I was coming home today listening to an old David BowieCD. He was singing Glass Spider.
There´s something really sad about that song. The baby spiders left alone, thinking that the river might love them more than their mother did (If momma don´t love you / The river then might...), when it´s actualy going to cause their death. Still, they chant shortly afterwards: Mommy come back ´cause the water´s all gone. Has the river also left them? Are they completely alone, with no solace but themselves?

The weather has become progressively cold. And it has caused a sort of a setback on my phase shift. Yep... I think I might be returning earlier to a clear phase. This cold weather inspires a need for comfort. For cuddling with someone. And my tight black clothes aren´t enough for this cold.
Some darkness still lingers in me. I´ve been seeing the works of Otto Dix: etchings about the horrors of First World War. And it seemed most interesting. The raw darkness of that horror. The contrast mostly. Contrast of black and white.
Still, the winter is a time of introspection, as I´ve written earlier. But it took a different undertone this time. In other years, when Marcus was around, I attended to parties, alone most of the time, and watched the people, thought about their lives and my own. But this time, in part because of the sickness, I´ve been indisposed, or unwilling to attend to parties. Mayhaps I´m beggining to see the pointlessness of them. But I´ve though about life. In reclusion, isolated, but thinking about existence itself. I´m still a strong existencialist. That, I guess, will only change when I´m old and closer to natural death. It´s a time when we seek to delude ourselves. To believe in an afterlife because the end is near.

There... I feel better now.

I wrote the last post a few days ago actually. But I had to warn a few people before publishing it so they wouldn´t think I was about to jump out the window or something. I just got scared one of these nights about thinking of it seriously for the first time. It´s the sickness. It´s driving me mad. But ever since I wrote this, it´s been fading. It still bothers me a lot. But the agony is much lighter now... I´m recovering.

I just had to post this. It´s a sort of a cry for help...

The sickness, this monster in me, has evolved somehow. It used to manifest itself only on certain specific situations. But now it has managed to leak into my common life. In my routine, it suddenly happens. And I start feeling sick as hell. Sick to my stomach. I can´t stand to have anything on my neck or on my stomach. Let alone in my stomach: I´ve been eating less.

Let me try to explain this better. It may seem to you as a hypocondriac´s lament if I don´t.
I´ve never felt more flesh and bone than right now. It´s being aware that your are an organic body. And as an organic body, you sense things. But your nerves are so sensible somehow that every stimulus hits you ten-fold. Imagine having every tough situation multiplied by ten. Standing every anxiety ten times. I hold on tight not to burst: people look at me and my body is always tense, embracing itself, holding on to something, biting down on something.
And what will happen if I do burst?
I´m not sure. When this sickness hit me before, I always thought that if I didn´t hold on tight, I´d throw up or something. And it would really make a mess and I´d be embarrassed. But it´s entirely different now and much worse: the simple fact of being an organic body and having all these thousands of stimuli each second is so completely umbearable! I want the hurting to stop... The cold, the heat. Everything. For once, I´d like to feel numb.

I guess it´s not the stimulus that comes to me ten-fold, it´s my tolerance that has dropped to drastic levels. We each have different levels of tolerance for each kind of aspect on our lives. How much bulsh*t can you take from other people? How many cuts and bruises can you stand before kneeling? How many dishonorable acts can you commit before you start feeling guilty? How much inner psychological pain can you stand before giving an end to your life?

Can you grasp how easy it is, under these circumstances, to think of suicide? But I´ve debated this thoroughly with the Council before (and once again last night...). Being a rational way out, Marcus seems to be all over it. But he has been discredited ever since last year happened. All other Council members have voted against it. So I stand and wait. And hope my psychologist can do something about this...

Life is such a pain...

Yesterday I delivered one of my reports I´ve been writting.
It was for acourse on research methodology. We had to turn in a research project. At first, i couldn´t give a rat´s crappy ass (quoted from tj.hanton.net) about it. There didn´t seem to be anything I was interested in researching. Plus, research in the field of comunication seems something so abstract. How can you quantify your results? How can you actually prove your hypothesis? It´s comunication, for crying out loud! It´s words and people´s comprehension. It can be pretty tough to monitor.
But then, a very interesting topic came along. In fact, it had been at my side all the time: the art course! Specifically, the teaching of technique. I´ve in the third year of the art course (one more to go!!) and still no one has taught me sculpture. And I´ve had a whole year of sculpture class!! What do they teach instead? Some of that mixed media crap, public interventions... but not a glimpse of traditional sculpture. I haven´t touched a chisel yet! And my beloved painting: we´ve learned that oils exist. And that´s it. Perhaps the only real technique my teacher ever taught me was something with transparencies. I was expecting something like what Makel had learned in the atelier. Also, I´ve read in books about painting that I should use some sort of varnish after the painting is complete (that´s where vernissage comes from, by the way...), so that it would endure longer. But no mention of it has been made in the art course. I bet my paintings wouldn´t last more than fifty years.
The whole point of my research was to prove this deficiency. To prove that, after the advent of modernism, specifically of movements like dadaism and artists like Marcel Duchamp and his ready mades, traditional art has been neglected. Paintings matter no more. Nor does traditional sculpture.
So I proposed, as research, the creation of a test, to be ministered to the graduate students of the finest art schools in the city, to check their knowledge of the correct procedures for traditional forms of art. And a further evaluation of their artworks in the traditional languages.

You might say: "why insist on traditional art methods, when new forms of art are upon us?"
I´ll reply: "Hittler lost the war against the russians because he did not know the past. Napoleon lost the same war centuries before. You must know the past to understand and evolve the present."
And plus, what about art students who like the traditional methods? Are we forced into contemporary art?

I´ve heard... read actually, that my Lioness has found someone.
And I´m not quite sure what to feel. I mean, I´ve always said and known that my love for her was completely friendly. That, even though she is quite a girl, she´s not exactly what I´m looking for. Love did not strike. Then why is it that it bothers me somehow?
Oh, I know exactly why. It´s a guy thing. And that´s obviously going to be yet another reason for people ( girls, actually...) to hate me. When I finally lost Makel once and for all, I felt something similar. And I didn´t understand it ´till I went to a party with one of Sati´s friends. And my intentions were to be with her that night. But in the first few minutes, for many reasons, I found out it would never happen. Still, that night, another guy started to talk to her. And my heart ached at the thought of loosing two girls in the same week. I´d be drawn to maddness if it happened.

"Loosing two girls"?

When did I ever have Sati´s friend? The thing is, my mind was set on it. As if she had been mine. It hurt me so to see Makel kiss someone else because, even though I had denied her, she was still mine to me. And I guess it dismally bothers me in this case for the same reason.
And plus, I´m loosing someone who really loves me. And everyone wants to be loved.But that´s the exact same reason Things started with Makel...
But I´ve had enough of hurting my Lioness. Simply being with her is hurting her. Once every week I say or write something I wasn´t meant to and I hurt her somehow. She´ll never understand me. Heck, does anybody? Enough of hurting her. That´s why I´ve been encouraging her to take action with this new person in her life (despite all the misunderstanding and hurt it is causing her...). She might set herself free.

She might once again look in the mirror and find herself atractive.

Not again...

I have become viced in yet another computer game. This time it´s GTA (Grand Theft Auto). I´m not going to rest untill I clear the darned first stage: I´m supposed to get 1000000 points. I´ve reached 960000 so far... But the thing is, it´s getting in the way of my papers for the end of the semester. I´ve been wasting time playing the game instead of doing my work...

Discipline, Pan! Discipline!

Very soon I´ll have my next painting. Nothing too fancy. I´m still working on my Virgin and parthenogenic Child and I have no prospects about when I´ll finish it. But as a side project, I´m doing that simple portrait of my Blonde Muse that I talked about a long time ago. And It´s going pretty well. It´s almost done. I just need to paint the lips: I saved the best for last... It´s apt to become my latest favourite, taking the place of Mariana, that has remained number one for the last year or so. I have a thing for portraits. Specially girls´ portraits. Too bad one can´t seem to make a living out of them. Otherwise it would be a very happy life.

I forgot to mention that my Hyperactive friend, Alex, has a new girlfriend!
Remember I mentioned a blonde the night I met Amber Eyes (by the way, I wonder where is she...)? Well, Alex liked her so much that they are dating. She has some distant resemblance to Buffy. But then again, I´m always noticing the most improbable likenesses.
Alex and Buffy get along just fine. It´s been so long since I´ve seen him so joyous, despite all the family problems.

*SIGH*

I wonder how long ´till I´m that happy again...

More sifting through the mess in my bedroom.
I found a twig of urucum. A plant much used by brazilian indians for their tribal body paint. The seeds, when squashed, give out a red, non-toxic paint.
In my personal culture, that bunddle of little things that mean very specific thing to me only, urucum is the plant that symbolizes death.
The urucum twig I found in my bedroom was taken from the flowers left at my cousin´s grave. I took it when I left a watercolour for him. It was over a month ago when I went to take pictures for my photographic ghosts. I left the watercolour and took the twig. My hopes were that the watercolour would decompose, as the flowers would. As he would. And somewhere in the middle they´d meet. My cousin and my offering. Now I´m left with the twig. And those seeds that give off a brightly red paint. Too artificial to be compared with blood. Too bright. But the analogy has been made. And urucum now symbolizes death.

While going through the mess in my bedroom, I came upon something I had written when I went to see a play with the Lioness some time ago:

THINK ABOUT THIS:
Ina world where everyone is suffering lives that went wrong and no one claims to be mentaly stable, you are charged with enough negative energy to rebel against your own life. But what if there´s nothing wrong? Nothing to rebel against? What if you ultimately live a rather perfect life?

I lead a rather perfect life. My family has no great money issues, being able to afford art courses for me. We get along nicely, even though we rarely have conversations that last over five minutes. Come to think of it, I believe that´s exactly why we get along. All other families that get too intimate end up quarreling. I have a good perspective of my future: good enough to avoid fears and depression. I´m healthy despite a some psychological balderdash. I study what I like and believe I´m talented at what I do (if there is such a thing as innate talent...). I live in a comfortable home that is always there for me at the end of the day. I eat relatively healthy meals and I eat enough.
Then how do I discharge all the negative energy the world throws at me every day? How can I feel kin to a world of broken homes and torturing lives when my own life is so good? I want to rebel. I don´t want to be a foreigner anymore. I want to be another voice in the chorus. But there seems to be no reason for that.

All I can say is...

Thank God.

Ever since teenage started, I've been having this annoying psychological problem. Certain situations can make us rather nervous. New situations like going to places you've never been or meeting new people. Gosh, I sound like a geek... Well, the thing is, certain situations that I still can't define cause this sickness to my stomach. It's purely psychologic. But once it starts, I keep asking myself "How am I feeling? Am I alright? Can I go on?". Obviously, the more I ask, the worse I get, but I just can't seem to stop checking my status. I've fought it bravely, never letting it become a reason for me not to do things.
My grandmother has this, and she's had this ever since childhood. Mom had it to, but eventually it faded.
Almost a year ago, I turned to a psychologist for help. And it seemed to have passed after a few months of treatment. I went to the beach with the Lioness, for example, to stay at a place I had never been to. And further on the same weekend, I had dinner with her parents, whom I had never met. Two situations that usually caused this thing. And nothing had happened.
But now it returns, to claim a victim it had lost.

But maybe I'm being too drastic. Perhaps this is just a common sickness out of something I ate yesterday or the day before...

Last few classes in the art course.
Today I found myself opening my scketch pad and drawing a few things. It was a feminine figure. A round face, smooth like a geisha´s. Closed eyes seemed oriental, but that wasn´t my intent. It´s just that I can´t seem to draw those eyes out of memory. And in the snapshot in my head, she has her eyes closed. Or maybe she´s looking down. I can´t remember for sure.
When drawing portraits, milimeters make a hell of a difference. I tried to draw her face again, but it keeps getting harder and harder to get the same results.
That damned mouth!! I know mouths are hard to draw because they define a person so much, but this is really getting out of hand!
The rest goes smoothly. She has a style to her body that can be pretty easy to picture. And that large neck, so tempting for vampires... Loose, limp clothing. I still need to draw her hand better though... But that´s another thing that just can´t be done out of memory...

Things that I learned from her (no, not my teacher...):
-How cheap were some people and artworks
-The use of the word cheap
-The development of girls' breast over teenage
-The way girls are either princesses or lionesses
-And that most lionesses (if not all of them...) eventually wish they were princesses when the time comes to chose a partner for life.
-That power over men will not actually get you any men.
-I learned to accept some more of my evil
-And that some people will accept my evil as well
-I learned that I have an urge to let people breach my AT Field
-And that I'm immensely hesitant in breaching other people's AT Field
-I learned of the existence of some portuguese desserts that I had never heard of
-I learned that the problem wasn't me, it was actually Makel
-That we sometimes apply the perfect strategy without knowing it.
-I learned to play I've never...
-And I had my first hang over in doing so
-I learned that there are people who actually do like the rain
-And people who simply find the whole concept of liking the rain so romantic that they pretend they do.
-I learned that there´s a rational rage and a passional rage. I´m rational. Unfortunately, she´s passional.
-I learned that we fight out of love sometimes.
-I learned how good it is to leave little quarrels unresolved and simply forget about the whole thing

I wish I could write a hundred little things...
But we´ve only known each other for four or five months...

One of the courses in the university ended today. Our teacher organized a small party. We brought stuff to chew while we discussed the works of the last class. And we agreed that each of us would give someone else a gift this class. It had to be one of our own works. Guess who picked me?
My teacher gave me a hand-made book with a whole bunch of her drawings. They have a very characteristic line, just as most drawings do, and a dream-like aspect. Extremely simple, yet completely enchanting. Their simplicity is rather disturbing actually, rather obscure. But since I thrive on these disturbing things, I simply adored it. I looked at it for hours, with a huge smile on my face. Along with it came a notebook. White pages. She knows I make notes of my ideas and philosophies. On the first page, I wrote: This one was given to me by my teacher: artist Sandra Cinto. And I just can´t wait to finish my current notebook to start this one! It´ll give me some extra inspiration.

Nothing to do with my present moments... Just a memory triggered by a line from Huis Clos:

Estelle:
Oh, I can´t tolerate people who expect me to do something. It makes me want to go right ahead and do the opposite.

I remember I had a colossal fight with Makel once. I can´t even remember what it was about. Probably one of the trivial things we were always fussing over. We were in my grandmother´s farm and dawn was almost upon us. In the midst of it all, she went outside, in the cold mist of dawn, on her pajamas, and sat on a bench by the backyard. It was all too clear that she was making a martyr out of herself, expecting me to go out there and drag her back. Naturally, I refused to comply. Instead, I took a heavy blanket and placed it on the bench beside her. I told her to cover up because it was cold. Then I went back inside and fell asleep on the couch (that same fabulous red couch we had shared wonderful moments on...). All I can say is she eventually went back inside, almost freezing to death but refusing to cover herself with the blanket. She woke me um violently with hands and arms that felt cold like a dead man´s. She was pissed! But I made it clear enough for her: I do not play this sort of game.

Just when you thought I had taken them all...
MORE QUIZ RESULTS!!!!!

i am



what sexual performer are you?

Ouch! Hot!





I'm completely down-to-earth!

Find your soul type at kelly.moranweb.com.


Amazing accuracy!

Wouldn´t it be all too wonderful if love was something you could control? If you could turn it on and off and chose who you´d be in love with? It is possible to some extent: convincing yourself you love someone more than one can love a mere friend. I have done this in a few ocasions. But it´ll never be more than a fraud. Eventually, you won´t even be able to fool yourself. The real thing is actually something rather untamed.
Ever felt how horrible it is to be cast out of a group for loving someone? It seems, and Newton was right, that for every action, there´s an equal and opposite reaction. Loving someone will earn you someone else´s hatred in return. Or so my life has taught me, anyway.

Can´t we all just get along?

Today I dreamed I was an ant. And not just any ant. We were so organized that we had built two little cities. Complete with city walls and even an airport from wich we could send fighter jets to attack. We lasted long until the other ants breached into one of our cities through underground tunnels. I was the pilot sent to bombard the tunnels and save what was left of our population. Then we started all over again.
I still remember the feeling of being born as an ant. You hatch out of the egg, not knowing anything about the world or your own body. On the first moment you think that´s it. That you´re supposed to be confined to that eggshell in that dark tunnel. But then you fight your way out and things beggin to make sense to you. You learn things automatically. As if they had been programmed into your brain ever since you were born, but the program needed a key word to start.

How weird can it get?

I had yet another weird dream.
This time I was in some beach house. Influences from the last time I went to the beach with the Lioness. It was a comfy little house, right near the beach. She was there, and her friend Lo was there. Lo had cut her hair really short and was almost irrecognizable. But the Dreamstalker told me it was her. One night, a car came through the street, someone yelling I was being arrested for questioning about something. I though it was a gag and continued walking to the beach. I decended some concrete stairs towards the sand and then I felt gunfire squirting sand on my heels. I turned, faced the floor and put my hands on my head to assume a threatless position. The cuffed me and searched my pockets for weapons. All I had were my car keys. I kept wondering where was my wallet and thinking I´d be in trouble for not having any documents with me. My keys created some sort of a problem. Apparently whatever questioning I was being arrested for had to do with keys. In the end, I was released. But the officer kept my keys. His partner recognized me: he said he had tried to knock me over with a punch once. But I had been so fast, that I had dodged and still managed to take his gun.

So, I went out with Sati...
I wish I could tell a few people that nothing happened. But something did. All I can say right now is that, to some extent, Marcus was right.
She met me, at three, near one of the city´s museums, to watch a showcase on Renoir. I could tell by the first impression that she was different. She had matured somehow. Well... At least she wasn´t dressing the same twelve-year-old fashion. Her face, as always, wasn´t all that striking. But, as always, her colours enchanted me. A dazzling copper-red hair, icy-blue eyes and a skin colour that could only be painted by Renoir himself.
Renoir, by the way, was quick. We seemed more interested in each other than the paintings. Or maybe we just didn´t know what to do. I was affraid. Afraid that I would start mouthing away everything I learned about Impressionism in the art course and bore her to death. Or that I would remain quiet throughout the whole thing and give an impression that I really didn´t know much about the stuff. Or the impression that I was bored. She seemed somehow unconfortable herself: making shy, thoughtless remarks about everything.
Then we went home so I could get the lens for my camera. I had asked her to help me on a work for the art course. It was all a little white lie actually. I just wanted a picture of her.
See, when we broke up, it happened in part because both my lovers were jealous of each other. Sati was jealous of my art, and my art refused to acknowledge Sati in my life. So I figured that, if I could just make them get along, things might just happen.
I didn´t take Sati´s picture.
By the end of the night, when we left for the theatre, I felt I no longer had to. Miracles happen. When she came into my room (by the way, I deeply regret the mess...), I had to leave her there for a moment to ask a few things to my mother. When I came back, she was already digging into the photography on my wall. Some of them were my ghosts (she specially liked the ones that made it to the student showcase last year), others were pictures of random things. A little less than half were still about Makel... Yet, somehow, she didn´t seem to mind. She had no reason to mind, actually. She complimented me on very few partial nudes that I had on Makel. One where she covers her breasts with her cupped hands. And in no time at all, we were talking about art. Talking as deeply as I had talked about it with anyone for a long time. We were talking about my Virgin and Child. She could understand almost every concept in it before I even explained!!! And she even liked it for all it´s violence. As I had written before: there´s a darkness in her much similar to my own. Sati had reconciled with the art. She had somehow found the artist in her. I knew she had an artist in her. And I have proof that I knew.
A very long time ago, I had my first kiss. I never saw the girl again, who was two years older than me. When I came home, I drew a pseudo-surrealist picture for her. Elements described everything we had done and how she had basically stripped me off the last part of some innocence. When I broke up with Sati, I drew one of those for her too. I was like a ritual: a drawing for every relationship that ended (the ritual was forgotten after Sati: Makel never got a drawing...). And in that drawing stood a rose (my symbol for the artist at the time) covered by some sort of transparent cloth. A veiled artist. An artist who hasn´t discovered her power yet.
The best part of the night happened on our way to the theatre. Our chat had extended to other aspects of our life. Our sicknesses (she had always been as fragile as me...), our psichological problems, and eventually, our relationships. And talking about our recent ex-s, we ended up discussing our own past relationship. It was the one thing we had never done. Despite the fact that I had been her boyfriend, I had never been able to breach her AT field. I was scared to death of hurting her. But now it seemed alright to talk about these things. And she confessed her jealousy towards my art, her incapability to relate to it because she felt I was more focused on art than I was on her. And we talked about the complete lack of comunication in our relationship. We agreed about everything. And discussing the other relationships we had, we found out we had gone through the exact same things. Life had played a marvelous game with us. And I had never felt so connected to someone.
The play was amazing, as most of the one directed by grandma (the same from the atelier...)are. The players do deserve most of the credit though.
When I left Sati home, we greeted ourselves goodbye politely. I told her I wanted to go out with her more often. We agreed to go see one of the plays on the university.
All´s well that end´s well, as Shakespeare would say.
And all I can say is that I´m completely dazzled...

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGHH!!!!
So much to be done and so little time!
The semester is ending and there´s this whole bunch of work to do. Errands just seem to pop up out of nowhere every day. So far, my schedule is full until monday night. No free time.
(Oh, look! The Panameña just walked by... )

Oh, how we humans are shallow. A few weeks ago I dedicated a whole post to writting about my Fairy. And now I don´t seem particularly hurt by her new affair. All importance seems to have faded. Or at least most of it, anyway.

It seems like my Fairy has found someone. I saw her a few days back with some guy who must be about twice as big as her. Somehow, it only makes me dimly displeased. Not as if I knew her or anything. And yet, somehow, it only makes me more interested in her. But enough of this... I´ll be meeting with Sati this weekend.

Not again....



Correct except for the part where I keep to myself: I´m quite a show-off...

I just hope this gets posted this time: I´m having blog problems...

When I got home yesterday, half of me smelled like kerosene. The other half smelled like ashes. I felt filthy. And I liked it.
I burned a canvas yesterday. Part of a video for the art course. It didn´t go as well as I planned, but it was good enough.

My life spins around two kinds of phases. On the clear phase, the one that happens most of the time, I´m your regular joe. I´m as polite as I can be, always trying to please everyone at the same time. As one of my quiz results says, I´m like a beer: the mediator, always trying to set things straight and end quarrels. In the arts, I´m always searching for something to ease the mind and please the eye. Technique. I wear clear colours or anything that feels comfortable.
Then something comes around and I decide I´m tired of that. Tired of being numb. I want to feel something. I start getting interested in breaking, burning, tearing things apart. It´s pretty much a guy thing, actually: to be interested in destruction, violence, evil. I stop trying to please everyone and start acting like the real teenager: asking why should I like him/her, why sould I care about his/her opinions? Why can´t someone try to please me instead? And do the people who do like me do it for the correct reasons? I start wearing black or anything that looks savy and that allows movement, because I start wanting to do some physical activity. I want to get home at night aching all over, feeling dirty, but with some wonderful work done. Then just take a shower and walk around the house naked (I have no black pajamas...). I want to do, produce. And my works take on another look, completely different from the stuff in the clear phase. I thrive on works that include physical or mental violence, destruction and an overall dark aspect. It´s in my photographic ghosts, for example. It´s not only about technique anymore. I want to quarrel, to question things, to create controversy. To say I´m an atheist (as if it still mattered...) and discuss shamelessly all my perversions and immorality. .
It lasts ´till the day I get sick of being depressed over nothing. Because when you summon so much negative charge onto yourself, ou can´t excape worrying about useless things, things with no solution, those teenage worries about existential questions. And it leads you nowhere and only anguishes you. You beggin to get tired of coming home everyday as if you´ve survived a holocaust, looking like a pale shell of what you once were. You desire comfort again. And plus, all this rage and controversy takes a terrible tow on your social life. It´s in the aesthetic to be mean, there´s no room in the darkness for the nice guy (seems pretty stupid, huh?). So you turn to the good side again.

It seems obvious that I´m venturing into another of my dark phases. It´s in the depth, violence and darkness of my Virgin and parthenogenic Child, Bush blaring at top volume on my stereo as I paint it, instead of orchestrated classical music or another of my favourite pop bands (poor grandma: my atelier is a room in the back of her house...). It´s in the burning of the canvas, the clothes I´ve been wearing. The greed for violence. i saw one of those Marilyn Manson videos a few days back: supposed to be his/her version of Tainted love (by whomever the hell wrote that...). And the aesthetic seemed appealing somehow. No, I´m not thinking about painting my face or anything. It´s the archetype of the dark clown.

I remember a dark age so intense, that I couldn´t sleep at night worrying about useless things. Worrying about my future and my career. It was the time Marcus was born. And I remember it was Sati who made me snap out of it because of who she was. She never saw my dark self: when I finally spoke to her, I had already gone through catharsis. I was pure again.
And now we´ll meet again this weekend. But this time I´m returning to darkness as we meet, returning to the archetype of the vampire. And meeting her in this phase ashames me. `Cause she belongs to the group of people that really don´t deserve to witness these flaws of mine, this violence (as I´ve said, poor grandma...). It´s like defileing something pure. Like a demonic beast in the presence of something sacred. Will I scare her away? Hardly. Somehow I sense in her a darkness much similar to my own.
I ask myself (or rather Marcus asks me...): will I still sense this holiness in her if she ever reveals her dark side? It seems like an interesting experience.

I think, if there was actually a Good and Evil in the world, I´d definitely be of an evil alignment. Lawful evil, for the role-palying fans: after all, I´m still the son of a Virgo. I thrive on negative energy. My best works come from dark phases. It´s when things are set in motion. But eventually the little prince in me gets scared.

They just keep on coming...




Oh, and thespark.com´s death test says I´ll die December 9th, 2042, at age 61...

According to humansforsale.com, I´m worth $1,349,000.00.

Wich means that, comparing to other males, I´m relatively worthless.

Crap...

I just love it when the house is left at my disposal...
Mom and dad are away, my brother is out with Sis and will only be back tomorrow. So I made my dinner and sat in front of the TV, watching Locomotion as I devoured my meal. Virgin Fleet was on... Not exactly the most thrilling of anime. But I´ll watch just about anything...
After supper, I filled the bath tub at my parents´ bathroom: one of the things I only get to do when I´m spending the weekend alone. Meanwhile, I finished a few details on one of today´s paintings: there will be no more fooling around with paint after the bath.
Settling down on the bath tub was painstaking: thermal shock... But after a while I was almost dozing off. I always get a strange feeling when I´m in the tub. That silence, the dripping of the faucet, my body submerged up to my neck in warm water, those terribly white tiles... It all looks like a scene from some horror movie. Gives me the creeps. As if at any moment the killer is supposed to strike, leaving me dead on the bloodied tub, like Marat. Off the tub we go...
Guess I´ll read my book under the lamp in the living room and eventualy fall asleep on the couch. After a game of Age of Empires, that is. And that´s saturday.

I think you´re right, Lioness... I act like an old man.

Party was yesterday. Today I´m keeping cozy and confortable at home.

Oh no!!!!


They´re coming!!!!


It´s... MORE QUIZ RESULTS!!!!!!!!



Damn right... But maybe this other one will do better:












I'm Remy LeBeau
What X-Men Character are You?



Oh, yeah!!!






Hmm... Whatever...

Selections from a tape recorded today while I worked

I think Makel traumatized me about the painting of the house on the hill. The one that´s supposed to go on the living room. The tryptich. ´Cause in the bigger canvas there´s these woods that I just can´t paint. See, Makel joined an atelier a while back, when we were still dating. She grew interested in art mostly because of me. She always lived for her boyfriends, as I´ve said. She spent about... oh, I´d say four months in it. And she learned in those four month, painting techniques that took me years to learn by myself. And among those techniques, she learned how to paint landscapes. I paint people, not landscapes. I only learned to paint landscapes when I saw her doing it. In the painting of the house in the hill, there are those trees. And I can´t advance in the painting, unless I paint those trees. I tried once. And Makel told me I had done it wrong. So I erased them. I don´t know why did I let it get to me... But now I´m hesitant in painting those woods. Traumatized. The tryptich just stands there: unfinished. And it feels like yet another project I´ll never finish. Like another one of my four books that I´ll never finish.

Coming into the atelier after so long was... sucha strange experience. It was like seeing someone I hadn´t seen for such a long time. It was like seeing Sati... Things have kept their places. Few changes. The mess I made last time I was here is still here. Somehow it reminds me of unfinished business, like the end of my relationship with Sati. A mess that I never cleaned up. And that I expected to be forgotten over time. The watch in my atelier has stopped in time, frozen at 10:45. some day. Someone took it´s batteries. Or maybe they just ran out.

The Lioness had the strangest dream a few nights ago. It's in her blog...
Actually, it was a fairly comprehensible dream that had much to do with the latest happenings in her life. One of her friends asked for it's meaning. So I made a rough interpretation of what I understood, using what I've studied from my own dreams. Dreams happen in a pretty rational way.

References for this dream include many things from Huis Clos and a lot of props and scenarios and scenes from the Queen of the Damned movie.
In the first scene, she runs through corridors in a castle. She reaches a huge door to a large room. Inside, her best friends are all dressed in white dresses. She wears a black one. This is easy to understand. She represents herself as the first person, the entity she understands as herself, different from all the other people in the room, all of them understood as "not her" and dressed alike to represent that. It´s an affirmation of herself as an individual. She dresses black. Her residual self-image (remember Matrix?) is dresses black and I think it´s because she is aware of her own evil. As we all should be. When she goes into the room and sits down in front of her friends, they all cover their faces and she shrieks in agony. I believe it´s her representation of shame. Because her friends are reading her blog and she knows they do not aprove what goes on between me and her. But she is affraid of dissapointing them.
Second scene. That same room. She´s standing naked in the middle of it. I´m there, dressed in what she calls my vampire outfit: my white shirt and black vest. Pocket watch. With a paper cutter, I cut a few slits in her arm. They bleed. I just stand there. And she just stands there. She does not scream nor show any pain.
I think there´s something missing here. Because, although the room remains the same, the people in it change too drastically and with no explanation. Why is she suddenly naked? Perhaps because of her shame after the scene with her friends. But how did I appear? There seems to be no items or ideas in the previous scene to remind her of me. So there is apparently no reason for me to just pop up in the dream. There´s something missing. She forgot something. About the slits in her arm, the paper cutter comes from Huis Clos. The action of cutting her seems to be a representation of the hurt I cause. The fact that she just stands there seems odd. It could be because in real life she also just stands there while I hurt her. Or it could be because, although that character is her, her conscience watches things from outside. As if she was watching a movie. About my clothes: that´s what I wore when we went to see Queen of the Damned.
Wich leads us to the third scene. The room becomes that same room in the end of Queen of the Damned. Her friends show up again and drink from the slits in her arm until she is turned into a statue again. She is supposed to be Akasha. Her best friend takes her last drop and dies. All the others, having completed the task, flee. I show up, along with another male friend of hers, whose name is the same as mine. We break the statue that she has turned into. She feels an enormous amount of pain. I guess the scenario, the composition of things reminded her of the end of the movie, so she decided to act it out. Plus, she was bleeding anyway. As I have no importance in the beggining of this third scene, I obviously dissapear. She obviously puts herself in one of the main roles, as we all do in our dream. We all intimately want to be the main character. She places her best friend in the role of Maharet, the leader of the vampire coven, because she feels her best friend is the leader of this little coven. Or the one she cares for the most anyway. I´ve noticed there´s a clear distinction between scenes regarding her friends and scenes regarding her male passions. They are never toghether in the same scene. That´s why her friends have to leave before we, the men, show up. Me and the other guy, we appear as the oniric archetype of the twins. This archetype deals with opposites from a same kind. In this case, what´s similar is our names: in real life we have the same name. The difference is the kind of men we are. She loves me, but she is loved by the other one. I hurt her and the other one idolizes her. We are opposites. But either way, she feels that all men will eventually cause her doom. That´s why we both destroy her statue.

Heck... I´m a trend follower. And Lioness started the latest trend in her gang. So here´s my list of personal traits...

I´m an 80´s lover
I give names to the voices in my head.
I am obssessed with redheaded girls
I like tight clothes.
I´m a claustrophile (I like tight places)
I think modernism was the final death of art with technique (ilustrative, objective, understandable). And I´m a technical artist.
I adjust to almost any type of person: seldom does anyone annoy me.
I wish I had stopped aging since last year
I have cheated and might some day do it again
I think I´ve never been cheated on
I have some strong pride of certain male parts of mine... (heck, no one complained so far...)
I feel strong emotions about seemingly pointless things and remain cold to what is supposed to matter.
I´ve started writting four books, finished none so far...
I spent some two years pretending to myelf I was a goth... ( you know, walking the streets at night, alone, depressed, dressed in black...) It probably made me start noticing the world enough to become an art student.
I lived abroad for five years.
As heritage from my pseudo-goth era, I learned to nullify my presence... People think I simply materialize out of nowere.
I´m obssessed with vampires. In fact, I try to know as much of the myths and the facts that spawned the legend.
I´m the son of a Virgo, and as such, have learned to be methodic and obssessed with detail.
My dad is my greatest male role model. My dad rocks!!
My lips move very little when I talk
One of my quirks is to make a growling sound as I take air into my lungs.
I whistle while I work.
I love it when people caress my cheek.
I HATE my hair...
I have slightly pointy ears and protruding canines.
My greatest artistic obssession is with light. And girls, of course.
I can type with few mistakes without looking either at the keyboard or at the screen (and it freaks the hell out of the Lioness and Blue-Eyed Teddy...)
I see no great pleasure in eating. Except for sushi! It´s my favourite.
I like cold and hot weather all the same, but for different reasons.
In the afternoon is when I most feel like having sex.
I´m thrilled by disturbing movies and books.
I love to read but I don´t have the habbit of doing so.
I couldn´t care less for newspapers.
People say I´m a better writer than graphic artist (how come, if I don´t read enough to be a good writer? Practice?)
I love sleeping naked.
In fact, I love being naked.
I plan to have a cat simply named cat
I´d like to live alone for a while.
I´d also like to share a house with other fellow artist some day
I compare the extasy of being trusted enough to paint a friend in the nude to the extasy of being trusted enough to have sex with a friend.

Jeez... This is getting long, isn´t it?

I´m addicted to blogging, bubblegum, and occasional computer games. But my addictions last only a few months. Hopefully blogging will last longer.
I´m extremely old-fashioned. Almost british.
In fact, with the exeption of a few computer programs (Word, browsers and image editors), I do NOT get along with technology.
I give strange nicknames to people whose names I don´t know.
I´m not that intelectual. Some of it is bulsh*t...
But I do consider myself smart and somewhat of a culture addict.
I have an almost autistic tendency to be easily hypnotized by repetitive movement or sound. And I like it!!!

Well... I guess this does it for now... I´ll eventually add things here. I´ll tell you when I do.

Ok... I know this qualifies me as addicted...
But here´s a couple more quiz result:

What Drink Are You?

You'll probably love fallenlights.net.
Which Koi Variety Are You?

I have to admit: I´ve no idea what a "koi" is...

I feel another one of those incredible weeks of creativity coming by.
I arrived at the university today and, on my way to class, caught a glimpse of a girl asleep inside her car. The way she was lying there, curled up to one side, motionless except for the pulsation of her breath, inspired me some sort of tenderness, confort. I had urges to draw her but I was too lazy and too late for class to fundle for my sketch pad on my back pack. When I finally got to class, I drew a rough sketch of her, of what I remember from her position. Proportions are all screwed up. But as long as it can remind me of that feeling...
And then my teacher was yaking about surrealism and the end of the semester and I was already lost in my thoughts. I was thinking about starting my painting on the Virgin and Parthenogenic Child. And of painting a clean, simple acrylic portrait of my Blonde Muse out of one of the photos I snapped last year. Oh, and I remembered I have to paint that still-life for class next tuesday.
*Sigh*
It´s going to be a busy, but extremely pleasant weekend...

Guess what: more quiz results...

You are 40% evil! [?]

You're more good than evil, but not by much. You've drank straight from the carton of milk in the refrigerator, and maybe kicked the neighbor's cat, but you're still good. Kinda.

Well... I try and try...

Which Kiss Are You?

Maybe... But maybe not...

You're LUST! Sex, sex, sex! It's all you think about! You're not opposed to having more than one boy/girlfriend, and you're very flirtatious. You're represented by the color blue.

Ooh! Bull´s-eye!

Find your emotion!

width="300" height="150">

Which Angel would you be? By Angel Falls

See? I told you I´m harmless....



Click Here To Find Out Which Symbol You Are

Oh, yeah!!!!






What Type of Villain are You?

mutedfaith.com /
<º>



Definitely!!!!






Find your Role-Playing
Stereotype at mutedfaith.com.
[Angel.]


Couldn´t be more true...

Which Evangelion Child Are You?

Well... The description does fit me... But I compare myself to:

Which Evangelion Child Are You?

That´s better... Although it IS a crappy description...

Well... Things are OK with the Lioness again. It´s the second time I seriously think about changing my blog adress. She says she´d rather keep reading my blog. That we are more truthful to each other this way. And she´s right. But the one thing reality shows have proven is that humans can no longer live in groups. That we hurt each other. That we need to lie and keep little secrets in order to prevent fights. I honestly don´t know what´s best. But I like it when I don´t have to fight so much with people I care for.
I was amazed that for the first time we had a fight that was actually different from the ones I had with Makel. ´Cause ´til now it had all been the same. The fight was always about the girl on the other side. But seldom did people ever notice the dilema I´m in. I was always the hangman, the executor. I was always the guilty bastard.

And then we had this one fight where we understood that we were both victims. She couldn´t control her caring for me. As I couldn´t control the fact that I didn´t love her that much. I care for her. A lot. I like caring for people. But she´d need me to care specifically for her. Why can´t girls just make the best out of what guys can give? Why do they always want more?She´s already so special that most of the posts in this blog speak of her.

I´m just yaking about nonsense. Forgive me. I´m not that good at talking about matters of the heart. Remember: men have to pack their bags and travel to the other side of the brain for field study when it comes to feelings. And that´s actually why I eventually say or write some bulsh*t that´ll be misunderstood, wrecking havoc on my relationships.

Rough translation of a note to the Lioness
Lioness, forgive me...
For what it´s worth, I REALLY wanted to sleep with you, as you wrote on your blog. It had been a long time since I hadn´t slept with anyone. I can´t escape the slight disconfort that comes from all of this, as I can´t and don´t even want to lose you. I wish we could have what we have without the sentimental part involved. Or that I could feel what you want me to feel for you. I just wish there was a non-violent solution for all this.
See how I suffer. How I can´t simply say "so what?"? Do you believe in me now? I don´t want to compare sufferings: I´d be in a slight disadvantage.

Ok... I submit myself to public scrutiny: how much a bastard am I? Or are there those of you who might miraculously understand my point of view?
I need help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What would you do if you had a great friend who fell in love with you and you just didn´t love him/her back that much? Am I the only one who believes not loving someone and hating someone are two different things?
PLEASE e-mail me if anyone has any ideas...

Jeez, do they complain...
I once had a fight with the Blue-Eyed Teddy Bear because she complained about someone. I hate these situations because I eventually find myself trying to stand up for the other side, no matter if I agree or not. And 90% of the times it isn´t even my problem. But here I was, spending four days with a gang that was constantly complaining about someone. And complaining loudly! The little prince in me felt ashamed, awkward. But I must confess: I did my fair amount of complaining and horsing around. i gotta stop minding these things...

One thing I did notice: most of the people the Lioness complains about were girls that I found somewhat amusing or interesting. Come to think of it, she even made some crack about my Blond Muse´s moves.

One thing I have to post here:
The Lioness does have a beautiful back. Smooth skin, flawless. Makes me want to paint her like Ingres´ turkish bather.

These collective things are so weird...
I just spent four days in deep intimacy with, oh, I´d say some fifty people. Take showering for example: suddenly you´re there, butt-naked with people you´d never think of. Proeminent people like those hulking guys girls are always talking about or guys who are famous for this or that. It´s so surreal. Was was even more surreal was when the drain clogged and the showers began to flud and we all had to shower standing on chairs because of all the dirty water.

But you know what? I liked all this. I laughed my ass off. Sometimes I think I was born to be a nomad. To wander in search of these peculiar things.

Hi there... I´m back.
As incredible as it may seem, I didn´t snap a few pictures of my Blonde Muse... *Sigh*.
I still don´t know how to rate my weekend. It was so good in some aspects and so disturbing in others. It seems we always pay more atention to the bad side of things.
I played house with the Lioness, as she wanted. I just couldn´t help it, after I read how lonely she felt and her urge to just sleep embraced with someone. It felt good, but wrong. I can´t explain it exactly. I felt as if I was cruelly using her. Because I know it only made her love me more. And in turn I can´t give her the love she demands of me. We talked about it, whispering into each other´s ears at the first few hours of dawn. We slept in my tent and there were people around. She thought I was ashamed of her. Or that I was hanging around with her out of pitty. It´s not that, dearest. I like cuddling as well. It gets quite hard to explain. I like to cuddle but I don´t love her. How cruel is this? Everyone likes to be cared for. She does me a lot of good. I just can´t be her boyfriend now...
We talked about my needs. We get along perfectly, we enjoy each other´s company, the chats. For some people, that would be enough to start a relationship. But not for me. I need something else. I need my Blonde Muse´s pretty face or her gentle moves. I need inspiration. Lioness called it some other, more transcendent kind of love. Actually, it´s more mundane. I had seen beauty in the Lioness. But it´s hidden somewhere.
She asked me if I never suffer. I believe I do. I believe I suffer for the people I cause suffering to. Like her or Makel. People who loved me and weren´t loved back. But maybe she´s right... And I don´t suffer at all. I´m rather cold. What do I feel?
When I think back, I don´t think we had agreed that she´d sleep in my tent with me... But things happened and it was the only choice. This weekend didn´t go exactly as planned... Please understand me. I sometimes feel like I´m being tricked into being her boyfriend. It has happened before. And we are already introduced to others as a couple. I guess the only thing missing is the formalities...
But I promised myself I wouldn´t mind these things. That I wouldn´t think about them for this weekend. And I didn´t. We had argued too much about it before. I let things happen. And it was kinda good. We shared the tent, we cuddled, warmed up each other. It was a sort of a relationship, in a twisted way. I´m some sort of expert in twisted relationships...
Of course it didn´t help in bringing me closer to my Blonde Muse. If only it drove us further apart. But never mind the little things.

*Sigh*

I have urges to delete this whole post... It´s going to cause so much pain to so many people. But I promised myself I would write for me. And not to please others.