misanthropy and wanderlust vs. the common man

•December 3, 2008 • 4 Comments

So, I haven’t blogged in a while.

I guess there was not much to put here, as I was busy butchering my two oldest friendships and one relevant, sincere (at least on my part) and meaningful relationship.

It’s no big deal. It happens every day to a bunch of people, I guess. It’s not like I am through a newly invented type of pain. Actually, this is a territory I’ve visited and charted before. It’s far more familiar than any other emotion other human being can offer me.

Everyone has people to cheer them up. But I am a desert. Just like Gregory House losing Wilson, my rope has blown all but one thread, my downfall is imminent, last night I even saw the cracks on this last thread. My distrust and disliking for most of the people out there makes me depend a lot on the 1 or 2 people that normally keep me connected with reality, sanity, and a wholesome existence.

And what is there to learn about this? The moral of 2008 is that I must distrust and fear the people I love? I don’t like that. Or is it that I suck at choosing who to love? I like that far less. I would defend to death the reasons why my heart decided to deliver itself stupidly to people that didn’t feel the concern to protect it. There is nothing to learn here. I have been punished before knowing why, all my wishful thinking was a moronic imaginary construction of a stupid loser. My only way to prevent this is to stop having any desire of a happy life. So, let the pain continue, let me be the fool over and over again. None of the deals I get seem gainful.

So what now? I could fill my house with cats, I love cats. Cats have always been there for me. No matter how treacherous and selfish they are considered. A cat always seems to know when I need someone to purr on my lap.

cat

But a cat deserves a home. And moving to another country with pets is complicated. My car and my house are full of ghosts. I can’t look at my stuff anymore without feeling something breaking inside me. That is not my house anymore. Sorry if I am overly dramatic, but objects have a memory.

So, let’s do something crazy. I want to see places that don’t remind me of anything. I will spend my birthday here, as a start. Besides, only Rox and my mother will call me that day, in the best of cases.

Liquidate my assets should be enough to live up to 6 months in even a costly place if I play it wisely, I could simply choose my favorite place in the world, get there, find pretty much any job, and establish myself there. And start over. Maybe I will even get a cow if I don’t live in a city, to honor a shared lost dream, and I am very likely to choose and island too.

I mean this. Because I am not enjoying the life I am leading and the moral of these stories, I am leaving. I want my innocence back. There is more to life than a career, buying a bunch of stuff, marrying whoever seems to stick around and die with a pocket full of ‘what if’s.

I am standing at a crossroad, and I am choosing to go off-road instead.

Unfortunately, it may take a few months: there are jobs to seek, Visas to obtain, bureaucracies to humor, but not doing this would be more painful at this point.

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Narcissism

•October 30, 2007 • 7 Comments

I have learned a few things in the last 10 years of human interaction. Since I have memory I know biological/familiar bonds should not be a ‘Get out of jail free’ card, and I have been dispassionate and coldly fair in the same measure with anyone, relative or not. Family is random people, bound to make mistakes or have dishonorable intentions as much as anyone else, with responsibilities gained by the whim of giving world to another human, disguised as love and altruism.

There are other bonds that are stronger: friendship and love. They are stronger because they are directed to chosen people, not biological bound beings on this random clockwork universe. Unfortunately, friends and lovers have weighed me out much more lightly that I have valued them.

People tend to be very selfish, and if you are not a bit selfish yourself you will be stepped over, used, and it’s going to be your fault. You have to step up and get what you want, nothing is free, nothing.

And in the middle of the storm I see a fighter, someone who has learned the rules of this game even if he does not like it. He has so much to give, but even giving has a price, to aggravate it he wants something in exchange. Not much, maybe some gratitude, definitely some loyalty, time, something similar to what he wants to give. But will someone understand him? Is someone willing? Can someone even be his friend?

He has the things he has fought for, he recognizes he has good fortune, health, a strangely suspicious good luck on some aspects, like some angel opening the doors and turning red lights green for him. Sometimes.

But in the end, he realizes that he has a house, a car, a computer, a job, a few hobbies to indulge himself, a couple bottles of vodka a month. An empty passenger seat, and a sofa that is too big for himself. Sometimes he is not all that alone, like glimpses of a different life, like switching to another channel, and switches off just as quickly. He has time and attention to give, but can’t help but feel invasive, useless. Maybe he feels neglected easily, maybe he expects a different pace.

Tonight, and certainly every night the next few days he will only have himself and his stuff, he wish he could tickle himself, tell himself some new joke. He knows he is right, and he knows he is fun. He loves himself, and it’s a bit overwhelming to give himself to someone who is not sharing the same way.

He is all he has had through some hard times. He is his own hero, his past deeds inspire him into new ones. He wants another bottle of vodka for his lips that sometimes are condemned to be dry otherwise.

And here he goes, building a bridge that might be much less valuable for the person on the other side. A leap of faith. He is running out of leaps of faith. Maybe one last time before giving up and learning that all he will ever find is himself, that the only one who will ever find him is himself. But he goes on.

Empty spaces – what are we living for?
Abandoned places – I guess we know the score.
On and on!
Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero – another mindless crime.
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime.
Hold the line!
Does anybody want to take it anymore?
The Show must go on!
The Show must go on!
Inside my heart is breaking,
My make-up may be flaking,
But my smile, still, stays on!

Whatever happens, I’ll leave it all to chance.
Another heartache – another failed romance.
On and on!
Does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess i’m learning
I must be warmer now..
I’ll soon be turning round the corner now.
Outside the dawn is breaking,
But inside in the dark I’m aching to be free!

The Show must go on!
The Show must go on! Yeah!
Ooh! Inside my heart is breaking!
My make-up may be flaking!
But my smile, still, stays on!
Yeah! oh oh oh

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies,
Fairy tales of yesterday, will grow but never die,
I can fly, my friends!

The Show must go on! Yeah!
The Show must go on!
I’ll face it with a grin!
I’m never giving in!
On with the show!

I’ll top the bill!
I’ll overkill!
I have to find the will to carry on!
On with the,
On with the show!

The Show must go on.

Queen – ‘The Show must go on.’

saturday morning random thoughts

•October 20, 2007 • 3 Comments

I don’t know if it is a matter of getting used, something that has to be learned with each individual, or if I am downright broken.

Sometimes interaction is complicated for me, I guess it’s my fault, I get the feeling that if I try not to be intrusive, I give a sight of apathy; and if I stumble in actively, I seem overwhelming.

I just need a little collaboration, I need positive or negative reinforcement. I have had great relationships, I know how to steal a heart, I know where to touch, what to say; why do I feel so useless when I start caring about someone?

Brains. That’s what’s for dinner.

•October 9, 2007 • 4 Comments

And out of the darkness, the Zombie did call
True pain and suffering he brought to them all
Away ran the children to hide in their beds,
for fear that the devil would chop off their heads

-The Call of the Zombie – Rob Zombie

Well, starting a tradition of posting about each other’s posts(that’s how most of the blogosphere works), here I go with a zombie post inspired by jpastor’s journal.

Zombies have always fascinated me from the sociological and spiritual contexts. The origins of this are generally accepted as Afro-Caribbean, but the basis of the concept are as old as human culture and religion, and seems inherent to many different cultures with little underlaying cultural bonds. There is little doubt that if I had finished my Anthropology/Sociology studies, I would have probably focused my graduation project on the Voodoo spiritual system, and if I had the means, I would have probably traveled to New Orleans and Haiti.

Father give me the Bull of Heaven,
So he can kill Gilgamesh in his dwelling.
If you do not give me the Bull of Heaven,
I will knock down the Gates of the Netherworld,
I will smash the doorposts, and leave the doors flat down,
and will let the dead go up to eat the living!
And the dead will outnumber the living!

– The Epic of Gilgamesh (Ancient Sumerian legend)

Ethnobotanists have studied the phenomenon in Haiti and found that near-death poisoning with Tetrodoxin directly in the bloodstream can actually make the patient seem dead, and wake shortly later and remain in some sort of dissociative consciousness, in cases during weeks before recovery. These practices, nonetheless are secretive and not much of their practices and compounds has been reveled to foreign observers.

Zombies have become a staple of modern terror stories. Pop culture has embraced them in movies, music, video games, etc. I love this game:

However, zombies reached their scarest point in 2004, with Zombie Reagan. Undead Republicans give me the hibbie-jibbies.

I stumbled into this test, seemingly I have a 57% chance of surviving a Zombie Apocalypse…

Well, my survival chances are not as high as I expected, I guess I need more canned meals at home. And a gun, the bat under my bed is a classic, but not good enough it seems.

and though I know you can’t appreciate it

•October 8, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Gray and green. Much better than blue and yellow.

Costa Rican rainy season is a hypocrite. How is that? Why does it have to be sunny in the mornings and rain in the afternoon? Bullshit! in sunny season it doesn’t rain at all, or at least not as often as the sun is shining, burning, drying everything on a season where it doesn’t belong. One of the first checkboxes checked under ‘reasons why I must leave this place’.

Today it was better, raining since I woke up. The smell of wet soil and pavement, the dampness in the air. If only it could be like this all of the time…

Funny how people is already jaded of rainy afternoons, I still feel like it is starting. It is never long enough.

I am not an antagonist on purpose. But it always looks I am on the other side. And I hate sunny days, whole heartedly.

My complaint about alf

•September 28, 2007 • Leave a Comment

((I found a complaint generator. The complaint about me came out really nice, try it yourself: just put the name of your significant others, submit and laugh)).

 

I don’t want to be rude or disrespectful, and I obviously don’t want to start an argument, but Alf’s claims are pure tripe. Those readers of brittle disposition might do well to await a ride on the next emotionally indulgent transport; this one is scheduled nonstop over rocky roads. As soon as you’re strapped in, I’ll announce something to the effect of how many people are incredulous when I tell them that Alf intends to cashier anyone who tries to ring the bells of truth. “How could Alf be so predaceous?”, they ask me. “It doesn’t seem possible.” Well, it is clearly possible, and now I’ll explain exactly how Alf plans to do it. But first, you need to realize that muzzy-headed, evil drunks serve as the priests in his cult of biased clericalism. These “priests” spend their days basking in Alf’s reflected glory, pausing only when Alf instructs them to deliver an additional blow to dignity and self-worth. What could be more negligent? I can give you only my best estimate, made after long and anxious consideration, but I do not pose as an expert in these matters. I can say only that he possesses no significant intellectual skills whatsoever and has no interest in erudition. Heck, he can’t even spell or define “erudition”, much less achieve it. This state of affairs demands the direct assault on those disorganized expedients that seek to traduce and discredit everyone but libidinous backstabbers. I could accuse Alf of using postmodernist pamphleteers to get his way, but I wouldn’t stoop to that level. Now, lest you jump to the conclusion that he can walk on water, I assure you that he and his spokesmen are, by nature, neurotic gasbags. Not only can that nature not be changed by window-dressing or persiflage, but it is easy to see faults in others. But it takes perseverance to act as a positive role model for younger people.

I have seen what Alf is capable of, and I am afraid. I am very afraid and I am very angry. The ultimate aim of his threats is to restructure society as a pyramid with Alf at the top, Alf’s coadjutors directly underneath, lousy meanies beneath them, and the rest of at the bottom. This new societal structure will enable Alf to create a world sunk in the most abject superstition, fanaticism, and ignorance, which makes me realize that he cannot tolerate the world as it is. He needs to live in a world of fantasies. To be more specific, there are three fairly obvious problems with Alf’s opinions, each of which needs to be addressed by any letter that attempts to create and nurture a true spirit of community. First, Alf’s dupes explain everything through the lens of Alf’s garrulous and ideologically loaded ravings. Second, this, of itself, is prima facie evidence that Alf’s goombahs have an inadequate grasp of acceptable scientific method and data interpretation. And third, Alf’s ploys are rife with contradictions and difficulties; they’re utterly cankered, meet no objective criteria, and are unsuited for a supposedly educated population. And as if that weren’t enough, when I was a child, my clergyman told me, “Unless we stand our ground, things will only get worse.” If you think about it you’ll see his point. If Alf got his way, he’d be able to bring about a wonderland of antiheroism. Brrrr! It sends chills down my spine just thinking about that. He is an interesting character. On the one hand, Alf likes to sully my reputation. But on the other hand, by refusing to act, by refusing to operate on today’s real — not tomorrow’s ideal — political terrain, we are giving him the power to elevate his fulminations to prominence as epistemological principles.

Alf is careless with data, makes all sorts of causal interpretations of things without any real justification, has a way of combining disparate ideas that don’t seem to hang together, seems to show a sort of pride in his own biases, gets into all sorts of wily speculation, and then makes no effort to test out his speculations — and that’s just the short list! He is interpersonally exploitative. That is, he takes advantage of others to achieve his own revolting ends. Why does he do that? There aren’t enough hours in the day to fully answer that question, but consider this: If Alf’s understrappers had even an ounce of integrity, they would demand a thoughtful analysis and resolution of our problems with Alf. As part of his efforts to gain a mainstream following, he publishes the Journal of Infernal Blackguardism. Included alongside articles discussing history, culture, art, religion, and philosophy are endorsements of his plans to convince others that iconoclastic brigands are the “chosen people” of scriptural prophecy. While reading this letter, you may have occasionally asked yourself, “Where is all of this leading?” and, “What is the point exactly?” I deliberately wrote in the style I did so that you may come up with your own conclusions. Therefore, I leave you with only the following: Alf’s asseverations disgust and infuriate me.

Much too much

•September 22, 2007 • 1 Comment

Too much vodka in the night.

Too much sugar in the morning.

Results in a feeling very similar to a broken heart in the afternoon.