Some Nobel's Novels

A week and Picture: It’s a tree. Ooooh. I really must tell you that one of my crappiest stories was based on this kind of tree, and that because of it I sense I was given a very innocent pity. I most certainly hate being pitied.

Location: Study - Wish incense would take me somewhere else - passive panicking

Feeling: blank

Listening to: Cafe Tacuba - Puntos Cardinales

Oh give it a break, I just don't see usefulness in it, its nothing but good for nothing crap! There was no pleasure, no experience, if you fail it, then, who cares a fuck?! Let it die, and hopefully my pity will have him speaking of Bach again.

I hate subtle revelations. They leave me doubting in a mental crossroads. Ever have I known of a vocation of mine, but I just can't find it. Its like that other sock you lost in the washing machine, it just vanishes, just to appear in the most unusual of places. The first vocation I ever granted to meself was that of a diplomat. I've always been a good arbiter, solving conflicts was a plus and still is in my life. Then came writing. I liked it, and well being young and all, I noticed I could make a living out of it, nice. But, when you start creating a writer from scrap, with books as disdainful as a Code from a marvelous pseudo-inventor and painter, or a series about a teenager with issues whose surname reminds me of Maria Juana [We get along well, she and me, but I just don't like her (Right now you are thinking of either the bugging you're gonna give me or a conversation that I had with myself weeks ago)]. Writing is tough for me, I have potential, but as I am human, I can be weak of mind. Jealousy? But of course. I actually find satisfaction in admitting these things. I have a very lousy and even terrible writing vocation. My writing is shit. I look at whatever I write and realize I am no better than your curious amateur. Things to save for the future will be my forgotten past? Of course, I don't consider it a total (But partial yes) waste of time. Some lost verses and only two stories are the only things of which I'm proud of. How do I know? Because I read them and notice I like them, that they indeed let me see my vocation. Anyways, why am I writing this? Because I think I know how to find my vocation. It so happens that of all the people that can come across this humble blog, my mother found it. She was quite amazed, and I just felt flattered. Then she told me something quite interesting, characteristic of my mother's seemingly eternal wisdom. She asked if I wrote for others or for my self. And I realized, i write for others. Those exceptional pieces of literature, I wrote them for me. Not intended to be seen by any others, well, except for one, which was dedicated for somebody, but that's another story. So, I must write for myself. I don't have that time right now, but I promise I'll have something by next sunday, let it be a poem, story or even a chapter. Good luck.

Hold on, does that mean I never had writer's block? Oh forget about it.

Book fair has finally begun, and although I think I mentioned some books I wanted to buy some 10 entries ago, but I can't remember and I don't want to look. I will buy 3 books (The shortage gets the best of me) One will be a Taschen art book, Edward Hopper to be precise. The other two will be novels by Nobels. Hehe...This year’s invitée is Japan, so I'll buy a book by Yasunari Kawabata called The Old Capital. Why? First, because it was the most attractive synopsis, and secondly, I just didn't like the thrashing and spoiled style of Kenzaburo Ōe, even if he’s, let's say, closer. The other Novel must be one by a Spanish speaking author, and must be picked very well, as in reading the first five pages or so. In past fairs, I bought a book based on the title and the premise described on the back cover. So it ended in books that I have christened "quixotic", because like El Quijote, I won't read'em until well entered my life. Say for example, The Portrait of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. Too much said in so few time. In a minute of real time in the book, Widle makes you process more information that some "Y" drones have ever processed at once, system overload dude, but I must admit its quite beautiful writing (for someone I am scared to meet). Rayuela, by Julio Cortázar. It doesn't move. The first chapter spans around for some 10 pages, but in book time, no more than 15 minutes pass. I like the book to be a bit active. And then there's a book I did read, called The Egyptologist, that I read with a massive amount of effort. It took me 9 months to read it, 9 months! I read slowly, and man was that book slow and heavy. So yeah, I have to pick my books correctly, otherwise, its paper tediousness.

I have mini vacations, a nice time to relax and write before gathering breath, for the next great plunge begins.

Sharkman, signing off.

P.S: You, the emo/japanese geek/singer, your nickname is now "Flying Deustchman".

The Death Dance Day

A Week and Picture: Blinding Lights, Blinding Night, let’s all do the Death Dance and break havoc about the stoopid. The moon was witness, a sign? I don’t know, I just know she liked it.

Location: Study – Incense must dance – formerly quixotic

Feeling: Worried whilst asleep

Listening to: Stan Getz & João Gilberto – O Grande Amor

I sometimes think that whatever will be of my life will be a very realistic dream. Sometimes, I think it will be an irrelevant plus. The mountain range of my mind is even impossible to comprehend by myself. I wonder endlessly by it, finding very common places, or searching the highest peaks but still not understanding the horizon. Lush valleys are very present, but places I had not visited for ages tend to appear sometimes. And let's not mention the caves. In times, I feel like a genius that climbs on mental summits no one else climbs, and sometimes like someone who is mentally lost and won't make a difference. But one thing I know, I can be crazy.

Evening. I noticed that I tend to write late, but I don't think I could write much earlier that 3 or 4. A recount of a long week makes it seem very short, and that time is something that expires a lot, you just don't appreciate it because you know there's more coming. I sense I'm trusting myself, and I can't place the pinch to tell me: ''Oh fuck! Its the last trimester, your last chance to get awesome grades!!" But maybe because I gave such a wide and toxic sigh at the end of the second, or the impression that this one's eternal (20 days have passed, is that accountable? Shoot at the count of three). Well, maybe the pinch is this week , as I have the 4th block history exams (The fun part of the historic roller coaster has passed). Up to World War II and the lot, best history classes of my life. I know that history is by far my best subject and a grade under seven in this block means auto-flagellation (Not very ritualish, but God oh my, very painful yes). Everything goes into the mountain range very easily, making high summits rise even more, but the Great Depression is a bunch of gibberish that I like to compare to Sim-talk. Hey, if anybody's listening, get me a time machine for christmas. Philosophy finally got good, but when good has to come by your part, making it good is just as hard as you most utterly wish it wasn't. Math, is as always, a whole mount of crap. Only this time I have been ignoring it maybe just too much, and i worry for the first exam (When you shouldn't, sheesh). And other subjects are well, how to say this, giving a a fun loop. Lengua is as dull as ever, but the new book to read is, quite frankly, like an ancient parody positioned in this century. Latin is suddenly all about verbs, economy made me good, english is more commonly a laugh. Instituciones is Independence History, and it would seem that no studying will be necessary for the exam (remind you of anything?). And I'm giving the sports battle of my life in P.E, but, you guessed it, in the sissy sport of badminton, against who is probably the third best person in the class I gave astonishing 10-15 first set, all the class. The second remains to be seen.

Friday was Death Dance Day. What's this holiday I speak of? A holiday I created to remind my adolescence, and a milestone of bizarre friendship and the living proof that imagination is the best drug! Anyways, me and my mates [Laughing Buddha and Wandering British(Those are your new nicknames, get used to them)]. Went for coffee (Hold on, maybe it was that! Augh! Who cares...cantáaa che, cantáaa). We then went to a park, that had a mery urban sight, and then.... Imagination Attack. My God, what a stream of consciousness. I just went gaga british blabbering and awesome laughs all around. But the triggering for the Death Dance was something else. Wandering British just, ran, out of nowhere, he ran. Out of our sight and around the block. I cannot say that I've ever been so proud. I knew from that moment that we were something entirely different, and that you are something else. Welcome to weirdness. Then, out of the deshinibition, I warned Laughing Buddha and did the Death Dance. A humble and probably unintentioned mock to the ancient ones, who did war while chanting. Me, spinning and jumping, moving fast and falling down laughing. One of the best days of my life. April 18th, for the rest of my life will forever be, the Death Dance Day.

I was curious about smoking, but nah, I realized that its just crap. Don't need it.

Sharkman, signing off.

P.S: Wandering British, you owe me money. Oh and, uh, Laughing Buddha I hate you (Ó).

Europa Focus

A week and Picture: I never thought of New York as a Blue City, it was something of a  Steel Gray City. But maybe there is something in NYC that gives it such an inspirational touch. I don't really like crowds, but sometimes, New York seems like a massive stage-up.

Location: Study - Incense has my hair - Slappy

Feeling: Out of place

Listening: Kaiser Chiefs - Ruby

Is there a state of mind between sleep and awake? I don't know, but sometimes, when the alarm wakes me up, I most certainly remember feeling wide awake. But then, out of nowhere, I wake up completely two hours later. So...was I awake? I hate my brain, it sometimes makes me think that I am scientifically insane, besides using a lot of skull space, but anyways....

I have a nasty need for new gadgets. I fucking hate that dumb thirst that is consumism, and all my need for technology (Although I am almost completely certain that if I were to be abandoned in an island I would perfectly survive with a million books and supplies.....Who am I kidding, I'm addicted to technology!) As always, my beloved (And I'm pretty sure annoyed) crowd will tell you what gadgets I want. I want of course an iPod touch, but that will have to be decontaminated slowly (remember its in the septic tank!) but I also want a new PC, a cool wristwatch, new side speakers, a LAN wireless router, and a (Want want want want, I hate feeling fucking selfish, honestly I'm very VERY sorry with you guys) new cell phone. The cell phone is number 1 thing on the list. Why? Because i need my freaking music with me a t all times. I can't take the iPod out of the house, mother would have my head (After what happened with the first one). With a music playing cell phone I can have Coldplay in the bus, Foo Fighters in recess, and Bob Dylan on the streets. (REAL TIME: It just started raining,freck yes!). I really want a cell phone. I even got the model picked out and everything. The catch is (apart from the shortage) I need to complete the money. I have gathered (ok ok "received as a gift") the first hundred thousand pesos, I need the other hundred thousand I cannot find a way to get. My only chance in the shortage is mother's will. I most certainly know that she won't budge easily, and I think I will be playing my last card tomorrow. But I'm sure the details will bore you. So, on to other matters.

Last night I saw Der Untergang. My movie making will not be influenced any time soon. That movie was one of the best I have seen in my short lifetime, and highlighting my love for history and fascination of a character so strange and mysterious as Hitler. Not to mention his terrified (and terrifying) cabinet and close people. The Goebbels where specially macabre. I have come to notice a pattern, but it's still very early to afirm it. I love European cinema, and have my thoughts about good U.S films. A wide array of my favorite movies are European (Amélie, Le Pact des Loups, La Vita e Bella, Paris Je T'aime, Das Leben der Anderen, and now Der Untergang). I most certainly will be searching for more European cinema, because it makes me think that it will shape my formation as a director and makes me want to study cinematograohy in Europa.

Surprisingly (or not?) I've run out of time, for two reasons: I don't have anything else to tell you, and mother's pushing me to bed. But next sunday I think I'll have something thought.

See you then.

Sharkman, signing off.

P.S: I can sense this was a boring entry, what do you think?

Sooth killed the Ego

A week and Picture: This one is a forced inspirational by me. The day of the march and of great personal sadness. Hell was the sky blue. I don't believe in signs, but this was a pretty good coincidence.

Location: Study - Incense got wet - murky

Feeling: curious

Listening to: Bob Dylan - Positively 4th Street

Sooth of the sooths, Bob Dylan can get you out of anywhere in no time, you just have to remember years that you never lived. I refreshed my music lately, its amazing how such few songs can do so much.

But anyways, to business, THIS WILL BE MY LAST FACEBOOK ENTRY, I WILL BE MOVING COMPLETELY TO BLOGGER NEXT SUNDAY. So yeah, good news.

Weather’s crazy, nasty above everything (literally) and even though I love rain, it amazes me just how prone I am to getting soaked. My shoes flood on a single puddle, and my hairs weakness leaves it flacid after the first raindrops. My feet have been cold of late, only warm in the mornings, but with nothing to share. I’ve been craving for a stream of consciousness under the rain (wishing to emulate that famous scene that I can’t remember), but it seems that Tlaloc has been as crazy as me lately, sending down hail to blind the mortals, sized pebble. I continue to feel like a young, yet aging hermit, that has so much for himself, but at the same time so few. I continue to look like a balding tomato with a goatee, my teeth keep reminding me of abandoned russian docks, and my exercises don’t seem to be working properly (Hey, I know its not something quick, but I’ve been working out for over month and a half, and just barely). While painfully and in a humiliating way I revealed myself to be a wimp, I discovered I had lost something a long time ago, probably many years. My ego. I honestly can’t find it. Not in my memories, not in my livings, not in my happenings. So where the fuck is it? (Maybe with the rest of your social failures). Well, if I can’t find it, then maybe I can build another one. I know that an ego has certain things as a base: The main thing is presence, your presence is what denotes your ego to the others, this is in good part by your physical appearance and build, if you have all of this covered, then, for most of the time, your ego is well fed and kept. I suppose I can only count my height as part of this, thankfully, most of my friends are shorter than me (Don’t forget your presence sideways!). If you don’t have much of this, yet have a large ego, the idea is to channel your personality very precisely, and exhibit a healthy, but not always large ego. CAREFUL, if you channel it wrong or abuse of exhibition, you ego might become fake or too dependent of another. But if you unfortunately lack either, don’t worry, everyone can have an ego as high as the mountains and as vast as the sea, you just need the right things. Accomplishment is an excellent stimulant for your ego, especially when it involves competition. Winning, obtaining or earning anything will give you a ego boost that can last from a single day or for more than a month. The other method is too get anything that takes you higher or makes eyes look over to you. A new gadget, hairdo, clothes, accessory of anything of the sorts let you have the same amount of ego boost as a stimulant. For example, new shoes can give you an ego boost of a max of 3-4 days, while something of a car can let your ego high for months. Combine all the factors and you might just get a large and healthy ego.

I am definitely going to get another hat. This one does leave my hair like wet cat fur and and leaves a pretty zig-zag mark on my forehead, not to mention that it its brim is too thin, and that it barely protects me from the sun. Thankfully, I still have chances before going to Spain. Once again, Mother’s wisdom has smacked me in the face, and I WILL make sure she comes with me next time. Also on my shopping list are a nice side bag, where I keep all my equipment once we’re trippin’. I had thought of an Arhuaca, but it would not be practical. Then there’s sunglasses, a trip to the States is very unlikely, so getting a decent pair will have to be here, in the streets. And then there’s the iPod touch. This one is the one that was swimmingly happily in my head, but I think I’ve decided to flush it down. Why? Draws far too much attention and the money is short. In Spain there would be no problem. Here, it would practically never leave the house, but my actual wish is to be up to date whether I’m in Euzkadi, Catalunya or Andalucía. But I suppose I could take our current iPod with me. And lastly there’s the clothing, which I most certainly hope will be a size smaller than my current dressings.

But then, two months are still do. Until then, then.

Sharkman, signing off.

P.S: Came back to large images, I don’t know when I dozed into medium.