Filed under: politics
(Unfortunately WordPress won’t let me embed this amazing piece. So here’s the link: http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=184111&title=john-mccains-big-acceptance)
For a great while there will never be such an amazing declaration of democracy as I’ve just seen on The Daily Show. It’s a bit difficult to show support for such a show. The Daily Show is by far the greatest thing that was happened to America since motherf***ing Bush took over.
To be able to watch, albeit with a small lag of a day, the program from afar, in my case my hometown of Rio, Brazil, is to able to relish the possibility of keeping in touch with the most influencial and powerful political system in the world through the eyes and minds of the most talented and articulate group of individuals the United States has to offer. There will never be a show where so much is said in such a blatantly obvious and sarcastic way. The truth hurts. But The Daily Show makes us laugh while it hurts.
And it hurts me. All that has been done to the world through the sick mind of Bush and his army of evildoers. All that the amazing country of the United States has let itself become. A tiranny of the grandest kind. A country with no morals that preaches morality. A country that knows no boundaries in order to achieve their goals. That knows no limits.
America has become a cesspool of hate. A disgusting nation founded on principles not held. A country where gentlemen sought to achieve grandeur and has, for the past eight years, been pillaged and stripped of all its meaning. America is dying.
Thank fuck for a show like The Daily Show. If McCain wins this election that slight glimpse of hope, that inexplicable desire I have inside me to believe in a greater America will forever be lost. Every time I see Obama trying to achieve the monumental task of writing new and amazing chapters of our brief but intricate and rich history I think there’s a better place we call all look out for.
And I’m sure The Daily Show will be there to poke fun at the inevitable, but to present the critique and the smart journalism that is so flagrantly absent in America.
Never have I felt this blind. Blinded by the silence of the thousand pieces of my broken heart. Unable to mend what was shattered. Unwilling to forgo the suffering that comes with looking at myself in the mirror and not wanting to see what I indeed see.
I feel blinded by the shallow people that surround the world. The ridiculous fools we seem to be for believing in some, and then making ourselves available and ready to take our fears head on, challenging the paradigms of society in the utmost desire to be fulfilled with joy, happiness and the sense of purpose.
For some odd reason I still stand with my head held upright. For some odd reason I awake and find strenght to get up and walk about. Continue my business. Talk to good friends, make new ones.
Why does life have to be so full of idiotic processes? Why must we endure this existance only in order to see things as a series of events, instead of the magical, incomprehensible force of nature we want them to be? Why must we become so pragmatic.
Life should be about the wonderful, amazing things that no one is able to understand. Life should be about the moments where nothing has the power to make it all go awry. Yet all I see is the working of a machine bound to make us sacrifice ourselves to achieve a goal that is not reachable.
So we remain blinded. Forever blinded.
Filed under: drivel
So I’m 89% brazilian in bed! This is what the amazing KY site had to say about me:
‘Your bedroom powers are legendary!
Your lovemaking technique is an extension of the samba; sensual, athletic, rhythmic, full of meaning and like the samba it keeps going until daylight or until the neighbours call the police. Give yourself a pat on the back, but be careful, you’re liable to give yourself an orgasm.’
What’s your national sexuality in bed? Are you british in bed?
Filed under: chronicles
You called me the other night. I could sense alcohol coming from the other side of the mobile phone. Yet part of me wondered whether there was enough licor to count you out of any equation. There wasn’t.
I made it to your place. It was pouring. I stayed on your doorstep, rang the bell. No one answered. Rain started to make its way sideways. The rain and wind made it very uncomfortable. All I could do was laugh.
Your family party was at an end. I could tell by the lack of talk and the ammount of noise coming from the sound system by the pool. Some people made their way out and opened the door for me. Both wondered why someone in the middle of the night would be entering the house, soaked and looking for you. Yet none of them made any attempt to stop me from going in.
I met up with your sister. She said you’d passed out on the couch. Funny thing, really. Me, making my way across town in the downpour to see you – I knew you were giddy on the juice, but never thought that much.
You awoke and made your way to the kitchen, where your sister and I stood talking. I had already called a cab to take me back home. You hugged me. Softly. Tenderly. Kissed me on my neck. Told me you were glad I was there.
I was called to your room. You made me sit beside you in bed. It felt awkward. You were drunk. You’re my dear friend. It was funny and very depressing at the same time. You showed me your leopard underwear and bra. You giggled. I’ve never found you more attractive.
The cab came and you sighed. So did I. But I couldn’t stay. Not with you like that. We ran out in the rain, you dragging me to your front door where the cab awaited. You opened the door to your house and waved hello to the cab driver, who waved back and smiled.
You took the back of my head and leaned in. We kissed a great kiss. You told me I should have stayed. Then you gently slapped me across the face and said I’d better go before you did anything stupid. I don’t think it would have been tremendously stupid. Just a little.
And it’s not because you were almost engaged to one of my best friends.
Filed under: politics
It always amazes me the length of the effort of the american media to ridicule and expose politicians and famous people. If baffles me that there is such a desire to ensure everyone that we’re all rotten and hopeless as a people and society. That we’re all just a bunch of hypocrites.
The latest in this the series is that John Edwards cheated on his wife. The all-american good-hearted suburban-loving whizz kid is a cheater. Boo fucking hoo.
So the good-looking bloke from the south is a bonafied adulterer. Well, we’ve seen cases of cigars in genitalia and nice chaps being harrassed in public bathrooms. Where does the humiliation end?
Is the media really designed to show the worst in people all the time? The thing for me is that we’re all a bunch of crazy hypocrites anyway. Everyone’s got enough skeletons in their respective closets to make John Romero jealous. Why must we all expose the famous to the ridicule of nationally televised appologies?
And then there’s the wife thing. The poor thing standing next to the wrong-doer with a resolute and sad face, telling millions and millions that ‘yes, I was cheated on. Yep, I have to stand next to him now to prove we’re united. Yeah, I’m a stupid cow.’
It all begs the question of whether the media should be allowed to dive into people’s lives like that. I for one am not against the media channeling efforts to make politicians and their prostitution rings come about to the world, but it could be done without so much fuss and, well, blatant scandalism. Not everything should come out as being an amazing end-of-the-world catastrophe.
Maybe someone cheating on someone is just, well, something to be kept in the confined space of their home and marriage. If they are to be divorced, then by all means let them. But this whole circus act that is the american media vomiting these informations makes personal decisions like this an almost assured falsity.
Wives of politicians can’t divorce their cheating husbands. It will look bad. Oooooh, the horror of the opinion of the masses. Of the religious. Of the conservatives. The same masses who, day in and day out perform the exact same scandalous behaviours yet are not under public scrutiny and therefore can sit afront the television and curse at the ’sinners’ who make public statements in regards to their private endeavours.
In Brazil the more you’re involved in scandals, especially of the white collar type, the more likely you are of making friends and getting re-elected. After all, your name is in the media all the time. People will remember you. Throw in a good PR manager, a great publicist and *bam!* you’ve got yourself many more years of the good, public life ahead of you – full of whores, money laundering and fresh new political allies.
Ian Williams of The Guardian has written a great short text on the matter.
Filed under: drivel
This is a review from a friend at the West Ham Forum about ‘The Dark Knight’:
‘YOU’RE F*CKING BATMAN YOU DOZY FANCY DRESSED PR*CK. THIS ISN’T BERTRAND RUSSELL OR SIGMUND FREUD, IT’S A CARTOON CHARACTER WHO FIGHTS THE BADDIES. SNAP OUT OF YOUR SELF OBSESSED FAGGOTTY MELODRAMATIC LITTLE HISSY FIT AND JUST KICK THE F*CKERS UP THE HOLE. AND BY THE WAY, WE COULD DO WITHOUT A LOVE CONNECTION AS WELL. HOLY F*CKING MID LIFE CRISIS ON A STICK, BUT YOU ARE SOME WHINGING LITTLE F*CK.’
I for one think it’s a brilliant, absolutely brilliant film. But this take on it is just fucking priceless.
Filed under: rpg
There’s going to be a segment here, under the ‘rpg’ category, that will focus on character stories. Here’s the scoop: I play RPG. There. That’s enough scoop for ya all.
The only real pre-requisite we all have in our adventures is the outline of a decent story for every character we make. And, since we’re all a bunch of weird people with too much free time and way too many splat books to choose from, we indeed make a lot of very diverse characters. Even though the builds are what eventually make the characters we play, it’s the story we write that truly incorporates all that we plan to achieve within the game – who we are, what we seek and so forth.
Today’s character is Logan Wargsong, first-born of the mighty Warsong Clan of the Ungian Mountains.
Barbarian 2/Ranger 1/Fighter 2/Occult Slayer 5/Frenzied Beserker 10
The roaring fire dwells within me. I am a son of the rock, an heir to the throne of the montains. I am Logan of the Warsong Clan. Father has set immense goals for me. He sees in me the politician I am not. The leader I intend on becomming on the battlefield, not on the high courts.
I am a warrior. A pure-blooded warrior. I revel at the sight of battle. I lust the taste of blood – my own and my enemies’. We have endured much underneath these mountains, and it was at the cost of many dear comrades, relatives and friends.
We have come to an unwelcome tranquility of late. The threats from beneath have ceased almost to a complete halt. It may be the calm before the storm. Cousin has taught me the lesson of preparing for the inevitable. All want the riches imbedded in these magnificent stones. We own the mines. They are ours by right. None may take them from us. Our livelihood is here, in the beautiful glistening materials that await our skillful hands.
Come forth, ye foul demons. Move closer to the blades of my axe. Let me quench my thirst for your blood in a downpour of your entrails. Ye pathetic excuse for pointy-eared elves. You fool none. The magic that flows within you is raw, untamed – heretic. The great gods do not shine down upon thee.
We need not the works of the Arcanum. They bring no fear to our sacred halls, protected by the light of Moradin. Sit tight, await your doom. We will all be here, eager to purify these rocks, to be done with your evil presence.
I have studied you all. I know what you are. I know everything about you. You do not fool me. Nor can you fool any of my clan. These rocks flow within our veins. We hear them, feel them and know every crevasse, every steep corner and every speckle of dust.
As I sharpen my blades the mighty horns sound. You have all come at last. It is the battle cry I have been waiting for a long, long time. It brings a smile to my face, makes my skin prickle and my blood boil.
I will get you all.
Good-bye. I bid you farewell. I have taken away all of what’s left of you here. You’re gone, out, deleted and completely withdrawn from everything I hold dear. From every part of my life.
You will only remain a distant memory. A sad, little reminder. A bad nightmare. A mistake that I plan on putting far, far away from my frontal lobe.
You’re gone. All of what I want from you is nothingness. A safe knowledge that you will never, ever exist again in my life. Ever.
I have become spotless. Beautifully spotless. Good-bye.
Filed under: drivel
After a year’s hiatus, I’ve returned. Triumphant and well, decided to keep up an enligh-based blog now, alonge with my portuguese-based one.
To start off, a little quote from Tommy Cooper:
“Apparently, 1 in 5 people in the world are Chinese. And there are 5 people in my family, so it must be one of them. It’s either my mum or my dad. Or my older brother Colin. Or my younger brother Ho-Cha-Chu. But I think it’s Colin.”
See you around.
Filed under: chronicles
The New York city lights gave away your gorgeous glow. You were set against the wall in that terrace overlooking the East Village in your pirate outfit, holding a cup of unimportant alcoholic content, and you looked at me with kind eyes. I didn’t know you, nor could I, but I really wanted to.
You are amazing. A mexican with an american name. And I’m completely drawn to you.
The rest of the evening was spent with me in awe of your beauty, your grace, your laughter, your face. For moments I could barely feel the concrete of the rooftop on my feet. I was dancing to my own music, heartbeats that channeled emotions I had long before set down.
We talked, laughed, exchanged akward but meaningful looks. I could not picture myself away from you. You seemed destined to be part of my life for ever and ever and ever.
But then you were called by a friend. I saw you look at me with eyes of disappointment as you listened to the muffled voice of your pretty friend in a corsette too small for her volumptuos breats. You nodded to her and came over my way.
A party, you said. Another one. Someone’s going away to some distant country and you need to be there to say good-bye. I understand. Of course I don’t, but I have to make you believe I understand.
I asked you to stay. You said you wanted to, but couldn’t. So I let you go. I let you walk out without ever telling you precisely what I wanted you to know.
I needed you then. I need you now. Come back.
