Letters! Jungles and Songs!

A week and Picture: The Archivo General de la Nación, the day I became a year older. A good day, and therefore rightful of this space. Perhaps the day that my photo taking spree began. I just hope it continues to be like this.

Location: Study - I need to buy incense - stoopid

Feeling: frustrated

Listening to: Red Hot Chili Peppers - Otherside

It's done!! Look y'all!!(I have to stop saying that):

http://thinkingcamilo.blogspot.com

All my past entries have been transcripted and there will be some exclusive content on Blogger, like weekly photos, the eventual videos and (hopefuly) frequent comments. Still, I still write this in Facebook, but I can see myself abandoning this page to just post in Blogger...that, I suppose, will be the (kinda) far future.

Now to business, I thought that it would be all different by now, but shit, it didn't happen this week, BUT I am (almost) totally sure that by next sunday it WILL be different, if it doesn't happen, well, then let lightning strike me [Yes I'll tell you how it feels(ticklish)]. Meanwhile, when the present could be better, the future seems so pretty (like a surreal painting). I've been visualizing the trip to Spain very well now, and what to visit and do. I have decided to take two books (one would bore me out and not be enough), and I have already chosen a kind (which I'll be buying in the fair), I want something historic, descriptive and hopefuly, about Spain, but not written buy anyone Spanish. I want a view of Spain that isn't Spanish. The other will be in English, and I will be buying it relatively soon. Probably something by English authors at the turn of the XIX century, probably Rudyard Kipling, Robert Louis Stevenson or something similar to the first book, but related to England, I'd like a book revolving around the War (The First). Still planning, just thinking I'll read on the train or when going to bed, I'm thinking of what to do the rest of the time. I'm planning a little literature log, that apart from this blog, will be something of sensorial and mental journey through the Peninsula. I don't think I'll post it here, but I still don't know how I will cope in keeping both separated (Nyeh, I'll think of something). Then the rest of the time, I'll be talking and discussing with the others, not to mention playing soccer matches or volleyball in the beach (I'm surprised at the fact that I'm actually looking forward to it). And well, I'll try to get to know my classmates better. Who knows, I might just get to make good friends.

Forgetting the trip (for now), I must say that I have no freakin' idea of what to write for the school's story contest. Deadline is around two weeks, and I haven't even taken a glance at the paper. You could say that my writer's block isn't over then, but I'm sure it is, because I HAVE written other things that I liked (the poem for example). I have remote concepts, but inspiration is short, and well I need a starting point, but nothing appears. I wish I...I wish I could had that limitless source of inspiration to feed my keys. (Entering my consciousness....NOW) Hey, wait a second...why write about the destination when I can write about the road? (Aaaaaaaaand....Illumination) I just got a good idea, maybe I should do something similar to Love in the Time of Cholera (Don't blaster the movie, enjoy the book)...Oh holy shit I got it!!!! Who would've known? Writing this thing it came to me. Oh wait? What music is good for a tropical yet romantic sensation? Darn I have no music like that? Or have I? Bob, Hans, I'm coming!!!

Haven't you had some days when you just feel like singing? Well I'm in those days, and I've been singing the strangest songs...To mention a few: Scotland the Brave (...Hark when the night is falling...), Volare (...Mentre il mondo pian piano spariva lontano laggiù...), Teenage Mutant Turtles Theme (..They're the world's most awesome fighting team!...), Pirates Song (...We're devils, black sheep, reaaally baaaad eggsss!!!...) and some other catchy tunes...

Well, I'll get to writing, and hopefuly in a week somehow I can show you if I've written something. But for now, good day (evening you asshole).

Next week, it will be good.

Sharkman, signing off.

P.S: Would you donate a good camcorder to (my) charity?

BLOGGER EXCLUSIVE: Catch up

Hiya folks, yes this my new blogspot page.

As you can see, I transcripted all my past entries and posted them each with it's correct date.

To anyone who is reading this blog of mine for the first time, any references out of context (specially in the first entries) concern Facebook, where I first started this blog. So please don't be confused by them.

All this let's my blog seem more mine and private, but still much more accesible to other people. The new title is what I'm the most proud of, and the descriptions tell you something about me. If you seek my blog at Facebook, where I will still be writing it to transcript it here, just type"latin american boom authors and later" and I will be the only one in the search results.

Comments are most welcome.

Sharkman signing off.

I'd rather be in Worcestershire, doing my exams

Original Facebook Date: February 17, 2008

Location: Study - Incense is broken - filled with desire

Feeling: Anxious

Listening to: Coldplay - Swallowed in The Sea

Yikes! I almost forgot to write today’s entry. Thankfully my faithful cell phone was inside my trousers and made me leap while having lunch so my t-shirt got stained with Worcesterchire sauce (yum).

Enough with condiments, or not?

I reestructured my diet, and killed of what I noticed wasn’t a good addition to my daily meals (large amount of pasta in the evening, abuse of snacks, the rice enemy). With this regime, called ‘‘the pig diet’’ by a good friend of mine, I’ll hopefuly shed some pounds. Now, with the proximity of good times, I have taken a very large interest in cooking. Sometimes I feel I want to make my lunch by experimenting in the kitchen. But when I open the pantry and found really little stuff (if not nothing) to work with. I must admit that my greatest sucsess was a bolognese sauce that had a very nice grinded meat cooked in olive oil, three kinds of pepper, paprika and (you guessed it) worcestershire sauce. It was a darn good sauce. But still, I’ve been wanting to do the following some day: Go buy a cookbook, find a nice dish, go buy the ingridients and cook’em. I also want a wok, so I can experiment with it. I have been planning the following dish: Noodles, stir fried in a wok, with the adding of sliced cucumber, many dashes of teriyaki sauce, red peppers, scrambled ( gone crazy) eggs, chicken and beef chunks, chopped green onion and chinese roots. I can picture it as magic in a wok (But it may end as failure of the tastes cancelling eachother).

I’ll make of the kitchen mayhem.

After many weeks, it rained hard today. I have always been fascinated by rain and it has appeared as a source of inspiration. But even though my writer’s block is over, I haven’t had the time to give a decent amount of time to writing. I’m just too crammed with exams. As the second trimester is barely two months long (then why the fuck is is called trime- Don’t ask it’s a failure of evolution) and all of our exams are scattered around february. our vacations beging March the 14th (Allahu akbar, two weeks, two weeks!). But the third trimester is eternal, the only one that is in fact three months and like the extraordinary exams (I haven’t had to do them thankfully, and I won’t have to this year) were transfered to september. So we study until well entered june. And after that, it’s off 25 days to Spain, I just hope that it won’t be 25 days of me-time, but if they are, well, fine.

I’m thinking (camilo - I’m sorry, I can’t help making lame jokes) of transfering these 14 entries to Blogger and also posting there besides here, because I realized that the only people able to see this blog were my friends(26), and well, none of them reads it. I’ll find out and post my decision next sunday.

See ya then.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: I’m almost entirely positively nearly sure that I will have awesome news in a week for ya.

They didn't hatch, yet you counted them

Original Facebook Date: February 10, 2008

Location: Study - Did I have to light an incense? - Deeply sad

Feeling: Bored

Listening to: Red Hot Chili Peppers - Venice Queen

I am sad. The wheat in my life has gone off away, to a better place.

I never was able to say goodbye.

To you, my small golden carpenter.

Hi folks, this wasn’t a good week for me. Remember all the jolyness from last entry? Well, something killed it. A killing killed it. I’d rather not speak of it.

Beggining by this, the week was going to be horribly beat up by Murphy (and his fucking law) After the march, wich I don’t really know how to analyze now, I got sick, nasty sick. That dying sensation that doesn’t kill you (Makes you stronger? Huh, Nietzsche?). I studied horribly for a history exam that was moved, but thankfuly history is always a nice one. I had very few time to study for our Lengua exam, and I’m not at all sure of how it went. There have been less strange happenings and more annoying ocurrencies. Attacks of desire formented by envy (the human condition, hate it and love it at the same time), and as always, the mysterious lack of will power to achieve. I’m hating mirrors, do I really know anything at all? Well....I suppose not everything has to be cheers and hapiness. Forever is a word that doesn’t exist.

But anyways....

It keeps going. I have plenty exams in the following weeks (And amazingly, I do not worry) I know that they are extremely important in various aspects, and that if I don’t get good grades, I might loose a chance that I may not see again in months. The good things ahead seem to show that what I’m waiting for will be ready for the time we were informed and that I’ll be returning to the nice life and habits I last saw some years ago. I also seem to see a Prospekt coming, a Capitol before my eyes, and mi fingers sliding through the web. I have a very nasty habit. I tend to plan travels very presicely, and seeing things so clear and..well...there. It’s the following, I tend to count the chicks before they hatch (what a nasty but useful metaphor). I have making a very large mental effort no to do this. My work must be at it’s best, so I will live this experience I live in my head (Sometimes they can be SO selfish it sickens me). I must not count the chicks before they hatch. I musn’t. I must give the best of me, I must be the best. But still, when I look deep, deep into these thoughts I find myself alone. Locked (God damit).

I’m thankful to have (few, yet good) friends, without them it would be unbearable.

Oh, as I said in a past entry here’s the poem I wrote for the contest. I don’t really like it, but heck, it’s a shot for the 350,000 pesos worth of books:

Entre las estrellas verde se haya,
Manifiesto está en tres ahora.
El sol va, y viene en misma hora,
Siguiendo la imaginaria raya.

Belleza invisible, la ve un maya.
Bajo mediodía de oro, lo atesora
Cálido y sus ríos, aquí el mora.
Y vive en paraíso, la alegre playa.

Hay canciones de árboles andantes,
Nacimientos de fuentes faraónicas
Y mágicos rocíos de ensueño.

Tierra de las montañas rebosantes,
Sumatra, y leyendas amazónicas.
De esto y más, el trópico es dueño.

Yes, it has métrica, otherwise the judges would think of it as crap. Hopefuly you like it more than I do.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: A hard week coming, sail through treacherous waters and claim the weekend. See you then.

The March that clichés will forget about

Original Facebook Date: February 3, 2008

Location: Study - Forgot about incense - expecting

Feeling: Surprised

Listening to: AC/DC - Back in Black

Ha! Entry on time! (Invisible crowd cheers).

Yeah, I hate you bastards.

It’s pretty crappy when the things you say are gonna happen don’t. I said I was going to have a video posted on (teh powahful) YouTube, but no, it seems that Nicolás’s webcam has it’s microphone fucked up (God damnit!!). So nyeh, no videos until camcorders fall from the sky. Yesterday I had (amazingly) a pretty darn good day. Remember the entry about imagination? (No, and I’m not lookin’). Anyways, I abused of my own drug all day and it turned out awesome. We got juicy money for the trip to Spain (Hey hey hey, you know what? I thought of a name for the entries I’m writting over there: Lonely Iberia Chronicles, hooray for subtle word puns). The truth is that I have been quite jolly, reasons reserved so don’t get excited (Cue laugh track) I’ll write about it when the time comes. (He SWEARS we don’t know). We watched the Last Bread (fuck you that name was awesome!) play at school. They handed it out pretty well without a bassist, and yes Leonardo you ROCKED, stiff as a rock but yeah, you ROCKED (Che, me zambushés el cerebelo viteh). If there is something I’m needy of, it’s definitley music. I want to get me some good CD’s that are pretty diverse (AC/DC to Native American music, Charlie Hunter to Scottish bagpipes). So I can tank up for the trip to Spain (Yeah! the Lonely Ibe- SHUT UP!).

Well you ignorant bastards, for your information tomorrow (hopefuly) half the country is going out to the streets. And amazingly I’m marching too (OH MY GOD, HE’S GONE MAD) nyeh! I’m colombian too, I want my country (CLICHÉ WARNING) to be in peace, and if I can help make a difference then the shit, I’m going out against those (bleep?) evil motherfucking child killing insensible no good inhuman envoys of the putas hope burning happiness spoiling freedom taking image damaging ecolocically unconcius (wha?)bad reputation giving bastards. (Aaaaaaaaand........breathe). My children have the right to grow up in a country where they shall feel no fear when seeing it’s beauty, they have the right to say that they are proud of the justice and freedom in the sovereign nation that raised them, and they have the right to say that peace is the best value a Colombian can give. May this great portion of the America see it’s spilling of blood undone. Tomorrow, I march. For freedom, for justice, and the life of those gone.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: Next week, we’re analyzing the phenomena of malpatriotas.

Evacuation Implosion, Release of brain burst

Original Facebook Date: January 29, 2008

Location: Computer room at school - There's no way there's incense here - sorry

Feeling: Relaxed

Listening to: Nothing, urban if anything.

Again, sorry people for not posting sunday, as always, it went through me. I already marked the following sundays for a month, so i suppose there will be no troubles.

Look! New location! It has no relevance whatsoever. So nyeh.

Well as I might not have to much time to write this entry, I’ll talk shortly. (Don’t know what to talk about).

I realized that yes, air is a good listener (oxygen doesn’t judge anybody) but it’s not a good speaker. Suddenly I find myself speaking brilliant stuff and nobody is listening. So I thought I shoud start doing videlo logs, expressing the charming thoughts that everybody reads here (YouTube has teh powah). But crap, I don’t have a camera of any sorts (not one that can record sound) so I had to ask to borrow one. Yes my good friend Nicolás has ben looking for the freakin’ installation CD everywhere so I can’t start yet. But I assure you that when I do start it will be an interesting (I don’t know if good) channel all right. Conversations between a Scotman and meself and other odd views is what I can tell you will come. I have to of course begin with a Stream of Conciusness, following the funny example of BenLoka. But of course, MY Stream of Coniusness will be carefuly planned so that it will hopefuly give you a good laugh.

Now, hopefuly, I will soon get the chance to get a decent camera and start doing things that you couldn’t do with a webcam, I have had many interesting concepts surge andbesides an insisten urge to write that almost confirms that my writer’s ( and thereofre creative) block is over. As always, it has been with the help of things I see, read and hear. I aslo figred out that if I start writing a script, I eventually end up killing the concept, or in the best of cases, shutting it in a filer case deep inside in my mind. I have to start writing the story for this year’s Story Contest hosted by my (freakin’) school. A decent topic, the tropic (innapropriate rhyme). I’m wrtiting a story and poem, and by the looks of the second I have been inspired greatly by Tolkien and in the estructure (to my horror) by Garcilaso de la Vega (Regrettably not the Inca). So when I finish it I suppose I’ll post it here, and obviulsy I’ll put the videos that I (hopefuly) record also. So in the meantime, class is over and I have to leave the computer room. As some come to stare what the hell I was doing, by typing so much (dull brained bastards).

In a about a month I feel I’ll be very hapy. Don’t ask why.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: Some had a good saturday, and I am proud to say that I had one of the best days on my life. So yeah, thanks.

Flocks of books above hypocresy

Original Facebook Date: January 20, 2008

Location: Study - Incense lost - wacky

Feeling: Calm

Listening to: Bob Dylan - Hurricane

I have been feeling the unusual need to scream things out of context, to my friends’ chagrin (Ha! Find out what that is...).

Yet sometimes air is the best listener there is, speaking to yourself is better than you think (don’t worry, oxygen won’t judge you).

So, my birthday’s in this week (Cue plot twist music), and I feel as if was gonna be shot, this will oughtta be the most paranoid day I’ve ever had. I’ll sense everyone stalking me, and when least I expect it. they scare the shit outta me with a ‘‘HApPy biRthDay!’’ from hell. I’ll be discovered, then, like I’m the target, they’ll all start shooting me (I DidN’T KnoW iT wAs yOur bIRthDaY!) and the horrible once in a year sensation will beggin (I’ll be sure to use a kevlar). This sensation I cannot explain easily, my spidey senses identify them as a sickening hypocresy, because (I’ve learned to analyze people to well) many just feel the obligation to wish a Happy Birthday and when that person never had anything to do with you, it just feels wrong. (To me) That’s why I only wish a happy birthday to very few of the people I know. Because I’m sure they’ll feel it as a honest greeting. Another reason I hate my birthday is that I associate it with extreme boredom. I remember my kiddie parties, where the everyone would be bored out their minds. I hate that. And seeing as I’m not a party animal (Too bad my generation is) or fan of celebrating anything that doesn’t include some kind of honor for somebody (Libertadores deaths and battles for freedom for example). You know how my perfect birthday is? A day like another day. Nothing extraordinary happening. It’s just coincidentally that I happen to be a year older. Now, can we speak of something else?

Yes, somehow writer’s block is disappearing, I found myself able to write some 3 pages of story (That I liked) yesterday, and I have a good vision of what to write next. luckily I have some creative help. But I don’t have clue of where I’m getting my inspiration. I’m short of sources and that’s surprising. I’m recycling all my music, and I’m getting tired of it. I need some new albums. But my austerity somehow prevents me (While I forget that I can nearly get everything I want through torrents or lime wire....but then again I AM very picky...). I haven’t seen landscape but Bogotá for months, and human inspiration is always very very rare [but thankfully there is(clichéd sigh)]. Maybe it’s a writing maturing? Who knows… Maybe the only thing I’ve done is read. Yeah, I think that’s it (Eureka!) Now that I remember, I began reading a book my mother bought, “ The New Life” by Orhan Pamuk. The first chapter was awesome. The book hasn’t caught me yet, but it’s in the right road. Now everything is (horribly) clear, as a person who’s smarter than me one told me, to become a good writer, you just have to read. Read....that what makes me “weird”...I freakin’ love it. Then, hopefuly, I’ll be able to have money to buy some good books at this year’s fair. I’l need a shopping cart (yay). Have any books marked my life so far? One Hundred Years of Solitude. Hopefuly the best book I’ll ever have read. Now that I think it, few people deserve to read it....

Books fly in flocks. I see them in the sunset.

Sharkman, signing off.


PS: If any of you sick bastards dare wishing me Happy Birthday, I’ll freaking kill you.

How to make your own drug

Original Facebook Date: January 13, 2007

Location: Study - My kingdom for incense -

Feeling: Indifferent

Listening to: Coldplay - Yellow

Haven’t you felt the sensation somebody looks at you and wishes you were dead?
Its in their eyes, they hate you. (Evil laughter)

Hello folks, this time I post in time. My first week back to school is over, and man did it feel as long as if you never did leave school. In this days my meaning is to study and only to study, and after I sat here today and began to process horrible numbers (The Horror), I realized that I am functioning only for studying. I haven’t done anything outside the apartment or even outside it that hasn’t been studying. Well, obviusly I have had my usual news actualizations and watched TV, read some books and all that crap, but the amazing thing is that I have been doing it for the past months. I have gone out with the few friends that I have, and well I admit it some evenings were quite memorable (Live at the Grammys, someone knows what I’m talking about). But in the other ones, fuck have I been bored. Why? Easy, I went out with ‘Y’ drones. I just never seem to be able to get anything good out of time with those guys. Yes, they’re my friends, but they bore me out of my mind. This afternoon, I realized that I’m very VERY bored. I can’t believe I have had the patience to stand all this waiting for something to happen, but It just seems as if it wasn’t happening. And amazingly I still wait, I can’t do anything new because I’m afraid I’ll trigger a crisis. Don’t ask me which because I don’t really know. Everyday that passes is made an easier expectation by the whining promise of what is bound to happen. It is hard.

Fantasying and imagining is good for keeping your social sanity, when I go to sleep, when I sit down somewhere, when I’m in English class, I doze off to a river of thoughts and see what will be. And reality seems so awful that sometimes you panic when you come back.

Imagination is a powerful drug.

Oh yes, and I have abused of it for many years now, many don’t realize what their minds have done or how much power it has. I’ll tell you this secret of mine, but in a way that won’t let you understand it (I have found pleasure in being evil, yes). My mind, recolecting my awed fictions, constructed a world and a story in it, where history and lies come together to kill what apparently everyone has ever fought for. Every single thing you see in reality comes to animation in the pool of hypothesis and descriptions inside your wrinkled brain. It’s a saga, a documentary and your own human desire. Senses are living dead that you can’t tell from the real ones, yet you make up everything, while yuxtaposing it to reality, and there it become believable, when you feel the pain and excitement of that which isn’t real. That is the power of imagination.

Be grateful, this drug keeps you alive......somewhere else.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS:I think I just spilled my inspiration filled guts up there. Is writer’s block over?

BONUS ENTRY: A Voice of Trees

Original Facebook Date: January 10, 2008

Location: Study - Incense is gone - Studying

Feeling: Inspired

Listening to: Foo Fighters - Overdrive

Well surprise people, an early entry.

The thing is that I came across the most amazing piece of poetry in a long time. Surprisingly, it’s not Shakespeare, Poe or Dickinson, but J.R.R Tolkien who wrote thsi maganificent work. The minute I heard it (From Treebeard in the movie, extended edition) I knew I had to post it here. I’m beggining to wonder why he never won a Nobel…

When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough;
When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow;
When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!

When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold,
Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold;
When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!

Fragment from the Two Towers - J.R.R Tolkien

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: To write with invisible inspiration, Tolkien’s greatest gift.

About Showers and Revolutions

Original Facebook Date: January 7, 2008

Location: Study - Some Inscense Withdrawal - Bit pissed

Feeling: Anxious

Listening to: Coldplay - Square One

Damn it people I forgot to post yesterday (Like any if you’d care). Sorry, but I didn’t have it my head. I’ll make sure I’ll write the next entry Sunday. But maybe the work will give me less time to write it.

Anyways…

News: My Shower exploded. Really.

I was taking a shower, normal (he sings thinking nobody can hear him), when suddenly water stops coming out as it should be. The streams are thin and pressured and the water seemed to come out with pebbles and dust. (My shower’s electric, by the way, our gas heated system got fucked up). I was starting to wonder what the fuck was happening, so I closed the tap. Water still came out. I got out and (WTF?) watched as suddenly it started to burst out steam and smoke at high pressure filling the bathroom in cool mist. I coughed a little and opened the door. Slowly the smoke and steam stopped and then I noticed that it was glowing orange from the inside. It burst into small flames. I quicly took one of the glasses, filled it with water and tossed the liquid against the burning shower. My mother came to see what the the fuss was all about. She supposed that the shower made short-circuit. Why it started steaming and smoking and throwing dust we don’t know. My bathroom’s now is unusable for showering leaving a murky floor and a black spot on the ceiling. I had to finish showering with icy cold water. And will do so for the following days. (Yikes!).

I return to school tomorrow, and to be honest, I’m relieved about it. These vacations were pretty damn boring. I’ve been studying history since friday. And as usual it comes easy into me. We take now into the period between 1815 and 1870. Wich doesn’t concern or matters any of you in anyway. Wars, revolutions, and poitical changes are my strength and I gobble (Gobble?) them down with ease. But what is a bit hard for me is economic aspects. Marx and any other socialites (yuck) are confusing, but not boring. The other thing was that I have trouble telling between the French Revolution of 1830 and 1848. Not because of what happened, but because I can’t remember what causes belong to each. The extensiveness is hard and the fact that we have three history exams (I still get a slight chill when I hear ‘‘3’’) is disturbing.

I’ve been waiting for a lot of things for a lot time now, to mention a few (not all can be mentioned) I’ve been waiting for for the new Coldplay album (stop fucking around you bloody neo-hippies!) for over year and a half, I’ve been waiting for a new Abridged episode since September (we were starting to believe LK was dead or something), and many other stuff that were supposed to happen time ago…

I still wait.

I’m so fucking bored.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: Everything is so the same. I haven’t seen inspiration in months.

A Funeral in Joy

Original Facebook Date: December 31, 2007

Location: Study - Not a moment for incense - Optimistic

Feeling: Amused

Listening to: João Gilberto - Para Machuchar Meu Coração

Ohh, so sorry people ( cricket chirping) for not posting yesterday, but It was only until very late when I could access my computer. I was too tired to write, and the inspiration pool was empty.....(Like any of you’d care)

So, 2007 is dying.

And I don’t want to go to the funeral.

It’s too late when you notice that the time left of earth’s dance around the sun is running short. And that you failed (FAIL) to do stuff you sweared you would or still had time to do. Last New Year’s purposes are all unnacomplished and you have an urgency to bring them back and re-establsh them for the coming 365 days. These purposes are pretty much a joke. They express what you would like to do, but somehow, deep inside, you wouldn’t do outside of your sane judgement. Say:“This year I promise to work harder, I promise I’ll lose weight, and I PROMISE I won’t smoke/drink/fuck/[insert vicous activity]”. If man had enough will to stop doing this in a beggining, then our race would’ve taken a healthier road, but what a fucking boring road it would be. Face it, man loves killing itself (Fucking lengthens your lifespan, so no worries about that).

Today, the last breath of another dying number, I won’t be going to another funeral (which itself implies going to a maternity ward) so I’ll happily stay here at home and drink coffee off the sunset waiting the last moment of the year, while I listen to my music and watch out the window, thinking of how to make next year different.

Not much to say today. I’m sure my usual wrath against other people will be back by next sunday, so stay tuned.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: R.I.P 2007, I’ll be wanting your organs now.

Tracking Transport

Original Facebook Date: December 23, 2007

Location: Study - I can't find any incense - Trouble

Feeling: Bored

Listening to: Foo Fighters - Times Like These

Days are very odd when you don’t plan them ahead or have any way to spend them. Music doesn’t remove your numbness.

Today’s entry is very dry. To write something without inspiration is always hard.

Society shall not see my wrath today, I have more happy (sickening) words today, respecting the way I like to move. Well, the thing is that driving has not won my liking, not at all. Not just by my incident (fine, accident) with the truck (how the fuck do you say volqueta?) in which I had a everything but enjoyable experience, but also the usual rutine of traffic and driving through the motorhell that is my beloved city of Bogotá. The buses (huge, ugly buzzards that make your life impossible), the taxis (rats of the road) and motorcycles (they take your hearts off your chests) all make driving a fast way to get old. And after giving some scratches to my mother’s car (shit!), I don’t think I want a car of my own (the responsability would just trample all over me). I haven’t felt the Need for Speed (come on, sue me if you can!) yet, and hopefuly I won’t feel it. But in a city like Bogotá, having a car is almost essential. Transmilenio can go but so far and buses (some might say that that’s all they need, but fuck I hate them) shit what we breath. This city’s air is full of crap because of those motherfucking buses.

So, any options? Why yes. Subway! [SUBWAY!(SUUUUUUBWAAAAAYYY!!!)], It has forever been the answer to our beloved chaos, and thankfuly it will be done. (Disclaimer:I didn’t want Samuel Moreno to win, but if he can get this going, then fuck yes!!). And there’s my solution. But still, it will be at least 10 years until it has any use to me, but I suppose I’ll still be living in Bogotá. You see I’ve always loved subways and ridden them with joy. They’re practical, efficient and eco-friendly. The New York City subway is by far my favorite, I felt that the whole city (which is one of my favorites in the world) was at my grasp I could go anywhere any time. Station’s were very abundant [this word is funny(jo-jooooo-jo)] and its damn fast.The Paris subway is another one to mention, with a very large route map and trains that can’t be heard when they arrive.

Now there’s something about a Subway for Bogotá that worries me a bit. You see, I heard a rumor that the Bogotá subway would be based on the Santiago subway but I’ve been researching about it and I’m not sure if it’s a good model. You see the trains of the Santiago subway are not very wide and the stations look very big. Santiago has a population of about 4 million, and therefore not that much transit of people. But Bogotá has 7 million and narrow trains are not a good investment. The other problem are the stations, because the Bogotá floor is very, how to say this, weak. You see very tall buildings cannot be built in the city other wise they’d sink. Have you seen the streets? The holes? Its because of the floor. A station as big as a, for example, a supermarket may not be good for the buildings above. But then again I’m hopefully wrong, I don’t know about geology (and I’m proud of it).

All this subway talking left me hungry.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: Happy Holidays.

The Art of Random Ideas

Original Facebook Date: December 16, 2007

Location: Study - Just litghted and incense - Staring into the fog

Feeling: Contemplative

Listening to: Coldplay - Murder

Oh look, stoopid people…

This week has been very dull. Very few stuff happened (if not nothing at all) and I still continue to be fascinated with my generation’s odd behavior (Oh no! He’s writing about society again!), but don’t worry, today I write of something else [(relief)].

Well, as I’m using this blog to criticize many stuff, let’s talk about my school again.
I don’t know if nature hates me, but the way it works surely does. No that our grades for the trimester have been posted, I noticed that not many people who chose sciences (I chose humanities), have easily passed their subjects. I think that about 8 (I don’t really know) out of 35 passed physics and chemistry. (Geez, ain’t those two a pain in the ass) Not to mention that math class wasn’t at its best. Oh yes, and here at humanities things were better (I flunked.One of the few that did, but what the fuck, I don’t care a shit for math). The thing is, many who are at sciences suffered a nasty confusion. In their fret to get away from subjects like history and Spanish (they still see that one anyway) they went into a different kind of hell, physics, chemistry and rough math. Ahh, math. What a bitch you are. What master of horror and doom you look to me. Some in sciences would’ve found it better at humanities. Does economics ring a bell? Administration? (Yes, perhaps the only reader of this blog is insulting me right now).

Chemistry and physics are maths in essence, and there can be no more horrible stuff. I know that math runs the world. I’m here to say why I hate it, not to blaster it in hopes of it disappearing it. That is utterly impossible. Math is a use for everyone, until certain point. Everyone needs, adding, subtraction, multiplying, division, potencies and even square roots, but equations? Functions? ALGEBRA? What the FUCK? This is only useful for those who are going to make a living out of it, but what about people like me? Writers, journalists, artists....Fuck math in the effing face. The only thing I like about the Spanish educational system is indeed the chance to choose between sciences and humanities. The last two years I passed physics by grace of the holy spirit, Muhammad or Quetzalcoatl...A miracle, a miracle in hell.

I don’t like math because I like to be creative and diverse without boundaries, I want a explosion of possibilities and thoughts, the experience of life and my human capabilities. For this, there are the arts, paint, music, writing, cinema.... But maths, maths are the total opposite. Plain and sometimes endless progressions of the same characters. Rules that only let you do something until certain point. There is no experience in math, no feeling or sensorial idea. Yes, math goes in different directions, but it always reaches an end, inevitably. Yes, everything goes according to it, but itself cannot be more than a logical system of nature that doesn’t evolve from it’s state of concept. In other words, you cannot experience math. Merely understand it.

Hmmm. Gives you a thought doesn’t it?

To end today I say something else: It didn’t rain today.


Sharkman, signing off.

PS: Can someone PLEASE get me some sushi?

Who the hell are you?

Original Facebook Date: December 9, 2007

Location: Study - Out of incense - Troubled

Feeling: Worried

Listening to: Antonio Vivaldi - Summer Concierto No. 2 , Presto


The Truth. The Truth is. The Truth will be.

My mind is going through an analistsic spree, almost everything I sense, see and experience quickly searches for an explanation in my mind. One does not realize until one thinks. And for the past weeks (months really), I have discovered that my contemporaries are far too ignorant. Many are still in the formative stages that they should have ended years ago. Many are very weak (of mind) and if they don’t wake up of their addicting adolescence, life will run over them. Many of my aquaintances (I don’t know if I can call them friends) have lost their will to society’s sense (Curse you society!)and have taken a dangerous path. Let’s talk about some precise phenomena so you smart folks (I’m sure I’m writing to myself) can get what I see around me.

Daddy’s boys and girls (certified stoopid): My generation has a huge problem (restricted to upper class individuals), many have been raised poorly. Mediocre parents end up with even more mediocre children (Oooh, vicious cycle). These idiots have few things in their mind (me, my friends, my stuff, me, my money, my sexual drive, me, party!) and have become one of the worst part of society (wich itself can not always be good) not caring for anything but whatever is fun or gives them pleasure (if you thought of alcohol and nicotine, you are most correct) and when life pokes them a little they react horribly. School is a waste of time to them, and it’s only use is to make “friends”. Those who have rich parents are the worst. They have no true friends [you’re my best friend(because of your money)], all their problems are resolved by mommy and daddy and they can’t stay alone otherwise they’ll go gaga.

Peer pressure(fuck, I hate this one): As I’ve said before, humans are weak. But many in my generation are even more weak. Most teenagers (fuck I hate this word) are addicted to society and hate solitude above all else. If they suffer the terrible fate of being rejected by mass society (better concept), they take the risk of becoming weird (The doom of all stoopid teenager). My generation (“Y” in Pelota de Letras terms) are about 40% drones of the remnant 60. This 60% is what you may call, the “cool” generation, the one that is hip and pretty and rich and fashionable (Memento: Minimum chararteristics to belong to “Y” mass society. Be pretty OR be rich OR like what everyone else likes) So, those who can’t easily fit into mass society, become drones of the ones that fit perfectly. Therefore, they lack character, intelligence (hence those aproved by mass society are clever, but not smart) and mostly personaity. Ok, let’s be clear, I know someone who fits my description here, he is a good friend of mine and is well intentioned. He happens to be in my top friends (yet I am 98% percent sure he will never read this, EVER). Since I knew him, I saw somewhat of an empty shell of personality, except perhaps a very distinguishing admirance to the FAC [Oh oh, dead giveaway, I’m in danger!(NOT)], anyways, he quickly began taking likings of many of his friends and became collage of interests and tastes. Time has passed, and ever since not to long ago he proudly entered mass society (as a drone obviusly). I wouldn’t object, he is my friend after all, but he never was his own. Nothing characteristic of him has appeared, and he is eager to be like his companions. If it weren’t for his liking of planes and that stuff, he would be just one more in the crowd. I am worried for this. If he doesn’t find his own personality (himself really) then he will not be ready for the world and won’t learn how to be on his own.

If anybody’s reading, I’m sorry for all this crap, but I just had to let it come out.Also, I have developed a serious disliking for photo albums made by my contemporaries (I fucking hate them), lets put it this way, a stoopid person goes to the Amazon rainforest with his/her classmates on a class trip. They have a lot of fun, but the only thing they take pictures of are themselves. (’”Look our pictures from our trip to the Amazon!” - “Where’’s the river, I just see people.” - “What river?“).

Fuck, fuckity, fuck fuck fuck.....

I’ll try to write about something else on my next post.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS: There is a possibilty I won’t be posting next sunday. Or the following.

Give me my Language back

Original Facebook Date: December 2, 2007

Location: Study - Incense just off - Bit troubled

Feeling: Lazy

Listening to: Oasis - Live Forever

‘‘Don’t need reason, don’t need rhyme’’.- Bon Scott in Highway To Hell

My Spanish class sucks. It’s completely demoralized my ideal of being a writer. (Best sellers only in my dreams). Thanks to our very accomplished (but no so capable) teacher, I have entered a phase in wich writing has suffered heavy losses. In the beggining (’bout 6 years ago) I discovered Literature and Writing as an escape pod from regular socity, ever since I read my first serious book (No, Harry Potter is not a serious book), an awesome story by Luis Sepúlveda, a Chilean writer, La Historia de Una Gaviota y del Gato que le enseñó a Volar (The Story of a Seagull and the Cat that Taught Her to Fly) I was 11(awww) when I read it for the first time, and I felt inspiration for the first time. But I wouldn’t start writing until I was 14. My writing, the stories that came to me everything looked promising. But then I entered my current school, and my Spanish teachers made their best to make me hate literature. For a year I studied the horrible world of medieval, renassaince and baroque literature, full of a stranege dead language that I learned to hate. I love history, but seeing it in the eyes of those past writers was nasty. But then again, this was Spanish literature, the only stinkhole we’re allowed to peek through. I remember asking the teacher about Shakespeare, Voltaire, Milton, Dante. And what did that motherfucker say? ‘‘We will only see Spanish authors.’’ I wanted to strangle him so bad, because he is also extremely rude. If you want a moment to speak with him, he frets the conversation before you can say anything else. That was back at my first year, 2006-2006, the last years have been the same if not worse. Our current teacher may have a respectable knoledge bank in his head and knows his subject, but he’s an idiot. He can’t stand up for himself with the students (poor thing gets pushed over all the time), and displays symptoms of alzheimer (you know it when he leaves you the same homework three times). Things didn’t change much. Again, Spanish authors only (Literature quality did improve though) but the only moment we had for Latin American authors was a class almost at the end of the year. And we didn’t learn a thing (everyone had entered their stoopid vacation idiocy that makes me want to spill out their guts with a knife and feed them to ra- oops, said too much). This teacher also blasters(I think I made this up) my poetry as missing order, reason and rhyme (clearly he wasn’t heard AC/DC). My poetry is not perfect, obviusly, but even I know that it’s way off average. I hate the feact that the Spanish Language is venerated like a fucking church in Spain, when languages must be let to flow. I hate that fucking RAE and it’s bloody dictionary, telling me how to express myself. Languages must be organized in a known gramatical way like English, but not like a regime of obsession for make everything their way. (Do we drink ‘‘güisquí’’?, I’m fucking sure we don’t). Returning to poetry, if a writer must stick to these rules, he will never live up to his full potential. Some might say (Oasis song pun! Yay!) that quoting Bon Scott is not agood example, I’m sure he wouldn’t understand my dilemma, but he was just smart in pointing those words out. Let’s hope 12th grade bodes better, and that Don Quixote doesn’t give me nightmares (I’ve got Dulcinea and you won’t get her back until you pay me $$$$).

I’ve learned to study society over the last months, and realize how happy I am out of it. Society spits to you in the face when you’re not ‘‘compatible’;’, but you still worship it like an animal. It is everywhere, and those who belong to it and it’s constanly mutating generations seem to go in the same sense, in different lanes, but still on the same sense. Os course, I try to take society in my own hands, trying to stick to the people that think of it the same as me, but we still dance before it, after all, we ARE human. The human race is weak. For those who don’t reflex on society’s evil doings, they go with the flow. But then there are those who think that a constant contact with society is necessary so you don’t go gaga(Sad, ain’t it folks?)A smart person knows how to be symbiotic with society, but those who don’t know anything are the ones that lose at the end. Those are people with no personality. (ERRK: I am speaking of my generation, the crappiest one yet) People try to be like others to be inside society, and therefore harm their being. If you are not who you feel comfortable with, then how are you going to end it up, following the usually dangerous and idiotic trends? Shit awaits for you in the future. This can be mended by giving some time for yourself, cutting contact and discovering your personality and that that makes you unique. It would be nice to have some of the goofs I know to put them somewhere where they get would get no contact with the world, just to themselves. To find their sanctuary.

Many call me weird. I am happy being ‘‘weird’R17;, because I’m just myself, and I don’t go to society’s pace. If my likings are not common in society, they are considered strange, but for us to find ourselves, we must be ‘‘weird’R17;.

If you’re not yourself, then, who are you?

Sharkman, urging you to reflex a little, signing off.

PS: Please watch the video by BenLoka at the bottom of my profile page.

Murdering Air

Original Facebook Date: November 25, 2007

Location: Study - Smells like lemmon - Sleepy.

Feeling: Restless

Listening to: AC/DC - Shot Down in Flames

Shit......SHIT!...these freakin’ cards…

I’ve been trying to pefectionate my card throwing technique (It’s all on the effing wrist), ever since I saw Adam Savage do it in a very memorable episode of Mythbusters (Cards, everywhere) and see them swirl through the air like little blades of black, red and white. I’ve gotten better, I guess..

So, while I try to make my ace of spades stick into the sofa, I return to Carelibro and realize how such a plain and even boring site can be so fucking addicting. Damn. I just browsed through groups and people for like hour and a half before realizing that my coffee had gone cold (I hate cold coffee) and seeing what kind of stoopid thing I had fallen into, evil little applications that are a motherfucking waste of time [(The geek test! Bill Gates Scored 12 (out of 10), and you?]. And to make things even more dull, I have a (useless) Latin exam tomorrow, and had to memorize declinations (1000 pesos if you guess what that fucking is, hehe) with silly word mixes like aearum, umos, ois, uma and iaea. Shit, I hate Spain’s Education Ministry, making Latin obligatory for the humanities option in 12th grade, fuck you it’s like disturbing the dead (languages).

A friend of mine told me that Latin’s only use is to confuse people, but why would I bother with Latin when I’ve got English (in a school where many are too stoopid to speak or pronounce it properly) and It’s various accents, which I am abusing of frequently. Besides my normal English accent (Gringo standard), I’ve learned to be fluent in British (A bit of Monty Python, many memorable characters and a bit too much BBC documentaries), a the begging I hated it but I eventually enjoyed it because playing a typical English gentleman amuses me greatly. I know I have to give it a rest when I start saying stuff like:’’Good Lord, is school over already?, well chaps, I’ll see you around then, Good Day.’’ Making fun of British people is great. Then there’s Scottish (Braveheart 3 times, Peregrin Took, perfected with Trainspotting) Ahhhh, speaking like someone from Dundee makes me wanna wear a freaking kilt and yell Scotland’s your daddy or something of those sorts. My friends laugh when I do Scottish, specially when I start insulting then (Take a frreaking mule and fuck it frront of the telly laddie!!!) or hopefully when I say something stoopid (By Sean Connerry’s balls!! What’s this shite?). Anyways, I seem to still be learning English unconsciously, this time by the action of Great Britain. You probably won’t heard the end of it. (Support the Scottish Independence Movement).

Sharkman signing off.

P.S: Mon french accént is verry goot, but it needz further practice. Zis too goot.

Another Blog Atempt

Original Facebook Date: November 17, 2007

Location: Study - No incense on - Writy.

Feeling: indifferent

Listening to: Keane - Try Again

“Trying is the first step to failure”.Homer Simpson

Very true indeed, coming from Homer.My last blog attempt lasted very few (a couple of months), and I’m very keen to try again, this time with some discipline. Therefore I’ll try to do it very Sunday, and it will be something of an column, rather than a blog, but anyways…I suppose I’ll be writing almost exclusively in English, because I think I’ve learned to express better in this language (Many see this too strange). But some could understand, what really is happening to me when I’m doing English.

In other news, as many of you (probably none, really) would know, I’m new to facebook, I began late because I thought I would encounter the same melting pot that has become myspace, but surprisingly (not that much really) I found it to be more relaxed and a bit more social. But its still Internet so, as almost every page on the web, its full of shit. Stoopid things that my generation feeds on, like silly little applications that make your profile a little prettier(missing myspace at all?), and the usual swarm of friends that I could swear most people don’t personally know the half of them. I just hate that. Bitch, I’m not going to add you, I barely know you. The Walls are another way to call the comments, and I hated the fact that there are like three different ways to leave comments, and I just don’t know which to pick (you won’t see me leaving to many comme- oops, sorry, I mean “wall posts” to often), everything on a very narrow space. Applications come on floods, including your usual pile of bullshit (every place needs a toilet) and society’s weaknesses (Are your friends hot? What kind of drunk are you? Internet sex?) Internet is like a pretty bumpy wave to surf.


What I did like about facebook was that its far much easier to configure (goodbye HTML hell), the neutrality is a burst of fresh air that is indeed very soothing situation. Groups and causes are awesome I must say, and the iLike service is great. Its because it lets your express yourself in a very precise way, with symbols (My flags, genius) and images (especially the musicians), finally, people can have a graphic idea of what some one likes (Fuck you lazy readers). Groups can be found with all purposes and causes give you that false satisfaction that we humans need to “belong” (sorry, what?). Within these various groups I found a very encouraging one, America is not a country, that had a link to a video I had seen before. A wise-cracking Australian reporter demonstrated how most U.S citizens are indeed, very stoopid. None could say a country that began with U (USA? DUH), say how many sides a triangle had (Eh, four?), which countries were considered part of the Axis of Evil (California?), or even realize that the reporter was pretending to be the Australian Primer Minister. Texans seem to be more stoopid than I thought (I never generalize, I always talk stereotypes) saying that if Baby Bush said so, the should invade poor Kyrgyzstan. ‘‘Because the president’s Texan, and Texans are always right’’. I mean, SHIT man, that is extremely stoopid (Baby Bush was born in Connecticut by the way, he is still stoopid though). Stereotypes are bad, and gringo stereotypes are the most harmful of them all.

So I leave, until Sunday, or next.

Sharkman signing off.

P.S: I found people from my old school, and I feel as if I was being haunted by them all.