I'm trying to find out how can I post one of my images here...
The thing is, I have no website. And the only way I know how to post an image through HMTL, is if it has been posted on a website somewhere. But then again, my notions of HTML aren't that big... Does anybody out there know of a solution to my problem???

What's Your Inner Demon?


this quiz was made by Melissa

...
Sound's like my brother's demon actually...

which song describes you the best?

No, that's what I'd like to be...

Well, since I couldn´t get around HTML codes to create a whole new page for these names, I´ll just have to post them here....


And now, the moment you´ve all been waiting for...
Introducing my Enciclopaedia of Blog Names!

yay...
==================
Admirer: What´s there to be said? By the way, I never wrote about her again...

Amber Eyes: I guess the passage of my blog where she appears for the first time holds the reason for the name. She was of asian ancestry, but she had deeply western amber eyes. Must have some european in the family...

Azrael, Marcus, Smith and the beast: The Council. Something like a conscience. First there was Azrael, the one. The vampire. He was the emotional side. Born in the time I was a pseudo-goth. The one who showed me the world and made me want to depict it somehow. Then came Marcus, the true. The smoker. He was a rational side. So rational that at times he would set aside the humane aspect of things. Brutaly cruel, cynical, but true. Often compared to my evil side. But at times Azrael has been more cruel. Marcus is simply pure reason. Born in 98, during one of my darkest phases. In the quarrel between emotion and reason, Charley was born. We was the spirit of teenage. The one to settle scores. But eventually he was assimilated and consumed by me: I became Charley. And then he was deleted. With time came the beast. I had thought he was Azrael evolved. But he was something else. The beast is a human before culture. The animal side. Before language: so he does not speak, he barely comunicates. Hence he has no name. Born in the woods at grandmother´s farm a couple of years back. Finally, to settle scores and aid in my personal growth, Smith joined us. Smith, the honored. The ethical side. Reason, emotion or instinct have nothing to do with it. All that matters is what is the "right thing to do".

Big Mama: In our high-school gang, she seemed to be the most down-to-Earth of the girls. She took care of us all, she cared for us all. She was like a mother. But you could talk of intimate subjects with her... And about sex, obviously. 'Cause it always ends in sx when you´re among teenagers...

Blonde Muse: To be a muse... Every artist has a muse every now and then. And for each artist it has to do with a specific characteristic. In my case, it's the form. She has a pretty face and very smooth moves. As if she was always posing for something. It´s hard to catch her out of form. Although I may say she´s not very photogenic in pictures where she actually knows she´s being photographed... So usually I prefer to catch her off guard.

Blue-eyed Teddy Bear: A dearest friend of mine. She has icy blue eyes and she just makes you want to hug her like a teddy bear. She seems to inspire warmth and comfort, even though she tends to be very emotional. But that just makes us like her even more!

Buffy: Alex's girl. I seem to find some similarity between her and Sarah Michele Gellar. But seldom do people agree with me when it comes to similarities...

Comediant: The funniest of the bunch, always comming up with witty remarks and slapstick humour. His humour and dazed expressions kinda remind me of Kramer from Seinfeld...

Fairy: It´s hard to tell exactly why I picked this name... For one thing, she´s quite short and thin. She has a very clear skin. But mostly, I guess it´s because she has very gentle movements, as if she was going to break at the slightest touch. She seems to hover on air instead of walking, as if she was flying with wings that flap so fast I can´t see. Fairy wings, if you will.

Foreign Elf: Well, she´s the only one in the blog who doesn´t live around here. And she is quite fond of Lord of the Rings. And since she´s so tall and cute and everything, just like an elf, it makes the perfect name for her...

General Anarchy: The perfect name. He enrolled in the army a while back. Still, he has this way of bringing anarchy to every aspect of his life. He disobeys any authority for the pleasure of it and is eager to find each authority's limits, so he can manage around them, outside of their jurisdiction.

Hyperactive / Alex: He´s the kind of guy who would show up at home and walk directly from the door to my brother´s piano. He´d open it, play half a song and get up, leaving it open, to turn the computer on. He would then start every game you have, but exit the program in the first two minutes. Then he´d get up from the computer, leaving it turned on, and seek something to eat in the kitchen. He never stops. God knows how I can keep up with him... The second name, Alex, recalls one of the books I wrote and never finished: Child of the Night. From the time I was into vapires. One of the characters was inspired on him. We actually write e-mails to each other with our characters´ names...

Lioness: She´s the most expressive presence in my blog. We study at the university toghether. The name comes from her own theory that there are four groups of people: Lionesses, Princesses, Good Men and Inferior Men. Good Men and Princesses are commonly associated to the looser type. They are the nice people, but also the inhibited ones. The ones who´ll get shy dealing with certain aspects, who won´t deal with taboo subjects. Lionesses and Inferior Men are the popular type. People who´ll usually get what they want no matter the means to get it. People who´ll talk about anything comfortably and acknowledge the evil in the world, knowing how to use it to their own advantage. The kind of people averyone wants to be once in a while. There´s a dynamic between the four types. Good Men will drool over Lionesses, who´ll in turn crave Inferior Men, who usually seduce Princesses because Princesses are cute and controllable. My personal experience says that Princesses are also attracted to Inferior Men. But only until they´ve been hurt enough to learn they can´t trust them. I´ll stop here. The Lioness might attempt to explain this better herself.

Little Wonder: It´s obviously got to do with her height. She´s terribly short. And it seems to be one of her most beautiful qualities, I guess. But the most striking thing about her are her eyes. Clear hazel eyes that seem to pierce through almost anything. Comic strip fans would recognize in those eyes the look of evil women. But I can asure she´s the kindest of persons. Even with those amazing eyes, I had to pick a name that refers to her height. I guess it´s because there´s this song from David Bowie called Little Wonder that reminds me of her.

Lo: It´s the same name in Lioness´ blog. I picked it. But it´s hard to explain why. I dunno... She has that "not so innocent child" look.

Makel: Ah, Makel... The name is actually a simplification of Manakel, which is, according to the books, her guardian angel. I was supposed to be Aiel, the simplification of Eiaiel. The names came up when we were reading these charts that told which guardian angel you have according to your date and time of birth.

Mermaid: Her actual name, in my native tongue, is the name of mermaids in the mythology of south american indians.

Moviemaker: The name is a direct translation from Lioness´ blog. In our native tongue, the name is Cineasta. It´s what she studies in college.

Nana(-chan): She´s a friend from the university. We quickly bacame good friends because of our mutual passion for anime and manga. And since these things have a way of infusing japanese culture into their audience´s lives, we began to call each other in that japanese teenage fashion. She was Nana-chan and I was Pan-kun. Nana is a childhood nickname. When her younger brother was born, that was the only way he could say her name.

Sati: Ok, this wasn´t the brightest of names. When I met her we were both at high-school. I had my friends who knew I liked her. And since our teachers seemed very strict about conversation in class, we wrote to each other. You know that teenage thing of keeping your passion a big secret? So just in case any of our writting ever fell into the wrong hands, we made up nicknames or anagrams for the original names. Sati is the anagram of her actual name.

Sister-in-law-to-be / Sis: Need I say more??

Trainspotter: There was a single post with her name. Still... It´s the book she was reading last time I saw her. She was a clubber. And a quite secretive, strange one... And the whole clubber-secrets-book combination lead to these really naughty rumors...

Just thought I should leave a word here about Spencer Tunick's work. You know him: he´s the guy who photographas huge naked crowds.
There´s a lot of controversy and different opinions about his work. Some people see great meanings in it. Some think he´s perversion with artistic license. Frankly, if that´s the case, I´ve seen far more perverted artists. My opinion about him? I guess he´s like Eminem in a way and as innocent as a child in another. For one thing, he knows nudity draw attention. Nowadays, nudity is a symbol of open-mindedness. So he´ll want to use that, but with no higher meanings. Oportunistic? Nah. Realistic. They want nudity? Let´s give 'em nudity! On the other hand, he talks of nudity as a young teenager would. He talks of that whole process of discovering your own body and not being ashamed of it. I agree to the fact that you can´t accept who you are until you accept your naked body. It´s some sort of teenage innocence. Ever walked naked around the house? Or talked about petty little things with a lover after you had sex? It´s kinda what he´s trying to say. Acceptance.

This is going to be a very long, but very interesting post for the artistic minds...

I went to Anima Mundi today. It´s a film showcase with productions from all over the world (but mostly from Europe, of course....). What I saw was merely one twentieth of the entire thing, but I think I picked the right day to come.
There was this one short movie from Germany that sort of made a summary of one of my old observations about art. It was called Tauro and it told the story of a bull and his hunter through the ages. Starting from stone age, when the bull was painted in crude lines on cave walls, through Egypt when it was tamed and when it was painted in the characteristic egiptian style, then through Greece, when it ran away and when it was painted in pottery with the again characteristic greek style that depicted muscles and all. Then it jumped to the middle ages, when it was drawn by Dürer, then modern age came with etchings of Goya and finally te contemporary age came with Picasso´s style, that transformed the bull into simple, crude lines... much like the stone age bull. See, art moves in circles. Just pay attention to the detail on greek sculpture and the way sculpture took a step back when it reached the middle ages. When we got to the 19th century, art had evolved once again to ilustration. So, when the 20th century came, modernism took over and all technique was lost again. We went back to cave paintings and crude lines... I understand the cycle. Once we get to ilustration, we seem to forget the basic principles of shapes , light, colour, etc. Then some other sort of art must be born that will show those principles to the world again. And ilustration will then be lost. And then public thought (which I´ll explain later..) will demand that art be brought back to ilustration so that they may understand it. See the cycle?

Well, the best picture I saw in the showcase was called In Absentia, by the Quay Brothers, from England. The title already made me think of Regina Silveira's early works... And because of it´s meaning, I already expected something grim. But not like this. The movie will start as a collage of bizarre images that virtually makes no sense at all. And in the end, it will all be explained to those who have survived the confusion. It starts out with strange images of a strange room being lit in many ways by lights from outside. Shots of windows and legs with orthopaedic boots dangling from a ledge. Animations of little white balls rolling up walls. More scenes of that strange room. In it, an old english clock pointing at 9:30. It has a slit in the middle, where the pendulum is supposed to be. Then all of a sudden, two pencils roll over under a door. They squirmish and jump to a table where dirty hands with dirty nails pick them um and try to write on a sheet of paper. But the pencils excape and point to a sharpener. Those female hands sharpen the pencil and whipe the dirt to the ground. A discomforting shot of the dirt on the floor. So simple, but so discomforting. Suspense music. Then she writes. She has trouble writting: she holds the pencil with all the fingers in her right hand and most of the fingers on the left hand. And she puts such excruciating effort on it. She writes always the same line. The same unintelligible line. The only thing I could make out was the word "home". And then, as she is scribbling away, the tip of the pencil brakes. And it´s so anguishing because she´s having such a hard time writting... There´s this scene where the tip is just lying there, in the shadows, under the wooden floor of the room. Like the remnants of a dead fly. There are some strange scenes with a devil beckoning many broken pencil tips to stand on end. And a scene where she opens a window and places that pencil tip she just broke on the window sil, along with other tips. All standing on end. Her finger is dirty with the lead and she whipes it on her dress in a motion that resembles masturbation. She sharpens the pencil again. And goes on writting. There are scenes whith the sharpener´s blades and wholes that make it seem like something so dangerous. As she writes, male hands help her to hold the pencil. These male hands caress her back firmly and her neck and I´m not sure if they are there at all or she´s just imagining. She seems perturbed. She caresses her own body in a mix of sensuality and anguish. The pencil tip breaks of many times and she sharpens it again. More scenes of that devil and a sea of pencil tips. Desperation. And she´s already sharpening that pencil with no need for it. It has become a vice, a drug. She looks under the table and the floor can no longer be seen: it´s covered with the dirt from the sharpener. And she keeps on writting the same line. Eventually, after about ten minutes of film, she covers the whole sheet. She stands up and delivers the sheet in the slit on the clock. A shot of the bottom of the clock shows thousands and thousands of sheets!! All stashed up as if she had been writting for an eternity! She opens the clock (the numbers are now put in reverse order...) and moves the hands to 9:29. Scenes of windows from the outside: a white hulk flies out of it and you expect it to be her. But it´s only the curtains. Then there´s this scene where male hands are writting easily on a book on a desk. The hands check a wrist watch (no, it isn´t on 9:30...) and then open a drawer with hundreds of pencils... The final scene shows male feet coming to a door. Hands roll two pencils under it... The screen fades. And words appear dedicating the movie to a lady who wrote daily to her husband from a mental institution.
As the lights went on in the theatre, there was a general booing. Few people clapped. I stayed quiet, musing my thoughts.
I thought this day would never come. What seemed like an incredibly stimulating masterpiece to me, was incomprehensible to them. To public thought. Now when was it exactly that I was separated from public thought and went into artistic thought? I used to be the one to defend a more public sort of art... Now I´m worshiping this.
See, public thought is programed to see an artwork and ask "what does this mean?". But the thing is, not all artworks mean something. Some of them are supposed to be felt. And when public thought comes upon something that doen´t make any sense from the start, they hate it. I didn´t understand it either in the beggining. But then I began to put the pieces toghether from what I felt. It was in the mentaly unstable way she held the pencil and those dirty hands. In the sheer desperation of seeing the pencil tip break. In the horror of that broken pencil tip lying there, dead: pencil tips would henceforth be recognized as something so terrible. Her obssessive rubbing of her own body. The vice of sharpening the pencil only so it coudl break again: a liberating drug that will eventually lead to more anguish as the tip breaks again. The same lines scribbled on the sheet talked of obssession as well. Then the way all those sheets inside the clock seemed to overcome me with a sense of an eternal, neverending task: and all this time she had just written one more letter to that pile... Then in the way she moved the hands on the clock: she didn´t need to say anything. In my mind I could hear her saying "I'd write one letter for every minute, if they could turn back time and make you come back to me...". Finally, it was in the way those hands rolled those pencil under the door. A door that trapped her on the inside. I couldn´t help but feel that she was helplessly trapped only because she was a woman! And I thought of her scurrying about for those pencil in a hunger to go on writting. It was maddness!!! But to them... It was just a bundle of senseless scenes tossed about.

I think my works will no longer mean much to anyone but to myself...

It´s been exactly one week since mom was operated. And she´s supposed to keep her foot up: "above the heart" is what the doctor said. So she stays on her back most of the day.
Both me and my brother have helped her with a bunch of things. Sort of like buttlers. We bring stuff, we take stuff, we run little errands. We do whatever we can to help her condition. And for the past five days I had been doing all of it quite gladly. I understand her situation, and I´d expect the same, had I been the one on the operating table. But you know how these things go... Pretty soon you´re fed up of having to postpone everything to clean up after a handicapped person.
My brother got sick yesterday. Which means I´m by myself now, tending to two people instead of one.
Today, I had taken the morning off to clean up the mess in my room. After all, the next semester will start pretty soon and I have to get things in order for all the new routine. Then all of a sudden, mom calls and asks me to drop everything and buy cheese... Not for any particular reason, it´s just that there is no cheese in the house. So I´m sort of forced to postpone my cleaning up to go out in a quest for cheese. See, that´s the sort of thing that gets you fed up. It´s not like she´s going to de or her foot will get worse if there´s no cheese at home... My brother can´t do it either. So it´s all up to me. As if it was some sort of relentlessly important task: cheese... Meanwhile, my room continues in it´s vacational mess. But what the heck, right? I can always do it tomorrow. The cheese, on the other hand, won´t wait.
*SIGH*
There... It´s good to let some steam out.

Oops... I hear a moaning brother waking up....

From my artist´s notebook

As I progressed on Robert Johnson's HE, something dawned on me.
I´m days away from completing my Virgin and Child. But it seems to me that I have disregarded all the mythological meaning of the tale. My painting deals specifically with the mortal girl called Mary and teenage psychology. That is, it deals with the real event of the birth of that child and not the metaphorical issues. There seems to be no interest in portraying Mary as a symbol of purity or as the figure of the Great Mother, Gaia. She is just a troubled teenager. A frayed, deformed youth. The baby (in this case, the bee...), does not represent salvation. Rather it represents an abomination, a non-natural thing. I still haven´t decided wether this carelessness with the myth is good or bad. Right now I seem more concerned with the technique. Clear phase methodology...

The only statement I can say in my own defense is: if the myth disregards reality, my interpretation of reality will disregard the myth.

There.... Since I know most of you have wanted to beat the living crap out of me for this or that particular post, I´ve been kind enough to create a comment link so you can swear away all you want. Just don´t mention the family... ;P

All you have to do is think of a happy thought. Any happy little thought.

I just saw Ocean´s eleven. I guess this confirms a new category of actors.
What do Julia Roberts, Jeremy Irons, Robin Willians and Meg Ryan have in common? Simple: have you ever seen them play a different role?
Meg Ryan: enough said. It´s bad enough that the Lioness named an entire class of movies after her...
Jeremy Irons: despite his recent attempts to portrait decent villains in Dungeons and Dragons and Time Machine, his only memorable roles were the ones in which he plays the moronic british man, as in Lolita, M Butterfly and Kafka.
Robin Willians: I´m surprised he tried a villain in that movie with Al Pacino... ´Cause so far all he had done was the comic weirdo. Not even in death can he take the role seriously: remember What dreams may come?
Julia Roberts: Mom says the only time she ever did anything different was in Pretty Woman, her first big role. From then on, it was always somewhat the same. The same expression, the same "little girl" charm. Mom still wonders why is she one of the most well-paid actresses in Hollywood. I still haven´t been able to answer. In the end, perhaps no lines have been more autobiographical than the ones she spoke at that dinner whith Hugh Grant´s friends in Nottinghill.

Still, I´m not disregarding the movies they made. I personally have desires to purchase What dreams may come. I love Jeremy Irons (reminds me of myself...), I laugh my ass off in Robin Willians movies and Julia Robert's incapacity to wear high heels always reminds me of a certain redhead... But still, there should be Guiness record for biggest number of simmilar roles.

In reply to a blog post:

There´s something about girls in sweaters. I can´t exactly define what it is, but there definitely is something about them. Someone once said that sweaters are the perfect thing for lonely afternoons at home. And I just couldn´t agree more. But you see, girls underestimate the seductive power of wearing sweaters at home. I remember one particular morning... I was staying at a place that belongs to my dad´s family and most of my mom´s family was there with us. And there are these four cousins of mine who grew up to be real lionesses. It´s a curse in the family: all girls are lionesses and all men are chumps. Myself included. Anyway, it was one of those mornings right after a party when most of us wake up feeling like Ebola patients, our head ready to burst and the rest of our body almost melting away. And then one of my cousins ventured into the room. I think she´s the leader of the pack. At least she seems to be the most fierce man hunter of all four. And I remembered the dress she was wearing the day before and the make up and hair. She had been a godess yesterday. ´Till the end of the party, that is. After that she was just another drunk gal. And here she was, in the morning after, her hair still wet from a morning bath, no make up, and wearing an apathetic green sweater. Still, I´d give her an eight point five for the day before. And a nine point eight for this look. What´s ten, you ask? Beats me... But I still haven´t seen it.
See, girls in sweaters may not be godesses. But they are human. And we don´t want godesses in lonely afternoons at home. We want human girls. Warm human girls. And plus, girls spend big bucks in dresses that partially reveal their skin: this particular cousin likes to wear things that keep her back showing... But in the end, some clothes that keep men guessing will have a much bigger effect.

My sphere is Soldier (Unity in Strength and Action), and my class is Defender (Peaceful, yet Potent). I am a Shield Bearer. To be a Shield Bearer is to have great faith in your friends. Though your friends may not turn to you for guidance, they will turn to you when they need something more important... when they need somebody to stick up for them, especially in situations when they might feel vulnerable. You are very much valued by your comrades. What kind of Warrior are you?

On one thing we agree, me and the Lioness: it´s this overpowering fear that, once I return to her, she will no longer want me. I have often thought of it myself. If we do love each other and it´s the correct thing, it´ll be alright. If our hearts are bent on it. But still, it bothers me deeply to think of it.

I didn´t write about going out with Sati again. There´s actually not much to write about anyway. We went out for dinner and a movie. I was reading Robert Johnson's HE and I was thinking: Sati is sort of like my Red Knight´s task. I don´t want to go through explaining all that. Read the book. it gets even more metaphorical by the fact that she has red hair...

I had the biggest, most important quarrel with the Lioness yesterday. I can´t explain in detail what was it about. I´m not sure I even want to. But I understood so many things about myself and about her and girls in gengeral. I understood some more about the dynamics of quarrels too. Ever been on this situation: it´s a big fight about relationships and she asks you to explain this or that. You try your best and spill your guts, tell her all that´s in your heart. And she takes it as an insult or says you´re oversimplifying things. It has happened to me more than once and not just with my Lioness. It´s a general quarrel dynamic. You´re not expected to explain. Any explanation you give will be an insult. Anything. There is no satisfying way out. Girls usually take the easier way out of it by saying "I can´t explain it to you. It´s just how I feel..." and you´re supposed to accept it. I understood so many other, more meaningful things. But I just can´t post any of it here. Funny: suddenly some things just became too personal to post on my own blog.
All I know was, in the end, I was pissed and almost left the room as I had done with Makel many times before over some thoughtless thing she had said. But then the Lioness apologized and had me lay down with her. I wept. Mostly because I was desperate. There is no way out of the situation we´ve gotten into. She knows it too. And I cried because of that. Cried as I hadn´t done so for so long. So much my lungs spasmed for air. And I felt humiliated. Because, no matter how many times I´m told that even big men cry, I felt like a little kid. And for the first time I felt the shame of someone else´s pitty. I used to hold other people´s pitty as my defense. Such a cowardly thing to do. But now it brought shame. And as much as I wanted to be held and hushed, I wanted to be strong.
Understand that I do not despise the Lioness. People deal with this as if there were only two options: either you love or you hate. I will never hate the Lioness. But I must mature as a man to accept her. And this she understood, hopefully. So that, when I finally accept her, it will be with no regrets or hesitations. And I´ll pride in calling her mine. And I won´t think about lost chances anymore. I couldn´t live another relationship of those. I couldn´t stand myself for it. I must learn that a dream is a dream.

And I´m sure I´m not making any sense to you anymore, am I?

We must both do a little soul searching right now.

I spent sunday taking care of mom. And we talked a bunch. Well... Actually not that much.
And she came with that mother´s talk about how I wasn´t getting enough exercise and that I should start taking care of myself. She says prevention of heart diseases starts at my age. I figure, since she´s a doctor, she has a point. So perhaps I really should start searching for a sport of my liking. But with my extremely tight schedule, it won´t be that easy. She has sugested squash. She says it´s kinda addictive: the more you play, the more you want to play. And since it can be played in doubles or by myself, I figured it would be a decent thing for someone as non-competitive and relatively lonesome as I am.

I want to start taking care of myself. I took care of the inner sickness, now it´s time to tune up. A decent sport that can get my mind off things will probably do a load of good for my mind and body. I want to start making decisions, fix my life and achieve my goals. I don´t want to feel like a child anymore. Ironic: Pan wants to grow up...

Well, I´m finally off the shrink...
It´s good in a way. A part of me, probably Azrael, always felt it was a big waste of money. Paying for two hours of chat every couple of weeks. But he... I can´t deny the wonders it did for me.
I saw Sati yesterday and for the first time there was absolutely no trace of the sickness. It´s soon to say if it´s ever comming back again. But so far, I´ve been able to keep it down for half a month. There have been moments when it has threatened to come out and chew my stomach, like it always does, ruinning my day. But if I´m able to fight it and supress it on that first moment, and keep my mind off it, everything ends up OK.
On the other hand, it´s been said that the first month without the shrink is somehow the toughest. I´m supposed to feel unprotected. Makel thought it might have been the reason for the sickness to show up recently, since I won´t be in treatment anymore. My shrink has assured me that I can schedule an appointment whenever I feel in need. Good. But my pride won´t allow it. I´ll do my best to beat this thing by myself and with no help.

Council members have gathered on a regular basis recently to discuss a matter of utmost importance I dare not publish here.
This matter has been in the agenda ever since we came back from Blue-Eyed Teddy´s and the decisions will only be issued by the end of my vacation period. If you´re not a close friend, you probably won´t understand a thing about this post. But like all interesting plots, it´ll all be explained later on.

Marcus has voted favorably on the decision. Obviously: it´s the most logical thing to do. But it seem´s mechanically logical. He´s not seeing the emotional side of this, as always. Azrael seems displeased with consequences it´ll spawn and with the bigger plan we had in mind. You know, personal achievements: a favorable decision might deny me of possibilities I´ll never have again. Smith and the Beast have not yet spoken. I´m sure the Beast won´t even vote. He´s never interested in the matter. And regardless of Smith's vote, the final decision will still be mine. But this session of the Council meeting is sure to take a long time to reach any agreement.

All we can do in the mean time is wait and study all the other relevant aspects.
I´m troubled. I wish it didn´t have to come to this. Things will get a lot worse before they get any better and I´m not sure I´ll be entirely happy with either of the possibilities.

Sometimes I wonder what actors would I pick if I were to make certain movies.
For example, I had always thought about an X-Men movie. It was supposed to have been made years ago when Tina Turner could have been picked to play Storm. It would have been perfect. Oscar nominee material. But not as perfect as Jack Nicholson playing Wolverine. After he did that werewolf movie, Wolverine would have been a walk in the park for him. I guess Dolf Lundgreen could play Cable and obviously Catherine Zera-Jones would play Psyloche. That guy who did Jean-Luc Picard could play Professor X.

Yesterday I was thinking about actors for a good Evangelion movie. I´d have to enlist Kirsten Dunst for a nice Asuka, since I´m a big Kirsten Dunst fan (I could watch her vampire transformation in Interview with the Vampire over and over again almost endlessly...). But since Asuka is a redhead in the anime, I´d maybe cast that girl who did Sandra Bullock's daughter in Practical Magic. I was thinking about Natalie Portman for Ayanami. The image that comes to mind is the figure she had when she did The Professional. Obviously, both Natalie Portman and Kirsten Dunst should have been casted when they were fifteen. I´m still not sure who could play Shinji. Hollywood directors would probably pick someone like Fred Savage. But I still haven´t found anyone who could play him. I guess perhaps Jean Reno could play Gendo. But he´d have to loose the accent. Any ideas???

Oh, one more thing

Mom was operated today.
When she was young, she broke her foot playing volleyball. The interesting thing is, my grandfather took a picture in the exact moment she jumped the wrong jump that broke her foot. Ever since then, her foot sort of slips out of it´s socket every once in a while. And it hurts like hell, according to her. She spent years going to doctors who told her nothing could be done about it. And they wouldn´t even examine her. She finally found someone who took a decent look and said it was obviously operable. So she´s there. She´ll be spending a couple of days at the hospital under observation.

You know, people usually make a whole lot of fuss about having relatives undergoing surgery. But I guess, since I´m the son of two doctors, I´m sort of used to it. I´m sure they know decent professionals in the area and they always assist any relative who has to be operated in choosing the correct doctor. So I take it as something common, something rather riskless.

All I can say today is, once the Lioness sees the pictures I took of her, she´ll change her mind about being photographed...

As if you hadn´t seen enough...

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Which tarot card are you?

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You are the most universal mythical beast ever. Sightings of the unicorn have been reported from all over the world, even in these modern times. Unicorns are pure and incurruptible. In China, unicorns symbolised gentleness, good will, and wisdom. Christianity links the unicorn with Christ. It is said that unicorns would only allow virgin girls to see them, let alone touch them. They were easily lured into fatal ambushes by a virgin with some potchers waiting for the unicorn in nearby bushes. A unicorn's horn was a highly prised possesion, which was reputed to have great healing capabilities. With the touch of its horn, a unicorn could bring back a person who had been dead for several hours. But when disattached from the unicorn's body, the magic was suggnificantly reduced and could only protect against poison. The unicorn had the body of a horse, a unique spirling horn, and a lion's tail. They were pure white in color. Congradulations, you are a rarity amoung mythical beasts. There aren't enough of people like you in the world.

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What Obscure Animal are you?


I am 42% Goth

Goth ny night, normal by day. Deep in my heart I know I am evil, but not on the company's time. I do need to eat.

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Highly accurate...

The following were written while I was at Blue-Eyed Teddy´s. Dates are in bold.

12 / July / 2002
I just had to post something about rocking chairs. I love rocking chairs. And it seems almost telechinetic how I cross my legs and, with the flexing of a muscle, shift my weight to and fro and maintain that rocking motion. Rocking chairs are supposed to be for old people. One of those things you just know. But I´m definitely going to get one when I move out of my parents´. Remember my list of personal traits? I wrote I´m prone to get hypnotized by repetitive sound and movement. And there´s nothing quite like a rocking chair for that!

13 / July / 2002
I had a huge problem with Sati when we dated years ago: music.
Being a scorpio and the son of a virgo, I grew up to be extremely methodic. Even in romance. And so, I wanted to pick a song for us. But the ones I chose didn´t appeal to her. And as we progressed, I learned about the songs the didn´t like. But that doesn´t mean I learned about the ones she did like. While I was at Blue-Eyed Teddy´s, I heard a song on one of her CDs that reminded me of Sati: it was a version of The Passenger (Originally from Dylan, I think...) in my native tongue. I didn´t pay much attention to the lyrics and I don´t think they tell of anything relevant. But the accords gave me this feeling while I was watching a patch of clear blue sky that made me recall the feeling I get from her. Very soothing.
Nonetheless, it would have been the kind of song she doesn´t like.

14 / July / 2002
Barbecues are a feast of opposites. In the colours and the concepts. Crimson-red meat is put side by side with a variety of greens. Men have their place, out in the yard, cooking meat. Women stay indoors, tossing salad. And the distinction between adults and children, regardless of genders, is very clear: children are always on the go. When standing, they run. When grown-ups stand, they gather in circles with drinks in hand and move very little. When they sit down, adults will take the chairs. Children will be left with the floor. And no complains will be made.

15 / July / 2002
Last words seem so important. Have you ever given any serious thought on what will be your last words? I mean, you´re going to be shut down! Your body, this intricate machine that can comunicate to others alike, will stop functioning. So it´s last expression is supposed to be something meaningful. Something others will repeat every once in a while and tell onto others, seeking enlightenment. Seeking to understand what do we think and feel in that last moment.
But is it really that meaningful?
Will my last words be something about the horrible shade of green on ICU sheets? Or about the afternoon light that I´m always talking about? Will I ask for a cup of cofee and turn up dead when my spouse comes into the room with the tray? Will those I leave behind know about the way I´d rather have my remains dealt with? Maybe ít´ll happen as it often does and I´ll have said something morbidly ironic like "Bye, mom. See you later" and be stabbed to death on the street for a lousy shoe.

Maybe I´ll call someone and complain about a headache like my cousin did.

How many mindless, meaningless last words have you heard of?
How many enlightening ones?

Another thing to think about for hours.
I want to say something to express how my years were some sort of joyful, soothing little ride.

16 / July / 2002
There was a tone of cynical violence in seeing those two girls, dearest friends of mine, talking about motherhood and pregnancy and carrying children, and then tapping their cigarrettes on the ash-tray. I kept picturing, almost hallucinating their wombs swollen amidst the smoke.
Oh, how dreadful the sound of their voices oohing motherhood like that!

Lionessposted something about a conversation we had yesterday. About how she´s affraid to go mad. Her mother had some sort of nervous breakdown some time ago. She was medicated and now leads a normal life. On meds. Both me and the Lioness are frightened to death of having to depend on medication at early age. It´s a sort of a limitation on a time of your life you are supposed to feel free and experience the joys and hazards of freedom.
But that´s not the only fear. Once, a friend of mine took an art course and we began to talk much about art. At some point, he gave up on it all. He decided to stop exploring the possibilities of art, the questions. Because he was affraid it would eventualy lead him to question his reallity and then lead him to madness. Some sort of self-inflicted schitzofrenia.

The fear of madness can be incredibly overwhelming (sorry, Lioness, I know you hate the word...). Dare I say that everyone has some sort of forbidden field of thought. To that friend of mine, it was art (sadly... He was quite brilliant). To the Lioness, it was some kind of awareness of her mind. As if she thinks she knows she´s programmed to go insane. In my case, it´s the awareness of my own body. I can´t stand being made of flesh and having to deal with it.
But contrary to my friend, I can´t just quit thinking about that. And I don´t think the Lioness can either...

I met Makel again today. We went to one of those antique shops that sell second-hand clothes to look or a decent trench coat for me and a bundle of other things for her. I found the perfect thing!! Makes me look like Marcus, only on a darker hue.
On our way back, Makel was telling me about her life, like she always does. Trying to convey how perfect it had turned out to be with her new boyfriend (Ok, sue me, I´m slightly jealous...). I don´t know. I wanted to see her again because I caught myself staring at her pictures on my wall the other day. Photos of the right angles, the right lighting. And I was wondering if that sense of amazement would still be there in the flesh. I don´t know if it´s an artist thing, but when I break up with someone, after a few months of lack of contact, only these "Right-angle-right-lighting" moments remain on my head. Everything else that used to make that person drop to a more human plane seems to vanish. I remain enamored by that person´s archetype. And it´s a strangely reassuring shock when I meet her again and rediscover some flaws. It´s good to know that it´s over sometimes.
Today, Makel seemed happy indeed with her life. She seemed as mature as always. She´ll always be more mature than I am: one of the reasons we just couldn´t work out. I need someone who will grow up with me. Not someone who will push me into maturity. But despite her usual mature look, she seemed somewhat frayed, worn out. Somehow like a ghost of the Makel I once knew. She´s been complaining lately about how she´s worried she´s taking her life too seriously. She sees me having fun and wonders if she shouldn´t be doing the same. First few symptoms of a thought pattern I predicted and that will eventualy lead her to regret a few things. But I believe she enjoyed enough of her youth. Time to grow up and leave children like me behind.

As the day came to an end, I was leaving her home. And we were talking about how we´ve grown appart. We have indeed taken separate paths. She seems to be ready to marry. She´s been thinking about it seriously. Meanwhile, I´m having fun. Doing what I never deed in teenage. Nowadays, after the intricate holocaust that was the end of my relationship with Makel and a time to cool down, I think I´m ready to make a commitment again. I want to enjoy a commitment. Do all those things I never did because I was affraid my parents wouldn´t let me. I´m not afraid any more now that mom took all her paranoia into consideration and forced me to break up an affair. I´m not affraid now that I´ve stood up to her and reprimended her on the way she messed with my head. I´m not affraid now that my relations with my mother regarding girls in my life have been shot to hell.
But all it ever gave me was, despite this new sort of maturity, a grudge towards Makel. She was extremely pleased when her new boyfriend stood up to his mother and was thrown out of the house. Is that what it takes? Then count me out. I have no job, no way to survive. I can´t afford to leave home now. And there´s already enough rancour between me and mom. I won´t let it evolve to the sheer hatred my dad has for his mother. Not now that we´re mending things and she´s frightened enough to let me live my own life without meddling with it.

As I´ve said, it´s a very complicated thing to explain. Sort of a love-hatred thing. And as I´ve said so many times, I´m an expert in twisted relationships...

Ok, I think it´s oficial.
The sickness is back and there´s no way to deny it. My first few medical exams came negative. All of them. So, technically, this really is psychological. I still have two more batteries. A week apart each, to give time for any possible disease to incubate and show up in the next exams. My psychologist tried new techniques, but I can´t say I felt any difference so far. Argh! Living is such a pain...
Well, I´ll be going to Blue-Eyed Teddy's in two days. She has a home over on another town. We thought we might all spend a few days. Me, Blue-Eyed Teddy and the Lioness. But with this sickness once again upon me, I´m getting more and more scared as the day of departure get closer. What if I spend all five or six days out there feeling sick to my stomach? I´m probably going to eat very little. Pitty: Blue-Eyed Teddy cooks divinely well. Before I go throwing up all her wonderful dishes and giving the wrong impression, I think I must explain to her about my sindrome. If she still hasn´t read about it in here, that is. One way or the other, I think I´m probably going to make a complete ass out of myself and eventually spoil the trip.

I´m terrified!
Sometimes I just hate being me...

I forgot to post about how stupid I feel about being upset because some sort of artistic side of mine is hurt. I feel idiotic. I feel like a comic stereotype of a hurt artist. Jeez, I gotta get my mind off of this...

Speaking of portraits...

My Blond Muse´s portrait is ready. I liked it, despite the fact that the eyes are slightly bigger than they should be. *Sigh*. Perhaps I have been watching too much anime after all. The Lioness says I failed to capture something. Some complex characteristic that makes her, the Blonde Muse and the Muse´s sister all alike. I see her point. It´s got something to do with the roundness of the face. And it´s really hard to capture.
The Lioness said I should give it to her. It would be a perfect way to win her over. And I told her to think again. It´s one thing to give your friend a portrait. But to give a portrait to someone you barely know? As in: Psycho with a camera 2, the offspring. I´d just make a complete weirdo out of myself (as if I wasn´t weird enough...). Little did the Lioness know, but that thought had crossed my mind. Since I gave Nana-chan a copy of her portrait, I should carry on with the ritual and give all my poseurs copies of their portraits. This, by the way, brings back the entire discusion from the last post.

Ok, I know giving my Blonde Muse a copy of her portrait isn´t the smartest thing to do. But I just have an urge to do it. And it just makes me understand all the silent power of Azrael. See, he just sits in his corner and barely talks at all. I never quite understood why did I give a vampire the title of archetype of my sensible and artistic side. But it all falls into place now. The most important element in vampire tales is desire! Desire so big, it overcomes your control. And that is, in a nutshell, the artistic experience. It´s all about desire for accomplishments, desire to do things. Azrael never had to reason with me, like Marcus does, to lead me to the arts. All he had to do was make me want it bad enough. Like I want to give the copy of the protrait. No rational explanations. Just a feeling that it´s the one thing to be done.

I´m still debating with the Council about the best way to give her the copy. But we must be better aquainted first.

My Lioness politely turned down my request to take a picture of her for a portrait. And given the reasons, I agree with her.
She once knew an artist. A friend of hers who fell in love with her, I think. She was his muse for some time. See, when we fellow artists are in love with someone, and we take that person to be our muse, we do it because she has something that keeps us tuned to her all the time, 24 / 7. In the case of us, graphic artists, it´s supposed to be beauty, movement or even colour. And we just can´t seem to get enough of her. I once told the Lioness that I thought I´d never get enough of painting Sati. It´s passion, in a way. But you see, the Lioness and I, we´re just friends. This means that, although I see beauty in her, it´s not in that passionate way. It´s not all the time. It´s as if I was always searching for it. For the right angle, the right light. But I´m not supposed to be searching. It´s supposed to come naturaly. Those were the reasons. Or at least what I understood of them, anyway.
And I agreed, and I was perfectly alright with it when she stepped out of my car. But as I drove home (and returned from field study on the other side of my brain...), I couldn´t help but feel displeased. If I´ve compared the pleasure of drawing a friend to the pleasure of kissing or having sex, then this would compare to being rejected. But I understand perfectly well all her reasons and agree with her. It makes me think about all the other portraits I wanted to paint. Would the poseurs accept them? Do I even need them to accept anything?

I´ve learned not to comment any longer about my tastes for this or that type of girl. I´ve often ranted here about my obssession for redheads, about Sati´s wonderful colours, balh, blah, blah... And although it is how I feel about things, I always end up being the laughing stock of all my aquaintances. People expect love and passion to be something aetherial, something you can´t express in words because it would then be simplified. So when I talk about redheads, it seems like a simple childish obssession. It becomes a weakness. A flaw. Something you can point a finger and laugh at. In the end, we´re supposed to say simply "I like her" and "I don´t like her". And keep the reasons to ourselves.

I went to Nana´s birthday party last night.
It was kind of strange: It seemed more like her boyfriend´s party, rather than hers. All his friends were there. And most of them didn´t even know her. I´m not that sure, but I guess I was her only close friend in the whole thing. And half way through the night, after we had caught up on all the news, she was already looking as if she was bored stiff of it all. She was never much fond of social gatherings...
But I must write about one or two very amusing details.
One of the Lioness´ friends was there. The Moviemaker. We had met before, but I couldn´t recall her face. I´m terrible with faces and names. And she reminded me very much of someone I met on the study course I took to join the university. I mean, despite the colour of the eyes, she was almost identical. Did you ever have this feeling that you´re face to face with the same actor, playing a different role?

As the night came to an end, we all sat on the living room to chat. And it was a very nice feeling. All the others had spent the night drinking and horsing around: a few of them even got thrown out of the party for misbehaving. I was starting to think the entire night would come down to that. But that final couple of hours was much better. Grown up fun, if I may say so. We sat in the couches and talked about a lot of things. About careers, art, sex (it always ends in sex when you´re among teenagers...). We had a laugh: some of the guys at the party were histerical comediants, ranting about each other´s shameful moments.
Moviemaker talked about those usually discomforting sexual subjects with the same ease as the Lioness. And it rendered her all the more mature. It brought to mind the idea of the grown up fun that the Lioness´ gang has when they get toghether every year to drink wine and eat fondue.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I told her about how I feel as if everyone who reads the Lioness´ blog and not mine must hate me to death. And she replied it was true. It´s quite simple to take the Lioness´ side in all of this. It´s easy to see me as the vilain because no one ever pays attention to my side of the story. I don´t blame them. If I were watching... er, reading this from the outside, I would have sided with her myself. But as things go, I gave Moviemaker the adress to my blog, in hopes that she´d read it from the start and understand a thing or two. I must acknowledge that I did write two or three pretty ofensive things here. But the Lioness agreed that I shouldn´t change what I write to please anyone but myself. And I don´t think any of it diminishes my side of the story. Once again, I submit myself to public scrutiny.

I´m back from seeing Kore Eda´s After Life.
In the movie, a group of people who died recently come to an inn, suposedly in another realm, where they are to spend a week. Upon their arrival, they meet with the staff that runs the place. And they ask the newcomers to choose the finest moment in their lives within three days. Once it is chosen, the staff will do their best to recreate that moment and make a movie out of it. And once the movie is ready, the "authors" will then be taken to a place where they will remain throughout eternity, reliving that one finest moment.
It´s a very slow movie. I mean, there are no action scenes or anything. But I guess you´d expect that from this kind of movie. Anyhow, It´s the kind of movie that I like. Slow, but introspective and cozy. All this bunch of people reviewing their lives and telling about their finest memories. I´d say it´s a movie for old people. But I guess I´m old at heart.

And it really makes you ask yourself: what was the best moment in my life?

Gosh, I still haven´t found mine. So many things to choose from. And I´m lead to choose from all my moments with girls. I remember my first kiss: it was with an older girl. But I don´t know... There might be something else. And what about all that time living abroad?? There´s bound to be a memory there. I don´t know. But I feel that all my best moments have been so vague, that I believe my finest hour is still to come.
And I hope it comes soon. In a couple of years, I´ll have reached one third of my expected life.

Pot smokers will eventually turn to stronger things. Cocain, perhaps. And heroin after that. These addictions evolve. Just as well, bolg addicts will turn to stupid quizzes for a bigger blow....

Heck, I think I´m addicted...





Go ahead and say it: I´m a show-off!!!





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What Psych-Ward do you belong to?

I knew it!!!!!





take the butt quiz.


and go to mewing.net. why not visit the site of someone who made a quiz about butts?


Although that´s not the shape of my butt, those are my characteristics...

Sometimes, I find myself looking at organs of the human body with some certain fascination.
For example, I think toes are completely weird. Like some sort of useless heritage from our genetic ancestors. And noses... Noses are completely disposable. Seldom is a person´s beauty hightened by a pretty nose. But it can be easily affected in a negative way by a huge one. We could have more inconspicuous organs for air intake without looking any less aesthetically harmonic.
Today, I was reminding myself of how weird are fingers. I was getting out of a bath and I caught myself staring at my fingers, flexing and stretching them. I can´t even explain why do I find fingers so weird. I mean, they´re like these strange little extensions, divided into three parts. Like little worms attatched to our hands. And they are set in sucha peculiar way as to prefectly hold almost anything when they are all bent. I don´t know... It was just an insight. And the thing about insights is that we can´t seem to hold that feeling for too long. Let alone explain it...
But I still find fingers pretty odd.

Blue-eyed Teddy began yet another blog. She´s always switching around...

That reminds me: I have to change the adress on my links section.

I couldn´t help but feel a sense of wonder as I noticed that she called my Lioness "Lioness/Wendy". The big question is: is she aware of the real meaning of Wendy in the tale of Peter Pan? I doubt it. But even so, she chose the perfect character to name the Lioness.
Who is Wendy? Pan meets Wendy as he is hunting down his own shadow, remember? By the way, as he ventures into the room, he is followed closely by Tinkerbell, the fairy. It seems to me that the real love story goes on between Pan and Tink. After all, it´s Tink that gets jealous whenever Pan is aproached by any other girl. Tink is the one that seems to protect Pan from danger. And where does Wendy fit in? As the best friend, I´d say. Wendy is someone Pan meets along the way and envites to play with him. Like two children.
On other further coincidences, Pan meets Wendy as he is hunting his shadow. Shadows are commonly associated to some sort of dark side. So, Wendy would be that sort of friend that show those dark truths about the real world to Pan. Remember: she teaches him what is a kiss (even though he doesn´t get it...). And the simple fact of them having met teaches him that there are women in the world other than the mermaids in Neverland. But despite the pseudo-romantic scene when they meet in the bedroom, after Tink's intervention I really didn´t notice any other romantic conotations in the whole tale between Pan and Wendy.

My Lioness came across my place today. She has been sad lately. Worried about a fight with her best friend. It got so rough that she´s been feeling ill. She says she´s very psychossomatic, so everything affects her health in a way. Usualy in the form of persistent headaches. But when deeply perturbing things happen, it takes on her stomach, like me and my syndrome. She came to my place seeking comfort. It seems I was the only one that really tried to help. She tried talking to others, but the conversation topics eventually switched to other, more trivial things, and people seemed to forget about her cry for help. But not me... I felt obliged to help. After all, here I am complaining about my syndrome and someone comes around with the very same thing. I was the only one who could understand this. And in understanding it, I hoped that she´d understand how I feel. Actually, it´s not the very same thing. But it seems to be quite close.

A few days ago, I went for sushi with the Lioness. The thing is, she got her first payment. She´s working at our school, in the culture department. Somehow, a bonus came in her check, perhaps since it´s the first one, I don´t know. But anyway, we went for sushi. The whole idea was to take her friends out. But Blue-eyed-teddy doesn´t like sushi, so we went out the two of us. It was a nice little place, close to where Makel´s actual boyfriend is living. Lichtenstein style paintings of anime scenes were hung on the wals. I could identify a pair of eyes belonging to Nagisa Kaworu, from Evangelion somewhere.
The food was marvelous. So good, I was able to keep my mind off the sickness and just enjoy it for the moment. But the best of all was the atmosphere. In that dinner, with those few people around us, talking about little things, the artificial light from fluorescent bulbs glistening on her face. It all seemed to much like one of Hopper's paintings. Specially when we were leaving and I saw her at the door, holding my coat over her arm, smoking. Her figure still lit by the fluorescent light against the darkness of the outside. Wish I had a camera...