Tuesday, November 12, 2013


In the tradition of socially acceptable human behavior, or of a more highly regarded lifeform‘s, one does not own his life. Arguably, there is the question ‘why do I get to lead it then?’, and then you are stupid for asking. I agree that I do not own my own life: I live it, I control it, but it is not mine. Nor is it another person’s, or a group’s; nor is it belonging to society. Shouldn’t be. Should never ever be.

Maybe our lives belong to the circumstances of a great event. We owe responsibility to the way the world moves, how it secretly connects a part of ourselves, however little, to spur a bit more change in the next person, and I think maybe that is how we ‘touch’ other people. We do not know, and might not never know how we really touch another person, how we truly do, but maybe, well, there is a truth in how we have felt touched in ways we have not foreseen. So if it happened to us, it may well have happened to another, courtesy of us.

This might be a load of bull, but keep in mind that I don’t care because mainly I am the one writing.
So this thought just came on while I was deep into playing Injustice and cost me lives of some dearly beloved superheroes. Superheroes I cannot bear to even imagine getting pummeled, and it all being my fault made it more painful. Sad face here.

Recently I have made the decision to live the game. I want to live it as much as I want to, and therefore I have been playing it whenever I can. I can’t play it nonstop, because, well I have a job and I have a life and I have known games to consume lives and herald a void. Something new to fill, because it takes out some previously rooted thing and tries to…what am I saying? This game is a pastime and this is the end of it.

So basically, I am kind of feeling lonely, again, and being single is not the reason why. Please, it feels good being single: no responsibilities, no feelings, no movement, and no effort to try to understand another human being. I am a block of ice in human form, and whatever social occupations I have in my life right now, I treasure: family, friends, acquaintances, workmates, online anonymous people randomly bugging me, enemies and people I want to wring to death. I have my own source of money, I have my laptop and in here are movies that I love and have yet to see, my phone is beautiful and I have food with me. This is just something seasonal. Seasonal sadness, depression, the cold seeping into my bones, making me feel less human and more like a lump of, uhmm, something round(?).

I don’t know how I feel. If you’ve read something I wrote over six months ago, when I was still not single, I have had this trouble: I cannot map out clearly how I feel, or how I should feel about anything. Is this sadness? Hmmmaybe. On second thought, no it isn’t sadness. This is closer to being tired, and yet it is almost 3 in the morning and I have never been more alert. I’m not hungry; I just had a whole porterhouse steak, grilled pork and two cups of rice, all for dinner. With Sprite. So what is this, specifically? I am not frustrated, specifically, sexually frustrated because duh it is just not one of my things to worry about. Also because I just had sex.

Why? Why am I rambling about my life, I don’t even know why. Why am I writing, also I don’t know. It feels comforting to be able to just talk and at the same time, be perfectly quiet.

This is one of those long posts that I reveal so much with so little to conclude. Honestly I haven’t concluded anything. I can’t conclude anything tonight.

I am watching Star Wars. I am smoking. I am drinking tea. I am charging my phone. Days ago, things seemed clear and very well-connected. Now it all feels so, uhm, vague. Do I need alcohol?


What is it?

Friday, November 1, 2013

Not my loss.

This is for you, you who are celebrating your own life without regret. You have gone, but you have not died, and for this I find the reason not to mourn your loss of presence. Physical presence. Not that you’re always present, but as my friend and a person who has touched me figuratively, no time has been really lost. In a way you were always there, and even when you weren’t, you still were; and now that feeling is vindicated by your absence. Physical absence. I really cannot explain how this is not making me feel any sadness, because your absence has always been your presence. In the events where our friendship has grown ground, it was online where we communicated, and honestly, as sociopathic as myself, it was the best way we could have done it. So it should keep on. Share me some more music.

More music, more films, more bottles of wine, the occasional drop. I have felt your presence with the introduction of every vice. Every single one I have tried, respected, and loved, even after you said you’ve stopped. In a way this is culture, and with all these I have learned, and it is nice how you’ve taught me, unconventionally but so convincingly, without goading me on, without leading me to ruin. I do not know if you are fully aware of this thing you’ve done but I want to thank you anyway. You have lead me to open my own life, for my own sake, with so much independence.

Shocking that you have managed to elude most gatherings but never really escaped the circles. You included yourself in the matters of our lives while not totally being present: absent but still remembered, like a seedling in the soil one manages to miss and never really uproot. No one has ever tried uprooting you, and it is ironic how you seemed like you wanted to be. Towards the day of your departure, we have suspected your tactic, that tactic of yours to burn the bridges, parts of your life here, while on your course towards the next, to the next country. We suspected and, well, while it was obvious, we fuckin persevered to reach you. And then there we all were, together on your last night here, discussing your life, your future, and the fact that you haven’t packed your bags yet.

I think, to the measures that I have learned, that night held no tough goodbyes. Your leave was just another thing coming, and for your next step we are happy. There was no need to thank you, I felt. No thank you, I miss you, and goodbye, only one goodluck for your life. I couldn’t say anything alluding to something final, because that night wasn’t an ending, and therefore there isn’t another beginning, just a higher step on your ladder. The friendship prevails, the memories keeping it in place.

And we are all looking forward to seeing you another night, one just like any other. You’d appear, maybe late, but no one would care; you might leave early, or you might stay til the morning. We’d all sit down, exchange the usual greetings, eat, drink and smoke, with the shallow realization that you haven’t really left, and the friendship hasn’t been gone. For no matter how many times you'd leave, your heart stays with us and for that we are grateful for your gift of friendship.