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]

I was going back to school, from summer, as every year. And as I went into it's red brick walls I noticed it was kind of different. And it was not only the paint, or the people in there, the whole thing was different. The entire structure had changed, and I noticed, but somehow I knew it was still my school.

It was one of those days where the entire day the sky is violet and you can see the light of the moon, but no satellite in the sky. There was an atmosphere of mystery in the air, as if from the first moment I went in I knew what was about to happen, but then again, if I had known, I would have probably never went in.

The day started with me presenting myself to a bunch of people who looked nothing like the other guys I had went to school the last year, but I knew they were the same, faceless peers who were replaceable. And as it went on, a teacher who i didn't seem to recognize announced that some guy had died, but that was not the big news, the thing was that Iris (a friend of mine) was the number one suspect. Now, this was news because apparently Iris had gone missing just as the investigations began, which was quiet fishy, i must admit.

After some boring citizen responsibility speech given to students who were not old enough to be citizens, and requests "in the most kind of manners" to help with the investigations, the classes went on. And there, right there, after the third period I noticed it, it hit me hard, and harder after a while because I hadn't noticed before. That was not my school, those were not my teachers, and the naked apes surrounding me now were surely not the naked apes that affectionately I called classmates last year.

It was quiet very overwhelming, knowing that not did I only got the wrong class, but I got the wrong school! But for unknown reasons I was calmed, as if all along I had known that this was not my school the CSIN (center for socially incompetent nerds), it was another school, and I knew exactly which one was it, it was the ISH (institute of science for hippies). I knew quiet quickly for the archaic way the math teacher used his calculator, by the cynicism with which people skipped class, and of coarse the school's logo everywhere helped.

But let's continue with the main plot, because it seems that entering into a whole different school was quiet normal for me in that moon lighted day. As I said, the periods went by quickly, and I seemed to have some sort of group of friends, who I spent the free hour with. But then something interesting happened, the principal called me to his office. Now you must understand that this school, was not only filled with hippies, but it was also ran by priests, a wacko combination, I know, but that's how they roll.

So I went into the high priest's office, which unlike I thought wasn't decorated by the Vatican, it looked more like decorated by the Varinan. And in case you don't know what that is, check the local list for gay bars and you'll get an idea. But that was not the shocking part, because I was obviously not going to start judging people based on decoration after all those years of not even noticing it. What was really impressive was that the guy was barely on his late forties and in pretty good shape, and I seriously expected someone at least sixty five, with a cross shaped cane.

So Elliot, that was his name, started right with the big questions, as how would I describe my relationship with Iris, and I answered we were going to get married in a couple of months. Then he asked if I knew where she was, to which I admitted I was hiding her under my bed. And after a few more questions he kind of gave up.

"Young man, I don't like your sarcasm" he said, of course I felt terribly insulted, but then again, I was amazed someone of his career could understand it.
"This is a delicate business, a life was lost and the police thinks it has something to do with Iris Blackrose Gruning, and I pray the lord they're wrong, but for that we must find her" he said, looking what seemed like worried, I couldn't tell, the leather everything had an hypnotizing smell.

Then, after he gave up on me, and went out to look for the rest of Iris' friends, I searched the place. I have that annoying habit of trying to find mysteries that don't exist. So I looked in his drawers and there was nothing interesting, only some old confiscated magazines, administration papers and some picture of him holding a man obviously younger, nothing interesting. But then I looked at his post-its in his screen. They just read the names of people, but there was one, which I'm sure was a to-do list.

1. Get a new place to live
2. Buy tickets for Oasis
3. Adopt a kid
4. Help fight the global warming
5. Call to check dinner plans
6. Detonate school soccer field

It was really disturbing and somehow cool. An old man going to the Oasis concert! What a thing! Of course the getting-a-new-place thing was concerning, but I'm sure he would survive it, but seriously, tickets for Oasis!

Then, I returned to where the apes gathered to communicate and eat each other's fleas, which I noticed was not being done anymore lately. Some were actually kind of nice, some even knew how to develop an actual conversation, but again that was just part of the trying-not-to-die-of-boredom surviving instinct of me. I was really kind of thinking where might Iris be? And if she had or had not killed that man. And as that, I saw a pair of blue eyes that dazzled me, with the same bluntness as the first day I had see them.

"Iris! Hi! What are you doing here?" i said, quiet impressed to be honest

"Meh, I just went to the ladies room to skip class, how lame is that?" she answered, with the same emotionless voice she always had

"You are aware the police is searching for you right?" I asked, with a bit of concern in my voice

"Whatever, I mean, they think I went missing, but I've been in my room the whole time, now I came to school and it's on national news" she said, with a hint of irony.

And as bizarre as that conversation went, the whole thing was cleared, she had been in her room taking pictures of the wall while the murder had been executed. The camera had the whole proof. And later it was found that the death guy was actually murdered by a wildcat when he was taking a long walk in the forest. Very sad indeed, because he was actually there in a march to save that forest from being cut down.

And after the police was gone from school and the investigation was now directed to find that wild cat, Elliot suspended classes for the day and we had a lovely gathering at school. We chatted about what would we had done if Iris was truly a murderer, and how could some people like anchovies in their pizza.

Then I thanked Elliot for helping the cause against the global over population, and global warming. And after that I took off and never went back to that school, perhaps because the student body was boring, or maybe it was just not right for me, but it might just have been because it was not really my school.



[I still don't exist]
By I'm the penguin

We sleep half of our lives, which gives an average of 32 years we are awake. We just have thirty years to do all we can; to walk, to jump, to fly, to fall, to give, to recieve, to dream, to cry, to laugh, to hate... to love. We may not be concious of this all the time, we may not be aware that our time is running, we only have a limited amount of it; which pops the question: are we using it correctly?

“So, how is France?” asked my geographically inept brother-in-law.

“It’s not France, it’s Belgium… and it is fine” I said, when I could have possibly make essays and essays of how good was Belgium compared to this burrow,  how its people and culture were by far more accepting and livable than this place. But instead I just said fine.

“They still speak French don’t they?” He went on, trying not to look stupid, at the best.

“Yes” I said which was partly true “Then?” he asked, as if he had just been saying the same thing as me and I was trying to make him feel stupid. He is stupid. People in Saint Pierre et Miquelon speak French, and they are certainly not France. But that was not the point.

“Harold, don’t distract him, Russ what are we going to do?” asked my sister, next to the dish washer. She still had that spark in her eyes, a very sassy and bossy spark, it used to be a hot blaze, she used to be a blaze, now, one had to look in very deep, pass through the premature wrinkles, trough the nylon dress from the Everythingatonedollar store. But it was still there, somewhere.

“I think we should call the cops” I said, not really thinking what I was saying. I was still dizzy; no twelve hour nap snaps you out of a coming-back-to-

home-after-fifteen-years kind of experience. “The cops?!” she yelled “are you nuts?” she brought some reason into the situation, what was I thinking? Cops to search a senile seventy nine year old lady who could be in danger, what an occurrence. “Then you tell me, how does this work?” I asked, with just a little hint of challenge on it.

“You are right, excuse me my mother always escapes the house while watching the Super Bowl, I should know what to do, these things happen every day” she said, rubbing me my absence in the face. “Sorry, I just, I don’t know…” I babble, I had nothing to say. “Of course you don’t, it’s my entire fault. You don’t have to know, you don’t live here, I do, I should know.” She said, looking faintly.

“Why not the cops?” I asked innocently. “Because” she sighed “They would only think she went crazy and is around the neighborhood scarring little children o

r something” she said, making hard assumptions, “she constantly yells at them about being thieves” she said, noticing my questioning expression.

“She’s fine, she just sometimes remembers that time when dad and her were stopped by some guys dressed as cops..” I interrupted her “and then stole their car, yes I remember” I said, remembering more than I thought I would.

“Had she been like that lately?” I asked , fearing to ask the real question “Like what? Yelling at people?” she said, like it was nothing, then she noticed my stare “Russ, she’s fine, she’s just old and she sometimes forgets a thing or two, I bet it even happens to you” she said, trying to make things better, I knew she wasn’t that optimistic.

“She has asked a lot about you lately though” she said, looking away. I knew it was not her intention, well maybe just a little, to make me feel like crap, about leaving, about quitting here and going away. It was not her intention, it was not my fault my mother got lost, yet I felt like crap, at the best.

“Has she expressed wishes to go somewhere?” I asked, as if this was just another case of another patient. “Don’t bring your shrink crap here, she’s your mo

ther.” Lisa said, she was usually up for the shrink crap, it was reasonable she would be pissed. “Now Harold and I are going to go to the areas around, you look in her room to see if there’s something that could help” she said, perfectly knowing my posture against staying in that house, knowing of all things searching for mom’s stuff was the most hurting “All right?” she asked. “Okay” I said.

Soon they were gone in his red huddled van. And there I was left alone, in a house full of ghosts I had escaped some years ago, and the dead don’t like it when you ignore them. I climbed the shrieking stairs and walked to the master room, which was now of course being used by Lisa and Harold. It was entirely different, no more red tapestry all over the place, or china angels hanging from the ceiling, they were all scary, in their own very special way.

And so I entered the next door, I assumed she lived there now, it was full of needless

 decorations, which seemed like the plunder of all the aquariums in the state of Kentucky. Her bizarre taste had always been very distinctive of her, which didn’t meant it was new, or fancy or ahead of her time, it was just bizarre. There was a wax turtle shell being used as a night table, held by four weak sticks of wood.

It took me shorter that I had expected to dive into her stuff, begin a journey of reviving the left to dead stories. I even found letter of her and my father, back when she moved from Pennsylvania to Lancaster, Kentucky. In the letters my father seemed nice, romantic and longing, my mother seemed naïve and self-absorbed. In reality he was an abusive jerk and she was naïve and self-absorbed. They got married when he arrived, by according to her a miracle, and according to him, the only ride he could get out of Penn. He was coming back after a sales job across the country selling pewter, according to her. He had left home, had left an apathetic pregnant woman, with an annoying three years old he had never even liked, according to him. Her husband had run away because of the kids, according to her. M

y father had never existed, according to us.

Looking among her stuff made me wonder if I was looking either for my mother or my past, maybe it was just the curiosity to bring it all back, to make a self induced crisis. Maybe that was the plan, but the subconscious had forgotten to send a memo. He looked at albums, which was actually just one album, containing my sister’s and me childhood photos, always taken by someone else, mom was too busy with her happy pills, she used to be sad, all the time, at the very least.

I remembered that between my ninth and tenth year I used to dream a lot about my family being dead, every night, I would not tell anyone. I always k

ept it to myself in case someone thought I was crazy, but mostly for the uncomfortable feeling it was. I had thought that maybe they were premonitions of my mom and sister, and unknown father going to die. I had never met my father, but I had always imagined him as an uglier version of G.I Joe for some reason, even if he had left a kid needs his heroes. Anyways, thinking about that being something I was seeing made scared, made me be afraid of the future.

I had also thought that it was maybe an internal wish to end with my mother’s suffering and my sister’s huge obligation of almost raising me, being only three years older. Maybe, I thought, I would lose control one day and killed them; that made me be afraid of myself, and the dead, and the future.

And even years later, when I took a course on dreaming interpretations, and I learned that seeing someone die in a dream is expressing the inner anger we don’t want to accept, so subconsciously we just kill them; even knowing that didn’t help my fear of the dead, my fear of myself. Because after all, even with the psychology behind it, something in me still thought it was me wanting them to really die.

There I was, surrounded by old papers with no value, other than the one given by time and memories, surrounded by the past, by everything I had left behind, of my mother. Then I found the poem she once found in a one dollar book store sale, it was folded in four exact squares, it was still complete, no time damage. The poem was by some random author, it was sort of good, “My angels fly away”, I had always thought it was her way of saying good bye in case she abruptly left, or I abruptly left her. The latter was the case. And today, the day I wanted to make amends, the day I started working against my ungrateful child tag, that day my mother disappears, by choice, again.

Somewhere around the memory of when she went away to Philadelphia for a week without telling us, and her amber beads necklace, I noticed there was nothing there that could tell me where she was. And so I moved on, to the next phase, thinking where a seventy year old lady who was abandoned by everyone in her life, except her daughter, could possibly be? It was no longer his mother in question, it was just a seventy year old lady who was abandoned by everyone in her life, except her daughter. Then I remembered something about wings and water.

Not two minutes passed when I heard a deep hoarse voice “We’re home, we haven’t find her yet”. Maybe she was missing for good now, “no luck in her recurring places?” I asked, trying to make the possibilities narrower. “She has no recurring places, she doesn’t go anywhere” she said, as if I was conducting and FBI case on a petty thief. “Did you look in the park?” I asked, getting my coat. “Erm… no, she hates parks” Lisa said, remembering her mother saying so “She does says to hate lots of things”. “Let’s go” I said, and we left the house.

Twenty minutes later we were in the park with a fountain on it, it had little sculptured angels dancing around it, but one, a special one, which was just there, standing, looking at the water. And next to that angel was a seventy year old lady who was abandoned by everyone in her life, except her daughter. I approached, she saw me, she went back to looking at the water, along with the angel.

“Mother…”

“I know, I just need to be here for a while”

“I just…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll sit and chat in a bit”

“We were so worried and…”

“Wait, I need time, one prepares for a moment for fifteen years, then it comes, and it finds you in a park trying to avoid it”

“Sorry”

“How did you know?”

“My flying angels”

“I guess I’ve came to an age where I am predictable”

“It’s just that you loved so much that part…”

“ My winged friends, don’t you leave
you have to still find what you came for
and I will help you for as long as I live.
Just look into the water mirror, and there will be the before”

“Exactly…”

“Now it just seems childish gibberish, I guess I am do becoming predictable”

All rights of this image belong to xmarkoz deviantART user

By I'm the penguin

It was late and I decided to go to the store, pick up a few things for dinner and breakfast, it was cold as it always is. I kind of hurried so they wouldn’t close, I wasn’t sure at what time did they, but eleven o’clock is quiet late for a local store to be opened.

So I put on coat, grabbed the keys and hurried, I thought of what would I specifically buy as I went down the stairs, it gave me quiet a few time since I live in the fifth floor.

Until I was out of the building I noticed I hadn’t brought my glasses, since I have nearsightedness, I thought they weren’t so necessary, the store was just two blocks away.

So I walked almost running, I almost tripped with the damned rain but yet I managed to get there, shocker, it was closed, I damned whoever owned that store, but anyways what would be one? I knew of a 24hour store a few blocks away but I wasn’t sure where was it, so I started walking slower since I didn’t have any time hurries, instead I jingled the list in my head and wandered the streets, that moment I wished I had brought my glasses, because I couldn’t really see anything but blurry shadows and a starless sky.

I got to a point where I wasn’t sure where I was, but after a couple of turns and returns I finally found the bloody store, so after repeating the list so much I just went there and grabbed the things I needed.

And just before I took some chips I noticed someone had been staring at me since the second I came in, it was a dark tall figure, with a long black coat, he certainly looked mysterious, not to mention criminal-like. I thought it wasn’t a big deal, maybe he was waiting ‘til I left to pick a dirty magazine or something, or maybe he was planning to rob the store. What if he was planning to assault me as soon as i went out of the store? What if he had followed me since I left the flat? What if he was some sort of twisted pervert? What if...

“Did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Excuse me? Oh right, yes, yes i did, thanks”

So I paid, I didn’t even checked the change, I was just in a hurry to leave since the person had just moved towards me, so I practically ran to the door and left, I seriously tought of running but I had completely forgot the way back, so I just walked fast to god knows where and I heard the store’s door closing a few meters away form me, I entered in panic, all my previous paranoia had had a reason to be, the person was after me, but what did he wanted? I certainly didn’t look wealthy, was I just some random victim? Was this part of some ridiculous joke of those crappy shows? Would my friends jump suddenly form the trash can laughing at me? Was this just some huge coincidence? I just knew that at this point I was scared.

I went on, I looked behind my shoulder, he was following me indeed, he had apparently bought something, maybe just to have some alibi, he made some sort of sign with his hand, probably checking his watch. I was scared to death, what if he wasn’t a thief? What if he was a serial killer? What if he was a rapist? What if it was all in my head, was I becoming loony? Maybe he just thought he new me and wanted to say hello, which ever I wasn’t planning o stop and ask.

I turned right and i still hear his steps, I turned left and i still could hear him, I crossed the street and seconds later he did too. My sight was poor and I was wanting to have my glasses more than ever in my life, but I just didn’t care anymore, I ran to some random direction, turned left and kept running till I found an alley, I entered, it was a death end, I was death, he was going to find me and god knows what would happen, so I though fast and hid behind a trash can. Never in my life had i heard my heart in such a way, i could feel it coming out of my chest, I was terrorized.

Would he kill me? Would it be fast? Would he torture me first? Wold anyone find my corpse ever? When would people know I was actually death and stop looking for me? Would someone notice I’m gone? Would people show up at my funeral? I was worried about my parents reaction when they heard their only son was brutally murdered.

I heard steps coming close, I was hopping he would just thought I kept going on the same street, but he stopped at the alley and coughed.

“Hey Robert” he said with a deep hoarse voice

Oh dearest lord, the killer knew my name, he was indeed a serial killer, he had probably studied me for Weeks, but how come did I not noticed? Why didn’t I brought my glasses? I wouldn’t even see the face of my own killer!

“Dearest lord, Robert, you made me run a long way, I have to catch my breath” he said and the he coughed

Now he was mad, i was sure he would torture me.

“You left two bags at the store, are you alright?” said with a deep horrible tone

I could see now, he was pretending to have a normal chat so if any witnesses they would though we actually knew each other, he was a damned professional!

“Robert, its me, Tim from accounting”

God i was going to die! I know no Tim from... wait.

“I didn’t named you out loud because of this bloody cough, my troath is soar” he said, then he coughed again.

“Good lord Robert, it seems you just saw a killer or something”

By I'm the penguin

And if you’re good when your body dies, will they use your bones to salt the skies?

If I die now all I want from you is to remember who I am and who I've always been.
If I die now what is the point of all my memories? It won't be long until they're gone you'll see.

Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too many to mention.

And so the next day, there was no advising, no surprise parties, instead, the willow dedicated to give away his belongings to everyone he knew, after giving his last windilopeg to the pink screw, and the only last red rose to the crow, and giving away all of its dear swelldos to all of the red oaks, he was done. Everyone had seemed to appreciate it, but none quiet understood what was happening, was the willow moving to another place? Was he clearing space for new things? None at the whole jungle could get it. No other person had ever done that.

"What's all this?" asked the fox
"Well i'm giving away some of my belongings" said the willow
"I know, i've noticed, but, why?" Asked the confused fox
"I just have to finish some businesses before I depart" said the willow in that determinant voice of his
"To where? are you leaving us? I don't understand"
"Its simple my time has came, I no longer want to keep going" said the willow
"Time to what?"
"To die"
"That's nonsence, trees can live forever" said the fox
"I just think it is time" said the willow
"So are you sure of this? because there is by definition no turning back"
"I couldn't say I am sure" said the now undecided tree

And so the days went by and the tree had not yet came to a final decision, but anyways, he had not seen the raven in a while. And in the days he thought a lot, about life and death, about existence and about purpose. "I have done all I can really do in life can't I?" he said to himself, to then answer "But if I'm still supposed to do more things?" And so he went on in an endless debate with himself.

And again in one of those nights were the moon only showed a single star, the raven appeared again, and this time the willow was ready, they stayed in silence for a long time, the only sound that could be lisented in the whole jungle was the one of the growing grasses.

"Are you ready to take it?" asked the raven in the same tone, as if he had asked him that all eternity.
"I want to live" said the willow
"But this is what you want, you called for it" said the raven
"But I didn't, I just want to be here, living" said the willow
"You have been here way too long " said the raven
"I feel like i still have things to do, time is not a problem"
"Time is not what i mean" said the confusing bird
"then what is you point? why do you say I want to die?"
"Simple, you have been around too long, you asked for this, i brought it to you"
"I never asked for this!"
"You say you want to live, you keep holding to that thought, but you stopped living a while ago"
"What do you mean? I am here ain't I?"
"Every living thing has a death wish, which they are all taught to fear, to avoid. But they all just hope for peace and rest" said the raven
"But, i'm alife, i'm here and I don't want to die" said the now terrified tree
"How can you be alife without death?"


By I'm the penguin

I'm going to be SO late this time.