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.

About a party and a video and a lolz

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, October 24, 2009


Sometimes I see links to other blogs
I often google things
I periodically check my google reader
My google reader doesn't show videos

Then, for a looking-for-something-to-post reason...
I find a video
in which I'm picking things up
and it was funny
very funny

but wtf...

The book

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, October 23, 2009


Ever wondered how a penguin's diary would look like?

Well, just because I always make my best efforts to make your dreams come true

I bring you a piece of the book of secrets

[pardon the light]

Google Search

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, October 22, 2009


This is just one of those things you need to post...
'Why are there school' beats everything

Quatre saisons

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, October 21, 2009


Apelles-les effrontées

Apelles-les retardées

Il pas importe

Elles sont les quatre saisons

[actually call ME shameless...]

This is hardcore

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Tuesday, October 20, 2009


New character in town

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, October 19, 2009


I was a little over my head this next week, the most stressing days of the month.
At the same time, and very much related, this character appeared.

Don't be all crazed or excited, he is fictional. But not like all the previous ones, this one has a face.

Let's call him Franz.

This guy had a great impact of changing something in me within days, there is very few things in life capable of doing that.

He is to be blamed for the emotional absence I will have this week (him and the no-sleeping process, from which he is to be blamed too). He is also responsible of a one-day-long depression crisis, and also for the one-day-long waves of crazy eagerness.

Because as it happens with me and characters, it was not only him per se who changed me, but his story. His is not one of great loss or magnificent life change. He is a common story, told in a different perspective, one that actually applies. One of those great perhaps I only dream about.

So this week will be about the secret obsession with this character and his life changing mine, even if this is the only format in which I tell you so and more likely the only time I do.

Just know that to wrap the whole thing I was reading stories to improve the plot in mine, and things got a little out of control. But by next friday I will be more than over it (or so I'll say)

[BTW, don't bother to read the whole rant.]

I saw her again

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, October 18, 2009


Remember that time when I told you the story of the sad psycho? A her, actually?
Well, it doesn't matter if you remember the story, because the important think you should know right now is that there is a sad psycho, that I happened to see last week.
I saw her smile again, I had almost forgotten about her, but then, those skin spots took me back to that post some months ago (months?)
I tried to say hi, but I was just to afraid.
Oh that crazy female...

Stranger across the wall

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in , | Posted on Saturday, October 17, 2009


Who is that person?

He is just standing there, staring at me blankly. He looks familiar, I won't deny it, but still I don't recognize him.

He looks me in the eye and I look back, but nothing is said. Neither of us recognize each other, and there is no one else in the room, just he and I.

His deep dark eyes don't move an inch, they don't hesitate at my presence and continue to beam me, deep into me, deep like no other person, yet we don't know each other.

After a while I start to notice his body, it looks so strange, figures that I'm not used to, colors that I don't recognize as mine. He looks at me and I just contemplate his gaze, his foreign essence in front of me. He is like nothing I know, yet he is supposed to be a familiar image.

I open my mouth to say something, I'm not sure what but I do. He does too, his movements seem inarticulate, I wait for him to say something but he doesn't. Then I raise my arm to reach him, he is so very close; he does it too. We touch, it is cold and lacks electricity.

I see no point on continuing the interaction with the stranger and turn around, and walk away from the mirror.

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, October 16, 2009


Oh yes!

Ella y yo (parte I)

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, October 15, 2009


En cuanto abrí los ojos no me percate que ella estaba ahí, únicamente noté que el fulano de ayer se había marchado, aparentemente ya era tarde. Como en cualquier otro día me senté en la cama a esperar que a algo dentro de mí le apeteciera levantarse y hacer algo; a veces solía esperar por horas a que eso pasara. Mientras ella estaba sentada en la esquina de la cama, recta, sin movimiento, estoica en su mirar.

Le di los buenos días y como de costumbre sólo me devolvió una mirada vacía. Por su sentado pareciera que llevaba en ese sitio años, o siglos, o que ella siempre estuvo sentada allí y que la mera existencia de mi cama o de cualquier otra cosa era simple coincidencia. Hacía eso cuando yo traía hombres a la cama, sentarse en una esquina esperando. Por lo general se mantenía a mi lado siempre, tanto que ya ni me daba cuenta.

La verdad es que esta no es una de esas cosas a las que se acostumbra una, y sí, era mucho más raro en un principio, pero por alguna razón nunca se vuelve común que la muerte te siga, aunque sea por años ya. No sabría decir cuando empezó, o porque, simplemente me comenzó a seguir. Por las mañanas se encuentra a mi lado, siempre está a donde voy y a la hora del café no se la ve a más de un metro de mí. Eso sí, jamás habla, o se mueve, es fría e incorpórea, hasta a la vista se puede ver eso en ella; y aún así hay una familiaridad en ella tan única que hizo que no sintiera miedo al tenerla junto.

En un principio creí que era mi hora, y que su aparición era un aviso de buena gana de que prepare mis cosas, pero con los años deseché esa posibilidad, no tendría caso seguirme por tanto tiempo si era solo para levarme. Pero fue hasta una noche cualquiera cuando la sentí más junto, cuando por primera vez sentí que se acercaba a mí y no solo se mantenía a la distancia.

Esa noche, antes de dormir sentía como ella trepaba a la cama, sin mover nada, como si flotara. Luego se acercó a mí, lo sentía, y puso su dentadura junto a mi oreja y comenzó a susurrar algo. No discernía ningún sonido, solo lejanos susurros que gritaban algo, voces de todos colores salían de su boca sin decir nada. Y entonces comenzaban, las voces se convertían en visiones, en olores y gustos. Como si los susurros me llevaran a otra parte, y esa vez aparecí en una raquítica habitación en Paris, podía ver la torre desde la ventana.

No tenía idea de donde estaba, de hecho no estaba yo allí, corpóreamente digo. Pero sentía todo, el frío de la noche, la sinfonía nocturna de una ciudad que nunca dormía y los olores penetrantes de pinturas secas y viejas. Y después de notar todo el entorno fue cuando vi al hombre. Estaba en su escritorio sosteniendo un delgado pincel y tallándolo contra un lienzo a la luz de las velas. No era viejo, pero se le veía acabado y enfermo, fue cuando lo vi toser sangre que supe que hacía allí. Ella apareció junto a mí y me miro, señalo el trabajo del hombre, pinturas sensacionales de un arte decadente, pero ella no me quería mostrar eso. Más bien me mostró su vida, lo que hacía y lo que lo mantenía con vida.

Nunca me había percatado de tanto en una persona, fue como si de pronto ese artista fuera alguien que siempre había conocido, un viejo amigo que dejé de ver desde el funeral de su tío en Viena, aún si nunca en mi vida he ido a Austria. Y fue cuando me sentí más identificada a él cuando ella lo tomó por el hombro. El se volteó y la reconoció de inmediato, se levantó lentamente y antes de dejar el pincel le rogó que lo dejara terminar las últimas pinceladas de su cuadro. Fue así que a la luz de velas consumidas esperamos a que terminada su última obra, y después de garabatear su firma nos fuimos los tres y nunca se nos volvió a ver en ese lugar.

Al despertar en mi cama después de eso no sabía que pensar, no sabía en verdad nada. Ya era algo tétrico y descabellado que un esqueleto inmóvil tapujado por sabanas hechas de arena y siglos me siguiera a todos lados. Pero haber visto la ida de ese hombre era algo que no podía explicar, -quizá había sido solo un sueño- pensé en un principio. Pero no pasó mucho para que esos sueños se repitieran.

Una semana después de eso me aparecí en el viejo departamento de un boxeador de los años cincuentas, ahora era un anciano ebrio y sucio. Algún día había sido un campeón, con la frente en alto y una vida por delante, en sus últimos momentos fue capaz de llorarle a la muerte y retarla a una pelea. Pero como él sabía, y todos en el fondo estamos seguros, esa es una pelea que hemos perdido desde el momento en el que nacimos.

Después nos encontramos en el cuarto de hospital de una anciana, que estaba rodeada de gente cuidándola, abrazándola y queriéndola. En cuanto nos vio sabía a que habíamos llegado, y no titubeó en despedirse del presente vivo y el pasado empolvado; lo único que le costó fue despedirse también del futuro, pero ella entendía, y caminó fuera de ese hospital con la muerte y conmigo.

Esas fueron experiencias únicas y conmovedoras. Había llegado a la conclusión que claramente no eran sueños, que era gente de verdad que había muerto, gente que por alguna razón la muerte me estaba mostrando a mí, gente que nunca había visto, algunos habían muerto hace décadas ya, otros eran gente que moriría en algunos años. Desconocía la razón por la que tenía que verlos, especialmente a ellos. No había algún patrón, llegué a ver la ida de un humilde barrendero y la de un capo de mafia, vi como peleaba por su vida un viejo pescador, y como le agradecía su presencia un adolecente deprimido.

The Batteries

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, October 14, 2009


"Those damn batteries! I mean it this time, if they uncharge again, I'm so going to throw the remote again."
"You do realize it has nothing to do with the remote, right?"
"I really don't care right now, I really don't."
"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense."

Lunch hour creeps

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, October 13, 2009


Girl, you won't believe what happen just two hours ago... seriously

I was at the cafeteria, minding my own business, and of course I by myself because you bitches were probably tramping over the place. As I was eating my sandwich, home made by my mama, who you know makes the best roast beef you've ever tasted, this guy stares at me. You know, first I though "That boy's up to no good", 'cause you know I can feel this things, I just know, I just know; like that time at the mall, when I predicted that girl was a size four lying to be a two.

But whatever, I just kept minding my own business while Mr. Gotta-lot-to-do kept staring. For a second I thought he was into me, because you gotta admit, you don't stare at the window unless you wanna buy it, but he was way too creepy. Just imagine a black Tom Cruise with no hair, no cute button eyes, and no style... yea a plain goddamn midget. The point is that after like two minutes of being really uncomfortable, the little guy gets up from his table and comes directly to me.

"Hey babe" he said
"Excuse me?!" no dwarf was allowed to go around calling me babe
"How about you give me some of that meat of yours" he said, with the grossest chuckle you can possible imagine
"That's just nasty..." I said, who the hell did he think he was? "Get you own sandwich bitch" Can you believe that guy?


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, October 12, 2009


I just saw this.. .and it was so... so... Blackbird Fields...

MTV MHD "Crow" from PSYOP on Vimeo.

Well built plots

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, October 11, 2009


By now there are many analogies about life spread around in movies and literature, and what kind of daily publication would we be if we didn't share ours (mine). So this is our (my) say in this matter.

Life is a low budget comedy written with black humor and irony, which by no means should be taken seriously.

Life is also a heart breaking-mind blowing- person destroying tragedy, and must not be seen lightly.

And life is too a drama that is not far from being a soap opera, which should be seen while eating popcorn, otherwise you don't get the same feeling.

So go out to laugh and cry, and eat lots and lots of popcorn, because this feature show has no intermissions.


Les Mystères de l'Horizon

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, October 10, 2009


Les Mystères de l'Horizon, 1955
René Magritte

When the Sun went down

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in , | Posted on Friday, October 09, 2009


I bet you knew this, but just so we're clear: yes, I was aiming for the Sun yesterday (this actually happened tomorrow) when I decided to fly with wax wings, and yes, I was actually considering to just glide away, but you know how this things go.

Maybe you don't know, so let me tell you how the charm was broken:

MR.PENGUIN: Nice parteh, BTW where's the classical atheist?

ROCKR: Who knows... probably at some random party in some random guy's house.

MR.PENGUIN: But wasn't he like invited?

ROCKR: Well yea, but you never know with him, he might just be passed out of all the alcohol, or stoned with any of the magic substances he ingests.

MR.PENGUIN: O____O Wait what... he does -magic substances that give you superpowers-?

ROCKR: Yea... I swear I don't know how he manages to be such a genius with all the stuff he puts inside him


ROCKR: yea...

MR. PENGUIN: well, this sure does it.

ROCKR: what?

MR.PENGUIN: Oh... nothing, I'm just telling the reader further details to understand my reaction upon the event of which you've just told me about.

ROCKR: I see... So, how's the business

MR.PENGUIN: Pretty freaking awesome

(the lights only focus on MR.PENGUIN and he then turns to the audience)

MR.PENGUIN: If only he knew... that the wax wings would melt nevermore...

I'll go

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, October 08, 2009


One day before I left, I re-checked the list, I had spent two weeks making the list, asking people about it, asking myself, and even getting some help on the internet. I though it was easier, two years before it would've been easier, but it wasn't anymore. I was leaving my just constructed life, and I had even made a list. Pictures, letters, computer, books, lots of books, my movie collection I had slowly collected with my christmas money, filled (to my family's dislike) of independent films. My CD's, because I never believed in iTunes, the guitars, which I was hypothetically not allowed to take, but I was taking anyways...
My memories, my friends, I'm not looking for a new start, I don't really want to leave, but I'm looking for that something, I'm still young and fool, I'll be back one day. I'll come on christmas, I'll still have to come when a family member suddenly dies, I'm not saying goodbye, but I am.
See you soon...

The everyday art

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, October 07, 2009


It is common to think of an open field of flowers, or rivers and mountains when we talk about beautiful landscapes and sceneries. Because, well, nature is awesome and the colors and the openness makes a bigger picture of things, how each rock, each plant and the conjunction of all these elements can compose such an image. At least I think that's why it's so inspiring and beautiful.

But I also think it is the little things we see each day that can compose beauty, and art. The small events that happen unnoticed most days, the city expressions that are so common they are ignored. I don't think there is need to get out of the city, and the noise and the smoke to contemplate beautiful landscapes. I just think we need to put a little more attention, so those small and meaningless things become work of great magnificence.


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, October 06, 2009


So, this is the second part, what happens after the last words...
There might be more interesting epitphs, but I like the short ones best...

- Ludwig Boltzmann (by himself)
"S = k log W"
(The formula for entropy of a system. Boltzmann committed suicide after failing to convince contemporary scientists of the validity of the formula. Grave in the Zentralfriedhof, Vienna.)

- Ian Curtis (Himself, chosen by his wide Deborah Curtis)
"Love Will Tear Us Apart"

- Werner Heisenberg (unknown)
"He lies here, somewhere."
(This is a joke about the famous Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, which implies that one may not know the position and momentum of a particle simultaneously.)

- John Jones (by Himself)
"Hold my drink, you're gonna' love this."

- Isaac Newton (Alexander Pope)
On his tombstone, "Hic depositum est, quod mortale fuit Isaaci Newtoni," which is translatable as "here is deposited what was mortal of Isaac Newton"
On the adjacent monument "Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night:
God said, 'Let Newton be!' and all was light."

-Kurt Vonnegut (himself)

Part of me

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, October 05, 2009


I feel this... ancient fatigue, it numbs me from within. It comes from nowhere but it aches everywhere. It is there with every hear beat, with every air inspiration. This fatigue has no beginning and I know it will never end. I believe it is all the waiting that has tired me, throughout this years, which lately feel like thousands. And I feel it is all because I have been around so long, seen to many and felt to the point of exhaustion.

I have to make a great effort to look and sound alive, even if I'm sure I'm not dead yet. I try to convince myself from within my brain that I belong, that this is my day and age and so it is right to be here. But I know it is not. So I just wait for another century or two to pass, and I know it will go just like the many ones before them, without leaving any sort of trace except for stories. And for this same reason I just feel like there is nothing you can tell me or show me that will sound new or exciting.




I am also mortified, to feel like this with you here. And it is not that I forget about you, it is that I forget you are still so young, so full of life and virtue. It is the last thing that keeps me active, pushing you into life, into everything I know you must not miss. Because even if later it all seems dull or repetitive you must go through all of it, and I don't assure it will be pretty, or fair, or good, I can only promise it will be worthy.

And after that, there is so much we have to talk about, so much left for me to share with you. Even if at times we seem to disagree, or you are frustrated by my lack emotion, and your anxieties seem tiresome to me, we are in this together.

It is because of your sudden changes and epiphanies that this fatigue and waiting is bearable, because the fact that you and I can coexist seems like one of those oddities that are simply too great to miss. It will all be alright, and this infinite load on my shoulders seems that can be lifted just because even after all this time, it still amazes me greatly that we are the same person.

Last words

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, October 04, 2009


I know last words have been over used, and I don't really believe most of them, but whatever, here are some I found which I liked.
I really don't believe in most of them... but I guess life's about the storytelling :D

Pardonnez-moi, monsieur. Je ne l'ai pas fait exprès. (Pardon me, sir. I did not do it on purpose.)
- Marie Antoinette As she approached the guillotine, convicted of treason and about to be beheaded, she accidentall(y stepped on the foot of her executioner.)
Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est. (Applaud, my friends, the comedy is finished.)
- Ludwig van Beethoven
Where is my clock?
- Salvador Dalí
Es ist gar nichts… es ist gar nichts… (It's nothing… it's nothing…)
- Franz Ferdinand
I'd hate to die twice. It's so boring.
- Richard Feynman
Yes, I am.
- John Lennon (whilst sitting in the back of a police car on the way to the hospital after the officers had asked him if he was John Lennon.)
Tomorrow, I shall no longer be here.
- Nostradamus (lolz!)
No me dejen morir así, digan que dije algo. (Translation: Don't let me die like this, say I said something.)
-Emiliano Zapata
Don't kill this man. He has a story to tell. (Trotsky said this to his guards, who were about to kill the man who had mortally wounded him with an ice axe.)
-Leon Trotsky


Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, October 03, 2009


The other day, while watching Watchmen, a though stroke me: When doing plots about human condition and existence, it is a tendency to always bring up some main archetypes to expand on the ethical and practical visions of each, in some attempt to en globe the main points of view.

The nihilist, the stoic and the idealist.

They all represent some old and deep schools of thought, but more than that, they describe very well the bases in which human abstract and realization of the self is made. First there is the nihilist, who can also be the hedonist, or any other character that acts on the motive of its own pleasure or interest. This one is often seen as a villain of some sort, because he(or she) is selfish, he doesn't really care about the others or how the outcome maybe, as long as he is satisfied. But of course he can be a hero, just a bizarre type, because in case he is a hero then he has a more "realistic" approach, because he is the one who understands humans as selfish entities pretending, and he just cuts the crap and accepts his condition. He has seen decadence, he embraces it and lives from it.

Then of course is the good guy/real hero, who is stoic. He, like the nihilist, has probably seen decadence too, but the difference is that the stoic feels the need to change it, to cleanse the human from its nature into a perfect ethical form.This character acts only for pure intentions, to do what is correct and what in the conventional scale of principles is the best thing to do. This character can drift too, there is the fanatic, who will do anything in its power to stop the evil and make good prevail. But this too can end up in some psycho blowing up the world due to its evil.

Then there is the reasonable stoic, this one has seen all faces of the human spectrum, he knows the causes and effects of it, and he understand. But because he understands he doesn't/can't take too much action, because he sees the two sides of a story. So instead of imposing what's right, he just tries to make the most basic notions of what benefits all. The problem with this one, is that since he has so much understanding, and general lack of a stand, he drifts from his own human condition. He looses touch with humanity.

At last but not least is the idealist. He has a little bit of the other two, but the difference is that he fights for what he thinks is right and fair, this could be like the stoic, whatever is good, but not necessarily. The idealist is usually the actual hero, the one who fights and even trough adversity he maintains his principles, but his ideas tend to see what is the most sacred about the human form and taking a personal stand on it, protecting it with whatever they have.

The main difference with the others is that the nihilist does not hold anything sacred, and will do anything; but the stoic is not so different, because of his condition he can't take a certain subject as his main purpose, he must remain always acting for what's better for the others not himself, or his personal believes. This is what differences them all, and what makes the idealist more fit for a hero role.

Thinking of them, one could easily assign the roles to the villain, the mentor and the hero, in the respective order. But it then becomes harder to distinguish, what makes each human? Because creating this archetypes was not matter of chance, we all have them within. And it is then when the question pops, If you were a character, which type would you be?


Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, October 02, 2009


Time is so friggin fast.
To many things to do, maybe that's just the way it goes...

Generation A - Colour Samples from CRUSH on Vimeo.

First time

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, October 01, 2009


"So you think we're ready?"

"Well, it really depends on how you feel, but at the end of things, you're really never ready"

"then no 'you know when you're ready' crap?"

"Not really"

"I'm not sure about it"

"We can always do it another day"

"No, we can't. It must be today"

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I just hope we don't mess it up, that would be really shitty, because I think we have something good here"

"Don't worry, it will go smoothly, just don't think too much about it"

"I mean, you always hear the first one is the weird one, the awkward. But nobody ever really tells you how not to make it so"

"Maybe because everyone needs it to be awkward so they learn"

"You're right, I'm just nervous, that's all"

"You'll be fine, it's not such a big thing, it's only a real state sell, no biggie"

"I know, thanks for all the help. What would I do without you partner?"

"Ha ha, I'm just doing my job"

[beyond obvious]