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.