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!!!





That correct...


:: how jedi are you? ::

Cute... Grumph!




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...