a crush on. It just doesn’t work like that. The girl wont “come to her senses” and realize what an asshole her boyfriend is like in the movies… instead she will just go after another asshole, and unless you stop being a nice guy, she will never go after you.

Women complain that there are no nice guys in the world. Right. They are obviously not looking hard enough because there are nice guys EVERYWHERE!!!! Girls aren’t looking for nice guys… they say they are but they’re not. They are looking for the perfect asshole, but there is NO SUCH THING as the perfect asshole. All in all, the nice guy gets the shaft. To all the girls out there with boyfriends that don’t treat you with respect, that don’t listen to you, and that don’t care about you I say this; look next to you. The guy that has been standing next to you the whole time is the guy you have been looking for. He is what you want your asshole to be like. He knows more about you than you know about yourself… because he has listened to it all.


May 05, 2004

Love, Desire and Devotion *

Love, Desire and Devotion: the three ingredients for the perfect relationship.

The keyword is “Love”. Love is great. Love is amazing. Love is lovely. Love is the acceptance of the other in the deep darkest corners of the soul. “I Love You” is real hard to say, harder when you want to and, in some way, for so many reasons, just can’t. “I Love You”: “I may hate/despise so many things about you (and the number can be considerable…) but, I accept you. Maybe I just don’t see your faults, or I just don’t want to”. Either ways, to finally love someone is a great progress and a huge learning process about yourself, your partner and all that’s in between.

The keyword is “Desire”: Wanting someone with ardent passion, needing someone like the next breath you just have to take, being madly obsessed by every smell, smile, look and touch, so much you tend to over breathe… Desire is sensuality at its purest sense. Desire is a killer, a damn good one too. You are Desire’s slave, happy slave that is. You are its bitch and scratch its every itch. Desire induces passion. Passion induces action. Action induces reaction. Reaction induces satisfaction. All induces Sex, wondrous sex, and sex makes the world (and you) go round…

The keyword is “Devotion”. Devotion is about truth, respect and sacrifices. It appears in the late stages of the relationship (usually before the ultimate break up). You anticipate every other’s need. You shape your entire life to perfectly fit your partner. You re-dream your wildest (most personal) dream to include your partner. You really don’t need any kind of explicit requests from your partner, you just create them, and this is where most people fuck up, by doing too much or simply more than expected. You drink the same water, feast with the same wine, smell the same shit.

Love, Desire and Devotion: You Surrender…*

* Title and Conclusion inspired by “Love Sensuality and Devotion” by Enigma and “Love Devotion and Surrender” by Santana

May 02, 2004

The girl with the other tune*

She stares at me. I have seen this face this near before, even nearer. I have known these reminiscing eyes. I have felt the warm breath coming thru her lips. I have smelled that mesmerizing perfume over my sweaty hands, over and over again. I have felt the lovely curves on the bottom of her back. I recall all that she was, all that she could have been, all that she isn’t, all she just couldn’t be, but, for a moment, I am what I so gladly were: happy. She’s sitting next to me, talking to me, trying to “connect” via some sort of casual inopportune conversation. I’m listening. I really don’t care what’s she saying, neither does she.

The keyword is “connection”. A simple basic connection is all I need, the kind that makes a mere look tell the story of her day, the kind that tells you when to kiss, the kind that makes a kiss stop for some air or just drive you both into utter sweet suffocation. Underneath all that is an obscure delicate communication.

The keyword is “communication”. Relationships are about communication. Communication is tricky. Relationships are trickier. Realizing that, how and why they are is the trickiest.

I thought we had that simple connection. Maybe she thought that too. At the start, what we had was pure bliss, “Oh! The sweet melody!”. “Too good to be true”, yes. Everything broke down so suddenly, so abruptly: One day, we just looked at each other and lost each other, no reason, no cause. And then, old excuses turn into lies, sweet feelings into illusion, “she has me” into “she used me”, love into hate and, slowly, hate into disinterest. After a while, in brief lapses of lucidity, you know all that she really was and wasn’t, why she did all that, why she didn’t, why she said all that and all that you, together, ever were. The melody doesn’t rime no more.

Yet, she is gazing at me like she ever so did before, ever so truthfully sweet. Why? I don’t really care. I take her hand. Our breaths halt, as if held by the load of our same memories. We move closer. Maybe we really are closer now…

* Title inspired by “The Girl in the other room” by Diana Krall

April 16, 2004

Party Attitude

So, you wanna go party? Have fun? Loosen out? Great. You phone your cute friends, put on your cute clothes, increase your head’s mass/IQ ratio with tons of gel, spray on some designer’s fragrance, wear that cute (and just darn deadly) smile and you are ready, baby!.
The key word is “cute”: “Oh, you are soooo cute!”, “Hey, my friend said you’re cute!, come on, ask her to dance”… all this to finaly (and hopefuly) land on the cutest girl/guy “in da club”.
The key word is “club”: A formal association of people with similar interests. Well, interests are: party, girls/guys, booze and eventualy scoring…
The key word is “score”: it’s all about the sex. Sex is what drives us all to these places, hey, sex may be only thing that drives us. “us” being the hyper-junky-common youth.
The key word is “common”: all party addicts have basicaly the common interests, desires, moods, moves and looks. The most perceptible and intriguing phenomenon is the feminine fashion statement, identical for most of the feminine club attendants: black top, jeans, belly, belt, heels. Under the dim lights and the dark “ambiance” of the clubs, girls are simply undistinguishable. I can’t recognize the girl I met unless she’s in a half meter radius or unless I feel her curves.
The key word is “undistinguishable”: people cultivate this unoriginality, this common grounds, this “party attitude”. This party world is a giant factory producing the same damn “model” over and over again commanded by a disorderly fashion. I seem to be more and more convinced that norms and conventions (mainly social ones) may be the worse thing to follow and to deal it.
The key word is “norms”: A standard or model or pattern regarded as typical. Maybe we all are alike, maybe all we live through and react to is the same, maybe we are all typically similar… I know I’m not, at least I just try not to be…

April 02, 2004

Just a mere moment

One day, for a mere moment, I find myself just thinking about myself: my origin; Do I have one?, my destination, my goals; Are am really going somewhere?, the girl I can’t seem to talk to and the girl that’s making my life a living hell, the lovely breeze of the awakening spring and the unbearable pollen allergy, the sweet taste of my first kiss and my last, the growing loud sounds of the day and the comforting redemption of the dark night…
The key word is “melancholia”: Extreme depression characterized by tearful sadness and irrational fears. This says it all.
The key word is “irrational”: Pain is for who seeks order and perfection where there is none for everything is chaos; chaos is in everything; and everything affects everything and does nothing. This is the causality. “Be Reasonable” when there is no reason for reason.
The key word is “causality”: effect and its causes. The effect is always perceptible. Causes are only apparent. Causes give a sense of basic-micro-simplicity in all events. Causes are irrelevant for their analysis come too late, and just on time for just some kind of comfort for the orderly soul…
The key word is “order”: Blessed is who can’t grasp this preponderant sense of order in everything. He saves himself much disappointments and time just to try to “make some sense to it all”.
The key word is “sense”: I am sensing the nonsense. I can try and analyze my past, but not my present and the future will always escape me.
The key word is “escape”: go!, run away from it all… you only have a moment…

March 28, 2004

The bullshit all around

Everything feels weird, yet unchanged: the same routine, the same people, the same experiences, the same feelings… Still, I can’t escape the uncertainty of all this, recurring in my thoughts every time I try to “get away from it all”. Seems “cliché”, so maybe I’m not the only one who feels this way and this can’t make it anymore bearable. The key word is “feel”: I am feeling. I am feeling this bullshit, this bullshit all around. Was it there before? Probably, but maybe I didn’t care. The key word is “maybe”: all is maybe, maybe rules all, your hopes, your dreams, your love, your pain, your screams, your life… but maybe can’t rule itself. That’s the beauty of it, that’s the bullshit of it. The key word is “beauty”: the beauty within, life is beautiful, you only have to know how to look to know, or maybe it’s all just bullshit. “Oh! You are so pessimistic! Wake and smell the roses!” The key word is “pessimistic”: yeah I am, but, in the end, who cares? Yes, there will be an end, an end to all this bullshit, you just have to wait and see. The key word is “see”: I can’t see who I am anymore. How can I see what’s all around? Yet, I feel it. Yet, I live it. yes, I do know it and maybe fail to represent it.
This is the bullshit all around, or maybe just, all the bullshit within. My experiences are unique, because they are mine, to keep, to hold, to cope with, and to confine to when there is nothing but so much bullshit. The key word is “bullshit”…