The ghost loves you.

(Continues from "A bonfire in the basement")

I heard a creepy voice coming from the room. It was not exactly unnatural, but it was forced and the pronunciation was almost painful. Plus, the first thing I heard it saying was "...came to visit again, also with a skirt, isn't that romantic?" Romantic. RO-MAN-TIC. I've never worn a damned skirt ever since, let me tell you. My blood was half frozen by now and my curiosity was about to flood the entire building. I stepped forward silently to get closer to the window hole. I wish I didn't, but honestly I would be living with the doubt and curiosity, instead of the image I saw in there. First, of all there was a corpse. A dead guy, all of the guy (ok, no, some chunks were missing) wrapped by all the things you can point at and say "construction worker gear". Helmet, belt, boots and what not. That wasn't as bad as the other thing there: an elderly woman, pruned, wrinkly, dry. And naked. Oh yes, she was naked, except for some oil she rubbed all over her body. Oil or mud, maybe, I don't know, I didn't stop to take a careful look. I wanted to run away forever, in fact, but my body was frozen solid and my mind was whimpering. You've never heard a brain whimper? It's pathetic.

"My baby boy stole her little heart, un. She can't escape."

I got so dizzy... Then she laughed, and I finally snapped out if it and started retreating as fast as I could. Adrenalin was running free through my body, I guess. She knew I was there, she knew I saw, because she didn't even turn around and she yelled "HE LOVES YOU." Then she started running after me babbling something about true love and romance and it made no sense or I wasn't paying enough attention, take your pick. Of course by the time I reached the following floor I found the stairs blocked by garbage, no surprise there. I kicked it around and felt my legs failing, I had to hold on to the handlebar. I heard her steps getting closer, and started kicking despite my legs' refusal to cooperate. I felt an electric chill when I saw her legs covered in thick scars, bruises, dry blood and boils. She had what it seemed like a 1/2 wrench hanging from a chain she was wearing as a necklace. She had way too much skin. I jumped down the stairs, landing awkwardly on my knee, scratching it. I got up as fast as I could and kept running down, scratching myself some more. And the damned woman kept up with my pace. Like a nightmare, she was always right behind me, going on about her darling boy loving me so much. I screamed as loud as I could. For release and to get some sort of attention, no matter whose. She had a putrid scent. Climbing the last staircase down, I tripped and my scratched knee failed, sending me rolling down to the ground, which fortunately sent me away from her fast enough to get an advantage. I could see the kids gathered outside, behind the mesh.

One of the little girls caught wind of what was going on, sort of, and she climbed up and ran to me, helping me walk. My leg was done with my shit for the day and refused to work at all. The kids were staring at me in mute amazement, I had to yell them to snap out of it and call someone.

"The police, the fire department, the major, whatever!"

Two of them ran away to find a payphone, and the rest (except the other girl and the runt) pulled down the mesh further and when I made it there, helped me and the girl out of the place.

I turned around, looking for the woman, but there were no signs of her, she must have not followed me outside, fortunately. The kids were bombarding me with questions, but I had no mind to answer and no heart to describe anything. Soon I heard the reassuring sound of an ambulance siren. I sprained my ankle severely, and my knee was relatively ok, the lying bitch. I was taken to the ER, released in a couple of hours and told to stay at home for at least a week, I've never been happier to obey. That night, in my bed, in the threshold between consciousness and sleep, I was glad to hear some tapping and scratching on the window. The next morning I remembered I wasn't at home, where the tree branches normally tapped my window, on the second floor, but instead I was at my relatives' home, on the first floor. They had no plants around.

The kids came to see me during the week, the helping little girl first. She was a neighbor of the crazy lady and she knew the woman was scary. I could piece together a bit of what happened thanks to the testimonies of all of them. The company that was in charge of the building had few concerns for security, accidents happening often, but it was when a worker fell down the elevator shaft and broke his spine down there, dying, that they lost their license to operate. The mother of the deceased, already unstable, lost her marbles for good after that, disappearing. She went into the building, we know now. The woman was found next to the body of her son, which she dug out, no lie, and taken to a mental institution. Resilient old thing.

I was supposed to stay some more weeks, but the second I was allowed to walk I went straight to the airport... Well, I bought some toys for the kids first. Their eyes widened. They were way past the scary moment by then. I wonder if they even remember by now.

Needless to say, I've never returned to visit my extended family.

A bonfire in the basement.

(Continues from "Rubble at the bottom of the shaft.")

The place had to be abandoned for some months, at least, so that arm must have been done rotting, I thought. I took a better look at the shaft. No way it ended on the first floor, it must have gone deeper… maybe there was a basement somewhere. I didn't find the entrance on the first floor or outside the building, though I saw a strange patch of plaster. I started kicking it, and the plaster came off immediately. Certainly, that wasn't originally part of the plan. There was a narrow door under the plaster, which was locked, but so rusted I could kick off a chunk of it, kneel down and crawl into a little room that led to a staircase. I found the basement!


I turned on my flashlight and climbed down. I felt a chill; the place was colder than the rest of the building. It was strange how in this isolated environment I could hear the echoes of laughter, couldn't be anybody but the kids, but they sure didn't sound childish. I closed my eyes and took a good deep breath. I smiled at how silly I was being, scared of nothing important. I saw the elevator doors almost entirely open, rubble coming out of it, at least 3 foot in height. I got closer and looked for the arm and whatever else could be attached to it, interrupted by a sneeze caused by all the dust flying around after my footsteps. The echo of my sounds felt so loud, I suddenly felt tiny and hopeless, half buried in darkness. I shrugged it off and pointed the flashlight to inside the shaft, there was the metallic reflection. I stepped forward to se… To see that it was a shirt with a glove holding the wrench. I lifted the fabric, there was nothing inside. Who the hell does that? I dug around the rubble, there was nothing there either.


I turned around and checked out the rest of the room, light in hand. Mostly empty, not painted, just rubble… no spider webs on the corners. Across from me, near the wall I saw a pile of stones. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was the aftermath of a bonfire. I shook my head and headed back up the stairs but the hole I came in through had been covered from the outside with what I guessed was a rock. A friggin' rock. I tried pushing it away and hitting it to no avail. I went back to the basement to see if I could find a pipe or a tool that would help me move the boulder, but instead I found another door that escaped my previous scan of the room. In my defense, I had a terrible little flashlight. Also, in my defense, I am cooler than you.


Anyway, this door wasn't locked, and led to a very narrow staircase, dark too. When I stepped in, I heard a faint voice coming from outside, saying "the ghost loves you". It was high pitched and it made my back feel like a bucket of ice water was just poured on it.


I hurried up the thin metal stairs, holding on to the rail, the metallic sounds hammering my ears, heart racing in my chest. I had lost all sense of time by then, so I had no idea how far I had climbed, when I saw the stairs lead to a tarp. I pushed it with all my force and climbed out. The sun was setting but by contrast, it felt incredibly rude shining on my face. I was in the roof, which had no rails, just a couple of water tanks installed. I still hadn't decided what to think of the voice I heard, but since the feeling of claustrophobia had passed, I decided to explore some more. One of the tanks had been broken on the side and filled with all sorts of rubbish, wrappers, bits of glass, plastic, scraps, a thing that looked like a ball of fur and I did not dare find out what it could be… there were also leftovers from the construction, broken safety gear and a couple of rusty tools. I had enough and decided to go back. By this time it was no surprise that access to the service stairs was blocked by wood, wires and a couple of bricks. It was easy to kick them away, though, and I went down... until I saw light coming from one of the rooms that had no windows, on the third floor. Curiosity won over self preservation, and I went to see what was going on.

I'm in a weird mood

Originally posted in my other (now dead) blog 3/25/11

Some times I wonder, when people need me or want me, what or who am I the substitute for, I can guess, I can see when I'm a vehicle and not an end. On a bad day it will bother me. It's a trigger that starts a reaction of questions: Am I as honest as I think? Do I use people too? Can I stand to be used? Am I that cynical? I'm not romantic. I am not frail and I don't need a protector to look for me and defend me. Am I tender or am I needy? Who am I?

It's not like I am a stranger to myself, I know the core. Most of it. What I doubt about is a number of little things that gravitate some of my features, the differences, contrasts and variations are some times obscene. The things I like not always make me happy. The things I do some times have no concrete motivation some times. I let unimportant things bother me. I know I should not and I know I have the strength to cast them away and keep them there, but I let them toy with me as I toy with them, though I gain nothing from this. I wonder what part of my essence to keep and what should be changed, what should I go back to.

What kind of behavior of mine should never change, why am I allowing changes, and should I really let this happen. When should i trust my own feelings and when should I try to be more objective and get assistance from others. Why am I friends with the people I befriend? Should I let them influence me? Am I betraying myself when I do things I have not done before or I am becoming more of myself with it?

It's tricky.

I know pain makes me grow in the right dose. I know I can learn from good and bad. I know I am not useless, I can take risks and face the consequences.

It's more like... intricate.

The question is not "who am I?" really, the question is "how to be me".

I would, if I could, take a vacation from being me to keep my mind off my life for a while and then come back rested and refreshed and see all the things I miss and react in a better way. Alas I can't, but I can try the next best thing. When I figure out what it is. Perhaps I need to sleep. I'll try that first.

Where have I been

Originally posted in my other (now dead) blog 8/6/10

-Monday-

Okay, so I am minding my own business in my computer, about to read Soren Bowie’s column when there is a click sound coming from my hard drive, and the computer just fucking freezes. I wait TEN MINUTES. Still frozen. Yep, time to restart. Well, I’ll be damned, it says “Machine exception” and won’t open windows. Maybe in safe mode. No? Not even safe mode? Okay, let’s go to the repair guy. WHAT DO YOU MEAN ON VACATION? WHO GAVE HIM PERMI- okay, let’s cool down. There is another one closer to my house, actually. So by the afternoon I can have my baby back, it seems it is a virus. Just wipe C: leave D: alone, all my files get saved, we all end up ha- WAIT NO my fonts, and winamp skins and chat logs. Oh you can back them up too. So today, just later than expected. Fine, fine. Okay, tv, it is time for us to spend some time together, show me what you’ve got… WHAT? SAY WHA-? Another channel… OH MY GOD, ARE YOU SERIOUS? Hell, I guess it shall be this other channel no- OH COME ON (one hour later) I can feel my brain slowly drying up. I need some Asimov. Oh that is better. But wait, it is late, my baby is supposed to be ready any second. And there is the phone ringing, it must be it. Yes? Yes, the compu- oh. OH DAYM. Yeah, I can wait another day. Tomorrow afternoon, yes because the hard drive is being a little bitch. Sure, discipline the wench.
-Tuesday-
Not yet. Because it is a physical issue. So a new (and bigger) hard drive is to be installed, and the old one to be a slave. I can’t say I don’t like the arrangement. Yes I am crazy, thank you for asking. So, a couple of hours too? Oh, more like tonight. Sure, sure as long as it is read today. Hey, it’s getting late, I wonder what is going on. Longer than expected? Ah, I see. Tomorrow around noon. Okay.

-Wednesday-
No machine can recognize the old hard drive? Alright, one moment, I will just tear up here over the last year and a half worth of files that are getting lost. Meanwhile I can have my baby back with the new hard drive and HELLO WINDOWS 7 you are not such an asshole after all, it seems. The old drive will stay with repair guy, so he can salvage something. I need to go rant. Oh bless the skies there is internet for tha- WELL, SHIT. NO INTERTUBES. WHAT IS THIS FAGGOTRY!? Now the phone company is going to fix this problem or suffer a surprise massive enema full of pins, needles, razors and Tabasco sauce. Prerecorded tape, the problem is theirs. Fuck. Oh well, at least they are working on it. THEY BETTER BE.

-Thursday-

Still no intertubes? This is getting out of hand. No prerecorded tape today. But six minutes of ads. Whatever, just let me know what- Oh yes, hello. My modem? Yes it has only one light on, in red. DEAD? Oh glee. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic. What now? Replace it. So if you send the report RIGHT NOW I can go to a store and get a replacement for free. NOW WE ARE TALKING. When? TOMORROW. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? TOMORROW? It’s the fucking MORNING, you send it THROUGH THE MAGIC MACHINE. Oh MAYBE today after some hours. Yeah, no I have no idea what is it to wait for a couple of hours and ending up waiting for days, no. Is there anything faster? Oh sending the report to the tech guys. So they get the info right now and? Oh, they come to MY house with a new modem! Good, when do they arrive? AT LEAST AFTER 72 HOURS? THAT IS FASTER? Faster because they get the report faster. Yes, I meant HOW CAN I GET MY INTERBUTTS FASTER? I should go to the store and see if the report arrives in a couple of hours, if not, go tomorrow. Why, if you send the report RIGTH NOW and the stores ALL THE STORES IN THE CITY get it, they have to wait until tomorrow? You don’t know. You don’t make the rules. Of course you don’t, if you did you’d get paid without working. And if I did you would have been fed to the robo-velocirraptor-cops years ago. OF COURSE THE STORE CLOSES STUPIDLY EARLY! IT IS NOT LIKE THEY DO IMPORTANT STUFF, LIKE YOU KNOW, PROVIDE A SERVICE. So I have to come tomorrow EARLY. Hell, I am starting to plan on CAMPING OUT HERE so I can slap every single bitch that works in this place. Anyway, It’s been four days, almost, so I should go let people from the internet know I am fine. In the library. WELL IS THIS NORTH KOREA? So only government sites. Yeah, whatever. I’ll go to the café internet right over the- yeah, I should have seen it coming. It’s now a convenience store. No intertubes for rent, sorry. Well. Well, well, well. Universe, are you having fun fucking with me? I really hope you do while you can. Go on, laugh. One day, mark my words, universe, one day, I will take a microwave oven, stuff it with tin foil, steel cutlery, pencil leads and ninja stars and turn it on while I throw it to the core of the hardon collider. It will destroy you, universe. I know it will destroy me in the process but you know what? I am willing to go that distance to teach you a lesson because you are being a little bitch. You stupid bitch, get a sassy gay friend already and give me back my technology.

-Friday-

SO I EED A FRIGGING ID and I was not told, so I have to go back home, get the fucker and get back to the store. And wait until super fatso and mr mustache are done with their intertubes contract. But HEY Intertubes! This all happened because voltage variations have been “hectic” lately, which means apparently this city became FUCKING CALCUTA when nobody was watching. But I have a regulator now and internet and I can go back to pretend I don’t live in this stinky hellhole. Cheers!

I EFFIN HATE PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION

Originally posted in my other (now dead) blog 7/30/10

...and love it at the same time. First off, let's all wait for the can of sardines to be fully packed. All seats occupied PLUS around 10 people standing, holding on from those sweaty, greasy little attempts at anorexic stripper poles. Once full, the bus lazily starts rolling. This is a temporary excruciatingly slow speed, soon it is time for the driver to dare others, preferably cabs, to see who makes it first to the traffic light. Whenever a curve appears, the whole bus tilts to a side, making me feel it will fall on the side, windows crashing and blood spilling, the traffic laws be damned.

The chit chat inside is interesting at times, mostly gossip about people and places that the rest of the users don't know. The criminal pages of the newspaper too "Can you believe this? Where is this going to end?" how that news anchor that today appears to be so elegantly dressed started out speaking terribly, curling her back, seemingly trying to hide inside her jacket from the camera, like an awkward turtle. The same song keeps playing, the five minute long cumbia the driver just adores.

Half of the trip is very nice, a woman in her mid fourties hugs her bag next to me, her thigh just a couple of inches away from mine, both sharing a harmless, cozy warmth. Some people start coming down, the environment improves significantly, some seats are now free, except that huge box the girl reading a book has sitting next to her. A woman asks her to move the box, so she can sit. Book girl refuses, visibly offended. Right across, two people offer to squeeze themselves to the sides, so the woman can sit. Book girl doesn't find out, she is, again, paying close attention to her literature piece.

As the red light stops the traffic of our lane, a man asks permission to the driver to come up without paying. He soon starts reciting what must be an already memorized speech "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, I am here not to intimidate, not to mug, not to harm, not to steal, I have done so in the past and payed my debt to society with five years and two months of prison, I now find myself unemployed, so I am not intimidating, I am not menacing, I am begging you please gift me a couple of coins so I can buy candy and sell it for a profit. I am clean now and only wish to make an honest living. God bless you, miss. Thank you, sir. If any of you have friends or family members who suffer from alcoholism or drug addiction, please aid them, as they will lead themselves to a dark hole, to crime, to despair, to prison or a dirty rehab house, which is hell on earth. For the love of god, help them. God bless you all" he comes down after collecting the coins right after the next traffic light.

Soon, the woman in her fourties exits the bus, and Fatso McIdon'tknowwhatpersonalspaceis sits next to me, pressing his adipose extremities against mine every time the bus takes a curve or accelerates, which is often. His temperature is getting on my nerves, as the sun decides to aid him, they both soon make me sweat. I press myself against the window to avoid any contact, in exchange finding the glass and metal a lot more hot. And a lot less disgusting to touch. Fortunately, the bus is half empty, and before I ask Fatso to let me stand so I can sit elsewhere, he leaves the bus and my life forever.

Speed bumps make the bosoms of all female passengers jump to the ceiling, or at least to try. Then there is a healthy sideways shake, it is almost a choreography, it is almost as if the bus wanted to make sure those are real flesh and fat lumps, nothing else.

The bus is nearly empty, a man comes in to be transported no more than two streets, must be terribly lazy, or get very tired very fast. Next to come down is a girl with a limp. One of her legs is thinner, shorter and curved in a way that makes most other passengers cringe. She takes a lot more time than others to climb down the steps, making some drivers behind start yelling and honking their horns. The driver, either used to this girl or simply more efficient at empathy than the drivers, soon invites them to stick a phallus up their rectums. I smile, the girl does too, limping away.

Finally I announce I am going to leave the bus to head home, of course, two streets before, of course, the driver stops two streets ahead. Thank god I am not there anymore.

You are a funny thing

Originally posted in my other (now dead) blog 7/2/10

Aren't you? Days of idyllic feelings of "just right, just good" brought by a couple of words, then three new words bring it all down, you see your solid castle as it is: a structure of cards easily destroyed. You try not to think it is and you tell yourself the cards are blocks of concrete and change your mood to cold indifference when you are very far from that. You know you turn to acid and will do some damage, and you don't care now. You know the name of your emotions and you fear to even think about them and you know that makes them jump higher. You tear up and scold yourself for your petty motives, the absolutely petty reasons it all comes from. You hate the uneasiness it brings, most of all. You fight it in ways you know are not going to help. You want to change your immediate past, you know you can't, you refuse to let go, you boast in your own negativity. You are hopeless, clueless, sad and you tell all this to yourself, you write it down for yourself, you call yourself "you" in an attempt to exorcise your feelings, and you know how useless it is. But you do it anyway, you funny little thing.

Culinary sexism

Originally posted in my other (now dead) blog 7/1/10

According to wikipedia, the burritos are called that way because their inventor had so many requests he had to buy a donkey to transport them (donkey means burro). Cute story, but there is another version around: when "gringos" ordered special tacos without ingredients that would pierce their intestines, local taco makers used beans, meat, cheese, some times vegetables or rice, and told each other "The food for those burritos (little donkeys, ignorant people) is ready"

***

"Gringa" is a dish composed of tortillas, "pastor" meat (or any other kind of chopped meat, lately) topped with cheese, salsa is given optionally and it is best enjoyed with beer. The story is this time confirmed, around the 60s two American students living in Mexico City due to budget issues had to often eat tacos at "el Fogoncito" and they asked for cheese in their tacos rather than salsa to preserve the integrity of their innards. Many locals started to order "what the gringas are having" and soon the concoction found its place on the menu, under the name of  "Gringa"

***

So why the benevolence of the latter and the ill intentions of the first taqueros? respect for the women and hatred for the men? No, racism for both, only in the second case, coated with sugar. Because undoubtedly the taqueros at El Fogoncito wanted to bang the gringas. Not the dish, I must say.

Things that make me cry

So moe...

Restoration automaker DeLorean Motor Company of Texas will start producing electric cars like that one starting 2013.

Things that make me cry

Just look at how happy he looks.

Rubble at the bottom of the shaft.

This happened a while back, and I now write it because it doesn't bother me that much anymore. I was sent one summer to another country, to my extended family; people who I barely knew, so naturally I had nothing to talk about with them and nothing to do with my afternoons, except roaming around the neighborhood. Not a bad place in general; some graffiti sprinkled here and there, medium houses, the occasional loud group of little kids, rarely any cars would drive by.

About the third or fourth day of my stay, I discovered an apartment building that had been abandoned during the last stage of construction. It looked awkward, surrounded by bent cyclone mesh, patched here and there with wood, dirty, splattered with ash colored stains. It made the rest of the street look bland, but also benign, by comparison. I couldn't help myself, I had to get inside. When I tried to climb the mesh, though, I got interrupted by a group of kids.

"I can see your panties!" said one giggling.

"I can see your pig face." (I've always been juvenile) My reply made his face turn serious.

A tall fat boy, chewing gum, told me the place was haunted, I shrugged and kept climbing. The other kids tried to intimidate me with stories of disappearances and ghosts. I made it to the other side of the mesh, then pig-face told me, seriously, that for reals, there was a little boy who got murdered and tossed into the cement mix, his tortured soul possessing the building. I turned around to walk toward the building, his voice caught a high pitch, almost desperate.

"He kills! I swear!"

I turned around to see them and smirked.

"Let's see."

I turned around again as the children stood in silence, and began exploring. It would have been a terrible place to live, the apartments and stairs being narrow and terribly lit. Some apartments had no doors or windows installed and had become deposits of rubbish and filth, with the occasional anemic plant desperately clinging to life. The only element that wasn't a compressed mass of grayness and despair was the elevator shaft. For some reason, the architect decided to make the elevator doors wider than the apartment doors, almost double. I climbed the stairs and found nothing of interest, but also no traces of other trespassers. No graffiti, for example, no food wrappers nor old bottles.

The fourth floor's elevator doors were missing, and I wanted to peek but I had no flash lights on me. I realized how dark it was already, so I climbed down the stairs. The children were gone, and I went back home.

The following day I packed myself a lunch, a canteen, a flashlight, batteries, my army knife and went to the building again. A block ahead, I saw one of the kids from the day prior, this time playing with two girls and a little runt whose gender I couldn't make (not that I wanted to, anyway). He merely took a glance as I approached the part of the mesh I climbed the day before. The girls stopped skipping their rope to look. They looked concerned, as all scared kids do, but I stopped noticing when I saw that the fence was bent lower than the other day. I felt like kicking it, for a moment, thinking "Are you calling me fat?". I shrugged it off and climbed, and went exploring. The tallest weed I've seen had been yanked, only a couple of inches of the stem left, roots partially showing, and some of the dirt and rubble had been moved... perhaps? Could have been an animal, could have been the wind.

I went up to the fourth floor, light in hand, to take a peek down the elevator shaft. There were no cables and no marks on the wall. I sighed in disappointment, but suddenly a little light shone at the bottom. I knelt down and pointed the light to the floor. There was rubble, and the little light was the reflection of some round metallic shape. I climbed down the stairs to the first floor and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. The door on the second floor, whoever, did open, and I took a closer look. I saw, buried in the rubble, an arm holding a wrench.

Two in one!

Two little stories I originally wrote for r/nosleep a long time ago, but since I am forcing myself to write, draw, code and publish all of the above, (let's see how long this one lasts) I'll be tossing some old works here and there. First, "Something is calling me from the forest":


I didn't want to come here, I wasn't thrilled, I didn't want to, I know it's bad. It will be bad, that is for sure, though I still don't know how.
It would have been worse to stay, though. I was shown the images... visions? dreams but they felt like they would happen if I wouldn't come. They'd last a few seconds, judging by the way things were after I saw them, but each one, at the time felt like it lasted... hours? I am not sure, it felt so wrong, both long lasting and not the kind of time we know as time. I can't really explain. I don't want to go into detail about the images; they were gruesome. I would bathe on... on their... I would bathe on their fluids. Not all is red, there is a share of yellowish green here and there an- this is why I don't want to go into detail about those images. If I didn't come to the forest, I would have lost my mind.
Not that this place is helping me keep it. At least I could leave a note, that I am not going back, not going to, no, no. It's dark out there, thoughts of how I ended up here are all harassing me as I try to make any sense of my surroundings. There was light as I walked in, coming from the ground, or maybe above the ground, far into the distance. I could feel something is twisted. Nothing decays, I didn't see any plants withering, the leaves on the floor are not even broken, the barks are smooth... but it feels murky, and smells faintly rotten. There is something that scares me more, though: all the trees are planted (or laid?) in perfect lines and there are no signs of animals or people coming here, or leaving trails, yet, I know the exact way I have to go through. I can't help but go, even though everything seems to be wrong, I know it will be awful, whatever it is, that awaits me there.
It has already started to be bad. Awful. I had this little bit of skin next to my left middle finger nail. I pulled it a bit, just a bit, and it came off with a bit of blood, no big deal. Then the wound turned black and went down to my knuckle, opening the skin and showing the muscle tissue. The skin around the wound dried up rather quickly, as I tried to stop it, but then I saw the muscle underneath wither and darken. I scratched furiously, dug the dried skin with my nails to reach the stiffened flesh, I scratched it all into little flakes of dusty dead skin, I peeled it all away leaving a mummified finger in the middle my of hand. I think I inhaled some of the skin dust.
Before I came here I was a normal person, normal life, normal dreams, normal ideas... I don't remember all the details. Or how it began to call me here. It was never nice. Or my concept of "nice" has changed since. Maybe both. Whenever I try to remember things that have nothing to do with this situation, they slip away from me, almost when I reach them.
Now I can hear water running. It is cruel, I didn't even bring a canteen. Ok, that was stupid of me. But I can't shake the urge to find water. I don't think I can. I'm getting tired. My neck is in pain andeverythingisstartingtorotatetotheright. Everything just... just on its own, but nothing is slipping away. I can't believe I didn't fall, but I am dizzy now. I have to walk funny to keep my balance, leaning to the left. I have to keep going. This is horrible. Not doing it would be worse. But the curiosity is the very worst. It's grinding my mind from the inside, it feels like something nested inside my conscience and wriggles inside eating its way out. I have to take a break.
I coughed so hard I fell. Then I noticed the forest didn't tilt to one side. My neck contracted to the left, and my left humerus and femur bones contracted some inches towards my ribs. They curled, too, so they are shorter than they used to. That doesn't worry me as much as my left eye, though. All I see with it is black, with pale white outlines of the trees around, and those things. Those black reptiles with big, empty eyes. There is one on each tree, some times twitching their thin, angular fingers. The worse part about those things is that they never blink. They never blink. I can't tell if they are watching me, because they have no pupils, but I can feel they are paying attention to me. It feels I know them too, but I can't remember much of my life prior to coming here anymore... did I ever?
I've been drooling and spitting this thing like egg whites, just a bit more watery. It's mostly see through, but it has small white veins. Or maybe branches. When it hits the ground, the white strips cluster together like iron shavings. It doesn't bother me, but it reminds me there is something trapped in the back of my throat, which I can't cough out. I'll try to trap it between my tongue and my finger... I forgot I was using that hand to walk. At least the impact with the ground helped my finger go really back and trap that thing. I can pull it out now. It's a mass of hair. A whole string, it keeps coming out as I pull. It's all out now, as thick as my wrist and longer than me. Most of it is hair. I wonder how it got there.
That tree over there is bulbous, some bulks are palpitating gently. They hum. The forest hums. This is what has given me a mild headache. So very mild I barely notice, but it has been going on since I stepped in... how long ago? I can't remember. I can't know, I can't tell anything apart, there is no sign of the sky, no wind. No way to tell the time.
I want to know why it curled my left limbs, it makes it difficult to crawl. I had a bit of an itch on my shoulder blade that went away when my humerus started to crack from the inside. That extended to the rest of my half. The half of my rest? the body of my half? I have to stop talking to myself.
...
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No! I tried and the hum became very loud and the back of my conscience started buzzing, and the guilt stepped out of the dark and stung me, every inch of my body felt it, even the petrified finger. Actually make it hand, it's been extending down to my hand. Some of my teeth loosened and some fell. I couldn't close my mouth to stop them from sliding down to the ground. I am very close. My chest feels heavier as I approach. I can't rest.


It hurts to keep going as much as to stand still. My breathing sounds ill, my mouth is dry, my nose is working at half capacity and the hum won't stop. The petrification has spread up my shoulder to my cheekbone and waist. My left eyelid doesn't move anymore, it's stuck open. I don't care anymore. The sound of dripping water echoes inside me, I know I am close to it, and my destination. Soon I will know.
The trees around here are closer together, and smaller, so are the reptiles. I think they are part of the trees. I have yet to see one blink, but one hit its tail against the bark of its tree as I crawled past, struggling to inhale. It sounded like crackling cartilage. Or maybe it was my skull.
My bones were marked before I came to be. The more I hear the hum, the more I am convinced. I've decided to keep my right eye closed. Seeing in black and white makes more sense now, much more sense. I don't need depth, that's not useful. I just have to see them paying attention. These ones on the younger trees, they move more, they are thinner and spikier too. They all have a bigger right eye than left eye, I wonder if I should... AH! I didn't expect the sun. With my right eye. It's the worse feeling so far. I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. My left eye doesn't work out here in the sun. I am on my way to the well. It's there where I should arrive. I am close. I'm limping as I crawl, I've worn out my extremities. I can see the black well form here. I am done with my left side, I'll only use the right. I've got some leaves in my mouth, I can't spit them out. I suppose I can just wait for them to fall out on their own. They are bitter.
I finally reach the well. It's a perfectly black, smooth cylinder, the sound of dripping water comes from within. I just have to put my hand on the edge. It will take most of the strenght I have left. I can... just a little bit more.
...
Ican'tmove. I can feel my body being frozen. My eyes are shut. I'm humming, it doesn't bother me anymore, because I am not hearing it, I am being it. My chin is on the ground, underneath there is a big seed poking at it. It's growing slowly, so slowly. Crack it grows sharper. Crack it pierces my jawbone, so very slowly. Crack as it grows branches, they engulf my molars, keeping my mouth half open. There is some goo accumulating right at the bottom. The stem keeps growing inside. I can't move, only feel. It's coming out from under my eyeball. It's pushing it, rooting on my forehead. On the bare bone. Why can I feel? Is this punishment? I am nothing, I do nothing, but I can still feel. Why? ...why?
Steps are coming my way.


"I ah... have been on that hiking trail a couple of times before. Nice view and stuff. I wasn't searching for a new path or anything; I was just crossing a narrow one. Sigh. My ankle gave in, I slipped and fell. Rolled even. I don't know. I landed on a place I have never been to, lots of trees, very quiet. I tripped on this big mess of hair and wires, about seven feet long. I have no clue what that was about. No, I didn't pick it up. I kept walking until I got to a glade, and I heard water, so I was relieved. I saw this cylinder, right? about four feet wide, coming up from the ground, metallic and smooth, all black. I thought it was weird and kind of short for a well, but hey, whatever." He inhaled, picking his next words carefully, sitting in front of an assistant at some random doctor's office, wondering if he would be dismissed as a mental patient. He continued as the assistant kept writing down his story.
"There was a sapling growing on the other side of the cylinder, and a few inches from it, resting on the edge, these leathery rolls. I went to check it out. The rolls were mummified fingers attached to a big chunk of hand. The arm was on the ground not far, and the rest of the corpse was there. It was… it was just... the spine was curled. Curled! The limbs of one side were resting inside the spine circle, bent in an unnatural way, uncomfortable to see. The other leg was clasped on the ground. And the head... It was looking up, all the way up. The sapling was growing out of it through an eye socket, and right above the socket there was this like carving, or mark, I am not sure, a crude drawing of a gecko.” He closed his eyes and collected his memory of the event. He felt the same chills that invaded him back then on the forest.
“That head was humming. I was startled at first, and then thought there should have been something inside it making that sound, so I pushed it up a little bit and it…” His eyes were wide open. “It howled in a way that made my blood freeze. It cracked and broke; the shards fell to the ground where there was a murky goo coming from the neck. The stench was…” He had to take a deep breath to push away the urge to vomit.
“I felt nauseous and I got the chills, man, I didn’t care what that was, I had to get out. I ran away, as much as I could. I don’t even remember half of it, I just thanked God when I saw the highway, fell to my knees and kissed the ground, no lie. Then I hitch-hiked. A trucker brought me here when I told him I needed a doctor.” He was done but the assistant expected more. He wrote everything down and got up to take the hiker to the next room, asking him to lie on the cot until the doctor was back from her lunch break. The hiker did, closed his eyes and tried to rest. Not a minute later he jumped off it violently to get to the window, where he saw his palm and mumbled something about a mark. The assistant couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The hiker growled some incoherencies as he tried to step out, but was met by resistance. He shoved the assistant to the desk, knocking down a vase on his way out, and ran away from the office.
“I have to go. I have to go.” He told himself.

So My Little Pony is a thing now

Which reminds me I was a little girl when the first version of the cartoon was showing on TV. Back then ponies were girly. And sweet. Disgustingly, artificially sweet. Stupidly, disgustingly, artificially sweet, with a touch of staleness.

Each frame was legally required to have at least 3% of pink, because it is girly.

The few things I remember about the cartoon were that they were all friends, everything was solved by the power of friendship (not teamwork, mind you, but the sheer fact that they were friends) and the stupidest part of it all: that they all called each other by their full names EVERY TIME. Ever. If one of them had just won an eating contest, and waited until a friend was done calling her name, she'd die of starvation and thirst. Oh and the names were unnecessarily sugarcoated, as well. Things like "Sugary stars of cuteness and happy togetherness!" or something. Each one had a monicker and the name was a description of the monicker and nothing else. All their names sounded like a list of perfume scent descriptions translated from English to Finnish to German to Latin to Chinese and back to English. Except Moondancer. You shush. That's a badass name and she was an awesome pony.

She kicks more ass than you will ever dream of. Shut up.

I had ponies, don't think I didn't. I had a thing for ponies, since before I can remember. Apparently one day I saw Blue Belle's star spangled ass and had to have it. Now it might sound bizarre to make such a remark about a mare's buttocks but bear in mind, 80s toys had a severe hard-on for rear ends. Ponies had their special talent represented on their butts, Cabbage Patch Kids had their creator's signature across one of their butt cheeks (and despite the fact that they were rag dolls, actually had two distinguishable butt cheeks), Care bears had a heart shaped birth mark on their asses and He-Man ran around showing off his muscular gluteus maximus every chance he got. And he made sure he had plenty of chances. It was so common that I expected every toy to had something marked, embedded or tattooed on their butts. No joke, every time I got a doll, I would get her naked and check for butt marks. Then she'd be put to float and dismembered, to be re-assembled, but that's another story for another day. Except I told all the story right now. Moving on.

But going back to the point (yes, I had a point) before I was fully conscious and capable of successful memory storing, I had already a blue and a pink ponies. Later, I had a baby unicorn pony, the aforementioned Moondancer, then a nursery and some more baby ponies, and a lot of playtime with them. I finally had contact with the cartoon, and oh boy was it awful. The TV started oozing ant repellent half an hour before to protect itself for the impending invasion it was that sweet. It was not the kind of sweetness one can stand, though, it was just aimlessly happy, stupid, and optimistic. I remember not caring about Rainbow Brite, for example, until I saw an episode where she got kidnapped. Finally some real conflict, not only "boo hoo a speck of gray on my bright colors". He-Man was jammed pack full of action, fights, muscles, cheesy one liners! So was She-Ra, plus she had some furry alien thing hiding randomly across the episode, inviting viewers to find it, a la find Waldo. But not My Little Pony, no. That cartoon dared do something different by being a torrent of niceness devoid of thrill. It had a blond girl and some whiny princess and it was the biggest waste of creative resources I had contact with in my childhood.

Durr.

They lived in a matriarchal tribal style, they were few or none males around, they didn't seem to have school, babies were kept in the nursery and the rest could venture ANYWHERE. Their land was green and fertile. There was food as far as the eye could see all around. They had unlimited freedom to explore, travel, experiment all around. On top of that, some were maremaids, some had wings, some had special magical horns and a few lucky ones had all of the above. All of it. Even the least adapted of those animals had no school, no parents, no predators, no schedules, no obligations to stay tied to a single place. They could run around naked, roll around in their own food and not only would nobody oppose that, it would be the most natural thing for them, it was within their nature. Sentient, intelligent, reasoning beings with virtually unlimited freedom. And all they did was run around their pastel stables and talk about friendship and be friends and be ever so pleasant. Later the toys started to pile up embedded gems (how painful would that be for a pony, damn you, Hasbro) protruding "cutie marks" (that can't be explained by anything other than tumors), shoes, hair clips and accessories, ridiculously feeble butterfly wings and finally metric tons of fabric, smothering the little bit of symbolic freedom the things had left.

So now that I see that being a bronie is a fun thing, it's like a bunch of 40 year olds would have found my pony nursery when I was 13 and did lines of coke off the furniture. I won't stop you, but I don't see you finding the awesomeness inherent to ponies either. Knock yourself out, though, you seem to be having fun.

Reflexions on rants of blondes about libraries and Asia

[I drafted this a while back, when it was relevant but I'll put it here because I can. I'll illustrate it too because the wee hours of the morning are a very strange time]

So, [recently] Alexandra Wallace became world wide (web) famous by ranting, recoridng it and posting it on Youtube.


This piece has sparked some interesting retorts, like this one:



So, even though this raises some serious issues, it has also given me a pretext to look at Asian men all day, which I admit is something I already enjoy quite often, but this extended the amount of eye candy I swallow per minute, so I am somehow thankful.

And I shouldn't- this is eroding our souls. Every single person who has came out and retort, contest, critique, parody and spoof this woman do so in some degree, to feel morally superior to her and that's no good (even if they are superior).

But now allow me to be a nice cynical (or hypocrite, whatever you prefer) and have a taste of what it is to feel morally superior to her. HERE WE GO!

Alexandra, let's ta- no no. Look at me, not the ceiling. Don't sigh so hard, don't be obvious, you are studying poli- ah right, you can't because of Asians. That's what I want to talk about with you. See, it's not Asians. It's you. There, I said it. No, no, no, I know you are about to complain and let me assure you this is not about the racism. Not entirely at least. Gotta admit that was very, very dumb. But dear, to the point. You miss the points. That's the point here. Point.

Fig. 1 The point

Um... worry not, I'll help you with a diagram:

Fig 2 The point's diagram

Fig 3 appears to be a purple scrotum

Am I patronizing you too much? Allow me to elaborate as of why I think you miss the point: Our first clue is that you make personal judgements based on race and not personality and it is wrong. To make this clear, here it is again. Don't make PERSONAL judgements based on RACE instead of PERSONALITY- let me help you further

Visual aids! (no, I don't mean this will give you AIDS in your eyes)

So, the pattern here is: IF YOU HAVE TIME TO DYE YOUR HAIR THAT UNNATURAL SHADE OF BABY SHIT, YOU SURE AS HELL HAVE TIME TO PICK UP THE BOOKS, CHECK THEM AT THE FRONT DESK AND GO TO YOUR ROOM.

Sigh.

Sorry I got excited. So in the very surface, the most shallow layer of this (your area of expertise) and seen from your own logic, these people are so not worth your time you should follow your own logic and NOT WASTE YOUR TIME ON THEM. I'm sure you also have things to say about lazy, loud Mexicans (AHEM!) so let's get this out of the way first:

Avobe, "ching chong, ling long, ting tong" in Mexican

The equivalent of "OOOH!"

Now let's go back to the points. The way you explain things, you really think it's not your fault at all to be annoyed by people that face a personal crisis, it's kind of not their fault, but yes, but culture, but the real criminal here is THE TSUNAMI! how dare it stir up uncivilized, tacky people? That only gets in the way of your personal glory and pursuit of the beauty that is truth. Just let me point out there is a truth that slips you at the moment: America is the entire continent. Don't believe me, go Google it. Every citizen of this continent is American. Like Europeans and Africans and -YES- Asians.

...you should know that by now. A country does not equal a continent most of the times.

...

Ah... this is the appropriate place to insert a little spoof of the part of your speech where you refer to your nice American manners, your upbringing and the impeccable way you told those people how to behave in "your" school, maybe substituting "America" for "humanity" and telling you how to be empathic, but honestly, if I ever utter such a cheesy, corny, cheap and annoying series of sentences at once I will be able to taste the staleness and decomposition for weeks, besides, I don't want that kind of garbage coming out of my fingertips even as an attempt at being funny.

In conclusion you miss two points that should be important to your life in general:

#1 There always will be something getting in your way, it is up to you to be responsible and find a way to finish your tasks instead of blaming the world for not letting you finish.

#2 You are not important because of what group you belong to, it's your actions. You are responsible for them, not the group you come from. Don't be a bigot just because bigots raised you. You can either choose to be objective and not judge people by anything other than their own actions and ideas, being a mature adult, or hate everyone just the same including yourself, climb down the enormous pedestal you put yourself on and for the love of anything that is sacred get a mirror and do something dignified with your hair.

Okay that last one is not mandatory but it is largely encouraged.

Have a nice life (if you work hard and deserve it, that is)

Just put your paws up

The video for Lady Gaga's "born this way" happened and boy is it pregnant with symbolism (you man insert here a rim-shot sound. It has a heavy charge of symbolic images of all kinds, but mainly it is all about femininity, masculinity, death and libido. Self destruction, self exploration and self acceptance (specially from the point of view of an outcast). Despite the simpleness of the lyrics, the video delivers a well structured look at what the journey to mature self acceptance is all about, how one wonders where one came from, where is one going, how there is good and evil, how there is masculine and feminine, what can be changed and how, if there is more people going through the same journey, if there is a group of them, finally to look at one self as a whole, without filters. That's there where one finds beauty. And all of this is accomplished with images and dance, and in the process Gaga gives birth to a machine gun, wears amazing skull makeup and RIDES A MOTHERFUCKING UNICORN. And needles to say, she also rocks my socks.

She caters to so many different people; her music, her costumes, her public appearances, her extravagance, each piece of her image is comprised of different elements, this video is the perfect example of that. It is also the perfect example of why some people strongly dislike her. Or are plain afraid of her. Or want to terminate her career (I of course do not include conspiracy theorists in this group, as they are more efficient at showing their own craziness rather than the Lady's). Whether or not you understand the symbolism, the images seem the product of drug fueled hallucinations, she does not attain to the ideal of beauty, she is exaggerated, the whole thing has a strong 80s flavor and more than once there are references to other singers' past work. She seems like the kind of woman that would greet you on the street and talk to you incessantly for an hour and a half jumping from a topic to the next without real connections. She seems insane. But actually

...that is insanity. And hilarious. But I digress. The rapid evolution of Gaga from whatever pop star of the month to monstrously famous crazy extravagant attention magnet have people wandering what happened. You can't say you didn't see it coming (if you payed attention) her early work as Gaga was more conventional, yes, but you can't find any kind of pissy princess there, she has always been somehow intimidating.

And she rides a motherfucking unicorn.