Tarde a la cena

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, January 31, 2010

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Otto dejó su oz ensangrentada en la rendija del patio y se apresuró al lavadero a meter las manos en agua, allí las tallaba frenéticamente para que la sangre seca y estiércol se le despegaran de los dedos, las comisuras de las manos y entre las uñas. Era de noche y solo se escuchaba los grillos a lo lejos, una que otra vaca o cerdo que no dormía por razones extrañas; en el cielo no se veían más que tenues estrellas, no había luna y todo estaba muy obscuro. Otto no podía ver su reflejo en el agua.

Después de varios minutos de tallar con rastrillo y jabón corriente sus manos Otto escuchó una leve respiración detrás de él, de reojo intento ver pero obviamente no había ninguna sombra, volteó y frente a él estaba una figura pálida de orejas puntiagudas, pómulos muy pronunciados y unas ojeras enormes. La figura era como la de un hombre, pero este flotaba sobre el suelo. Otto se mostró impávido ante la habilidad de un hombre de tal aspecto que flotara, en vez se inmutó al ver la oz sangrienta en manos del ente.

-Victor, ya te he dicho que ni siquiera puedes darle una probadita a la oz, no te puedes controlar- dijo Otto arrebatándole de las manos al flotante orejón la oz que sostenía cerca de su lengua.

-Pero solo una chiquita, te juro que no hago nada, palabra de cartero- dijo Victor aferrándose a la oz que brillaba con sangre seca y pútrida.

-Los carteros no tienen código de honor, además tu sólo repartes el correo con tal de flotar por ahí asustando gente- Otto finalmente le arrebató la paleta rojiza a Víctor y la echó al lavadero. A Víctor no le quedó más que hacer una expresión de gran dolor ante tal perdida, murmurar una que otra cosa contra su neurótico hermano y se dirigió flotando hacia la casa de concreto gris frente a ellos.

-¿Qué otro chiste tendría tener estas orejas, estas ojeras si no es para ser libres y revolotear por allí hermano, tomando ozes sangrientas, asustando viejecillas al ocaso y robando ganado solo para darle unas mordiditas?- dijo Víctor en la entrada de su casa de concreto antes de hacer su salida dramática aclimatada por un portonazo.

Otto farfulló y regresó al lavadero a terminar de limpiar el instrumento para matar vacas. Otto era un carnicero al cual no le agradaban los cuchillos o machetes, optaba por ozes y guadañas, les daba un toque más clásico. Otto era un carnicero que no comía su carne, únicamente en ocasiones cuando nadie lo veía el cerraba la tienda, se metía al almacén y daba unas ligeras lamiditas a la moronga, al desperdicio hemático de puerco y de pilón le clavaba el colmillo a la carne que después se haría picadillo; todo claro sin que nadie, mucho menos sus hermanos lo supieran, sino ¿quién le compraría a un carnicero que no tira la sangre podrida como Dios manda?

Cuando Otto finalmente se dirigió a su casa se molestó al ver todas las velas prendidas –Víctor, con un demonio ¿por qué prendes las velas? Se va a quemar la casa, o peor, nos vamos a encandilar- gritó Otto a su hermano, al cual podía oír del otro lado de la casa gimoteando por contenerse la risa.

-Otto, tu bien sabes que Cano no come a gusto si no hay iluminación decente- dijo Víctor, como si en verdad le preocupara si Cano comiera o no. –Víctor, ¡Cano es ciego! Por más luces que pongas no va a ver- dijo Otto apagando todas las velas que podía, odiaba la luz del fuego.

-Y sólo porque es ciego ¿crees que no siente? ¡Criatura desalmada!- Víctor a penas y podía contener la risa. – Sangre seca de tu sangre seca, es tu mismísimo hermano y lo tratas con la punta de tu bota- recitaba Víctor, como parte de un melodrama ya bien estudiado.

-Hoy no estoy para estos jueguitos, hablando de Cano, ¿dónde está? No es tarde ya para un maestro estar en la calle- se preguntó Otto, con más preocupación por su entendimiento de qué hacían los maestros normales que por su hermano qué aún ciego podía lanzar una bellota a un gato y dejarlo sin ojo, que lejos de ser una metáfora era su pasatiempo.

-Ha de estar pegándole a los niños estúpidos, esas piltrafas no aprenden ni siquiera a azotones, yo no sé porque se esfuerzan en enseñarles de aritmética y ciencia si van a acabar siendo pobres granjeros como sus padres, y los padres de sus padres. La gran tragedia de haber nacido, criaturas ingenuas.- Víctor estaba a punto de empezar otro de sus monólogos sobre la existencia y las desgracias del mundo cuando Otto lo calló. –Creo que hay que ir a buscarlo- dijo el hermano mayor con expresión de quien ve a un muerto cavar su propia tumba.

- Y qué ¿ahora puedes ver el futuro? Si nada le pasó, se ha de haber tropezado con una raíz o algo así- Víctor mustió y se río de solo pensar su idea.

-No cerebro de lechuga, escucha- dijo Otto, rasgando el aire con un dedo, como juntando el sonido en su dirección. Se quedaron en silencio por unos segundo hasta que ambos se vieron a los rostros y salieron disparados hacia la puerta de la casa, se abrió con un portazo y ambos salieron flotando por el pueblo cual nubes de polvo.

–Crees que haya…- Víctor preguntó

-Quizás tenía razón y azotaba a los niños…- mintió Otto, los dos sabían que era lo que iban a ver al aterrizar en la escuela primaria nocturna. Al tocar tierra pareció que los llantos frenéticos se agudizaran y las dos figuras altas y orejonas se irguieron y apresuraron hacia las puertas de la vieja escuela rural.

Corrieron por un pasillo estrecho, Víctor resbaló y cayó al suelo por lo resbaloso del piso, Otto corrió hacia los niños que gritaban y lloraban como desquiciado y con una tenue luz de lámpara vio tres cuerpecillos inertes en el suelo y otros ocho arremolinándose en una esquina. Había otra figura en la obscuridad, era una figura alta y muy vieja, le sobresalían orejas puntiagudas y se alcanzaba a ver su perfil delgado y afilado. La siniestra criatura sujetaba un bocadillo en forma de muñeco grande del cual escurría un espeso fluido que brillaba escarlata. El pequeño aperitivo aún movía débil mente sus deditos.

-¡Cano!- gritó Otto con todas sus fuerzas –Juramos que no comeríamos humanos, lo juramos. Por décadas no hemos probado una gota de sangre con tal de no caer en tentación.- Otto gritaba con ira, frustración y un poco de hambre.

Cano solo giro su ciega cabeza hacia Otto, de no haber sido ciego Cano se hubieran mirado fijamente por unos segundos, pero no era el caso entonces Cano solo mantuvo su cabeza hasta que las ganas pudieron más y regresó a su cena.

-Víctor, ayúdame a detener a Cano, dile que lo hacemos por vivir en paz, por cansancio de huir, haz otro de tus teatros para convencerlo- gritó Otto desesperado en busca de su hermano. Era muy tarde, Víctor estaba en el piso lamiendo la sangre, deslizándose en ella, gozándola y bañándose en su tibio espesor.

-No tu Víctor, por favor…- Otto se lo decía más para sí mismo que para su hermano, que estaba en un trance profundo. Otto y sus hermanos se habían mantenido por muchos años a base de tomates, sandías, granadas o cualquier otra cosa roja, pero no sangre. Una gota era suficiente para desatar nuevamente el demonio que naturalmente eran. Claro, Otto tenía sus escapadas morales en la carnicería, pero nunca compararía carne pútrida de cerdo con el néctar fresco de la vida de un pequeño infante. Otto sabía que no debía hacerlo, no quería hacerlo, eso estaba mal y el estaba harto de seguir huyendo como un monstruo.

Con cada gota de fuerza de voluntad Otto se encaminó hacia la salida, sentía que cada partícula polvosa de su ser lo jalaba hacia el cuarto, especialmente de su pantalón. Otto luchó contra su instinto, lucho contra sus deseos más básicos e instintivos y paso a paso logró alejarse de poco a poco del matadero, pero siguió sintiendo el jaloneo. Se dio un momento para voltear a su pierna y vio a una pequeña niña jalando de su pantalón llorando por ayuda.

A Otto le dio un vuelco el corazón y se arrodillo junto a la indefensa criaturita que lloraba, la abrazó y la levantó. El viejo inmortal se enterneció con la mirada de la pequeña infante, tan dulce e inocente. Y como cuando a un borracho de pueblo le sirven tepache y se lo ponen en la mano Otto no pudo más que ceder, y a los pocos segundo las niña ya no lloró, no lloró nunca más.

Mr. Winter and his farm

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, January 30, 2010

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Mr. Winter was his name, and he lived in a farm. Once in a while he would go to the convenience store to get some milk. He couldn't drink his cow's milk, it was unethical he thought, drinking your cow's milk. Some people said he was vegetarian, but I saw him eating a stake in a party. Maybe it was because the cows he was eating weren't his. (Fact that caused gossip and conflict because they had bought the cows from the rival family, yet they had invited Mr. Winter)
This would always remain a mistery, Mr. Winter was a mute...

(Narrator issues?)

The night the school burned down

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, January 29, 2010

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In the hope that dream sequences are not outdated I shall tell you a story only I know.

At first I was roaming around a public mall, but I didn't enter I was just walking around it, like waiting for something. That mall was special, it was the only thing close to a convenience store in miles from our school. Because, you might want to know, we were in a boarding high school with all the people we love and (not so much) cherish.

Then I recall being accompanied by a friend of mine, one of the prettiest girls I know, we were talking trash about school and other people like common teenagers. We were still outside the mall, and then given the dream status of the story I knew that somehow the mall was burning down in the inside. But I did nothing; I preferred to stay talking with my friend. Later that night, when we were back at the school we heard the horrible news that the mall had burn down and nobody had been able to do anything about it. A thousand people had died either burn or crushed by the crumbling building. Or so it goes.

I didn't felt guilty, at least not like I was supposed to. Instead I went to sleep. And since you can't really have dreams inside a dream (at least not me) I automatically woke up with Uncle Master, the head of deans, in my room telling me we had to leave. Me and a small group of other students had been brought to the lab where we were explained that we were some sort of special force group and we were to rescue people from a fire. The fire had extended to our school.

The dean explained that this was not a common fire, that it was a retarded one, which meant it burned slowly, which gave us more time. The downside is that nobody could see this retarded fire until it was too late, which could explain why people at the mall couldn't do anything about it. Like the good sunuvabitch I am I asked the dean how could he know about this if nobody was able to see the fire. He looked at me and said with his eyes three cold and sharp words "no stupid questions". So he explained how we were supposed to end the fire, he gave us a super potent universal solvent that could disintegrate doors and other obstacles, and a crystal alloy in dust that would suffocate the fire at the contact. We were freaking special with our solvents and dusts. My friend was there too, we started talking.

At this point I was supposed to know in the dream that this friend and I had been especially close lately and so we were chatting while the other honorable people saved lives. I can't remember if we even did something positive or an attempt to do anything to save anyone, we were having fun; but then she told me she had to go to her room for something real quick. I was going to wait but then I remembered the people who died in the mall, I wasn't able to do anything there, but maybe now I was going to do something, I'd be a hero.

So while others were going room by room saving people I thought of a bigger purpose, I thought I'd go to the boiler room where all the other machines were, because somehow I knew that if the fire got there it was all over. In what sort of boarding school is there a machine room? Anyway, while running to the basement I saw lots of people running around and some of my special team partners disintegrating crumbled walls that blocked the way. The school had begun to fall to its bases. When I finally got to the machine room it was all in flames, invisible flames that didn't burn. There I started to throw our magic crystal dust around in hopes that simple action got me the hero status. It didn't. The machines were okay, and I actually didn't know what any of them made, for all I know they were decoration; there are no decoration-saving heroes.

For some reason I knew my pretty friend was at the other side of the second door in the machine room, so I went there. I entered an immense gray and blue room with a really high ceiling, it was about 50 meters high, or at least it game me that impression. Then my friend and I started talking about life and such, how it was a terrible tragedy that nobody could have saved those poor people in the mall. I agreed, even if I had been able to, I didn't mentioned it. She began to cry, I didn't know what to do, so I awkwardly held her and told her things would be fine. She backed off and said she couldn't do this, said that living a double life as she did, she had no time to commit or anything, and so she ran away.

At that point I wish I had been heartbroken, or any of the sort, I wasn't. I was not sure why she had understood I wanted something else, I didn't. Maybe I was too flirty, bah, I couldn't flirt to save my life. To be honest I was content with the idea of rumors being told of us being in a relationship, she was really pretty, and that sure ought to give me some status of some sort. Was I a terrible person for thinking that? Maybe that's why she left me, even if there was nothing lo leave. The worst part was that I didn't feel bad, she was a good friend but wasn't vital, and God knows I didn't like her for reasons only you and I know.

The gray and blue room started to vanish and eventually I was standing in a rooftop somewhere sunny. I walked around to find where I was and I found a group of jocks playing around a pool. I went over there to ask them where we were, but they were busy laughing at my pajamas and the viscous fluid i held in a beaker. I thanked chance they hadn't seen the fire suffocating dust, it was shiny pink. As the indecent bullies they were they approached me to mock me and throw me around; terrible mistake. As soon as one was close enough I threw solvent to his eye, he screamed so hard I was sure people in other buildings could hear him. If I wasn't going to be a hero at the very least I wasn't going to be a victim.

So there was some sort of brawl, which was more a solvent delivery dance: they approached rhythmically, I delivered solvent, they cried in pain holding their eye, or their jaw, or head, or crotch. Any pain was good enough for me. At some point I thought I could get Uncle Master in trouble for using as a weapon what he had clearly gave me to save others, now I was going to be banned in disgrace; that I wouldn't allow. So I tried to run away, but the bullies kept following me, so I did what I thought was best. I affected their limbs in such a way they weren't able to move, then I threw them to the pool, I once heard people who drown end so swollen there is few they can tell about their bodies, I hoped that would be the case and that they would never link me to their deaths. I was only worried about the fact that anyone found out.

I went back to the machine room and climbed to the rooms, there was nobody left, just invisible fire. I used the dust I had left to throw it around; even if I wasn't sure the invisible fire was there. I thought it would be some story staying there, making sure nobody was left behind; when they found me I would be a hero, even more a martyr. Just imagine the funeral if by any chance I ended up dying. I bet there would be fireworks, are fireworks allowed in funerals? Maybe not, they would make an exception for me, the kid who stayed to save everyone else. My name would mean something then.

But later I aborted the idea, I had not even made a dramatic good bye letter or any of the things a natural martyr should have ready at all times. So I went out of the building, everyone was out in the parking lot with blankets, hot chocolate and so. "Where were you?" asked Uncle Master as he approached in a rush. "Checking if there was still someone in" I said, trying to sound as much as a hero as I could. "Well I signaled the report that everyone was out two hours ago, we where only looking for you" he said, I noticed he had been worried, but was he worried because I was some student? or was he worried especially for me? I guess I would never know.

"Sorry sir"

The only car I saw leave that night was a white Sedan, in the back seat was my pretty friend, she was being transferred.

One of those days...

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, January 28, 2010

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[PHD Comics]

Yes!

Post in the future..

BBFs

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, January 27, 2010

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They are birds, they are black. It is a field.
I have no time
You get the idea

About the words

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, January 26, 2010

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I google things... Sometimes I google people, sometimes I google characters or curiosities...and when this happens... I end up most of the time in my dear Wikipedia... I found it very useful when trying to get quick information (i know it sounds like an infomercial, but so it goes..)
Making a quick reflection, the next paragraph shows the description of a character I loved...
BUT,... it's not as nearly as beautiful as the one you read in Vonnegut's words...

A fatalist optometrist ensconced in a dull, safe marriage, in Ilium, New York. He randomly travels in time and is abducted by the four-dimensional aliens from planet Tralfamadore. In WWII, he was a POW in Dresden, which has a lasting effect on his post-war life. His time travel occurs among disparate times of his life, re-living events past and future, and, so, becomes fatalistic (though not defeatist), because he has seen when, how, and why he will die.

I should be googling biology...

What I do in class (shameless)

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, January 25, 2010

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Given that I'm (not) a teacher and all, I bet you've been dying to (not) know how my classes are, so I might just show you what kind of stuff I do.














Yeah... I (don't) teach Ecology

If I die now...

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, January 24, 2010

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If I die now...
I hadn't think about it seriously...
I mean, once or twice I erase my browser's history and clean one or two things I wouldn't like someone to find in my computer if I died. And it's not the usual stuff you hide in a computer, but whatever...
If I die now, I wouldn't want to want to tell people things I never did, I mean, I don't want to regret not doing things. But I think that's an inevitable thing, almost writen along with the definition of dying.
The truth is, at the moment I'm not dying to tell anyone anything, (anything new, at least) and it is a feeling of somehow serenity, but of indiference at the same time.
I think everything would be a little more exciting if I had something to shout from the bottom of my heart, some 'i love you' here or there. But I don't... So for the moment, I'll keep day dreaming with some songs that say what I don't have to say, and looking at lovely pictures.



[via Pipes Output]

The third and the seventh

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in , | Posted on Saturday, January 23, 2010

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I know it is regularly Mrs.Kite's job to link you to the world's videos, not that I'm saying that's all she does(>_>), but it is a regular happening. But today I saw this and I'm sure she won't mind if I for once show you great astonishing beauty.

Because if I believed in heaven, and actually went to it, there's no place else I would like it to be like.


The Third & The Seventh from Alex Roman on Vimeo.



The Third & The Seventh
by Alex Roman

I am un chien andalusia!

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, January 22, 2010

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because I am un chien andalusia!
HA HA HA HO!

Tell me your secrets, promise I won't tell

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, January 21, 2010

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Kiss

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, January 20, 2010

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More Roy...
http://www.studio-international.co.uk/studio-images/lichtenstein/KissV_b.jpg
Roy Lichtenstein-Kiss V, 1964

Ten minutes

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, January 19, 2010

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You are counting the seconds for that clock hand to finally reach the twelve so you can listen the liberating sound of a bell, or the clamorous voice of the person in the front saying "you may leave". Oh those words, you need them, even if the class is not that bad. Actually, you like the class, but you can't stop thinking about the next one, and ten minutes away from it seems eternity.

It is ten minutes in which you can't concentrate in any other thing than for the class to be over, or how the next one will be (you might not feel this but try to bare with me, yes there is a point). They are ten minutes which can feel like an eternity or may slip from your hands without realizing. But it doesn't really matter weather you use well or not these last 600 seconds, they will be over soon and then the class will be over, no to ever begin again (until next Tuesday at 12:oo).

Have you felt those last ten minutes? How they feel like inexistent, yet have the ability to seem eternal? Have you been in that time space position where you would just wish either you had 10 more or that they were over for once and for all?


Well, as it happens right now things feel like those last ten minutes. I can't escape them, I don't want them to run out, and seem more like a waiting than actual class time. But there's very few I can do, so I will just have to count the seconds, thinking about the next class, how will this be over and so on, completely overlooking that the teacher is just reaching the climax...


Brad?

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Monday, January 18, 2010

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My beloved Roy...

Roy Lichtenstein-Drowning Girl, 1963
http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/popart/images/RoyLichtenstein-Drowning-Girl-1963.jpg

This thing between us

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, January 17, 2010

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It was just that the time was wrong

That’s breaking their hearts and breaking their minds

Anyway, what'cha gonna do about it ?

I may be lonelier now but I’m happy alone... honest.

You're getting older

What would we talk about anyway?

Give me reason but don't give me choice.

What difference does it make to you?

I wish I could make sense of what we do ...

Are you looking for an answer? When you still don't know the question.

Me? I'm just playing along

It aint easy being this kind of lover when you never call me

I don't understand your heart, it's easier, to be apart

Should I give you a call, what can I say? ...Maybe you still feel the same

If you needed love, well then ask for love

Oh, if I could love like anybody else... like anybody else

And it breaks my heart

...Dreams aren't what they used to be

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

It's clear we don't understand, but the last thing on my mind is to leave you

So why don't we go somewhere only we know?

Let's fade together, let's fade forever

I hope all the years will hold tight our promises

Stick around, and it may show

we gone much further than I thought we'd get tonight

Half of what I say is meaningless but I say it just to reach you

I find it so romantic

Is it out of line if I was to be bold and say "would you be mine?"

It sounds so sweet

A girl like you's just irresitible

I could stay lost in this moment forever, cause every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure

I never had the least notion that I could fall with so much emotion

But look where we are now

These changes ain't changing me the cold-hearted boy I used to be

I won't try to philosophize... I'll just take a deep breath and I'll look in your eyes

So where we gonna go from here my love?

Make it to the Milky Way

Let me see what spring is like, on jupiter and mars ... In other words, hold my hand

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have, for you I will

To prove that even the wise men can be wrong, I concentrate on you

I noticed tonight

It's been like that since a long long time

You know, sometimes I feel like I'm getting snowed under with the things you say

I'm giving you my heart go and take it please be carefull

Can you feel my heartbeat, when I'm close to you?

Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?

No doubt about it, you're even smiling just a little bit... That child-like smile is back on your face


[it's not plagiarism if you co-authored right?]

Filmhound

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, January 16, 2010

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Sharing some of my art collection... today
by Michael Sowa
http://artfiles.art.com/5/p/LRG/11/1170/RXHU000Z/michael-sowa-filmhound.jpg
Filmhound

My complicated relationship with you and Kurt

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, January 15, 2010

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Staring at the 90s design of the text box design to create every single one of these days I had this thought:

"what's of less taste? Post something really random and of silly content or not post at all"

After much self discussion I bet you know which one picked. And it's not that I don't care about quality, or that I stopped believing each day is freaking unique. It's just that there are so many chances to screw up in life, so many practices that we take so seriously that sometimes is necesary to remember that to slip and fall every once in a while is healthy.

Or maybe that's just me being a slob.

You be the judge.


---------------Anyway
Kurt Vonnegut returned to my life, and it seriously made himself note. We went back to our same old problem. You see, every time he is there he's so great, so magical, so devastating that I can't come up with anything that compares to him. I will never aim to be as good as he is of course, but as I am writing something the idea of him comes up. I just feel that having him so near it would be sort of an insult to be as untalented as I am. And so, as long as out short term relationship lasts I just can't bring myself to create anything to live up to his expectations, even if he's not judging. I'm just that complicated. He should get a saner audience.

Am I apologizing? Never to you
Am I giving excuses? I never stop doing so
Am I buying myself
time to make a better
post without it having
to be so late? Never have I done that...



---------------------
Don't you love the fact that people get to a point in their relationships where they feel the need to communicate all their internet contacts their relationships are "complicated" over some social network? What ever happened with the -I'm not really dating, well yes not not, I mean we are not exclusive but we're still seeing each other but I'm not sure we are together together you know?- explanation?





[It's so not 1AM in a school night...]

Lineys

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, January 14, 2010

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:D

things to learn from Matt Edgar on Vimeo.

I once went to Mexico

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, January 13, 2010

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I may have not traveled the world these past days, but my beautiful eyes (camera) sure have.

So, here some touristy pictures my eyes have seen























Spider of Love

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, January 12, 2010

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by Joshua Path
Spider of Love, spin a web for me
I don’t wanna die alone
Her name was
Her name is
Her name will be

And I dreamed of you
In the morning light
By the riverside
You turned me into
Your deepest flame
And you burned me alive.

A whirlpool so wide
So wide and powerful
You can see it spin from space
It’s somewhere out there
Waiting for me
To wait for you.

Spider of Love, spin a web for me
I don’t wanna die alone.

I'm a socialité

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, January 11, 2010

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image is obviously not mine.




Proclaiming we, humans, are any different from apes based on social interactions is very silly, because you just have to analyze it for about ten seconds before you realize that is one of our most "animalistic" features: society. Not wanting to go deep into this, I shall assume the reader is familiar with the topic and bring a somewhat more interesting question: why does it form the way it does?

Because by now you must have already noticed that society has some basic patterns that repeat all over the world, even without the presence of "globalization" and that this patters have some sort of reason to be, given a context that is repeated in the regions. But come to think about it, things like a patriarchal paradigm imposed in almost the whole world, the youth versus old conflict and the fight of the minorities can all be explained somewhat easily by biological impositions and natural ways of behavior. But what about the details?

What about the fact that we love story telling so much it drifts into gossip or novel writing? Why is it a necessity to interact with familiar and new people, and it is actually of high status to be acquainted with many many people, why do we praise so much having a large network? Why is it that the life of others interests us so much, both their tragedy and success (although more often one than the other).

Because if it is something that can be seen everywhere there is more than one person (in case of lack of multiple personalities), so it can't be all that "cultural" as it is biological, something in us is wired so that me love gossip, partying and scandal. But what in the world could make that socialité apes thrived in the crazy dance that natural selection often is. What advantage was brought from all this networking, and more important, what advantage was formed in a beginning by being able to form groups with the sole purpose of screw others?

I can understand alliances were needed to win the fight for survival, and that the tighter a group was, the more likely it was to survive. So where do we stand today now that we are fully evolved civilized, unlike apes, and don't need to fight over territory?... oh... wait.

Lunar sea

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, January 10, 2010

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Why are you so....



see all at: [The Big Picture]

-i must confess, i think i do have an astronaut fetish

Hot sexy sex

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, January 09, 2010

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Screwed sleeping times can be a bitch.
But they let you be fully awake at 4:04 in the mourning.
They let you talk so much to yourself you just want a minute of silence.
They let you listen to the -oh.so.magical- Metric and just write away.
And so they let you think and say:

I've reached the conclusion that sex, hot and sexy are just not as related as we assume they are. Sex is the act of -how ever you define not being a virgin anymore-. Hot is about what makes you turn your head and sigh, hot is about seeing a very attractive person and wanting to do unspeakable (good) things to them, but it is just physical, hot ends in the eyes.

Sexy is different, sexy is what makes each person feel weak in the knees, is what forces them to bite their lips and contain the euphoria. I think sexy is about what turns you on very personally, but not only to have sex with, it doesn't end in the eye. Sexy is what will get you to bed that person every night, even if it is something silly like their obssesion with taking off their socks before getting into bed, or their curious tendency to scratch their head every time you compliment them, or even how they extend in bed kicking you at night.

[common]Porn is not sexy, sexy implies an appeal that animalistic penetration can simply not achieve. Love making is sexy
(and cheesy).

_______

[who can blame me for what happens trough the mind of a penguin at 4:04?]

Cha-cha-changes

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, January 08, 2010

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I hate change (not always, but generally)
So this time, despite the change, I tried to mantain most of it the same, (in format at least)
New Year, new layout.
I have to say I'm really, really proud of that number we achieved for 2009: 365
It's such a beautiful number :D
I must also say that I'm aware my contribution to the blog has changed hugely in the last year, but I'm very happy with the outcome.
I've come to consider the blog part of my life style, (in spite of the usual time travelling involved with the posting xD)
So yes... today I'm feeling romantic about the blog... and it needed some manteinance.

:D

[let me know what you think about the change, any suggestions? do you like it?]

Moby Dick-caused anxiety

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in , | Posted on Thursday, January 07, 2010

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"Are they really that bad?" asked Joni looking at his blue-yellow bleached sneakers. They weren't precisely ruined, but the strap of denim hanging from each left side of the shoes wasn't really fashionable as he had thought that morning.

As Stacey rolled her eyes she dived into Joni's wardrobe searching for decent shoes. "Geez, you could've at last left some that didn't look like the left overs of a clown's closet" yellow mustard and Mexican pink slip-ons flew across Joni's room.

"A clown's closet? really? Stacey if that's the best you can come up with, you're not alright. "Joni was a concerned friend, he was able to look trough Stacey's common hysteria and tried to help a friend in need.

"Just put your effing shoes on and get outside" she said, giving him some old plain black Converse.

She was so worked up due to the fact that it was the 7th party that month they would attend to that had a guest list -if you can call it that way- containing no name they had ever heard of, or wanted to hear of. But that was the thing, it was about excitement and discovering the unknown, or at least that's what Stacey said all the time so logic wouldn't come as an obstacle in the matter.

Joni was putting on one shoe when he couldn't take it any more "Okay Stacey, what the hell is with you and these parties anyway?" he said, because of course like the good childhood best friend he was, he had to be there for all her whacked up adventures, except this were just wild parties which none of the two ever really enjoyed. So much for adventure.

"Gosh... do we really need to discuss this right now? I've told you they're fun, we have to try new things..." she said looking at her watch, noticing it didn't have battery since last week "Hurry, we'll be late."

This had become one of those problems Joni hated, but not because he didn't like drama, but because it was like in the shitty teenage TV shows where for some reason the episode features how Rosa, the latin immigrant, starts to have drug problems, and with an intervention of her friends she quits, of course this all happens in one single episode. And now Joni saw the intervention coming.

"Look I don't know if you're on drugs or your parents want you to go back to Puerto Rico; but this has to stop, we don't know any-fucking-body at these underground places you take me. And what's worse is that we always end up in a corner talking about the dumbest things, which we could do here. Oh and of course, we meet the occasional pothead who wants to score with you" he said, he expected some discussion to begin where she would end up crying and telling him all about her problems with some guy named Richie, or maybe Joni watched too much TV.

"Puerto Rico? What the hell are you talking about? And mister, just for the record potheads have also wanted to score with you, remember that guy with the green beard?" Stacey said, bringing some sort of comedy relief into the atmosphere.

"That's beside the point. And he was not addicted, he was just going through a harsh time in life..." Joni said, trying to get off his record drug addicts. "The point is, Stacey, what the hell are we doing?"

She sighed, and then opened her mouth but only mumble was heard "It's just that I..." she sighed again. "You know how we talked the other day about there being books you wish you had read already just because they're classics and it's like mandatory, but you would die of boredom reading them?" She was trying to make a point.

"Are you trying to make a point, because if not that's some nasty change of topic" Joni said remembering how he only commented on never reading The Great Gatsby, and how that developed into a huge monologue where Stacey amused herself for hours.

"Well, these parties, these things we go to are like that. I don't really enjoy getting drunk in God knows what warehouse in the middle of nothing with a bunch of strangers. Actually I don't enjoy any of this, any of the common social shit we are supposed to do like teenagers. I'm awkward, I don't have a freaking idea of how to dance techno, I never know what to say, I can't act cool to save my life. It's like having to try too hard for something that I'm supposed to be liking" she said, she had entered into a nervous breakdown, sort of what Joni expected but not so much.

"So this is not about Richie I guess" Joni didn't know where this was going

"Who the hell is Richie?"

"Never mind, so why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep dragging me to these places if you fucking hate it so much?" Now he was pissed, all those nights he could have stayed home and tune the Project Runway recaps...

"Don't you see? This is like those books Joni, this is the Great Gatsby, this is Moby Dick and Oliver freaking Twist. The parts of life we are expected to live but we are not so into... Just like I don't want to go to a literature major without reading those books, I can't conceive reaching adulthood without doing these crazy ass things. And so I have to do it, we have to do it, so we don't miss a thing."She was not sure of making any sense, even to herself, but it didn’t matter because the TV melodrama had kicked in.

“Listen Stacey, I honestly got kind of lost in your ramble, but if you don’t want to go or you don’t want to do any of this social conventions, then don’t.” Joni was now actually not getting his line from a ridiculous TV teen drama. “Fuck ‘em all, if you want to reach your forties being a virgin who has never taken a shot of cheap rum then be proud of that, because the world is full of skanks, who needs more?”

Stacey had broke into tears half into the nervous breakdown but she couldn’t help but to smile and throw her arms to Joni.

“You’re a fucking idiot you know” she said, grasping his torso harder.

“You won’t let me forget it” they laughed, but the sort of laugh that comes when realizing there is no more that can be done about the boring lives that belong to one, not the sort of happy ending laugh.

“You know, it’s just that I get too anxious thinking of these Quixotes and Iliads… I feel like I’m missing out of so much” she said, noticing her poorly done make up was ruined.

“Well, don’t rush it, if you want to do it let it be a decision not some anxious reflex. You gotta make yourself happy, and I hear nerdy losers can be very happy too you know”

“jerk”

“depressive maniac”

“Diney Channel freak”

“bitch”

“fag”

“I love you…”

“mee too”