Appreciate the Kick

I remember Quantum of Solace confused a lot of people at the time of its release. It's actually a better Bond movie than most people give it credit for. One of the things that seemed to confused people was Bond's motivation. Many thought his actions were driven purely by revenge for losing Vesper but overlooked the bigger picture. One of my favorite exchanges in this movie happens when M (Judi Dench) confronts Bond (Daniel Craig) about what an asshole he's been, basically.

M: This is about trust. You said you weren't motivated by revenge.
James Bond: I am motivated by my duty.
M: No... I think you're so blinded by inconsolable rage that you don't care who you hurt. When you can't tell your friends from your enemies, it's time to go. 

Motivated by his duty.

To the bigger picture, to take down the bad guys, etc etc.

But we are not all James Bond, are we? No, but we do have an obligation (or duty) not necessarily to take down Quantum (or SPECTRE now since that's who the bad guys will be in Bond 24 aka SPECTRE) or to Her Majesty's government, but to ourselves.

At least, that's my experience.

I'm also reminded of GoldenEye. I've never been too keen on Pierce Brosnan's portrayal of James Bond- I've often told people he doesn't count as James Bond. Whatever. There's a line that's repeated between 006/Alec Trevelyan (Sean Bean) and Bond (Pierce Brosnan).

"For England."

At the end of the movie, Bond drops Trevelyan from an unsurvivable distance to the ground. But shortly before that, he has him by the foot and a brief final exchange takes place.

Trevelyan: "For England, James?"
Bond: "No. For me."

Hmm.

"Maybe this was the kick you needed."

My friends have lived through some very intense things and when I can, I draw wisdom from them. That quote is from an instance of collective reflection on an event that would have normally left me absolutely devastated for ages to come but instead apparently had the opposite effect. Instead of letting it break me down, it became just another hurdle to overcome.

Not for Her Majesty, not for Vesper, not for a gold medal, not for her, but for myself. I'd often neglected to look out for myself in an appropriate way. I'd been searching for meaning and purpose through others and that's a path I don't have to walk on. Not because it's a necessarily dark and vile one but because I gain nothing by continuing on it. Sure, I do things for myself but I do so vicariously and by using others. That's not right.

I'm better off doing things for myself, by myself without having to treat others as crutches.

And I have. For a moment in the beginning, the motivation was to regain what I had lost. But reality set in and I saw the light. Not to go back but to go forward into something brighter.

Ever onward.

Ni!

Ni!

It's Not Your Heart That's Full of Blood

It's not your heart
that's full of blood.
It's not a victory
that's coming up.

This isn't the caress ye be seeking
or the lips you want to kiss.

This isn't tenderness

It's something grim
and blue
ready to rain sadness
upon
poor
old
you.

You won't be smiling in the end.
You won't be crying either.

You'll just be.

It's not a victory you're approaching.
It's not your heart that's full of blood.
It's not warmth in your eyes.
That's not a smile on your lips
or a skip in your step
or the soft breeze of warm days

nor is it
a bitch of a fucking gust
or a sprained ankle coming up
or a shit eating grin
or a moronic gaze
and that's not blood
and that's not your heart

Nobody
will tell you what it is
will fight for you
will help

You're bleeding something awful

You're bleeding this poem.

Pac-Manning it

I like taking long drives to places that throw me into the night, far beyond my residence's zip code and area code, force me to fire up the GPS on my phone, and/or force me to pull into the nearest gas station because "Holy shit! Is it really (late)? How am I low on gas already? Where the fuck am I?"

The reason I like taking these drives is because it helps me think. I know everyone says this but it's true. There's something about driving that makes things click inside your head. I don't know if it's having to focus and keep yourself alert, alive, while inside a metal box with the power to destroy beyond your own power that alters your thought process but it's definitely "something else." It's also a scary thing, that. And I like to think that I've conquered my fear of that, or at the very least suppressed it enough to go on the freeway with the flow of traffic by myself. Los Angeles drivers are assholes.

Hmm.

There's nothing like listening to Bohren & der Club of Gore while driving into "where the hell am I?" and making another detour in "I should probably head back soon."

The only other remarkable instance of music making the drive more colorful is playing the Corneria stage music from Star Fox on the freeway.

Of course, this is much more exciting when the freeway isn't so fucking packed and forcing everyone to drop speed to 20MPH instead of the more fitting 60MPH or if you really want to do something stupid- attempting 90.

Though some would call me a reckless driver and a generally reckless human being (why? I don't know), there are some things I would not attempt like driving while intoxicated, and rapidly creeping into the triple digits of the speedometer of my car by way of flooring it. It's not even a matter of the mounts being fucked up or avoiding a ticket, it's in the interest of self-preservation, the safety of my passengers, and safety in general. As I said before, Los Angeles drivers are assholes. It isn't a difficult task to move your hand or even a finger so slightly to use the turn signals but so many goddamn times, someone avoids using the turn signals and that in turn could potentially cause accidents. Now, factor in people going beyond the speed limit and you have- something you don't want to think about because it's a gruesome disgusting notion.

As such, Corneria at 60 is fine. In a perfect world, 80 and above would be great but I'm not holding my breath for a "perfect world."

There's an indescribable freedom found on the road. It's something I didn't know I'd be so fond of or find so therapeutic. Thankfully, I've been stable enough where I don't feel so burdened by my thoughts and the environment around me that I feel the need to drive off into the night and return home with the sun. Those long hours driving to get practice are some of the best, if not among the most annoying, I've spent.

I think Gary Numan said it best when talking about "Cars"

"I was in traffic in London once and had a problem with some people in front. They tried to beat me up and get me out of the car. I locked the doors and eventually drove up on the pavement and got away from them. It's kind of to do with that. It explains how you can feel safe inside a car in the modern world, which is probably why you get things like road rage. When you're in it, you're whole mentality is different, in a car. It's like your own little personal empire with four wheels on it."
http://www.kaos2000.net/interviews/garynuman/

It's true and anyone can attest to it. Your mentality is different in a car.

And now I can embrace who I guess I'm supposed to be. (Based on the way people have been treating me.) A lone wolf. Alone. Not marred by loneliness or mauled by it but tolerant and accepting of it. There's nothing wrong with something like this. Maybe some people aren't meant to be surrounded by crowds of people. This might sound like a lamentation to you but it isn't. Nor is it an explicit acceptance of a fate unseen. It's acknowledgement that right now, I'm distanced from people (not entirely sure if I'm entirely at fault or if it's something "they" did but it doesn't matter: it is what it is). And that doesn't seem to matter either because I've got my health, I've got my wheels, and I've got a way to roll some of the burdens off of me into the night or lose shreds of them when I lose myself in the distance.

The only downside is finding nearby parking when I come home.

Hmm.

I wonder how far I'll drive next.

Milkshakes

Time is a funny thing. Second looks are also equally bizarre. The two combined creates a jarring effect that leaves the viewer shaken, questioning things, searching for answers or shreds of information posing as placebic answers. Chasing the seemingly unanswerable questions of why and how.

The endless pursuit of happiness by way of answers by way of the eternal chase.

Are we running from or towards something? What happens if we stop? Does something catch up? If so, what is it? What's so bad about it? What if it's good?

On the other hand, what's happens if we just keep running? Will we catch or even get close to what ever it is we are chasing? Will we escape what we were running from? Is the predator so evil we must keep running? Is the prey so worth the exhaustion and endless chasing?

More question than answers and more to think about. More to consider. More to factor in before deciding.

Why is it that only when things pause for a heartbeat do I feel like I've just let the sands of time slip through my fingers and into the swift embrace of the wind of existence?

Years ago, there was so much brightness and eagerness. Now that brightness is dimming and blending into everything else. It's still special but it doesn't stand out as much as it should.

How did so much time just pass me by?

V for Vacation

I work two jobs. Up until a few days ago, I was working three.

Now, I'm back to two. And that's pretty neat, I believe. I like one job immensely because it appreciates me and I don't feel like hell at the end of the work day. I also find it more satisfying which is something I've been trying to find for a while.

A job that satisfies the soul... in some way, shape or form.

The other job, as you can probably guess, has pushed me to the edge of my patience and made me abandon that principle of absolutely relentless loyalty just for the sake of it. While loyalty is a good thing, one must also be loyal to the self and what it entails.

As such, I've made arrangements for myself to take a vacation from that place. I've only just started but holy fuck does it feel so good to not have to go there.

I breathe better, I eat better, I actually get some rest, and I feel better than I have in an incredibly long time. My only hope is that I don't become quickly jaded and bitter when I have to return.

I like grinning and laughing like a giddy, goofy idiot.

I also like sleeping and feeling good.

In Search of a Light

I've been drinking a lot lately. And it's taken me places that I'm not sure I would have gone sober. When I say I've been drinking a lot, I mean I've been dancing in alcoholic territory. From possible alcoholic tendencies to "if you keep this up, you're going to need help." You know: a bottle or two a day, a 12 pack by yourself. That sort of thing.

I have a very destructive personality, it seems.

And on that same token, I have an overwhelming desire to rebuild.

As such, I've done something that many would consider stupid.

I've been calling up my exes when fucked up. Some don't appreciate it. One, however, did and she was the last person I'd expect to actually return my call. I didn't expect for us to have such a pleasant long chat after so much time had passed.

I explained to her my reasons for calling, and that I was drunk. And we spoke normally, calmly, no anger, no hatred, no hard feelings, only wishing the best for each other.

I think the path I've taken with this is a good one, or shows signs of being a good one.

If I could only get the other ones to stop hating me, the quest for this light would go much better.

It would be greatly appreciated because it would mean on a small scale that the human race is capable of letting go, capable of understanding, and generally capable of defying themselves and the masks they choose to put on.

A brave face is often really just a mask hiding a sad face, in my experience.

We try so hard to be so tough but in putting up this act, we often forget to look at the underlying issue. Instead of covering up, we should dig deep and find the source of the problem/issue and deal with that.

That's what I've been trying to do, and failing rather spectacularly at it.

I can and will do right as I continue my search for a light.

Mug

Beer doesn't taste the way it used to.

Is this what getting older feels like?

A dissatisfaction with the direction things are taking? Not in general but specific things that once brought bliss and temporary bursts of vivid joy. These things are still present but present a different face each time they are visited, be they willingly or unwillingly. Each time, there is less of something despite a persistent quantity and quality. In terms of appearance.

A facade.

Beer doesn't taste the same.

It's still beer. It's still cold.

Sometimes, it's more bitter. Other times, it's more and more like water, and other times it just tastes empty.

Same goes for other facets of life. What can be done but persist in the self and make more tangible the make believe that things will get better.

Or there's a sign that is obscured by how fast we're travelling. How fast we consume our drinks to get to the buzz, how fast we consume that which was made with care.

How quickly we devour and discard to move on to the next prey while the previous carcass bleeds and writhes asking, "Why?"

The indicator that one should sip from the mug as the sun sets and enjoy the breeze.

Not to rush into the night time but to waltz into it.

Or saunter if you think you lack the rhythm.

Double-edged swords

I'm going to be working 3 jobs.

Too far

I haven't been able to sleep lately.

As such, I've been taking melatonin in an effort to help me sleep.

The first night, I took a small dosage and didn't feel anything. (In retrospect, this is a good thing.)

The next night, I took five times the recommended dosage and had vivid nightmares but slept enough. (I thought it was unusual but didn't really think anything of it.)

The following night, I took five times the recommended dosage again. I had vivid nightmares and made every effort to wake up when I felt I was getting my head kicked in. As I woke up, still on that border between being asleep and awake, I saw someone standing in my room. I got up and threw a punch at him. I connected but didn't hit anything because it was a hallucination. (I thought it was kind of cool but ultimately decided to alter my path on the matter.)

The moral here is that I am continuously seeking that perfect level of equilibrium where I can be free while still being grounded in a healthy level of dependence.

Full dependence is destructive.

Independence can be a wonderful, glorious thing.

If you can manage to soar without crashing into the sun and the waves of the sea as your wax melts and betrays you.

Bloody melatonin. I didn't think you'd induce nightmares.

Drago!

You know what are some pretty good movies? The Rocky movies. A driving force behind the story of an underdog who goes the distance and then makes it to the top is the music.

At some point or another, you've probably done a few pushups while humming "Gonna Fly Now"

Admit it. Or don't.

Good movies (except for Rocky V) and pretty awesome music.

Whenever I listen to John Cafferty's "Hearts on Fire", I have to refrain from shouting "Drago!" at the top of my lungs.

I try to avoid "Eye of the Tiger" whenever possible. I'll admit it's a good song but it's not one I like to listen to. My reasoning for this is often paradoxical but still somewhat sensical, I believe.

"Eye of the Tiger" is the song that plays over the beginning of Rocky III, the film that introduced audiences to Mr. T. The song plays while Rocky is falling from grace and selling out, while Mr. T (note: I'm probably going to alternate between using Mr. T and Clubber Lang when referring to the same character) is training hard and making his way to the top to be the contender for the title Rocky holds.

Everyone uses the song as motivation to work out and in some way to motivate them to improve their lives and all that. It certainly is inspiring but people often seem to overlook that unlike most other songs from the Rocky movies, it's missing an awesome solo that accounts for at least 40% of the inspiration to get you off your ass and do something.

But what people also often overlook is that the song plays while Mr. T climbs to the top as Rocky descends. The song is being played while the "bad guy" succeeds and the "good guy" plummets.

While the song is about being an underdog it also serves to foreshadow and basically give away most if not all of the movie. The song also has the side effect of also rooting for Mr. T, who is supposed the villain of the movie.

All that at the surface level for conventional skimming thinking, at least.

The argument can be made that the real villain is Rocky or at the very least his fucking bullshit hubris and that Mr. T is just a dick who spurs Rocky to restart from the bottom and get his priorities straight. Not necessarily the villain or an antagonist but a foil because Rocky ultimately gets his act together and eventually goes on to beat the shit out of Clubber Lang. All thanks to Mr. T.

The other argument FOR the song is that it serves as a reminder to stay focused and stay true to yourself. Losing sight of where you came from, who you are, etc serves catastrophe. (Mick)

For what it's worth, the end result is better than what could have been: "You're the Best" playing as Mr. T rises and Rocky falls. It's a good song but it ultimately fits better in The Karate Kid more than it does in Rocky III.

"Eye of the Tiger" is a good song but I prefer "Hearts on Fire" when it comes to the best workout/motivation song from the Rocky series (aside from the permanent classic "Gonna Fly Now").Yeah. That's what's up.

At least, that's how it goes for me.

I believe that song carries a more focused depth, if that makes any sense.

The background for when the song is used is basically Rocky training to avenge Apollo and redeem himself / wash away some of the guilt of having let his friend die. Wouldn't you want to make things right?

You'll notice that for most of the time leading up to the training montage (and the more engaging part of the training montage), Rocky is pretty much half-assing it. Once the song kicks in, you can see him push himself further and harder while we see what he's up against.

It's rather genius to build up an enemy of the time that way as having advantages while Rocky basically pulls himself up from his bootstraps and ultimately conquers his foe. No, it's not propaganda at all. Is the message that America's number 1 and fuck the Commies? Is the message to believe in yourself? Is the message that in order to conquer others you must conquer yourself?

There are a few interpretations for this song.

"It's about motivating yourself to redeem yourself."
"Fight the odds and win."
"It's about motivating yourself to avenge others."

"It's about overcoming yourself in order to accomplish greater things" is probably my favorite because it rings the most true and encompasses other arguments cohesively. It details one's struggle to not only fight their environment and the factors that hold one down

Silent darkness creeps into your soul
and removes the light of self-control

but also realizing that the only limits we have are the ones we impose upon ourselves.

the cave that holds you captive has no doors

Realizing these things, one begins to have some motivation to change things.

burnin' with determination
to even up the score

Then there's more stuff about how far one has to go in order to change things, "Rules and regulations have no meaning anymore." I especially like how the moment of truth is mentioned and hinted at. X being whatever moment of truth you can think of. For Rocky, it's not only running up that fucking mountain to the top and ultimately pummeling Drago. Not only for Apollo (and America) but for himself.

Your moment of truth draws near.

This really seems to ring more true and genuine with the listener though that doesn't discount the plight of the underdog but gives a greater embrace to those who know something is eating them up but can't for the life of them overcome it alone or haven't begun to realize what they can do, who they can be, who they are. Upon realizing that, you're unstoppable.

The solo's pretty bitching, too.

xibalbainducekalopsia

Escribo sobre miedo frecuentemente. No escribo en español porque mi autoestima no lo permite. No creo en mi español, mi ortografía, mi vocabulario, etc. Creo en yo mismo, pero no creo lo suficiente para funcionar bien.

Escribo sobre miedo porque aunque digo que no soy cobarde, la realidad es que sí hay cosas que me dan miedo. Lo único que sé es que mis miedos no cuentan para nada. Es decir: los venceré. No sé cuando pero sí sé que los venceré. Triunfare y saldré adelante.

Mi tiempo en (y con) xibalba no es permanente. Todavía respiro aunque arde en hacerlo. Todavía vivo aunque mucho parece gris y sin color. Eso me digo cada vez que me encuentro con miedo. En turno, me caen las dudas como lluvia. Permanezco pero... ¿pertenezco?

No entiendo exactamente como es que entra kalopsia en estos asuntos. Sí, cosas parecen bellas pero no las son. Viene siendo por miedo, quizás. Una cantidad enorme que causa que la lógica se vuelva loca. 

¿Llueve sobre empapado?

Su perfume se burla de mi a veces. No le hace. Pronto, no se burlará de mi. No tendré la idea de que esta situación es una tragedia pero tampoco tendré en mente de que es una comedia o algo que solo se barre a un lado. Será algo que paso y que pasará de nuevo. No porque me repito o porque no puedo escapar o porque soy idiota pero porque así es la vida.

Tendré mi venganza. No para derrotar a otras personas pero para lograr victoria para mi. Lograré la victoria más profunda y significativa: sobre el ser mismo.

No se confundan: no voy a cometer suicidio. Solo haré cosas que me ayudaran mientras sigo adelante. No para ella, no para él, no para nadie. Para mi. 

No se cuando se me olvido que yo si cuento.

Juro que haré lo más posible para que no se me olvide de que yo sí importo.

Sin duda, el sol saldrá mañana.

Selcouth?

I've been here before. Many times. By that logic, this shouldn't be strange or unfamiliar but it is.

This place or state or whatever the hell you want to call it, seems to shift and change in some way shape or form each time.

Where a regular wooden chair once stood, there is either a bare mattress or a torn leather armchair. Each time, something seems so much more different though the air echoes with the past.

Her scent remains, dancing perpetually in front of me. Her scent was never there to uplift me or drive me happily fucking crazy or make me aware of the beauty around me. Her scent is buried so far deep in the past that it has become impossible to retrieve or salvage.

The end delivering a river of tears destroying dams. The end presenting a jungle set ablaze by an endless burning anger. The end with heavy sighing followed by a walk off into the sun. The end with an increasingly numb and confused monkey launched into the darkness of the night.

The same thing. Different. Each time.

It's strange, unfamiliar, and wondrous.

How the hell can the same thing that morphs each time be wondrous?

It morphs each time, revealing something new.

You learn something new every day.

Tacenda

There are a number of things we all want to drown in a deafening roar of anger, and general frustration. If not a roar, then it's something more involved. To confront people, stab them in the face (or cause them some degree of harm proportionate to the harm they might have caused one), and to be as destructive as one can until the blind rage fades away.

This is a bad idea.

When done for the wrong reasons.

As Mark Twain said:

"Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured."

Yes, you can angrily break someone's nose but what will that accomplish? In the workplace, the person punching will get fired without a second thought. The receiver will be seen as the victim even if they totally deserved it. Of course, that's a bad example because despite it being common, it's generally common sense to avoid physical altercations at the workplace.

If one were to hold a terrible grudge against someone else, the person holding the grudge would be inviting a host of problems like isolation from friends and family, ulcers, stressing themselves out, lack of concentration on things that actually matter, and- you get the point of that particular side. The person that's the target of the grudge probably doesn't notice, or even care.

The same argument holds for someone acting on the grudge- "I fucking hate that guy! I'm gonna kick his teeth in!" It's something that weighs heavily on you afterwards. Yes, you accomplished what you set out to do but at what cost? Could what they did really justify having their health ruined to a great extent? What revenge will they exact on you for this? Will the cyclical back-and-forth game of vengeance end?

A better solution is to let it go.

Let go whatever issue you have that has you so fired up and has your feathers all ruffled. Let it go. Let it destroy itself. Don't feed it your time. Don't feed it your energy. By letting go of it and not feeding it, you're guaranteeing that you are superior to whatever is trying to drag you down.

Instead, starve it.

Do things for yourself. Improve for yourself. You are more important than that thing that goes unsaid and ultimately has no importance.

Echoes and reflections

Wading through heartbreak's swamp is a daunting task. Also a depressing one. It becomes a more difficult one when you realize that you've been here before for the exact same reasons. The only thing that's different is the amount of gray hairs you have now.

There must be something hilarious to those cosmically in charge about someone who hasn't learned.

But what about it can be funny? Maybe because the joke's on me, I don't know why it's so funny. If anything, it's pretty sad to see someone try the same thing, recognize the problem, and still fail to come up with a solution. Maybe I just suck at recognizing comedy because apparently I wouldn't know funny if it bludgeoned me in the face repeatedly with the same thing over and over.

But can these echoes and reflections be distorted and misconstrued and interpreted differently from the point of origin? Surely something like "You suck!" can in time become "You rock!", right?

Despite appearances of not progressing forward, each second is valuable. It just takes time for the big picture to be fully revealed. Was the Great Wall of China built in a day? Was the Grand Canyon formed in a matter of hours?

Time heals all wounds. But one has to make the effort to pass the time and reach for the medicine instead of letting the cuts fester and bleed out until there is nothing but an empty shell of the self pretending everything is fine and dandy.

Review: Murdered: Soul Suspect

Murdered: Soul Suspect

Square Enix

2014

Many months ago, I pre-ordered this game because I thought the premise was fantastic: A detective gets killed and has to solve his own murder... from BEYOND THE GRAVE as a ghost with ghost powers and possessing people and detective work and ghost powers! So I pre-ordered it and paid it off in full and waited, eager to play as a motherfucking ghost cop with ghost powers.

The wait was not worth it.

There was so much lacking from the game that the wait only produced a middling experience at best, and that's if you're really reaching. Everything from the controls to the voice acting and everything in between seems very bare-bones and rail thin. The main story campaign can be beaten very quickly and with one eye open because it's honestly not THAT engaging.

There is a common complaint regarding modern video games that they are becoming more and more like "interactive movies" than actual games. What many mean is that the player is treated to a more cinematic experience by way of more cutscenes and increasingly minimal and less engaging gameplay (even then, you end up pressing a button every now and then).

Murdered is no exception.

All you really do is walk around collecting stuff, making guesses in a piss-poor attempt to create something that vaguely resembles detective work, without a sense of urgency, or even penalty if you fuck up.

LA Noire took the detective concept and made it work, especially with the penalty concept. It's rewarding to mess up because you're treated to a shred of more content each time but if you don't fuck up, your score improves at the end of each case.

With Murdered, if you mess up with your "investigations", nothing happens. No failure music, no angry "GODDAMN IT!" from the main character, no score penalty, etc. You can fuck up all you want and you won't notice a difference.

Even the collectibles don't really do anything cool. While it isn't fair to compare LA Noire to Murdered, it has to be said again. Collecting stuff in LA Noire actually gets you stuff like suits and content. Murdered treats you with audio ghost stories which even then are very few and in the end not that worth it considering all the searching you had to go through with narrow spaces and such. And god forbid you should get so far into the story you can't go back to other places which brings me to my next point.

The game is so linear it hurts. You can't truly explore every nook and cranny because you haven't unlocked a specific ghost power which in turn leads to a lot of dull backtracking through areas you already visited and must visit again if you want to get all the collectibles. I'm not judging because I did the same thing so I could get all the trophies and get every penny's worth of my foolish purchase. And even with the game being linear, you'd think the game would get better but it just stands around with its hands in its pockets like some lame-wad.

The story is probably the only thing with a shred of redemption. It's all right and has a pretty good twist but even then it feels so contrived that the people behind the game just tossed it in to make it seem more interesting.

There was a lot of potential. The ghost powers could have been better, the stuff with the demons and combat could have ACTUALLY EXISTED instead of "move really slowly and then press these buttons." It would have been a much more engaging and interesting experience if one could have played with a better combat feature. Ghost punching, ghost weapons, full possession, etc. Instead it just feels like some decent movie with a few point and click elements tossed in to meet someone's minimum standards.

If you're one of the people who haven't played the game, count yourself lucky and just watch a playthrough on YouTube.

The cat possession stuff was okay. Funny for a few minutes but then quickly descends into tedium.

4/10

SSSS

En una isla
entre arena
de bajo del mar

me encuentra

sol

edad

soy

seré

siempre la serpiente venenosa

el sol que arde
y quema

el perro que ladra y no muerde
y muerde sin ladrar

la espada
sin escudo

el viento que aúlla
aun ya

el silencio que te abraza
y te besa

En esa isla
hay arena

hay piedras
arboles, frutas, y diamantes

El viento sopla suavemente
como un beso tierno

el agua limpa
el cielo claro

Te rindes a lo lindo y lo precioso porque por fin has topado con placer y amor
Te rindes sin creer en el fin, la noche violenta, las tempestades que ofrece el mar
Te rindes sin saber que el sol te quemara, que el leon salvaje te comerá

Te rindes por un beso

Tierno
Suave
Dulce

tu isla

Thin Gray Line

I'm at that age where I can still be considered very young but still "kind of old" while I process the fact that I have moved from one age bracket to another. And that ultimately means nothing.

However, it is still a strange time because I've been expected to let go of a lot of habits and tendencies and embrace a completely different set of behaviors and customs. The problem is I still don't feel sufficiently prepared to face the new horizon as I'm still stuck under the bright but ever dimming skies of whatever the hell it is I'm trying to hang on to.

I don't know what I'm doing nor do I know what I'm saying. Clarity eludes me.

Put it this way: I can't even jokingly quote Matthew McConaughey's character from Dazed and Confused without sounding like a total fucking creep. If I do quote Wooderson my age will totally fuck things up. It will muddle my intentions because I'm beyond the age where it's 60/40 funny/weird to 20/90 funny/weird which really just translates to: "That's not something you can say out loud anymore." Saying it now wouldn't elicit a chuckle but an uncomfortable stare. And definitely response that only makes things worse, despite having good intentions (read: just wanting to make someone laugh.) Even if they understood the reference, there would be a disapproving stare.

Vulture.

Gray hair.

They're probably unable to drink without The Man harassing them (but smokes and lottery tickets are fine for purchase.)

That being said, morality. As I get older I notice that the things I held so steadfast aren't things others hold in the same regard or even a similar regard.

That being said, I shouldn't take it so hard that I'm aging. It's as natural as breathing, unless you're Solid Snake in Metal Gear Solid 4, in which case you're really getting screwed with the accelerated aging.

I have to accept, as do you, that aging is natural and inevitable. But that doesn't mean I have to yield to a mindset that demands me to be weak, frail, bitter, and joyless.

Navigating a sea of heartbreak

I've fallen down again. The echo makes no noise. I'm greeted with silence and sounds caused by shreds of my imagination sustaining themselves through blind optimism and intense naïveté. I'm seeing and hearing things that probably aren't there.

I've fallen down before but never like this. Everything seems much more intense now. More vivid, more... "more." So much that apparently, I can't even think of a word to use. Everything is sharper, more intense, more fragrant, more tasty, more alive. Alive.

I came back to life. But as I navigate through this sea of heartbreak am I dead? Have I been knocked unconscious? Am I broken? Did I break long ago and never get around to fixing myself? Or is the me I am now the me I'm supposed to be? Have I found myself yet?

I don't like falling down because shit like this happens.

Doubt.

So much of it.

Doubt in proportional measures is fine because doubt is the fire that tempers a man's armor but this can get fucking ridiculous and makes doubt lava which in turn obliterates any armor and the man himself.

The sea is not infinite. There might not even be a sea but a puddle or a lake at best.

There will be land eventually.

An unblinking history

"Life isn't just about passing on your genes. We can leave behind much more than just DNA. Through speech, music, literature and movies...what we've seen, heard, felt...anger, joy and sorrow...these are the things I will pass on. That's what I live for. We need to pass the torch, and let our children read our messy and sad history by its light. We have all the magic of the digital age to do that with. The human race will probably come to an end some time, and new species may rule over this planet. Earth may not be forever, but we still have the responsibility to leave what traces of life we can. Building the future and keeping the past alive are one and the same thing."

- David Hayter as Solid Snake, Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty

"... What we've seen, heard, felt... anger, joy and sorrow... these are the things I will pass on. That's what I live for. We need to pass the torch, and let our children read our messy and sad history by its light."

Thanks, Snake.

I'm not someone who will go back and edit my previous journal entries or this blog's history (unless it's to avoid copyright nonsense or something).

I need to learn from my past though I will do my best to shun it or stuff it away. Sometimes, I see how far I've thrown myself into something and then when I am no longer that same person, I want to hide away and deny but the better of me triumphs.

To learn.

I really want to discard the past but I know that doing so derails the present and the future and the general well-being of anyone crossing my path.

Absences

She disappeared for a while and it slowly devastated me. It splintered my solid foundation. In those moments of confusion and pain and anger, there was a light. A revelation during which I found myself and found knowledge.

It is often said that "absence makes the heart grow fonder." I will usually disagree and argue that absence opens the door for anger, confusion, and general feelings found in a corrupted heart. Not to say that the owner of the heart is an immoral, deplorable person but that something inside them isn't firing on all cylinders like it should be which in turn allows negativity to seep in and corrupt them. Extreme sadness, feelings of extreme helplessness, and generally being glum and blue more frequently than is considered healthy.

In my experience, absence causes confusion. Then anger, destruction, an unresolved apathy, and a general feeling of incompletion.

If the absence was explained, there are less problems because I am not in the dark.

I suppose the universal truth is that we all feel incomplete and to remedy it, we crave knowledge or at least answers.

Why did she abandon me?*
*I don't really care about this one anymore because I found something so good that whatever abandonment I felt is now a simple blip or just a tear in the ocean: nothing.

Why are we here?

What's life all about?

Boss, why are you doing this?

A hand, not a book

I don't like self-help books.

I like help and I like books, and I also like the self but I don't like self-help books. Books help(ing) the self are good but self-help books aren't.

I don't like their premises or how they operate. 

Their premises make sweeping generalizations or exploit a few vague similarities to the point of strongly suggesting that everyone is the same to the point that if everyone follows a few guidelines, they can be happy or rich or can unlock the secrets of the universe.

The secrets of the universe are universal and as such are unique to all 7+ billions souls on Earth (not including those who exist beyond the confines of our atmosphere). As such, the secrets of the universe as well as the notions of happiness, wealth, and love can only be unlocked/discovered on one's own terms. And since we're all vastly different creatures, they are different and we cannot be held to some vague general guidelines found in a self-help book. 

Self-help books, in my experience, seem to ignore/disregard the basic fact that we are all different: what works for me, doesn't work for you or what's-his-face or what's-her-name and so forth.

I don't think it's right for a self-help books to make sweeping generalizations about a person and give them false hope through said generalizations. Don't lock people in boxes like that. Let them run free. Let them learn through trial and error. Let them use their intuition, let them use their logic. 

Once, someone I knew asked that I read a self-help book with her. I couldn't do it. I tried to get through it but I couldn't do it. I renewed the book several times from the library and made an effort to read it but I always got bored, annoyed, irritated, and insulted with the book that I put it down and read something else, watched a movie, or generally did something else that wouldn't piss me off.

I tried but couldn't get through enough pages for any sort of meaning to sink in because it always felt like I was being talked down to and like I was totally helpless. It didn't really have much to do with why I was asked to read the book though in retrospect the reasons were valid but maybe the execution and proposed method for resolving the issues could have been much different. 

If I were to be approached with that situation again, I'd decline altogether and argue that taking generalized instructions from an unaware and totally oblivious source isn't the best of ideas. If there's a situation we need to tackle, it should be together with each other.

I appreciate the sentiment but really: 

Let them be.

Let it be.

Let it bleed.

Let the world be.

A donde voy

Voy al purgatorio
Me bautizaron y nada mas.
No voy al cielo
Ni al infierno.
En medio.
De caos y la gloria celestial.

Voy al purgatorio.

El amanecer amanece algo en mi.
Los rayos del sol
Rayan algo no escrito
La sonrisa de la pálida luna lo subraya

Voy al purgatorio.

No quemare en las llamas
No escuchare a los angeles
Cuando llegue el fin y el sepulcro

No voy al cielo
No voy al infierno

Voy al purgatorio

May the 4th be with You

Live long and prosper.

NIN is back (for 2014)!

I meant to have this posted on March 15, 2014 but somehow got sidetracked and forgot about it until now. Oops.

No, this is not a repost. Nine Inch Nails are on a North American tour this summer.

My wallet will once again take a serious beating but it'll be worth it! My wallet has in fact taken a serious beating, due in part to purchasing my tickets to see NINE INCH NAILS (and Soundgarden)!

---

I cannot contain my excitement as this opportunity is mine and I have been able to grasp it on my own terms, for the part. I say for the most part because the opportunity provided by the first pre-sale totally sucked and left me with a bewildered look on my face and a feeling of discontent as I was unable to get tickets because the system kept fucking with me: made me wait in the waiting room twice and by the time I managed to get free of the waiting room dance, everything was either being held or had been bought but I wasn't informed of either.

But I was afforded another opportunity, which went my way, the following day. Of course, I got my tickets with decent seats at a rate which I feel is still fair and in no way a fucking rip-off. Seriously, no hints of sarcasm.

At present, I am aware but unfamiliar with Soundgarden. I know Chris Cornell covered "Billie Jean" and performed the song for Casino Royale but beyond those two things, I'm not totally familiar with them.

Or Death Grips.

The following things will probably happen:
• I will lose my voice in about an hour
• I will bruise my palms again
• I will look on in puzzlement as Death Grips perform
• I will have a lot of fun

Sunbright

I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.