First resolution

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, December 31, 2009


I'm always making stupid little actions to remember moments, the thing is, I never remember what those stupid actions were.
I can say I remember thinking, 'oh, this is going to be the first thing I do in 2009' and then doing something. Don't ask me what was the first thing I did in 2009, or the first thing I told someone when they turned 15 or 18.... (this is totally true, I DO this kind of things, and I DO forget them)
So, one of this year's resolutions for me, will be stop doing that.
It doesn't really bother me, and I don't consider it a significant waste of time, but I just realize is a complete stupidity...

Goodbye 'first-think-i-did-in-[fill in the blank]' tradition!

The end.

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, December 30, 2009


The year it about to end...

You have a whole new solar cycle ahead of you now, but well you also have one behind you.

What did you do this year? How will it affect the rest of your life?

It is at the end of the year when all you did takes real value by looking back. Did you accomplish the resolutions or are you right now trying to lose 5 pounds, read 4 books and being a better sibling, as you read? Do you plan on keeping on the farse for next year or are you proud of yourself?

365 days you will never have to live again, to endure, or to be able to enjoy.

So... have you thought out the resolutions for the new year?


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, December 29, 2009


I met a child, he told me his name was Jim, but I liked calling him Pat, because he looked like a Pat to me. He didn't know I called him Pat, it was only in my head that I called him like that, but since I lack of mind-real world coordination sometimes, I usually called him 'Hey you!' to avoid awkard moments just in case some time a Pat sliped.
So this Pat boy, he loved dinasours, just as most 90's kids who saw Jurassic Park. He claimed he wanted to be a paleonthologist or a Power Ranger. He would make drawings of this two possible outcomes and hang them in his door. Well anyways, he once told me a story about a boy who wanted to be a Paleonthologist or a Power Ranger and I asked him: 'Isn't that you?', and he said 'No, he's just a character'....

Oh yes...

Quick recap

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, December 28, 2009


Icons&Ideas>anythingelse <---is apparently the statement I give out the most

So let's end the year like that.

And let me recap the whole concept of these holidays for everyone out there

[Read in whatever order or meaning. At the end it all ends the same]

Ready for 2010

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, December 27, 2009


It'll be over soon they say

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, December 26, 2009


The end is near!


And this only means we are getting older.
Much much older.

Soon we will be those strange beings who have real lives and real contacts and talk about their childhoods like it was something really far away, and talk of the stupid things they did in their long forgotten adolescence.

Doesn't this make you sad or anxious? Because I get anxious all the time, thinking I'm wasting my life.

And this is it, time, passing not stopping for a second.

It will be over soon

But what can we do?

Well, we enjoy it.

[Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind came up with this dada dialog, not me]


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, December 25, 2009


December 25th

this is a nice x-mas thought...

[from xkcd]

What would you do?

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, December 24, 2009


People who will most likely read this have all questioned the bases of Christmas itself and so I won't really go deep into that.

Also, you have probably received the wish of a happy day for at least a dozen times, so I will just be brief: be happy.

What I'm about to tell you concerns other things more important about Christmas: it is different from the rest of the year.

It doesn't matter if you celebrate in church along with hundreds of people, or if you just sit in front of the TV with your cat. The thing is that you know it is unlike the rest of the year, whatever that reason is.

And maybe you don't think about this, but we (because of all of our free time) do: What will be your new experience given this opportunity?

It is special, 24th of December of 2009 will never occur again. In fact non of the other days, but the point is that this one is special. So how are you going to use it? What will you do that is new and memorable? What will make Christmas special?

Will you finally tell your parents about the piercing that nearly got infected two months ago?

Will you get so drunk with old aunt Agnes you will begin to like her despite her warts?

Will you box half of your dinner and take it to a place where they need it more?

Will you stay up all night dancing with your grandma? :)


Will you sit at dinner, share presents and go to sleep?

Whatever you do Blackbird Fields wishes you the happiest winter solstice you can have (given that climate change may cause a disruption in normal solstice dating and such)

:D !

[if I sang out of tune? | all you need is love]

Wind of Spring... in december

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, December 23, 2009


My obsession with Marton was killed by the lies of the music store...

they told me i could order his cd,
i did,
i don't have it
i hate you!

Honestly filling

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, December 22, 2009


I've been avoiding this.


the forgotten time which I decided to skip given the holidays. Now, has to be filled in.

But like every good blogger (like i knew any...) I will try to avoid the content production and instead fill you with content made by someone else, found by me so I can take some credit for it. (thinking about it that's pretty much all we do).

So there. I shall begin the selection.

First there is this page: Imgur.

While this is not a site that has a vast collection of anything in particular or even a theme, it's pretty much made of awesome.

(yeah only two, check the rest by yourself)
Awesome right?

There is also this place, for which I could throw a whole thing about time and limitations but I bet that at this point you couldn't bare one more. Anyway, this page changes every 24 hours or so and sells a different tee, so what you see today is not what was yesterday or tomorrow. So go ! quick!

Tee Fury. It is cool, it has new artists and they just get a chance to sell one day, it keeps it fresh and constant, go take a look.

One tee had this the other day :)

And... well that.... yea that's it for today...


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, December 21, 2009


Free time: to remember some things I love...
skating is so cliched... but i love it so much...
I remember when I saw Evgeni Plushenko and Edvin Marton live...

A child's winter tragedy

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, December 20, 2009


As we know, the greatest tragedy of western culture middle class children around the world is Christmas: The family gatherings, the long nights and at last the present receiving, and in the long run the lethal strike of truth that will make all the previous banish.

Come to think of it Santa might just be a greater damage than it is a surprise. But anyways, that's our very own way of thinking less of children and convincing them of a greater force in shape of an old man who can create things out of thin air, yes I'm still referring to Santa.

I don't know about you but this great tragedy came to me also with the plot device of -enlongment of truth time- which was extending the lie to its last consequences so the main character (me, us) never knows the truth which will end the story. In that way parents love to tell stories. Anyway the thing about this is what kind of things they tell you so you believe.

Sure, it's easy to tell a child at first that presents appear from thin air and that a fat man gets to everyone's homes in one single night and ironically gives more presents to the rich and nothing to the poor (the irony being that this man is said to be a philanthropist). I mean children believe babies come from birds, fairies/mouses profit from teeth and just about any story containing a fantastic character. But the rough part comes when they start asking questions. why? why? why? Their first fat mistake.

And since it is only human to want children live on with the fantasy, you keep feeding the flame of fantasy and scientific confusion, Santa can do everything, he has magic abilities. But then if they keep asking most parents will say (and now this is the whole point of the post)
"If you don't believe in Santa then he won't bring you any presents, that's why children who say he doesn't exist don't receive any gifts from him."
And that is truly the child's greatest tragedy.

Because after this, as a child now you are under the believe that if by mistake you stop believing in this very suspicious old man you will be punished by having no presents in Christmas, and this by definition breaks the dogma of happy Christmas forever. So what do you do? You keep believing, because that is what will get you peace at the end; and you convince yourself this man is real, despite all the contradictions there are.

Because if you slip one second, one single second of mistrusting the fantasy, you are out of the list. You become an expatriate in this world of happiness and joy, and so you rather prefer to keep believing, to maintain your faith and be strong, because that is the only way you are getting a present.

And yes, I'm still talking about Santa.

[Happy winter solstice, Christmas, Kwanzaa, late Hanukkah and whatever you do this part of the year]

Closer to the 10

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, December 19, 2009


In some days, sun will rise at 7:31 with a waning gibbous moon.
2*3*5*67 in prime numbers
We're supposed to die 2 years after that, and we were supposed to die 10 years ago from it.
It will be a Friday
It will be the year of Biodiversity
At some point we'll have something called Burj Dubai

But the thing is,,, it's our friggin graduation


Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, December 18, 2009


[this is like the serious part where I address things of discussion and deep thought]

A fettish is defined as an obsession towards something.

But these days the only fetish you hear about is sex-related. But then again, are we really obsessed with anything other than sex-related content?

The thing is, where do we put the boundaries of what is normal to like and what becomes a "depravation"? Is there a safe line when to say that it is okay for a man to like a woman's feet and to say it is just wrong when they like to lick them? Because really, with all the sorts of people there are, by this time we shouldn't really be surprised by any -uncommon- taste.

But as always, we make a huge effort and thrive in making ourselves feel like there's something wrong with us. Because even after we know there is so much variety in the world we insist in calling it abnormalities and finger them (no pun intended...) yet hiding ours. Because we just have this fucked up vision of what normal is, or should be. And this is why this sort of worlds become so secretive and obscure.

And this is why we google things we think are wrong, just to reassure it is indeed wrong as we have been taught, but maybe someone else thinks differently. Or do they say, it is the internet after all.


[this is the part where I make fun of people in the internet]

seriously? driving? that's the best thing you can come up with?

You must be right... because kids aged 16 CAN'T possibly drive.
Someone should have told Nabokov about this before he made an entire novel.
It has nothing to do with being mature, having money or just having a developed body and intellect.


Driving is the new sexy.


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, December 17, 2009


So you came in today, it was suposed to be like last year, and the year before that, but you were just a little different. When I think about it, maybe you weren't, perhaps you were just like those days when I thought you were only an ass, or perhaps something had really changed. Maybe it was the fact that the only clothes you had in that house were the beige trousers and the vest I saw you with the other day, and today.
The thing is, you were polite, you made a fair conversation and you saw me making faces over the vacation anecdotes and the horoscope discussion, and you laughed a little, something the social convention asks for, but it was not honest.
I want to know what happened, I might get that information from the other guy... until then, au revoir

La pirata del aburrimiento

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, December 16, 2009


La capitana Kararrosa con su nave el Nube veloz, era una temida pirata en los trece océanos de menjurge, ella y su tripulación eran un grupo de despiadados piratas que atacaban y amotinaban a cuanto barco podían, tomaban todo y luego huían, dejando a las embarcaciones víctimas confundidas y azonzadas. Pero Kararrosa no era una pirata corriente como los que andan detrás del oro y esas trivialidades, ella traficaba algo mucho más serio: el aburrimiento. No que lo transportara, lo atacaba. Es por eso que sus embarques favoritos por tomar eran aquellos de burócratas y contadores. Sus municiones constaban de risas y chocolate.

Su ataque era muy ruidoso, como cuando hundieron el S.S. Muchoseso, comenzaron por emanar olas de música por las corrientes del pacífico, y prosiguieron por lanzarse en cañones de resorte hacia la embarcación. Uno tras otro, los bucaneros de Kararrosa se introducían en el tubo amarillo pastel y luego salían disparados a velocidad increíble hasta la cubierta del otro barco, donde les esperaba un gran colchón previamente puesto.

Al llegar allí Kararrosa se anunció con silbatos y tambores, interrumpiendo el silencio de los señores burócratas. Al ver que comenzaban a salir de sus aletargadas y grises habitaciones la capitana dio la orden –bucaneros, ¡al ataque!- Entonces empezó un lanzamiento de caramelos y serpentina contra los hombres, seguido de un tiroteo a quemarropa de espuma de colores, dejándolos inmóviles. Una vez los señores confundidos, la tripulación del Nube veloz registró el barco entero buscando artículos de valor aburril, esto llámese pesadas constituciones antiguas, colecciones de pelusas por grado de densidad y cualquier otro instrumento de tortura.

Una vez que tuvieron el motín, la capitana Kararrosa prosiguió por su parte favorita, la ejecución de sus aburridas victimas. Se paró firmemente delante de ellos y les vio como quien inspecciona a un bicho para ver si sigue vivo después del chanclazo o no.

–Señorita, pero que le ha pasado a su pierna- preguntó un preocupado burócrata al ver que la joven Kararosa portaba una pata de palo.

-¿Acaso le di permiso de hablar?- preguntó la capitana con severidad, el señor solo agachó la cabeza –descuide, es de juguete- dijo la capitana risueña mostrando la removibilidad de su amenazante pata de fina caoba.

–Señores adultos, a caso ¿son ustedes culpables de ser unos aburridos caralarga sin remédio?- porfirió la capitana, sonando más a juicio que a pregunta. Los burócratas no sabían que contestar, aún no sabían si quiera si el ataque de piratas con parches de papel y una capitana con una pata de palo falsa, podía ser cierto; no consideraron que pudiera ser una broma, ya que aunque esta amotinara su barco no la podrían distinguir.

-Pues nuestras ocupaciones nos obligan a llevar vidas pacíficas y de contemplación- respondió un hombre cuyo tono de piel era tan gris como su corbatín.

-Ajá, con que culpando a su obligación eh? ¡Pues aquí se acabó su vida de tomar el té a l misma hora todos los días y dormir antes de que anochezca!- dijo la capitana, alzando el brazo triunfante mientras la tripulación lanzaba alaridos de aprobación- Dospapadas, dame la espada- le dijo Kararrosa a un joven corpulento que llevaba un gran saco lleno de armas. Al ver esto el grupo de hombres grises temió y como pudieron si hicieron bolita entre ellos, entonces vieron como Dospapadas le daba a su jefa una larga y fina hoja azul transparente.

-Y por el poder que me confiere la gran espada de azúcar cristalizada, yo los libero de su vida de aburrimiento- dijo la joven pirata mientras la tripulación volvía a gritar de emoción. Entonces, sostuvo la espada en alto y la abalanzó contra los burócratas, cortando la espesa capa de espuma de colores. –Ahora, ¡a festejar!- gritó la capitana, concluyendo la ejecución de insípidas vidas de rutina y comenzando la fiesta.

Los bucaneros sacaron de sus cantimploras jugos de colores fosforescentes, y sabores innombrables, servidos en cocos, cascos y caracolas. A los señores grises les era muy difícil entender que sucedía, pero como los piratas ya sabían, la fiebre dulce es muy muy contagiosa. Así que después de unos cuantos tragos de jugos de piñaguaranja y manzarazdía, moverse al ritmo del redoble de Arritmo, el pirata musical, y comer chocolate hasta no poder más los aburridos; los entes grises habían muerto y solo quedaban alegres hombres que solían ser burócratas.

Al amanecer el otro día la tripulación se dio cuenta que el S.S. Muchoseso se había partido en dos debido a la alocada fiesta, los fuegos artificiales y el desbordamiento de alegría. Los aturdidos hombres nuevos despertaron y rieron al ver su antigua nave. Al final se tomó la decisión de que algunos de los antiguos burócratas de unirían a la tripulación del Nube veloz y los otros nadarían a tierra donde reharían sus vidas, se sentían capaces de conquistar el mundo a risas si eso se propusieran.

[ si, ya me lo dijeron. yo tampoco se, dejemoslo en experimento que nunca debe repetirse]

Symphony of Science

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, December 15, 2009


The beauty of a living thing is not the atoms that go into it
But the way those atoms are put together
The cosmos is also within us
We're made of star stuff
We are a way for the cosmos to know itself


The reason why

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, December 14, 2009


Just look at it...

Do we need another reason to make an effort?

(besides of course all the sustainability implications and human survival)


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, December 13, 2009


Ladybird from Christopher Harrell on Vimeo.

I love the coloring,
I have a phobia to insect groups...
Nevertheless I loved this...

Before he leaves to Sidney

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, December 12, 2009


This is it Celia, I'm standing here one last time. I love you, with all your complexities and complications, I love you just as you are. But I can't keep waiting forever, I need you to be here, to be with me.

I...I have never felt...

I have never felt anything for anyone really.


And that includes you. Seriously? An ultimatum? What kind of love is that.

Please, please don't shut yourself in that emotional lock, we can be so happy together. I know it is hard for you, but I also know you feel this too, I know I'm not hallucinating.

Me? Feel this?

Robert, you were a very convenient Saturday fuck for the last year, and the ride. I enjoyed it, it was...


But now we have to move on.

I can't believe you're doing this to us, to you.

heh... I don't need your shiny armor prince, what do you know about me?

I know you struggle to come out of that shell every day, I know that you're fighting to reach me, but you've reached a point where there's nothing I can do anymore. I'm sure you're feeling this too.

Just like you were sure I was monogamous and faithful?

Wait what?

Your brother Bill may be an under accomplished jock, but he knows how to make the Earth rock.




Have to go.

The People of Brighton

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, December 11, 2009


I LOVE vimeo SO much!

The People of Brighton - Short Film from Sim Warren on Vimeo.

Youth's guilt

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, December 10, 2009


Post-post modern dualities.


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, December 09, 2009


A Million Years from Roger Dario on Vimeo.

My storyteller

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, December 08, 2009


Throughout my life I had always heard of him, a lot. I had even met him, but I was too young when he died so I can't really remember. I always heard about his severity, his bad humor, his hight, about how much he was like me... physically speaking. But I had also heard about how much he helped people in his life, how he built hospitals and energy plants all over the country. He was also brilliant, he was part of this international engineering association and had once considered to study physics, of course he was ahead of his time.

I had heard so much about his greatness, a person who spoke about him was a person that referred to him with the out most respect. He was this kind of stoic hero everyone felt respect for but truly deeply loved.

I had also heard about his vices, with the booze and women, and more women. Uncountable stories of his drinking and how much of a party beast he was. He was legendary, even in his 60s the youth would think twice before partying with him of how wild did it turned (in the good way) (and the bad one too).

I knew as well about the biggest of all his weaknesses, women. And all the womanizing, and families he had, yes plural for that. He just couldn't keep his business together around the ladies, and given the player he was there was a lot of stories to be told of that, and of course the many many drama that comes along with this sort of cases. Grandma suffered much. He did too.

And up until tonight he was just this character that was part of my history but had very little to do with me, other than the physical traits and some of the intellect. I had been told he liked me a lot because of these two last things, but other than that he was just a dead relative who was a legend, even if that is not so common, he was still not close.

But then I heard other stories about him, stories about story-telling.

These were completely new, I had no idea of this before. It started with this people who are said to be very close to me but most of the time feel like strangers. This guys drift a lot about topics and always end up talking about him, my grandfather. But this time they were talking about how he told the stories of his life, and that later they had found out most of them were lies. "Mythomaniac" was a word used, of course with respect but still, they mentioned a diseased. I disagreed.

My grandfather had once a cyst in his back, and had it removed by his son (the physician), leaving a big hole in his back, a scar. Years later he was speaking to a group of people and he said he had landed in Normandy along with the U.S armies, and had fought in the war. Being the serious man he was, everybody believed him, because he showed a bullet mark left on his back. He had received a shot while being splashed with a fellow's blood in his face, then he had grabbed an automatic gun and killed many enemies.Everyone was very impressed, but his grandson (not me) who had seen four years earlier how that mark was being done by surgical material. He was not ever senile or hallucinating, he did told those stories fully conscious.

Then all the strangers in the room started speaking about all the stories that they had later found to be only that, stories. Then he was compared with the movie The Big Fish. That moment changed my perception of him, and probably of life as I know it.

He was a story teller. Not just some crazy drunk telling stories, like it was slightly suggested. He had invented this fantastic world of stories, and he wasn't even entertaining people, they were for himself. That changed it all, he was not dead hero who I was supposed to praise, he was my grandfather, the story teller. Then one more comment did it for me:

"He was magnificent, even if he was dry and all, he was magnificent"

The comment meant that he was not very much into showing people what he felt, he appeared stoic because he was not in touch. He lived in a cuirasse, but not because of lack or trust or any sort of stupid psychological explanation, he was just like that. And he was magnificent.

That along with the story telling almost made tears come to my eyes, but then again I'm dry. The thought of this made me laugh. And it felt so great, like I was at peace, because for once I had been able to link completely with this long gone hero. He was part of me, and I hadn't even met him properly, he was like me, he would have understand it, he would have got it. And so, for once in that table in Christmas time, I actually felt like part of them, no longer strangers, but family. Because if all we shared was my grandfather, and he was this amazing hero, character and person, then we couldn't be all that different.

That's how I met my grandfather the story teller, and I finally understood why he was seen so differently by so many people. How even if the image of the shiny hero preserved, he was remembered differently according. But most important, I felt that thing where you know your roots, where you feel identified with your past. For once I understood all that crap about connecting with the past to know the present. And even if life laws are never bent and I never get to know him, this feeling of closeness and bonding will most definitely never go away.

Old. 7

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, December 07, 2009


Jack Daniel's "Label Story": "Old No. 7" from Brand New School on Vimeo.

Let's leave something VERY clear

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in , , | Posted on Sunday, December 06, 2009


Science? Art?
How can they mix?

Seriously, art creates, it is beautiful and describes things words can not.

Science only discovers, is dry and is very methodical, there is no space for creation.

Pfft, art? Who needs it if you have sciences?
Art only expresses things, it really does nothing, it's only to externalize something within the
human, science is about applying knowledge and making life better, art produces nothing useful.

Art, philosophy, communications and such are only useful for meaningless social interactions.

Will these people ever agree?

Because none of them knows what art or science is.

Art is the externalization of ideas and feelings.
Science is the deepest externalization of curiosity
Curiosity is a feeling.

Art AND Sience both express things language fails to, how could you describe with language alone the desperation of existence, or the mechanism by which oxygen takes the electrons out of the cellular respiration so it can keep going?

Technology is applying knowledge, science is not.
Did Newton, Dalton, Rutherford, Pauli, etc. ever made something applicable for life? Because neither calculus (by itself), knowing about atoms, alpha rays or exclusion principles have ever made life any simpler. So science is not about finding the solutions of life. It is about seeking that which is not known. Art is about seeking that which is not there yet. Sounding similar?

So, next time you hear a scientist saying art is meaningless and an artist questioning the depth of science, just bitch slap them and show them this:


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, December 05, 2009


Samsung Mobile CORBY Global Launch Event "Countdown" from !f works on Vimeo.

Rob's sad case

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, December 04, 2009


"Tell me Mister Ackroyd, have you ever felt like you can scream at the top of your lungs, go out to the street and wake up every single dog and cat in the city, that you can keep screaming until blood came out of your guts and your were so sore you no longer felt anything, that you could keep on screaming and yelling and cursing until there was not one single particle of dust left of you... and still there was nobody listening?" asked Rob from his desk

Mr. Ackroyd remained quiet.

"No?" Rob turned in his chair to look to his friend "I guess you'll tell me when you're ready" Rod went back to his work.

Mr. Ackroyd, the garden gnome, never answered back.

In the door

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, December 03, 2009


Surprisingly, you left a comment, and I didn't know how to answer it. I answered in the only way I could think about. "Thanks. Have a nice week."
Who would've thought next week you would be knocking the door again, with your suitcase, and a 'what know' face
Portrait of a man in front of a door por Melissa Witcher.

I love this picture... It's from Melissa Witcher's flickr, nice pictures...

Off the record

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, December 02, 2009


Lately I've been thinking of you dear reader across the street. In some years, when we are publishing authors, you will be there saying "hey I read you before you were anyone" and we will be too caught up with the free booze that we won't hear you. But for your luck I'm thinking right now about you, and so I will give you fresh new quotes extracted from the big fat eccentric book of secrets.

This way you will be the only one who has this quotes, for they appear in no other texts, or will they ever. And no, again this has nothing to do with the lack of possible content I could have included if I took more time for this. I'm just thinking of you dearest reader. Always have always will.

So, as I was saying:

"Don't ask me how, but I just know that the second you stare at me, or look into my eyes I will simply vanish forever, like dust swept by wind. And never will I be found again."

"Vampire appears. Kills her"

"How's a philosopher-writer-scientist-artist-journalist-unauthorized shrink-ecologist
ever supposed to find a job in this town?"

"Measure life in experiences"

"Here's where you wonder if last night was worth it."

"Does anyone in the entire world wear a condom while having a sex dream? In the dream I mean"

"Nadie lloró por los dinosaurios"

"I stole a year of live"

"Dios es justo y necesario... la gente no tiene solo el gobierno que se merece, sino el dios también."

"Diario de un geni...udo"

[hope you find love with that booty call]

You parked your car in a nearby street

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, December 01, 2009


I had had second thoughts every single day of the month. You came or called once or twice a week to arrange some of the divorce papers, but I could hear your voice, and I knew you, I had been with you for a long time. And I knew it was painful for you, it was painful for me. We sat in the dinning table, on opposite sides, handing over papers, sigining documents, getting everything in order. You parked your car in a nearby street, you knocked, and you entered the house that was once yours.

But that day, you were dressed different. You had combed your hair, and you were wearing a brown vest. You stayed, we talked, about life and other things usually found in normal conversations. You stayed that night, and for a moment, I forgot you weren't there, I closed my eyes, and wished to see you there when I woke up, but at 5:30 I opened my eyes, and you were gone.

Su primera

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, November 30, 2009


Fernando tenía dieciséis años y se encontraba en una cama ajena haciendo algo que hace unos días nunca hubiera creído posible.

-pero no me la creo- se decía, agitado y revoloteado

-No exageres, no ha estado tan bueno, yo ya lo he hecho varias veces y no es la gran cosa- le decía Rubén mientras se levantaba de la cama y se ponía zapatos.

-Bueno, dejalo a uno disfrutar su primera no? Que yo no tengo diario el aparatito ese- Fernando ahora hacía un pequeño pseudo- baile con las manos, el cual ni muerto se dejaría ver haciendo por cualquier persona, pero era la emoción, por fin lo había hecho.

-Y que crees ¿que lo uso de a diario?- Rubén trataba de disimular sus cientos de horas solitarias con el dichoso aparato.

-Fue fantástico cuando te cambiaste de lado y apretaste no se qué que todo cambio hasta de color- comentó Fernando aún agitado

-No fue para tanto, es cosa de practica- le confesó Rubén –bueno, y la verdad también leí una que otra cosa en internet.

-Da igual, apuesto que la próxima lo hago mejor- sencillamente ese día a Fernando no le tiraban la sonrisa

-¿Quién dijo que va a haber próxima vez?- Por alguna razón ahora Rubén le daba por hacerse el difícil

-Bueno, si me deja su majestad la reina de Mónaco-

Rubén se río -Es broma, ahí cuando quieras- dijo mientras se amarraba las agujetas.

-Cómo sea, que solo fue pasar un video jueguito- Fernando no podía ocultar que Antes del grito final era el mejor juego de peleas del mundo, lástima que no tuviera ni el juego ni la consola en su casa.

-De todas formas, yo siempre termino sobre ti- acabó diciendo Rubén, con una sonrisa complaciente.

[so... i have like 25 days left and I'm 13 stories behind...]


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, November 29, 2009


No one liked it... I did...

Absent minded

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, November 28, 2009


[we're so shameless]

Agua Pasada

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, November 27, 2009


I have now the christmas feeling (which isn't about christmas actually.... the thing is that I relate certain seasons with certain songs, like last year, with "I believe in father christmas.." but this year's is way more offtopic..)
The thing that excites me the most is that I never thought I would hear this as a song... But here it is... From Mr. Sabina's genius: Agua Pasada

Lo peor del amor cuando termina
son las habitaciones ventiladas,
el solo de pijamas con sordina,
la adrenalina en camas separadas.

Lo malo del después son los despojos
que embalsaman los pájaros del sueño,
los móviles que insultan con los ojos,
el sistole sin diástole ni dueño.

Lo atroz es no querer saber quién eres,
agua pasada, tierra quemada,
que de igual esperarte o que me esperes,
que no seas tú entre todas las mujeres,
que la cuenta está saldada.

Las canciones de amor que no quisiste
andan rodando ya por las aceras,
las tocan las orquestas de los tristes
pa que baile don nadie con cualquiera.

Las maletas que llegan sin tu ropa
giran perdidas por los aeropuertos,
la pasión cuando pasa es una coopa
de sangre desangrada en el mar muerto.

Remendar las virtudes veniales,
condenar a galeras los archivos,
cuando al punto final de los finales
no le siguen dos puntos suspensivos.

Peor es no saber quién quién eres,
agua pasada, tierra quemada,
que de igual esperarte o que me esperes,
que no seas tú entre todas las mujeres,
que la cuenta está saldada.

Going up

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, November 26, 2009


Night Lights

[I told you so]

Before Teh Invisible Man

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, November 25, 2009


Before Teh invisible man...
here for you, teh holly image

The rise of will

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, November 24, 2009


Night lights

[I'm shameless enough to make this pass as part of a collection and use various posts to exibit it all*]
*I warned you

Walk the line

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, November 23, 2009


but which one?

Se marchó

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, November 22, 2009


Me mira a los ojos y me fulmina.

-Fondo azul y gélido. Martillo enorme rompe silla de hielo y se retrasa el tiempo-

Ella me ve y trata de buscar en mi alguna razón para no embestirme y salir corriendo y no ver atras

-Girasol se marchita rapidamente y del residuo sale un escarabajo, la toma se vuelve a blanco y negro y el escarabajo sale volando.

Yo no creo ser quien la pueda mantener aquí. No somos algo que prometa volverse real, o volverse una razón. Ella busca una razón.

- enfoque a un grano de arena en el desierto, solo se peude escuchar el viento, finalmente el grano se vuela.

Creo que lleva buscando ya mucho tiempo una excusa, una justificación para no huir y nunca volver, necesitaba algo que la anclara. También creo que acabo de romper su falsa sensación de pertenencia.

Mientras, ella solo me fulmina y entiende que yo lo sé, entiende que yo soy conciente de lo que acabo de arruinar y que terminé su busqueda por una razón. Me mira con odio y con gratitud.

-una botella cae al suelo y se rompe, el tiempo se detiene y los pedazos no se separan pero el vino se siue derramando, finalmente los pedazos se separan.

Entonces me da una ultima mirada de soslayo y continua caminando por el pasillo. Al final solo puedo escuchar sus tacones en su -clac clac- tan apresurado y arritmico como siempre. Nunca lo volveré a ver.

- niña a la cual solo se ve de los labios hacia abajo toma una flor, arranca unos petalos, se la pasa por los labios y finalmente la tira al suelo molesta. Se da la vuelta y camina lejos de la camara.


The day I left

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, November 21, 2009


We stared at each other. We were playing at the beginning, poking ourselves, simple inocent hugs then. I don't even know how it happened, but suddenly we were laying on each other. It was barely sexual, it was mainly a matter of self confort, it was warm and cozy. I liked touching your chin. Then you kissed me, gently, quick, inocent and not very natural.
Then I drank another sip of beer, and we went for a walk.
It ended with a chat, a simple chat about life.
Then I left you.

Stop the menace

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, November 20, 2009


They're dangerous,don't trust them. They are the idealists and at sight of one you should be scared.

It's easy to recognize them, they usually seem like pensive all the time and keep a perpetual sight of depth and reason, very much alike the one produced by some drugs (this doesn't imply they're always using them).

You will also find that they tend to be elusive and not always easy to spot. Then you will have to use more invasive methods, but we assure you, you will identify them. Idealists are constantly thinking about stuff people like you and I would probably never do, and this is because they praise that which is immaterial and abstract. An idealist will always cherish an idea or a concept over something they can touch or actually do. They will be found thinking about others and how to make a world better, this might sound pretty but history show this people only bring chaos.

There is something you must understand about them: they're all about the abstraction, and they will try to convince you otherwise, they'll try to convince you about taking action. But don't let yourself be fooled, people who take action are called activists, and when an idealist becomes an activist it then has passed to a ground beyond good or evil, so we shall deal with idealists only for now.

They will develop complex ideas and will fight the system with hopes and dreams, and here is where they are the most dangerous. We might think that their speeches and intentions are only ideas, and they certainly are, but a bad judgement would be to underestimate this people and let them go on. You will find that hopes tend to be much more dangerous than they seem, so they must be stopped at all cost.

If you encounter an idealist it shouldn't be hard to stop it. The first step is to identify them, and then you must do whatever is in your power to get them into the system, to make them desist their plans of world change and fight for rights. They must be controlled at an early stage, cut their aspirations and abstraction at an early age, take them to professionals for this is the only way to stop them at an early time. Do not worry if the idealist is a loved one, it is only a matter of changing them so they get back to being useful members of society. In no time they should be functional.

Studies have shown that very much like a drug addict, idealists are always idealists and should be treated like that. So while they can take a normal life after being reformed, it happens every once in a while that those thoughts of human rights and liberation come back. In those cases, the people surrounding the idealist should do whatever in their power to discourage them, make them see reality and avoid any contact with the history villains known as philosophers. This part is very important, or else they might get contaminating ideas.

One last thing about treating with idealists: There will be something inside them that will always tell them to keep fighting and that they have a cause, for this they shall not be trusted or followed; they are dangerous for the system and good costumes.

We hope this guide help you in your life and in reforming society.

Again with the fun theory

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, November 19, 2009


It makes me very happy :)

Lucid dreams

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, November 18, 2009


Okay I'm done. I've secretly been trying to make a post about these lyrics but I just won't come up with something as good as they deserve, so I might as well just put them here. Enjoy, they're pure poetry.

I’m gonna give my aimless love
My angry heart
My desire
I woke with wings from Lucid Dreams
I knew the reason I felt hollow
Was it I may never know
If there is some great truth or not

I dream a nation of you
a utopia of (______)
I dream a nation of me
a new (_____) where we can dream
Lucid Dreams
I'm living in a Lucid dream

Sweep slides on my stereo
Short wave ’round my rodeo
Became from that of Savalon
But I’m flying to Istanbul

Oh so why don’t you come along?

There is no nation of you
There is no nation of me
Our only nation lives in Lucid Dreams
Lucid Dreams I’m living in Lucid Dreams
I’m living on short based dreams tonight

I’ll dial Alexandria
If you dial into Ithaca
South fisher, German bite
I skate on the world tonight

Oh so why don’t you come along?
There is no nation of you
There is no nation of me
Our only nation lives in Lucid Dreams
Lucid Dreams
I’m living in Lucid Dreams
I’m living on short based dreams tonight

I’m gonna give my aimless love
My angry heart
My desire
I woke with wings from Lucid Dreams
I knew the reason I felt hollow
Was it I may never know
If there is some great truth or not

There is no nation of you
There is no nation of me
Our only nation lives in Lucid Dreams
Lucid Dreams
I’m living in Lucid Dreams

I’m living in a short wave stream tonight
Lucid dreams
I’m living on LUCID DREAMS
Now there is just plain mystery

Yep, not the right ones. Not one place on the internet had the ones of this version.(yes that's how bold i am making statements like that)

Corruption Perceptions

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, November 17, 2009


The darker, the closest to 0, the closest to 0 the worse...
The interactive version --> clickclickclick!

Recurrent dreams

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, November 16, 2009


I sometimes day dream that I go back to that moment where he spoke of pedophiles and such and I tell him to fuck off
"what the hell?!" he complains, because he obviously doesn't know what's coming next
"Do you really meant what you just said?" I ask, he doesn't know it is an ultimatum
"Well, yes why?" he says, because in my dream people actually do what they would in reality (at least at the beginning)
"Well f* you very very much"

And then I storm out and let them say whatever they'll have to say, because from that moment on I'm at war. I don't need them, or anyone else for that matter. And so I begin this huge campaign, I make drama and whatever needs to be made in the streets and make a huge media buzz. I appear on the radio and make it to nationals, because I no longer care and this is what I'm doing.

And I know that at first it will be out of surprise and it won't be that hard. But later they'll hate me, and they'll hurt me and try to destroy me. But it won't matter because their hate will deflect, because anyone who's not with me is against me, at this point I will know that is very radical of me, but that will be the only way to keep going, to be radical and fight with all that is left.

I will be out of friends and full of foes, and that will be exactly what I was aiming for, because this war was not really about the cause, but for me. So I fight and take it to international institutions, which won't really do much but will still have some role into it, and I will then be tired, really tired and near to forget what the whole fuss was for. But I will remember, I will bring back the main drive: I do this to destroy myself.

Because this war didn't really need to be fought, but I will. I will be shred into pieces, because even if I will never admit it, they will affect me, and eventually destroy me. And so this war will end with me trying to save the remaining pieces of what I was, and glue them with desperation and anguish, because I know that will never be me, nevermore. And then the thousand eyes will look away because I won't have it in me to keep on fighting.

And there will be no turning back because I already destroyed whatever there was to turn back to. I will be shattered and lonely, and finally I will be lured into the darkness like I always wanted. But unlike in my hopes, there will be no safe rope to come back, that is now way to sink into the dark side. I will enter deep and dark, and I will do things no person should, and see things I would not have been able to imagine. And I will believe to have touched bottom, to then being able to find new depths.

Then there will be nothing in me that is able to come out of that, and I will be simply lying near dead in a lonely alley being food to rats. And only then will I finally be out of reach, out of redemption, free of whatever plot device might be used to heal me and bring me back to good; I will be finished for good.

But then I wake up from the daydream and realize I'm too coward to do that, or so I tell myself. And then I think what a horrendous end would that be, secretly wishing for the right timing to begin the war against myself, at last my great perhaps.



Further Complications

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, November 15, 2009


In the beginning there was nothing, to be honest, that suited me just fine

Patronizing truths

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in , | Posted on Saturday, November 14, 2009



ROMINA: Tell me Charles Edward, tell me for once and for all why is that you can't marry me?! (she sounds desperate)

CHARLES EDWARD: Romina Rose, you know I love you, but I bare a terrible secret, I could never be with you having this weight upon me

ROMINA: Then just tell me the secret and let's love each other for all eternity!

CHARLES EDWARD: I...I... This secret will also concern you now Romina...

ROMINA: I don't care! Tell me, free your lips of that seal!

CHARLES EDWARD: You are right, at last will I be free, Romina... do you remember my twin brother,who died? Well he didn't die he....


URGENT NEWS--------------------

There has been a sudden rampage of fictional attacks in all the city. Up until this time 16:49 there has been an imaginary amount of reports, all people who survived the fictional attacks. The police has been able to not help some of the cases, but the attackers work too fast, say the police. All around the city this said attackers have been described to be imaginary, so we think they are armed and very dangerous.

Do not panic, follow the recommendations and stay at home, avoid any contact with illusory strangers and under no fake circumstance go out to the streets alone.The authorities are doing an nonexistent effort to stop this outrageous assaults. Specialists say this fictional attacks are being caused by creativity and imagination, so in behalf of the government and peace all citizens will be asked to stop inventing and dreaming, and so will the attacks cease.



ROMINA: I can't believe this

CHARLES EDWARD: I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before

ROMINA: How long will this farce continue?

CHARLES EDWARD: For as long as they buy it

ROMINA: Will it then be over?

CHARLES EDWARD: There is no then.

About Google Reader and Science

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, November 13, 2009


So the Meteor showers are good for skygazers, bad for satellites. Good thing that I'm a skygazer, bad thing I depend on beautiful beautiful satellites.
So Bangladesh mass poisoning mystery solved, and I didn't really knew about it.
Time-travelling browsers navigate the web's past, made me laugh, because I'm actually posting to the past.
Headphone risk to pacemakers, literally, music can harm your heart. (awww..)
Drink culture: it's as old as the hills, oh I know!
Mystery 'dark flow' extends towards edge of universe.. well, I'm always drifting over the edge, so no biggie.

That's what happens inside my head as I read my Google Reader, ( i love it, i love it, i love it ...) (btw, I really recomend New Scientist - Online News) this brain food is yummy!


Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, November 12, 2009


My excuse?

I'm a statistic now

Actually, I'm not aware of any of the percentages being handled, but now I figure in the data. I'm part of the reports shown so people can be informed in the demographics.

And like this is how I come to think of demographics, indexes and rates. When I see one of those I'm aware they're referring to people, but I don't really relate you see? Because maybe 30% of all people has disease X, but unless i know someone with disease X I don't really think of the 30% as an amount of people.

Then there is the other thing, do all those numbers brand us? Do they speak about who we are? They surely say something, something about where we live, what do we consume, how much we earn. But they refer to a community, a whole, what if we're simply atypical data. What if we simple are not

So once we're inside the percentage, or the rate, does that make it more real, or those that makes it less serious? Do my percentages mean something? do they speak for my self?


anything else you may want to know about me?

About bombs and stars

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, November 11, 2009


I am sort of a proud person with what I know. I like being right, naturally. I can accept being wrong, I even enjoy it in a weird way sometimes. What really bothers me is being told I'm wrong without a convincing explanation. I get annoyed very annoyed) when I'm not told why I'm wrong. And I'm specially bothered by someone convincing me I'm wrong, and then finding out I wasn't.
I don't mean to sound as an asshole... though maybe I am...
but I had to clarify, for my peace of mind that the sun's surface temperature reaches 5780K, while Napalm reaches burning temperatures of 1200 C°.

It's not even close...

Apicture Aday

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, November 10, 2009


I know, by now you've noticed.

Maybe not.

I stopped noticing what I say here and what I don't.

Anyway, you should be aware by know that most of the things I begin, I never complete. Sure, that is very cliqued right? Well, I have nothing to say back.

But now I have a new purpose, which I know I won't pull out.

-A picture a day-

Another clique huh?

Whatever, this I'm doing it for me, and for the memories, and because the only way of being sure I won't miss a thing is to put some sort of duty into it (yea, that's how my brain works).

Anyway, obviously you're never going to see any of those pictures because you are a naughty naughty stalker and I won't feed your vice. But I thought it would be nice to tell you, being that you already know almost everything (nothing) of me. That and the fact that I don't have anything more interesting to say.

Thoughts in class

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, November 09, 2009


Bottom line: I had a tank full of gas and two bucks. I was thinking about the sensless things I was destined to do if I just drove back home. I was also very bored. What could I do with my available resources?
I could go to the beach. Watch the ocean and then come back (maybe, 'cause I've never measured the efficiency of my car in highways)
I could go to the town I hate ( maybe being there by myself, I wouldn't hate) Buy a soda and then come back.
I could go to the park, and rent a kite.
I could go to rent a movie, (it it where tuesday)
I could go downtown and buy earings

Or I could just go back home...

Hatred to coincidence

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, November 08, 2009


Today I came to a conclusion, that because of its nature I might take back one day, but today it is very true:

The Human being hates above all things, cannot conceive, and can simply not recognize coincidences.

It is in fact a miracle we have invented the word, because above all things, it is a concept we try to avoid with all our might, our history and our stories.

The Universe could not simply by coincidence form matter out of energy, derive into hydrogen, build by collision other atoms that had different nucleus, then form big hot masses that collided with each other. It is just too fishy that by coincidence one big big ball of mass made planets and one of them cooled off and had the appearance of organic matter and then biomolecules. And something we just can't come to understand, because honestly is too f*ing impossible is that because of coincidence this biomolecules ended being archaebacteria, who then became cyanobacteria, who filled the atmosphere with O2.

Don't even get me started in the impossibility that it is in fact to believe that it was not in purpose, that there was no intention into the whole affair that was moving from archaebateria to eukaryotes, to autotrophs, to animals, to apes to hominids! It is just too much! We can't! It is just impossible to conceive that it was a coincidence, that there are actual odds to it, that if something very little had gone differently maybe nothing would have happen in that chain of events.

Not just in natural history, but in things we see today, it is just simply too difficult to acknowledge that a cold wind is just a cold wind in an abandoned house. It is not something we do to try to explain how just by coincidence the other day we read in the horoscope we would have a big chance and today we can go to Europe for a cheap cost. We are just not made for it.

And so we make stories, and believe them, because any other way we would not be able to live with it. Coincidence and chance is just far too brute, trashy, anticlimactic; it leaves no space for drama, destiny or foreshadow. And that is something we cannot conceive, accept or live with. We had myths, which had to end because of observation, we have legends that begin to vanish because of explanation. And yet we continue to tell them, to pass them on, because secretly in a littlle corner of ourselves we still hope that is the real explanation.

So we create characters, and scenarios, and archetypes and plots. Because that way it could all make sense. We only need to create one single story that can explain it all, and if it can't change it shamelessly in time so it does.

That is the only way.

Of that I'm convinced.

Flensburger Kurzfilmtage 2009 (Trailer)

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, November 07, 2009


This is just like... the definition of what I love

Flensburger Kurzfilmtage 2009 (Trailer) from Pepe Lange on Vimeo.

Nadie lloró

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, November 06, 2009


La Tierra no existía, luego sí.

Los dinosaurios no existían, luego sí.

Eran lo más poderoso y dominaban.

Luego murieron.

¿Quién lloro por ellos?

¿Quién los recordó?

Los humanos no existían, luego sí.

Son lo más poderoso y dominan





Haven't seen it, but I like the trailer...

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, November 05, 2009


WHAT'S THE PROBLEM? - Trailer from Jr.canest on Vimeo.

Murderers, sciences and talent

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, November 04, 2009


ogToday is Wednesday and I still don't know it, but in this week I will encounter this three new things:

Murderers: Of course I knew of their existence, and I had heard (of) them. But it is a complete different thing to have them in front of you.

Sciences: In a metaphoric way of course since actual sciences and I have been friends for some time, but this was different, they sent an emissary saying to come in their name.

Talent: I knew nothing of that sort, and at the end of the week I still won't, but it was there.

The murderers will kill me, their lullaby will cut me open, and I guess that will change my mind. Then they will look into my beautiful eyes and will loose control. They will also make me wonder if I am a human, a dancer, or else.

Sciences will plot an entire plan to make me see them indirectly. The place will be the right one, but I won't notice. What I will notice is their emissary, who at first will look foreign and uncertain, but will then prove to be true. What will give the emissary away will be the tag in the back that will literally read 'sciences'. Then I will know and understand what they were trying to say (maybe). And I will understand too why was the emissary chosen, because just like every science, this emissary will be complex, dreamy and oh so beautiful.

And talent, well... the lack of it will by the sour cherry in the pie (yes, the pie). It will be frustrating, then exhilarating, then funny, and then nothing. But you know nothing of this, so the future will not change, and thou shall suffer.

But anyway, today I know about all these events but I have no idea how will they affect me. So... I will just have to wind it up.

La Liberté Guidant le Peuple

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, November 03, 2009


For today's cultural post:

La Liberté Guidant le Peuple, 1830
Eugène Delacroix

Class chat

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, November 02, 2009


I've been chatting with this french guy for some weeks now...

Great... is he hot?


But wait... isn't your Russian better than your French?

What do you mean?

That you thought merci meant hello...

Well... the thing is that we don't talk too much

How is that?

Skype... web cams... em...

OMG! Isn't it weird?

It was... but whatever, our body language is sort of enough... hahaha

I don't really want to know more...

O c'ommon... hey, by the way... who is Jaime Toi?


Jaime Toi

...What are you talking about?

Idk, he just keeps mentioning him, I think it's supposed to be some lame french joke... anyway, I think I'll just stop talking to him, it's sort of getting boring.

Jaime Toi?


Don't you mean J'aime toi?



Y vuelve el flaco

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, November 01, 2009


This was just very dear and near to my heart, so I had to post it...

“Hice un solo desafinado con las cenizas del amor, las verbenas del pasado gangrenan el corazón”
"Virgen de la Amargura, devuélveme la vida, sin ti todo es usura y noches perdidas, facturas, calenturas, heridas sin sutura; caídas, conjeturas, sacudidas, cerraduras… despedidas de locura y callejón”
“A los quince los cuerdos de atar me cortaron las alas, a los veinte escapé por las malas del pie del altar, a los treinta fui de armas tomar sin chaleco antibalas, Londres fue Montparnassse sin gabachos, Atocha con mar”
“Cuando el flautista de Hamelín sacó un ratón de su bombín, Polichinela se fugó con Arlequín. Hay mariposas de arrabal que nunca aprenden a volar, vinagre y rosas a la hora de cenar”
“Ya ves, llegar a fin de mes no era con ella asunto de dinero. Se trataba más bien de merecer un tren de pasajeros, el tsunami de un mar hecho mujer, dispuesto en cada ola a renacer. Se llamaba Herejía, cómo voy a saber si me engañaba cuando me mentía”
“González era un ángel menos dos alas, González era un santo por lo civil, un dandy con un ojo a la funerala, tan rojo, tan Oviedo y tan zascandil”
-Joaquín Sabina

Of the risks of poll dancing

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, October 31, 2009


It is nice, sort of, when people go around and tell you about their poll dancing parties. They tell you how they did it, who they did it with and how it ended, usually the last part is the most unpleasant one. But you know poll dancing is just not for everyone, well it actually is, you just think some should wait when the time is right. Because with this too there are very different opinions, people who poll dance since they are 13, and people who say they never will (who then you find in New Year's in a restroom after all the poll dancing), it's all matter of tradition.

And you know it has its risks, you know some people even end up in the hospital after a wild one, others even end up knocked up, or without their virginity. But you also know everyone's doing it and so you think you will end up doing it one of these days, you just hope with all your heart there will be no pictures or videos of you after that; because that's the worst possible consequence, you think.

So once you get the right place, the right time and the right people to do it with, you decide to go for it. At first you're shy, you get up in the stage and play with the poll, make a few turns and walk around. But then that song that's been in your head all week starts playing, the lights are on you and you know everyone looking only at you. So you dance, you dance like there is no tomorrow, you shake all that can move, and vibrate with every high tune, and you have the best time of your life and dance like a beautiful dance whore. Because up there you are it, you take that poll and make it yours, that song will never taste the same for whomever sees you dance, and your friends are all with you doing it too.

In the stage nobody can do you no harm, you forget any inhibitions and free yourself from whatever might have locked you. If it is the first time you do it, it is that moment when you remember what people say about poll dancers, how it almost never ends well, and you disagree, you know there are few things better in life. If you are already an avid dancer, then you surely no longer think of what they say, you know how it ends and you love it, every single part of it (well... maybe not the mourning after).

Then you're off the stage, and the ground moves because of all the dancing, and you're dizzy and talk a lot. For some that is the time when they lock themselves in a restroom and throw away all their sins and lamentations about the poll dance. Some others just go and sleep soundly in the first bed they can find. But all reactions lead to the same unavoidable future, the morning after.

It is in the mourning when they warned you it would all go bad. And for once you recognize their wise words. Your feet are sore, you're trough can't take anything else, the ground can't stop moving, and most painful, there are drills taking your brains out. And it is not until you are lying next to the electrolyte wishing every sound and light was gone, and that you can't feel yourself when you promise for everything that is good that you will never, ever in the rest of your life will poll dance again.

And you swear it.

And you convince yourself.

Until next weekend comes and the stage claims for you.

You'll have time to swear later...

[here at bffs we don't support vices, but analogies instead]

Oh, this was different

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, October 30, 2009


I remember that about a year ago I was here, sitting in this same place and looking at the empty water bottle. 'Never, ever again' I said to myself as I saw clothes, sheets and people on the floor. This had gone to a different level. It was one thing having your cousins staying over to have some fun, it was quite a different thing having a pseudo-gipsy camp in your room, with people you once called cousins, laying in the floor, nearly dead: The Misunderstood, The Drama Queen, The Outsider that carries the last name and The Typical Jeune. No surprise they told everyone the next day...

[ So this is both a rant and a nice reflection. A rant about the 'fictional' thing that didn't happen about a year ago, and the nice reflection... you'll get it :) ]


Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, October 29, 2009


It would be rather easy to infer that we (I) are (am) against advertising, given its consequences and the fact that it exists with the sole purpose of creating needs and false images of how things should be. Well of course in that case we (I)'d hate it. But then there is the art to it.
Because to convince you of something perhaps an essay would do it, or an exposition. But obviously you don't have the time, or will.

So instead these people have to convince you in less than a minute, 20 seconds exactly for radio, 10 seconds for TV and less than five seconds for the traffic ads. Regardless of what you think of publicity, you must agree that telling a whole story with one single image is work of great magnificence, even if all that story aims is for you to buy a new shampoo conditioner (which also moisturizers your hair).

You might bring up all the so called consequences, and then I'd have to answer what I normally do with matters of such class: people bring themselves to believe what they want to believe, and as long as they have a good education and critical thinking, nothing bad should happen caused by advertise. And if they don't have that, then publicity would be the last of my worries.

And well, every now and then you find publicity that is actually good for you, so just enjoy this week's fun

Hey Jude flow diagram

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, October 28, 2009


By Love All This, I just thought it was amazing

Sky and Earth

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, October 27, 2009


You say eternal oblivion, I say hello...

The Octopus Project

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, October 26, 2009


The Octopus Project: An Evening with Rthrtha from Double Triple on Vimeo.

So, now that we are officially alive again, any thoughts for the photo or video?

Hey you bigots

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, October 25, 2009


Here's a thought for all of you who prefer censorship rather than education.

A piece of my mind about you people who continuously try to bring shame into what's art and glorify what isn't.

This is only for you.


Censorship makes natural things look dirty


Nothing so beautiful can ever be wrong

It doesn't matter how hard you try, as history as shown,
liberty is always the ultimate way for the human,
and there is very little you can do to stop it.
So better get used to it
before you are the one that needs to be contained.