Response paradox

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, January 31, 2009


I know it.

What? What is it exactly that you know?

The way into illumination, I know the way there.

So, what? You just can't go there?

Oh no, I do, I know how to get there and I can.

Then? How come you just don't go towards it?

Because... I'm not ready for it, I think I still have to do many things before.

Are you saying illumination is dead?

No... I'm just saying I need a bit of chaos before balance.

But isn't everyone just looking for that? Complete, and total spiritual illumination?

Well, perhaps I'm not. Perhaps I just want to be happy

Isn't illumination part of the full happiness state?


[confessing half-lies half-truths half-lemonades 3/2... I hate decimal digits]
By I'm the penguin

Panic paradox

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Friday, January 30, 2009


Sometimes you’re tired
Sometimes you’re annoyed
Sometimes you’re whatever…
But when the two first arise, there’s nothing worse than panicking. Enoguh with the panicking for now...
Because sometimes you just know panic won’t do it, it won’t solve it. And you know it can only make it worse. Instead, start doing what you’re supposed to do, and THEN complain and wish and hope they consider it for the next time.
We all have our panic attacks, (moi même included in LOTS maybe more than I would like to accept) But right now I’m not in it.
And I apologize for past panic-expansion contribution (and for future perhaps)
I’ve ranted, I’ve panicked and I’m not part of it right now (well, rant, we all love it and it’s inevitable)
So, know, the bothering thing, is I have to “panic” in order to avoid panic situations. What a paradox…

[Mrs. K i t e ]

About story telling and blogs

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, January 29, 2009


Doing a blog these days (which are the only days blogs have existed) is about a periodical posting of one's life, it is like a very unprivate diary, made for every single person in the world to see, in that instance we do make it kind of secret don't we? Blogs are meant to be a catch up into someone's life, but what if we don't know said person? Isn't it like reading a reality show, but this might actually answer your fan mail? Isn't blogging and v-blogging and whatever format of ita way to feed a huge voyeurism in us all? And believe me, I don't want it to sound dirty, and I know a million people would feel offended by that, but in a way I'm right.

Of course it has many advantages, all the connection, interactivity and international web-socializing, and they are just fine. But to me, maybe because I'm a story teller, a blog is more like a story of a character, a continuous, (almost) never ending story. And notice I say character because when a person is virtual, you do know it's there, but most of the time, unconsciously if you will, you don't realize it is truly a person, you just assume it is a character. In that way I think the internet has done wonders for the predicted to be doomed story telling.

And in that way this couldn't be really seen as a blog, because of many reasons. First we do update daily, which makes us very unusual, second, we don't share our private lives... or do we? I never told you here of the time I was on the street and so a crazy woman throwing rocks in the park, which could have made a wonderful story, but I didn't. You don't even know our real names, you don't even read us. We just tell stories and nonsense. But doesn't that tell you more about me than telling you about the time my cousin told me I would never succeed in life? I think story telling is much more about me than my life per se, if you know what I mean.

So perhaps we're not blogging directly, by telling you our stories, by becoming characters with recurring problems and e-mails you can send your stalkerish messages to. But, I think that we do blog, we become the narrators so you can make up the characters, so you can put the puzzle together, so you can see us. But of course that would requier lots of readers and time, which we have non. But I just wanted to go there, into the oh-you're-not-really-a-blog-you-never-speak-about-you issue. That remarked, I think we can go on with our complex over 290 pieces puzzle that could or not be named blog.

[indirectly blogging since 2008.... let's wait some years until that becomes some sort of real mile stone]
By I'm the penguin

Science makes you hate commercials.

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in , | Posted on Wednesday, January 28, 2009


Don’t tell me you haven’t seen a commercial in which bacteria are evil-pointed-teeth brown monsters, the size of the toilet with drug addict-like eyes….? And they’re conspiring against the house maid. The maid is so scared, but she gets the new bacteria-killer product… with O2 POWER!!!! (OMG… O2 is such a miracle!) As soon as this fantastic thing touches the evil bacteria, they kinda explode-disappear… (their eyes and legs too) leaving flowers and scent. And as they die, they make a gremlin “nooo!”
Or the soap that says “tears” grease…
It all changes when you know O2 is just oxygen (just? HAHA) and bacteria are prokaryotic cells with nothing but genetic material and ribosomes… and don’t forget the scary cilias or flagella. I mean, they definitely can’t have eyes, or legs, or conspiracy plans… poor poor bacteria, almost everyone is unicellular… How can you blame them?
What when you understand what soap actually does… emulsifies… pretty micelles..

You would think I think it loses the “magic” of tv..
But for me… there’s no greater magic, and pleasure… than knowing this…

[Mrs. K i t e ]

dear stalker, now you know I'm a nerd.... (ha, like if that was new...)

Chapter 12: Mousy Margaret

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, January 27, 2009


He was walking down the street, looking at the autumn leaves falling and the sorrow wind washing up the streets of that old summer joy, when the thought of why was Margaret missing hit him really hard in the back of the head, that and a ball. "Sorry sir!" was heard from a group of kids who were a few yards away, of course that wasn't an apologetic plea, it was more like a Could you pass over the ball? But he couldn't loose time in his regular ball-puncturing-child-yelling activities, so he just kicked the ball.

He wasn't very sure about what could he do with this intelligence, she would probably be now in Tuxon for all he knew. "You know? For being a best-selling author you do go around the same problem quiet a lot" said Henry, out of nowhere, for no on was there. "What do you mean by no one? I mean seriously, in this entire novel I have done like nothing really, it should be awarded the most successful novel of the year by the Plotless Award organization" he as now just standing, talking to the air in a loud voice, then he just silenced. Come freaking on, do you really think you can silence me? I may be a character, but even I can say this story is crap. He thought, but then he went back to what he was doing previously, which was thinking about Margaret and the reason she had gone, the nature of her departure, the nature of her continous leaving, and his nature of perpetual inaction.

"The inaction wouldn't be so intense if only you could think of something decent..." he was interrupted by his Singing in the rain techno version ringtone. "Hello" he heard from the other side, he hadn't even looked at the number, it was an unknown one. "Geez, finally, some sort of mystery" said Henry, confusing the person in the phone. "Excuse me, but is this Peter Caroll?" asked the voice. "Well, I suppose that's my brother, who's phone this used to be. You see, he got a bit of a problem with the service so he just gave it to me, so then someone called him to ask him out, and well I answered, and I and Margaret--the girl calling-- kind of talked for a while and then we went out. Then some more coincidiential circumstances got us into seriously dating, yeet being wrapped in some sort of lameo mystery designed by a retiring writer who just wants to finish his contract with some crappy publishing house which is closing this year." he finally said, expecting the person at the other side would hang up by now. "So you do can contact me with him?" asked the voice, as if it had listened to nothing of the nonsense. "Well, yea I guess" he said with a bit of dissapointment "I don't know his number by memory but I can call you back right away"then the voice made some sort of beef "no, that won't do, please don't tell him I called. I will call you later" said the voice, making no sense. "Well, this really makes it, are you really using the stranger calling getting me into another conflict idea again? And I bet this will be related at the end with Margaret and her secret reason to leave the city right?" Henry asked to the air, for the voice had already hang up

When he finished to scribble the number of the stranger in a napkin "Sure, because I always carry a napkin..." he had gotten from the coffee shop in the way, he walked to the next avenue and called a cab. "Where are you heading?" asked the taxi driver "You're white to avoid political incorrectness? Or is it just irnony?" asked Henry, again speaking nonsense, to which the taxi driver just stared at him "Between the Second and Fuller" Henry finally said. "I'm not ever going to get out of here am I? I mean, I will be bound to repeat this cheap plot over and over again, finding outMargaret was tangled with drug dealers who shipped the cocaine in curtains. I mean, I do give you that it gives kind of a plot twist given that she will give misleading clues, but I'm really never getting out of this created drama I call life right?"

"No,I think not" said the taxi driver. "Excuse me?" said Henry, frightened by the comment. "I think those are not the streets sir, I mean Second and Fuller are not paralells" said the taxi driver. "Sure..whatever" said Henry

And, back...

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Monday, January 26, 2009


I was almost gone when I remembered it.
It’s that sort of thing you’re always almost-forgetting.
Each time you get in the car, you’re about to leave, and it says “Hey” in your head
And you go back.
And sometimes you can’t be late enough… when it calls you.
And makes you be even later…

But you go back.
You go back and get it.
No matter how late it is.
No matter where you are or how you’ve been.
You go back for it, and you get it, and you feel satisfied.

And sometimes, oh, how you wish you hadn’t gone back.

[Mrs. K i t e ]

Cyclic time

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, January 25, 2009


"I have no time" he said, as if that was some sort of excuse not to be here. He says it as if someone could ever posses time and he just turns away saying he lacks something his ancestors imagined. Time is not something that you can touch or put into a NMR scan to find out what it is. He says he has no time because it is that part of the night when something more important in his priority list is upcoming, and he must be ready. But I'm more pissed about the fact that he uses something as unreal as time as an excuse, than the fact that I'm at the bottom of his list. Damned priorities, damned lack of confidence.

I think of ending it all and then the beginning comes and bites me in the ass. I have been wanting to send him away, to finally put an end to this, more than one time I have packed his things in one big brown box and be about to run away. But I haven't, not once. And today, as I am back, putting his many various papers in the box I find a pink envelope. I have moved his papers so many times, yet I hadn't seen that envelope in months. He gave it to me the third month, of whatever it is we have, there he wrote the most melancholic and and romantic of letters, I gave it back because "This shouldn't get more complicated, keep this, give it to your wife." I said, people often say that time makes you wiser, didn't occur to me.

Of course I had read the pink envelope with a scented paper and meticulous handwriting, and as any other person, I loved the fact that it read wonders about me and how necessary I was. But that letter also meant that it was real, that that which we had been sharing for a time was no longer a hidden magical place, it was crude and solid adultery. I didn't and still don't feel guilty, it was his decision, it was his decision to lie and scape from a life he didn't want. And that was his problem, at least until the feeling of need was reciprocate, from then on it was all a downfall.

He was a salesman and I worked in a lab, there was no way we could have known each other, seriously, no way. Until Katie quit because she got pregnant, and so someone had to manage the suppliers. I had always been in management, never a good position, so it was no surprise the boss picked me for the job. The man in charge of providing the lab with plastic wraps for the packages got retired, he was a very old man who came every 23th of the month. Katie's child and retired Mr. Kirk didn't plan it, but because of these people I got into this mess, I have always pointed them as the accuseables for all of this, whatever it is.

He was charming, he never wore a ring. I was naive and thought he was just a very good salesman. Many women have that instinct, to know when they are being wooed, to know if the guy is a approaching in any way, I don't. But in this story I was not the lamb, nor he is the lion, there was no bloodshed. I was aware he was into me when he started having lame excuses about coming to the lab, I knew how it all operated, how stupid of him saying he thought he might be useful. So stupid of me letting him do it.

The first time he bought me dinner he was straight forward, he was married, no kids though. By then I was already in, in a sinking ship, but already in. I never asked him for him to abandon his wife, I never though it would be of any use, I didn't want to be the cliqued bloody mistress who wants to marry the already married bloody husband. Then things went by its natural course, non of my few friends knew he was married, no one has actually seen him. I bet he has never told any of his classy friends, or his classy wife who he buys a new bracelet of fantasy jewelry every time he feels guilty, which is when he stays at night.

After giving him back the letter in the pink envelop we stopped seeing each other for weeks, I was trying to let him go, to get rid of the complexity, it was simple homotopy. I had to get him out of my system to go on. But then ghosts from the past returned, my father was found dead in the backyard of his house back in his little town. He had done so much wrong to me, yet I couldn't help but to cry, and feel screwed up, because every decision in my life seemed like a way of burring me deeper into that hole of self pity. So I went back to his arms, I damn my weakness.

Time hadn't effect on me in this matter, as any other person I do grow old, I have to pay the taxes every April and I drink champagne ever January; but time was not linear, it was just some cycle. I always ended up in the same self destructive ways, time was not something I had, was not something I could take from the future to replace a lost past. Time was just a dimension, one of the nine I couldn't see, yet, supposedly is there.

And now I take and rip this pink envelop, because it belongs to the past, a time that has gotten out of his hands just like me. I close the brown box take my keys and head off. I want to escape, I want to proggress, to step forward and move on. I want to move on, but that's for people who can have time, not idiots stacked in a cycle with the promise of an ending.

[a little different from the normal material, yet familiar]
By I'm the penguin

The noon of the season

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, January 24, 2009


“Should I be concerned about the things you hate the most? I shouldn’t. And what if that which you hate the most is me? Should I be concerned about it? I shouldn’t. This makes no sense, I want to be concerned and I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t.”
“You answers. I hate them, always so vague, so complementary to my questions, a simple negative, a denial. So perfect, so lame.”
“You’re now insulting me with poetry?”
“I am.”
“You are.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re not.”
“Wanna see?”
And she left. Once again. It’s difficult to remember something else than fights.
I keep wondering when are the good times coming?
The part when is the other way. Me not remembering the fights.
Is it possible to go back?

Dr. Noon

[Mrs. K i t e ]


Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Friday, January 23, 2009


For today's story I will speak about he-who-breaks-pasts. He broke my past in a way that no one would want their past to be broken, and that is because honestly nobody would want their whole life (lie) be torn apart by one single person. But it was also relieving, I was no longer chained to that lie (life) that made me feel so sorry and bad about myself, it was like a ballchain. But well, let's just say it was a mixture of feelings, or a roller coaster of emotions if you look for the cheesiness in this text.

So, he came into my life like everything new comes, he just appeared one day there. I had previous knowledge of his arrival, I knew what he could do, but in no moment did I consider he would have such an impact in it all. The first time I saw him, he was climbing down the stair, and I was sitted next to some friends. I remember it clearly, he was running down when he took a look at the room, and with all probabilities against it, he looked at me. And our eyes met for less than a second, but that was enough to know what was coming, or at least something deep and fearful in me told me it was happening. I always preffered to listen to that voice, but this was different.

The days passed by and this stranger was still around but I hadn't even crossed paths with him, not a word, not a glance. Looking back I kind of feel like a stalker, trying all day long to think of a way to pass next to him, to find a way to know something about him. It was all so useless, and in the process pieces of me were breaking, but I wasn't aware fo it, until the damage was done. You see, my past was constituted by all these little things that I held so dear, but where fragile for my entire life (lie) was built on hopes that someday I would fit in.

He didn't even notice me, obviously, and I think I didn't really wanted him to. He destroied me from the inside without even a word, without wanting to try or even knowing, we just made eye contact. But his skills of putting my world upside down were not his truly, they were in me, they were not infantil curiosity, they were something more complex. And as in anything complex, it was twisted, dark and confusing. It was me being a common Tereza looking for that meaning, looking for that someone with the secret password to the secret society I knew I had always belonged. And I thought he was Tomas, holding a password in the form of a book. I was just a weak, desperate Tereza.

But this story doesn't end with a life in the country side, it ends in blank. He just went back to wherever he came form, not knowing about me, or about him breaking me. He just left. I'm not saying I broke apart because of his departure, or because he was never coming back, he wasn't all that important. What was important was the symbol he incarnated, he was part of a secret society which was the only one where I could ever fit in, I didn't know anything about it, but I knew I would recognize the sign when I saw it. My whole slef ached to belong to said secret society, but I was just so clueless and far a way, and lost.

I'm still waiting for the invitation letter (the last one didn't come when I was 11)

[Tereza and Tomas are people who had the disgrace to be born characters who are doomed to repeat their whole drama over and over again. But aren't we all? (father:Milan Kundera) ]
By I'm the penguin

MEME thing... It seems Mr. Penguin is not a common name... so I chose that other silly Alias

looks like tmo shadow 2 (hey I didn't say the alias was common m'kay?)

needs to learn a lot in the defense department (just when one thinks masks can be worn as shields)

kewl. Stephanie says: i have dreams about him o_O. Mr.Penguin says: ... Mr.Penguin says: hmm k. Stephanie says: im gunna cry bcuz hes so BEAUTIFUL ...(geez we were just talking about Ronald McDonald, chicks are crazy)

does not want Holland's Euro 2008 campaign to be remembered just for the pretty football.(he also wants the hooligan outrage to be carved in the expecator's minds)

hates breathing warm air videos, video clips & video blogs (why can't you just write? is you're grammer teth bath?)

asks for residents' feedback on budget (okay, maybe "asks" is an understatement when you're threatening with making a plane turbine come from the future and crash everyone's homes [obscure Donnie Darko reference])

likes Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it). (who doesn't love a movie told by a guy without four theet who missed to say Uncle Ben used to know Vader until the end of the thing)

eats a bite of a muffin during a break in his practice session on Rod Laver Arena (he needs all those calories from chocalate gloriousness)

wears a gold ring round his finger. (it is the one ring... to rule them all!)

was arrested Friday morning on charges of driving under the influence. (in my diffence, it was euphoria, not the cheap vodka they say it was)

The not knowing

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, January 22, 2009


“When everything was there, there was only one thing missing. It was like, if I had everything I liked, everything I ever wished for… except one thing. And it was that one thing which specially disturbed me, which caused everything (and I mean EVERYHING) to become less important, and even a banal expectation of happiness, which in the end wasn’t. How could this ONE thing be so important, that the rest of it, didn’t work without it? Why did it change my world? Why couldn’t I be happy? Was having a part better than having almost everything? I couldn’t now.”
“So little by little, all this everything became useless, because I couldn’t have the one thing, the one thing which I wanted the most. And I asked myself: Would I be happier if I had ONLY that thing? I couldn’t give myself an honest answer, but I did the best I could. The answer was yes. “
“I continuously felt as an spoiled child, who wants something SO VERY MUCH. And is such an strong desire, that the you you thing you where, is not you anymore. And perhaps I was, just like an spoiled child. But what could one do?, when there’s nothing but expect.”
“I didn’t even tried to get the thing. If I tried, there were only two options: success or fail. Success was what I wanted, so desperately wanted. But fail, fail was something that I couldn’t bear, couldn’t even thing. Was the fear of failing greater than the desire to succeed? Maybe. I wouldn’t say they were greater, but the consequences of one were definitely worse. I’d rather live in the not knowing.”
“A fail, kills the hope completely, but the rather-not-knowing does too. This wasn’t a problem, since I didn’t think of the second one… At the time.”

Kite: (didn’t actually used Kite.. soooo.. you know.. I don’t want to feed the stalkers everywhere.)
"… needs some prayer power-she's so uncomfortable." (ok.....)
"…looks like a snob." (haha...)
"…says 8 months ago, danke schön." (8 months ago?...)
"…WANTS TO HELP JACK" (who's jack?...)
"…Does Olivia A Favor" (olivia? omg, i knew I wasn't good at people's names, but this has gone too far...)
"…hates Britney Spears." (true.)
"…asks Frank for help with Rafe." (weird..)
"…likes vivid, bold, energetic colours and inspirations of national costumes in her outfits." (like brown right?)
"…eats her shoe."(how did you know?!)
"…wears a Rochas iridescent blue-flower ruffle dress specially designed by Theyskens."(because I know who Theyskens is.. (are?))
"…was arrested for helping Paul escape." (sounds fun)
"…Loves Her Camera" (I don't even have one.... they owe me one... but I will love it..)

[Mrs. K i t e ]
Do your's....

Quantic possibilities

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, January 21, 2009


Previously in [insert name for this story] Greg and Aiden went to a place and made stuff for more conclusive summaries read the whole thing.

So I took a complete cup, and in my decision to be cool and drink for the first time, I stood up and saw all the bottles, with all the brands and all the half empty sodas. I was truly clueless about what should one do. But then CIA Steven came into rescue, took the cup “Gosh, this freshmen, they don’t even know how to pour a drink. I’m telling you, each year they make them dumber” he said, actually thinking I was a freshman, when in fact I was a junior, and he a sophomore, but it was all about not tagging that night.

So after he gave me the cup with less than 3/4 of the content, I sipped. Maybe it was because my first experience with alcohol was when my grandpa gave me eggnog and hours later I puked, or it was the fact that it was a solution with more ethanol than carbonated water; but regardless of the reason, I spat. It just felt like a deep hit of bitterness and antibacterial, with a hint of lemon. The unavoidable reaction was laughter from the others, that damned peer pressure, not even Pascal could have imagined its power.

So, in a turning of events, an act of boldness, and perhaps stupidity—okay, very certainly stupidity—I tried to drink more, with long and bitter mouthfuls, I held my breath and prayed there wasn’t instant liver damage. At the end three guys were staring kind of impressed, I was feeling sick already, and the cup was empty. I didn’t spat, but I was two mental please don’t puke away from showing everyone my lunch.

“Woah!, and here was I thinking you were just another pathetic freshman” said Steven, perhaps not seeing my disgust face please don’t puke, “You had me fooled with the not drinking act” he said, thinking I was cool, I was please don’t puke. “I mean, seriously, someone who doesn’t drink couldn’t have had a whole cup of tequila with lime soda in one shot” please don’t puke. It really didn’t help that I had memorized all consequences in short and long term of alcohol for biology class or something, the point was that I was feeling kind of dizzy. Please don’t puke.

“I think I’ll go to the rest room” I said, with the little air left in my throat. So I ran to the restroom and without even closing the door I reached the toilet and put my head inside. While I was there thinking about life and how sanitary was this, when I pitied myself about puking with one single drink, I was seriously not made for this. Then, when I was done emptying my whole self, I heard the door slam closed, maybe people weren’t up for such a show. I stood up and went to the mirror, it was dark and I couldn’t really see myself, yet I stared at it, while trying to wash my hands.

Just when I was about to open the door I heard some yelling, they weren’t OMG-this-party-is-so-great screams, they were I’m-freaking-pissed yelling. So for some reason my instincts triggered to open the door instead of hiding, or just doing anything, Darwin would have been so disappointed. And in front of me was a girl yelling something like “Even you drama fairies are pigs!” and then doing something like slapping or pushing or something the guy in front of her. But I couldn’t really bet on any of that, I had just seen this morning’s food along with my dignity flushing down the toilet.

“The problem is that I’m a guy right? Seriously I can fix that for you” said the drama-fairy who is a pig. Then the room went silent as if that was one of those Oh-no-he-didn’t moments. It was in fact, since the girl came back fast and said—now this I remember well for the events to proceed—“I do dig guys, just real ones” she said, with a bitchy attitude that was another oh-no-she-didn’t moment. And then, just to prove her point, or sent by God/Newton’s ghost/A parallel universe, she turned around saw me, grabbed me by the jaws and approached her lips to mine.

I still had the puke taste in my mouth, the whole room was watching, tomorrow she wouldn’t remember or want to remember anything, probably the drama fairy was gonna beat the hell crap out of me, yet, it was the greatest moment in my life. No that was selfish, that was the greatest moment in all human history, it would be spoken of for centuries and… two seconds later it was over.

She turned around again and walked straight to the door and left, along with my pituitary hormones, mixed with testosterone and a bit of estrogen, commonly known as heart. The whole thing had happened in slow motion, yet was so fast. In matter of seconds the party went back to the inaudible noise and chaos. After such an event the whole universe must have been going into Entropy faster.

“Dude what the hell was that?” asked Aiden, who had appeared out of nowhere. “Do you know that girl?” he said, again something I couldn’t answer “I just expected you to talk to a few people, but I got to recognize, you’re a fast dog bro” said Aiden, laughing, hard. I knew he kind of meant it in a funny way, but it was right then I couldn’t tell a dead thread form a joke. Then Steven, who had probably wished for that same event happening to him for years, came along.

“Who is that?” I asked. Then, as if I had asked him if Santa wasn’t real he shook his head in sympathy. “She’s Amy Lowry, but she’s a lost cause dude, don’t even get excited” he said, turning into the dragon guarding my princess’ castle. I had read too much fairy tales. “What? Why?” I asked, in confusion. He was wrong, she loved me she really did, or she could… maybe. “I’m sorry dude. She’s this really hot pink-haired girl who makes us guys think she’s available. But she isn’t, you see, like two summers ago she went to some weird music camp, and there were a lot of people from the school, yet almost no one knew her. The point is that one night she was caught making out with her roommate, who happened to be a girl” he said, terminating all my sudden illusions of romantic sunsets. Alcohol made me so common.

“So what? You mean she’s gay?” I asked, later thinking if that was a political correct term. “Hey, you can’t jump into conclusions, maybe she was just…” said Aiden, probably wanting to cheer me up, he was so nice. “What? Experiment? Maybe, but ever since people talk about her and guys hit on her a lot. What happens is that she seduces them, gives them hope, just to later on crush them and storm out” said Steven, with such a feeling as if he was talking out of experience, which he wasn’t. “Maybe it’s just that she has had only bad guys” I said, trying not to extinguish the hope flame. “Nope, sorry, that’s what she does. She attracts you in and then kicks you in the balls and runs away” said Steven, being crudely honest, evaporating all the oxygen from my flame.

[yes this shall continue, i'll throw some links. Part one. Part two. Part three.]

By I'm the penguin

Curious story of the cow who lived

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, January 20, 2009


Sorry if I'm being pictury, but it's just my mood right now... So, you made me think about resoultions, so here they are (partially)

This is the story of a cow, which had anything in particular convenient for the farm. It was not bigger than the rest, and gave no better milk either. But, it had to die.

There’s another story, about a painting, which wanted to change colors.
IT wont let me post it...
There’s also the story about a girl and a boy.

There’s a story about an abandoned page-holder

And there’s the story of course, of the abandoned instrument.

[Mrs. K i t e ]

Sand storm

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Monday, January 19, 2009


A dust storm, raging and flying. Making circles and going nowhere, filling every corner and path, revolving as a bundle of nerves, full of anguish and sand. This storm was as old as the wind, it was the music produced by the character’s magic, and it sometimes took the shape of innocent talc, others it was a constructive flour, but they were just shapes, its origin was always the one of dry lands and old distress.

And the wizard tried and tried, he was not an artist for his creations were not beautiful. He was not an architect because the outcome of his works was always unstable. He could only exteriorize that sand storm of twisted dreams and crooked stories. But what didn’t came out the way he wanted the most was the dying of the characters, numerous monsters and old kings, all fighting to come back into his day dreams or wicked writing. Every single one of them, fighting, struggling, bombarding and stalking, just to get out; but this was no act of freedom, they just wanted to rein the reality as well.

So the wizard thought day and night, what could he do, what would ever make such a storm and monsters to calm down? What on that unreal world or in his mundane life could pacify a storm as old and dry as his memory, or stop the monsters that hid under his bed and imagination. He had tried to enter the realm of fantasy, and kill one by one of those beasts, but said creatures overpowered him, he had become a prisoner of his own wicked and vicious imagination.

At all costs the wizard had to keep the monsters locked in his head, and the storm as calmed as he could, so he took some potions, potions that made him forget. Potions that made his soul feel numb, that made him smile, yet not feel merry. But it was all worth it as long as the six headed zombies and the old scary tyrants didn’t came out at night to whisper things.

Oh silly humans who think they can just call away their ghosts, the wizard didn’t last long in that numbing spell. Soon the storm found its way to blow harder and the characters to occupy his every thought. He was surrounded; there was nothing he could do. The monsters simply took his fortress and ravaged his defenses and violated his mind and forced him to take them to the other side. There was nothing more the wizard could do, so abused and vulnerable, the wizard let them in.

And so the music of the characters was heard again, the storm was raging and the pen was scratching. Paper was inked, monsters were released and the wizard boy could at last have a breath, although he knew the consequences. He couldn’t stop vomiting letter by letter, adjective by adjective each of the monsters who had stalked them, they were just flowing into the sea of sentences.

The ink was drying out and so was his sanity, his well being was flushing down the river of nonsense as well; they were draining his whole being. And moments before he thought it was the last breath he would make, a character long ago imagined appeared, one that was not along with the horde of monsters. This one was an actual good memory; it was a remnant of a forgotten smile. And with that he saw not only evil was produced in him that he could choose. And with the last breath of hope he scribbled one last sentence.

“Regardless of their efforts, they lived happily ever after.”

[who said I couldn't write happy endings?]

By I'm the penguin


Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, January 18, 2009


“It’s night in the city. Picture a glamorous New York from the 40’s. Take my hand. Dance. And sing with me… you are the one for me, for me, for me, formidable, you are my love very, very, very, veritable…
“Everyone’s wearing nice hats.” You said almost convincing
“Just… Dance…” I laughed.
« See me, see me, see me, si minable, je ferais mieux d'aller choisir mon vocabulaire »
Turn. Turn. Turn.
“We’re just missing the band” you smiled again.
« How can I love you.»
“Play it again.”
«You are the one for me, for me, for me, formidable, you are my love very, very, very, veritable…»
[Mrs. K i t e ]

Morning business

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, January 17, 2009


You wake up and look at the mirror, you're not getting any younger. Yet you wouldn't want to, you are young, you are beautiful and you wouldn't change a thing... maybe a few less pounds, going to the gym regularly and a more symmetrical face, nothing to worry about though. You go and have some breakfast and read the cereal box, apparently that is the only brand which offers more than 14 different vitamins and minerals, that one and the other dozens in the market. And while you go and dress you realize that there aren't many cartoonish-stamped T-shirts, there are no fun colors, just matching ones. But you think that is simply part of growing, growing old. And if morning wasn't difficult enough, you have those thoughts again.

The thoughts of what will happen in the future, the thoughts of uncertainty, the ultimate stress source of someone your age. And of course, as many other ones in your major you have it all planed out, you're going to get the best or second best internship, then get a job there and climb your way up to CEO, or whatever it is in top of everyone. In the way you will find someone who is convenient to your career, you will both agree not to have kids, or you'll persuade said person. Then you'll marry and reconsider the kids thing, grow old and rich. But you are not convinced, you didn't even made up your mind about eating cereal or scrambled eggs (there were no eggs at home).

Of course that all sounds great, but you are not sure that it will all work, you are not sure they will accept you in said internship, you don't know if you will have a bitchy boss who's heart you will end up winning and promote you like in the movies, for all you know you'll be staked in the same cubicle for years. And then there's the thing, what if you don't find someone convenient for your career, what if you don't find anyone at all? You think about marriage, but what if as far as you reach in commitment is casual booty calls? What if you end up with someone who took you as a rebound? That's the essence of uncertainty, what if?'s knowing that there's not a second chance.

And so you proceed to put your shoes and drink some coffee, you will need it.

[the post that was meant but wasn't]
By I'm the penguin

According to the plan

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Friday, January 16, 2009


This comes as a two-parter so, part one: the thought.

Part One: According to the Plan
According to the plan…
…I was going on a trip for a while. Where nothing mattered but the new horizons and the rising sun as I went for the next adventure.

…Things where supposed to be slower. But they’re not.

…I was not supposed to love him. But....

Part One: Escapist-Rush

She first opened the drawers, and with no intention of being practical, and actually no intention at all of anything but leaving, she pulled everything from them, and threw all the clothes at a big red suitcase. While emptying these drawers, she found all her secrets, hidden beneath the clothes, and old photograph, an old diary, and some old letters. It was clearly an “old thing” she thought. As she saw the photograph one more time before putting it in the suitcase she remembered the moment. It was such a clear memory, stored in a time capsule. She could even remember the smell from that day.

Not knowing when he would arrive, she tried to be quick. She wouldn’t want to be found while performing her escape… that would be really embarrassing. The only actual thing she had planned was a goodbye note, which she had written two months ago, in her first escapist-rush. And now, it was just time to take it out from the diary, and leave it in a convenient spot. December 13, she opened the diary in that date, where she had saved the envelope. She left it by the pillow, and made her way out the door.

[Mrs. K i t e ]
[ I do remember, I'm not sure if it's finished, but if it isn't we sould continue it ensemble, don't you think?]

Red rain

Posted by SgtPepper | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, January 15, 2009


The rain had brought not only water with it, but some red drops which seemed somehow like blood, but really weren't, everyone was amazed on how did they stained the grass, with a strong scarlet the whole town wondered whether this was a blessing from the sky or a curse of god

Mrs. Reynolds started packing all in her leather bags, "it’s the first sign made by the prophet, we will all perish" she said, as she put her cloths in a silly blue bag

And then, a young boy got out of his house, and started wetting himself with this unusual liquid, as he approached the others, they all stepped apart from him, but he didn't matter, he didn't said a word. People soon started jumping into conclusions "Its a poisonous rain" some dared to say, "It's a sign of the lord" said many others, "Probably it's just some cool rain" said this boy. But as usual not hearing a boy, who was looking the glass half full, was the smartest thing to do

"Haven't you thought that maybe it's a gift? are you that blind that maybe you haven't noticed what's right in front of you?" he said again "Just shut up, these are things you can't understand, you're too young" he heard, as many other times whenever he had made some sort of opinion of his own. "Yes, how could a red-blood rain be a gift? Do you even think of what you say?" asked a short woman sobbing for the eternal hell her kids would have to suffer when the judgment came

It was getting late, and everyone got into their houses, and prayed. The sky began to turn dark, it wasn't the blue-starred sky everyone knew, but a deep black one. But what could be done? That is what people do, they fear what they don't know, they fear what they know they can't control. And because of this they're full with fear of all sorts, hiding in their gods and sobs, trying to scare away the red clouds above their heads.

They thought they were prisoners of the night, when they were really prisoners of their mind. How to get rid of that that you don't know, how to exhale that air of freedom when all that you know it's being questioned in front of your eyes?

The inhabitants of this place had soon become hosts of complete desperation, roofs were being put all over the yards, the streets, and even some parks had a roof now. But none of their pathetic attempts could prevent the sky of being dark or the rain being red. And as if they couldn't remember the sky was there, they tried to go on with their lives, trying to pretend those roofs had been there since always.

They forgot the color blue, and they forgot the stars and the feeling of the wind. But that was life now, the way they were safe, the way they could survive, regardless if that could still be called living

Everything seemed to have change, into a grayer kind of life, kids ran on the streets no longer, teens hanged out in closed suffocating dull places, adults worked day or night, they couldn't tell them apart now. Even politics had been affected, the candidates offered no longer safety, but more spaces, no longer welfare, but surviving possibilities with such a life. And they got used to it eventually, little by little they stopped asking about the weather, about the sun, about the moon, people forgot there even was red rain but still they kept living that way, since the uncertainty of the outside was too much for them to bear.

Mrs. Reynolds was no longer packing her things in ridiculous yellow bags, believers stopped preaching the message of world’s end and redemption, and the non-believers stopped looking for a reasonable answer. They all had just forgot, it had became just a silly old memory in process of deleting. All except Daniel, the boy who once tried to convince people that this might just be a gift. The boy that had not lost hope about the world.

The solitude had not just reached this people, but everything around them, there was a feeling that everything was old, everything was tired, yet Daniel kept being himself, the rest had become something else. They had become less human, no one even complained, and this was not something that took the place anywhere.

It was really hard for Daniel to find any more reason to go on, the whole world had gone insane, they didn't hear him as usual, but this time, they just simply didn't noticed his existence. They didn't only ignored him, they actually didn't see him

So, he decided to do something that could change the course of things, the only way we could get people to believe him was going outside, and showing the rest of the world to the people. So he went to one of the new city limits where a big wall had been risen, and he dug with his hands, fortunately the construction wasn't very deep and finally after digging all across the wall he could see it again.

That place which everyone had forgotten, and so he saw that the red rain had made everything different in the outside to, every plant had grown, and everything was beautiful. He called some people to show the wonders, but as they got near to the hole, they kept asking "Which hole kid? Which hole?". Tears shed from Daniel's eyes, as he knew they couldn't see the hole. Their blinded eyes couldn’t even see the remnants of freedom, all for their so very special safety.

[remember this? I do. Continue it (if you think it's not over)]
By I'm teh dsexyilc pguinen