Monday, February 15, 2021

When it snows

Claire. A lifetime of devotion I'd have given you, my Claire. It was all at your feet. My whole self was. I would have taken a bullet for you. It was all for you. It was all you. I was all for you.

Are my memories your memories? Did you ever feel what I felt? You came out of Raul's room crying for me, for you, and for us. Your tears melted my spirit. The universe fell inside itself. 

I went to the school's foyer to play the piano daily since that evening. But you never knew it, because I never got lucky enough to see you pass by when going to class.

Edmonton, Canada

I played that old piano like I never did before or after, showering the keys with the tragedy of having lost you. There wasn't space for anything else inside me, so I carved a slice of flesh for music. The world falls upon you hard when you are a 19 years old ball of raw, new emotions.

School ended a little over a month later. I had to pack my things and leave. Spent the last couple of days at Armando's apartment. Didn't want to be alone in an Edmonton that got colder and darker by the day. I desperately needed to see you, but didn't know how. Went to sleep earlier every day, struggling to find the strength to get out of bed the next morning. I was asleep when the phone rang. Armando passed it to me. Claire, my darling, it was you. Your flight was scheduled to depart at night, and you chose to call me there though I told no one I was at his place. The sands of life slipped through my fingers. 

The Power Plant at University of Alberta, CA

I said I loved you, and that I still did now. Without giving you time to respond, I asked if you were aware we'd never meet again. I could hear how you started to sob. I waited in silence as you kept crying, hoping you wouldn't notice the knot in my throat if I didn't speak. My mushed heart broke again, less loudly this time. I hadn't felt sadness so deep and bitter before.

A lifetime in a single season; it all felt trapped inside a single day.

Crossing the snowed streets of Edmonton

Thank you for Edmonton. I still miss you when it snows.

Monday, August 24, 2020

Looking in all the wrong places

 Somewhere in January, 2020

We no longer want to figure out the question. Right now, all we want is answers.


Joy was supposed to be a sub-division of happiness. When someone is asked about happiness, it is humanely impossible to think outside the framework of moments. We inevitably go back to the brain's archives and look for the folder titled "Joyful Moments" or "Moments of Happiness". Thus, one more limitation of the concept of happiness is that in order to be consistent with its most common definitions it needs to be ephemeral and elusive.

Following this logic, it is entirely possible that several/most/all of us never actually get to experience joy. Instead, we sort the moments most present in our memory and consider moments of happiness those that we enjoyed the most. In this way, enough painful memories would make an uneventful moment feel like happiness, when it was actually just an instance of reduced pain.


I forgot about the runny-nose and the overall flu-like symptoms. Figured I should attend more live soccer matches (and be alive while at it). 


This week I kept asking myself how everything you find pleasurable today could merely be the result of thousands of years of evolutionary adaptation, with these apparently innocuous preferences being at the center of the survival of your ancestors. Therefore, indulgence is an act of strength, not of weakness. We're just perpetuating the behavioral traits that culminated in our physical existence.

The problem is the modern overabundance of sensory satisfactions, a scenario we have not yet had time to adapt to. We are built for resource optimization, as we have faced their life-threatening scarcity for the majority of our existence. This is because we now live firmly in the world of want, not of need.

Cannot forget that any victories against weather (ability to freeze food, canning, irrigation, lighting) are temporary. In the end, if it doesn't eventually rain we're all fucked. Stability can't remain stable for long.


And thus Mario took the mushrooms and left reality for 6 hours. He was living in a world with many lives, stages, continues, princesses, coins, and turtles. He slowly crawled back, but he'd never be the same again. He saw enough to know it was always nothing but a game with lives, stages, and continues. It was the world of short term rewards, very different from Mario's current reality.

What do you want as your long-term reward? A happy kid who doesn't love you? A somewhat healthy, wealthy retirement to wear stupid light-colored pants while hitting a tiny white ball around a field with your surviving buddies? A participation trophy?

Did you end up craving exactly what you rejected throughout your whole life?


The old Fish asked the young Fish he just encountered - "How's the water?". The younger Fish looked at him, confused. Then asked back - "What's water?". The most crucial and essential realities can be the hardest to see and understand. 

"It's all banal platitudes" - The Octopus. 

Bestowed with the capacity to think, we are now burdened with the choice of what to think about. The thought chooses you first. 


Deliberately making yourself sick to get a bit closer to a state of divinity, risking ending an already fragile existence before its "due time", may be one of the few exercises in free will we are left with. Is it worth trying once in a while?

The proverbial red pill doesn't make you sick. You just see and feel what you've been too numb to notice, to comfortable to accept. You've been sick the whole time, but didn't know it. 

Also beyond our reach is the knowledge of just how fucking sick we've been all this time. The simulation is real, but so entrenched in us and intertwined with our identity that you can yell about it to our face and we will still pay $13.50 to see the concept turned into a movie instead of doing anything about it. Is power in the form of a juicy, bloody rib-eye steak worth slaving for? No. But we still chose the blue one instead because losing our reality is too much for our minds to handle, and because we already had it and learned to call it life. We can no longer afford to lose what we have decided makes us who we are.


One of the worst ambiance sounds must be the one a gas-powered hedge trimmer makes. Would it be so bad to let plants grow as they please? Why do we need to control everything? We spend so much time and effort leveling the ground, keeping shrubberies even, removing any foreign particles from our glasses, plates, food and drinks... only to then go on vacation to places with uneven surfaces everywhere, where the water is wild and considered clean, and where plants do whatever they want, where they want, when they want.


Why do we need to keep killing the very things we end up craving? Every year we make more humans, and every year we pay more and more money to find and visit uncrowded spots on vacation, away from our own creation. We are god and we are the devil, while also the mortals that have to deal with the consequences of our celestial decisions. Humanity's  main product is still shit in both a figurative and literal sense.

The leaf-blower effect: One could achieve the same in a cheaper and less noisy manner, but one wants it to be easier and faster. Thus, we sacrifice what is good about life in favor of convenience. 


Independent of our relationship status, it is human nature to spend a lifetime running from those who love us, in order to be able to chase those that reject us. In dismissing us, the latter confirm that they probably own something valuable (superior genetic material, material possessions, better social status... ). Since they are chasing us, the former probably carry impairing liabilities (disease, social awkwardness, poverty... ). Life would be a bit simpler if we knew this instead of acting on it instinctively.

Truly introspective people do not go to war nor work in construction, a constant problem to the survival of our species in the way we are used to thinking of it. 

Tuesday, August 4, 2020

A brief dialogue in sociopathy

Claire: I couldn't believe my ears, Julius. Just two paces away, three of the students at school were gossiping about Professor Julius having an affair with one of the teachers. I was mortified, Julius. What is happening?

Julius: My darling, I swear I don't even know what you're talking about. Affair? As in... cheating?

Claire: Yes! As in cheating. My heart is broken. How could you? Is any of t true?

3 seconds of silence go by. 

Julius: What are you even talking about? What are you asking me?

Claire: I can already see it in your eyes. Just want to hear it from your own mouth.

His faced slowly relaxed; jaw unclenched, making it seem as if his ears had gone down. He straightened his back. His eyes squinted halfway, followed by the subtle manifestation of a smirk that started on the corner of his mouth, making its way into the middle to eventually form a shy smile. He then leaned forward, took two steps towards Claire, and hugged her tightly.

Julius: Then you already know. I've never cheated on you, not even once.

Claire looked surprised, then calmer. She then started to slowly hug him back. Eventually, she gave in to his embrace completely, with utter abandon.

Wednesday, October 23, 2019

Rule 34 - If it exists, there is porn of it

It is commonly known that Peter Morley-Souter gave birth to Rule #34. He allegedly captioned a 2003 webcomic of his like this: “Rule #34: There is porn of it. No exceptions.” It emanated from his shock at seeing a Calvin and Hobbes parody porn. 

Over the years, the rule took on a life of its own and transformed into the simpler but damning “If it exists, there is porn of it”.

The rule is always true. There are no exceptions. You cannot break it. No one can.

As with a mathematical equation, the reverse must be true. Therefore, if there is no porn of it, it does not exist. It really is that simple, but it led to this question: “Is there porn of me?”

I nervously typed my name on some of the most popular porn sites, backspacing a few times to correct it since I queasily typed too fast. There were no results. As I went on to the next one, a feeling of emptiness started to fill my insides from the top of the stomach. Pornhub, no results. Xvideos, no results. Youporn, nada.

I got quite anxious and went down the famous “Bro’s List of Free Porn Sites”, most of the time heading directly to the Search Bar.

I found nothing. In my desperation, I went with pay sites but came back empty-handed. Then I went to more obscure and specialized websites. I browsed Hentai Heaven, found nothing. New Hentai, nothing. Anime, no luck. Top Bukake, nada. Asked a very techy friend for help to reach the Dark Web, searching for anything, as I was ready to settle for an approximation at this point.

My fingers looked blurrier and blurrier as I kept furiously typing. I started to notice that my hair felt thinner every time I touched it. “Come on, even a drawing would do! Anything!” I screamed at the screen, but my voice faded. The movie “Back to the Future*” came to mind. I was a Marty McPorn.


Fap to the Future, a Back to the Future porn parody

I scrambled to open an outdated version of Microsoft Paint in my computer. The “An Updated Version of this program is available. Press OK to update” notifications would not let me get in quickly enough, but I eventually managed to click of the “x” with the cursor and started drawing a porn of myself. This was my only hope. Body, legs, arms, head. Boom! 30% done. Fingers, toes, knees… 50% done! By now, all I needed was a woody.

The pecker was the most difficult part of the exercise. I drew and I drew, 80% done. It was taking most of the canvas, but without it the drawing wouldn’t qualify as porn. Shaft, tip, pubic hair... 95% done. Got distracted thinking I would have saved precious seconds by drawing it properly manscaped, but it was too late for that now. I was almost done. With the pubes finalized, I made it to 99% completion. A little touch up here, a quick correction there, and done!  I never felt so relieved in my life. Had I really ever had a life before this moment? The thought itself created a vacuum in the universe in which reality began to collapse. That is when I had a revelation: EVERYONE must make porn of themselves for humanity to have a chance at existence.

So yeah. That's why I asked you to send me nudes.

Saturday, April 20, 2019

Weak Links To Loss

I know I can escape society for a while. My wife does not need to know where I am, and my boss can go a few days without having me solve every single issue that requires more than three brain cells. I can even escape my disease when I go numb, into oblivion. Yet, even in the stupor of deep drunkenness, even in between dreams, I’m still me. It's still me. 

This frequent intention to escape eventually caught up with me. I told myself and others that my left arm is only shaking lately because I banged it with the door of my car. I don't even own a car. And gradually, I'm losing ownership of my shell.

A deteriorating disease can be emotionally crippling, right up to the point where one internalizes the fact that we all suffer from the great sickness of life. Someone told me over a year ago that disease is manifestation of toxins invading the body at levels it is no longer able to process. If we remove all the toxins from ourselves, is it still us?

Today I went for a walk in the clean, even streets of Pasadena, California. It is more painful to be sad when everyone around is in such a sunny disposition. Adding to the grimness is the crushing feeling of inadequacy, of not belonging. One is not supposed to exist inside a day this gorgeous under the clouds of discontent.

Still, discontent is not a feeling as harrowing as disappointment, nor as primitive as fear. The last time I was fully wrapped in fear was after a dream I had very recently. I was on a plane, because apparently that's life now. The airplane was headed towards the top of a mountain with a military base on it. I could somehow see forward, as if in the passenger seat of a car. We kept rapidly approaching the base, while the pilot and copilot argued about last night's hockey game results. I warned them once again a few minutes later. The copilot asked me to relax and sit down, and told me that everything was under control. Until it wasn't only a bit later. We were just about to crash when they finally reacted, transitioning quite rapidly from calmed to panicked. The last fraction of a second before impact, everyone on the plane screamed and I woke up, sweating like I had a fever. The plane's crash noise morphed into the sound of two cars crashing down the street from my apartment. How did the mind know to be working on the airplane's crash 20 seconds prior, and have its crash coincide with the one of the cars on the street?

A recurrent nightmare involves the sense of loss; be it gravity, a loved one, or our life. Art's nature of irreplaceability often instills pain when lost. A broken mug can be pieced and glued together, but it can't rebecome what it once was. But, should we want it to?

Goodbye Notre Dame. Sunny Paris, France.