4:20 AM

Four
twenty
in the morning
where's the light?
I got one
no one saw me
while I was working
sunshine procurer,
is my name,
being hated by the bums
is my game
because I take
what they were supposed to take
I don't care
I don't give a shit
It's me and my flashlight
In the dead of the night
Searching...searching.
For my fun, my chemical fun
for free, for free
fuck you hobos
this sunshine belongs to me
and this one too
and I got the cake!
motherfucking 3 cm blunt
mine, all mine
I am the shadow in the square
I am the first one there
I am collecting
tax-free, tax ridden,
me and my flashlight
throughout the night
until the break of the dawn
new day arrives
my sun is already shining
in my containers,
lots of sunshine
I am the shadow in the square
looking for scraps
mix 'em together,
you got a hit
a fucking hit!
I am the silent one
I am the hated one
I am earlier than the hobos
I am working!
Let me do my job
yes, I know, it's fucking cheap
not for me
so let me be
let me collect
all these blunts
all these joints
for free! Free!
Fuck you, dear hobos.
They're mine now
I was here earlier
than thou
'tis mine, mine to keep.
'tis mine, mine to smoke.
I took it all
so fuck you all
because I was here first
I was faster
I was there.
Before y'all.
Mine! Mine! Mine!
They're all mine!
Let the weekend come,
I am more than ready.

You.

You
who are you
where do you live
what do you do
You
do exist
but I can't see you
I can't see you
How
is this charade gonna end
how sad it is
to not be
with
You.
You
live in my attic
live in a dream
live in my brain
but it ain't
You.
You
I should care for
I should hope for
But
you
do
not
exist.
You
took many forms
many shapes
and sizes
I fantasize
about
you
every day
every night
every hour
of my waking life
You.
You!
where the hell are you
where the fuck are you
how
how do I find you
Oh, you.
Oh, no.
Yes.
There is
not a day
that I don't
think about
you.
You
are a drawing
on a computer screen
a face unknown
a sketch  of a dream
- sketch of a dream -
you are.
You
Fuck you
because you're
always hiding
always away
nowhere in sight
You.
You.
You.
You could be
the southern wind
the southern chill
but you are not
and neither am I.
You.
I will never meet you.
I feel it in my guts
I know it for a fact
I feel it as right as rain
You.
There
is
no
you.

It Runs In Families.

Life is fucking ironic. I mean, I just don't get it sometimes. 

The phantom that has pestered me since I was, I don't know, 20 or less years old, the depression, that fucking awful thing, has been erradicated(or almost) from me.

Then what happens? It gets transferred to...both my sisters. No kidding. My older sister is basically breaking down from stress, being a sales rep for Gerdau - one of the most competitive jobs in the world, being a sales rep, plus she's got a daughter to look and care for, and the ghost of being fired is always lurking her, making her life a nightmare. Thing is, not three months ago, she was fine, she'd helped me throughout my own struggle with this disease - yes, it IS a fucking disease - try to cheer me up, brought me to doctors, paid for my sessions with a therapist, etc. 

Now the tables have turned for her. She's breaking down indeed, just yesterday she'd called me 5 times throughout the day, desperated. She's been having issues ever since she'd lost a competition amongst sales reps, the better one would win a trip to Portugal and whatnot. She was positive she'd win. Turns out, one of her customers has failed to pay whatever he owed, so she didn't get the prize. Instead, it served as a propeller for her own depression. She's awfully competitive, and that failure was a major blow to her ego. Not only that, there's reputation in the firm, backstabbers everywhere, you know, things that always go together in this line of job. 

I told her to see my doctor, the same one that has somewhat healed me. She did, she cried, he asked her the same questions he'd asked me, and put her on Venlafaxine - that antidepressant I was using, but made no effect on me whatsoever - the only time they DID something was when I was forced to quit it, to replace that with Parnate. And you remeber what a fucking nightmare that was, to me, at least. Now she's taking it. At a high dosage, 225 mg/day. But it seems to her that it ain't working at all. So she went to the doctor again, he added Lithium to the equation. He insists that her case is mild, that she doesn't need a stronger antidepressant. Today, she'd phoned me and told me that she wants results, as in for YESTERDAY. 

I told her what I know from my own experience with those drugs. They take time to trigger a proper response. But she's rather impatient. There's nothing to be done - except wait for it to act. But she's in despair, she's telling me she needs to get better ASAP, that she could lose her job and so on. She's in a mind to tell the Miracle Doctor to get her another medication. A stronger one...I dunno. I trust this doctor completely, after experiencing what he'd done to me. He transformed me. He saved me, if I may be so bold to tell that. I told her to trust HIS judgement. Well...now only time will tell.

And yesterday, as I got home, I was informed by my mother that my younger sister is suffering from panic attacks, that she no longer desires to get up the bed, because it gives her some sort of "sea sickness", as if she was on a boat all the time, and it's being driving her sick. She barely eats, and yesterday my mom took her to a doctor, even though he's a cardiologist, he prescribed her two drugs - I've checked them online, both are antidepressants related to panic attacks. She'd told me that she's being unable to create - she writes lyrics and melodies - and that is making her sick. The doc gave her a week's worth of license. A thing my older sister can't afford to accept, due to her obligations with the firm and her job. In the meantime, my younger sister was glad to accept her license, she said she needed it badly. I recall when I was being drained off Venlafaxine, they gave me a license as well - and for fuck's sake, I really needed that. I'd gone crazy if I was here suffering the dread that is the abstinence of that drug, after three or four years of use.

Now? I'm trying my best to help both of them. From experience, I'm a fucking expert on depression, since I've lived with this shit for almost 20 years. But I'm no doctor. I can't, for example, tell my older sister that she needs a stronger antidepressant. I can't pinpoint the source of my younger sibling's panic attacks. 

All I know is that it feels weird....it really seems that the weight I was carrying, got somehow transferred to them. 

Well, I'll keep on trying to help them...as limited as my resources are, I can't financially aid none - I can only listen and try to give them my support, my advice, my...I don't know, love? As far as I can help them, I will - but it's fucking frustrating, you know.

Just yesterday I wrote a lame-o text here about what do I have to offer to loved ones. I can do this- I can listen, i can try to give them advice, I can hug them - in times like this, ain't nothing but a meaningful hug. I know. I needed them badly when I was down. 

So there you go - I can help others throughout dark times, in the limits of my force. I can offer them support, mentally at least. I can hold them tight if they need it - and my hugs are famous, I'm proud to admit. I know that, at least, both of them loves my hugs. 

I'd send Gideon to breathe lifeforce in flames over them, as he did for me a number of times - but to them, he's just a sculpture. Not my Gideon, that I learned to love and appreciate. 

All I know is: depression fucking sucks. 

I'll do my part, for them. Whatever I can do, I will do. That's all I got. 

Go away, pest! Leave us alone.

What have you got...?

...to offer?

...that was the question of the day, proposedby my psychologist. She thinks I really need to get into the ship. The relation-ship.

A relationship.

I won't deny it, being the damned romantic fool I am, I often daydreamed(during nights, too) of having one of those. Someone that cares about me, in a different, peculiar way. Someone to talk to. Someone to vent awful events of the day to. Someone.

That someone does not exist. Not for me, at least. Yeah, I used to be a romantic. I also used to believe I'd have my life sorted out, at this point of my life, 38 years. 

Then, everything went wrong. My life ain't sorted out, not in the tiniest sense. I'm a 38 year old virgin. Things I used to believe - love and all that bullshit - turned out to be just like that, a fucking bullshit. Dreams. Idealizations. 

There is nothing in life like your dreams. At least, not like MY dreams. 

What I got left is my fucking imagination. That's all I got. Those short moments in bed, right before the night's slumber, I often weave the craziest fantasies, all that shit about love and whatnot. All idealized, all polished, all roughness gone, just a smooth surface of the sweetest of dreams. I'm even writing one of these down, turned out to be too fucking long and still too fucking pointless.

Life ain't that way.

What DO I got to offer, seriously?

Money? nope.

Wisdom? do you really expect wisdom from a fucking 38 year old loser that lives in a dusty attic?

Care? weel, that depends on my fucking mood. When I'm angry, I just don't care. About anything.

Help? well...that depends on what do you need help on. 

Tenderness? who the FUCK cares about this nowadays???

People want money, they want a car, they want a supporter. I'm not a supporter. I don't own a fucking car, and to be honest, I don't ever believe I will. A house? All I've got to offer is my dusty attic, in my...parent's house. By north american standards, I'd be the lowest of losers, still living with my folks on the age of 38. I earn a tiny bit more than two minimum wage's money. That's not even 2k a month. 

Who the FUCK would want anything to do with a no-one like me?

And the fact is, I'm nowadays enjoying the life of a no-one, socially speaking. I got up everyday at 4:45 and go to the 4:20 square to collect the remains of joints. That I smoke after work hours. I work out, I try to keep things clean, but I'm nothing. Less than nothing. 

One of Nietzsche famous quotes, and muy personal favourite is,

"The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself." 

That pretty much translates me. The sad thing is, that it really doesn' allow you to have no one else around. No one wants to be around a no-one, the man who let his dreams die and just don't give a shit about it anymore. The man who lives the present, just the present, and nothing more than the present. Who can't plan shit. Who doesn't have a fucking career, and never will have one. 

What do I got to offer? 

Nothing.

Fucking nothing.

If you want dust, I'm your man. If you want to get high on a daily basis, I'm your man. If you are a slob who doesn't really care about cleanliness that much, I'm your man.

She said that I am denying myself. Like the whole process with the workout sessions, I used to think, "I'll never be able to do it again," and here I am, just leveling up and up little by little, week by week. I guess I am a caring person...but I dunno anymore. In fact, these days it's being all, "me, me, me" and no one else. I'm becoming an egotist asshole.

I have a friend - a very special friend - from the southern chills of this country, named Jackeline. She is kinda like me. She pretty much gave up on everything that bothers her at all. And relationships are one of those things. Even though I don't exactly see eye to eye with her(I think I still got a tiny, weak strand of hope yet), I tend to agree with her.

People sucks.

And who are lovers? People, just like the rest. Furthermore, what am I? One of these things, as well. People. What a bunch of bastards! I'm no different. I just suck a little bit more, because I'm broke, I'm plain, I'm completely inapt to interact with other people, because I hate them all. Until proven wrong, all people are just fuckers. Fucking obstacles on the streets I walk on.

I feel sorry for my southern friend, but I tend to agree with her. It's just not worth the trouble. 

Besides, the question still remains: what the FUCK do I have to offer? I don't have a diamond dick, I don't have a fucking career, I owe almost 1000 bucks worth of useless stuff I bought. I earn less than 2k a month. I don't even have to do taxes(which is great, by the way) - not enough money. Yes, I try to be and act like a decent man, but I know there's a lot of rotten stuff inside me as well. 

Because of what I am and represent, I lost two good friends this year. Ones that talked to me a lot. Now all I got are walls of silence, one hateful, the other shameful. 

Oh, the humanity. Why all people are fucking jerks? Deep down, ALL OF THEM are. I know. I am one of them, and I'm an asshole myself. I really am. Otherwise, I'd still have those two friends around. No more. And probably forever, since one of them is bound by his mother, who controls him through money, and the other's just a fucking homophobic asshole that is still waiting for ME to apologize to HIM. Not gonna happen, fucker. Not on this lifetime. 

Ah well, I guess that's it - I don't want to get into the ship, because in the end, it's just like a former "teacher" of mine - She was lousy as fuck, a complete fraud as a teacher, but said this pearl: "Learn to be ALONE. People come, people go, only YOU remain."

At least, I am not with someone just because I have carnal desires. I know a lot of men who just stand their horrible girlfriends/wives/paramours/etc and horrid children just to get laid, or...just to be "normal".  More of the latter, I suppose. Because, like Chris Rock said, "Once you get married, you will never FUCK again!"

I remembering one friend telling me, he just couldn't go even 3 months without sex, so he grabbed the nearest EPB(in plain portuguese, Entidade Portadora de Buceta)on sight and get it on. When he was done, well...that's where the trouble begins. (I had a similar experience once - with a horrible, fat woman. That was one of the worst things I've ever done. Terrible sex(indeed, much more for a "locked-up" gay man who does not tolerate fat too much), and she was kinda of a pig herself  - once told me that she hated soap. Argh. What a waste of time, dignity and money that whole ordeal was, let me tell ya.

Try to remain sex-less for 38 years(proper sex, I mean). I dare, I fucking double-dare you, motherfucker. It ain't easy, let me tell you that. But at least I'm not tollerating someone just because of their genitals.

So that's me. Forever alone....like a boss.

I Got The Power!

It's really funny how things are. Yesterday, I went to the good ol' Doctor Miracles, and that's exactly what I've told you: "You are not a doctor, you're a fucking wizard. Because I got almost nothing to complain about my life nowadays." And he was pleased, indeed, with the results. It's the kind of doctor who really sees his patient's improvement as his own personal achievements. I was glad to see that. It means he really likes what he does, that he cares for his patients. He was really satisfied, I could see on his face. As am I.

One thing I had to mention was the so-called "anabolic" effect of this medication, because I've never felt so...well, strong, full of stamina to workout like a fucking gym rat like I've never seen before. He just told me, "It was all the depression sucking your strength.  The medication just helped you to find it within you." I could not believe it. That bloody thing drained me, even physically. And let me tell you, it's true. While I was depressed, I could hardly even lift a finger alone. With that fucking Risperidone, it was even worse. I felt so weak I couldn't workout everyday, like I am doing these  days - and the weight I'd be able to lift was way smaller than what I'm lifting these days. 

Well, all Hail Parnate, the miraculous drug. Yeah, it is food-restrictive, it is potentially dangerous, but it was the ONLY one that actually worked on my deranged brain. I'll gladly never eat a pizza again, if that's the cost of this feeling. I am quite transformed. I am laughing again, a thing that I have almost  completely forgot about. I am walking through the streets, I keep remebering funny stuff and laughing to myself, like a fool - but how I missed this! To be able to laugh again, it's really neat. And vital, to me. I was tired of seeing no humor nowhere. Fucking tired, indeed.

Now I'm almost cured from depression(some shit still linger on about my head from time to time), I am facing another dilemma: my elder sister's own depression. Yes, she was the one who've helped me a lot throughout this year's darkest days - and she was still seeing that fuckup of a doctor, Dr. Evil himself - even as though she wasn't doing therapy with him, only seeing her pharmacological status, but nonetheless the fucker kept on saying shit to her, along the lines of: "You are so dumb. You should sue your daughter's father, to get him as much money as possible." Evil, indeed. 

So I told her to see the Miracle-Worker. Told her it was worth the extra money she'd have to pay for an appointment with him. I told her, "If he can cure a fuckup like me, a crazy bastard like Antonio, he WILL be able to deal with your head problems as well." So she went. In tears. She's really passing through a hard time on her life, high professional pressure on her line of work; also she's got a daughter, which means a TON of responsibility - thing I don't have to deal with. But for real, it all revolves around my niece. She's far too important for my sister. She's her little angel. I'd be worried too, I can tell you that. And with a job that involves sales, with all the competition and backstabbing with her co-workers, that's gotta be a brain grinder. 

She's really helpless these days, feeling down in the dumps, describing to me the exact same symptoms I am quite acquainted with. I'm trying to help her in any way I can - not monetarilly, of course, being the broke-ass motherfucker I am, but talking to her, trying to make her feel a little better. The problem is, it ain't helping that much. She's on the earliest stages of treatment, and it's quite different from mine own - she's taking Venlafaxine, the antidepressant i was on for so long and did almost nothing to me - except turn me into a mental and physical wreck when I stopped taking it, just before the Parnate treatment began. But her case IS different. I do believe it's much more anxiety-driven depression, due to her own work pressure, the responsability to have a child of her own, all that. I told her to TRUST the doctor. And be patient. It's only been two weeks. To me, things started to take effect on the fourth or so week. 

Well, I guess that's all I can do for her...I wish I could pay him, but I'm being sponsored myself. I can't afford such a doctor, along with the meds' expense and everything else. I'm glad I got a friend that's sponsoring me, otherwise I'd be that miserable piece of shit fuckup that I was, not too long ago. Anyone reading these lines can tell that - the difference from the entries of say, July, to these more recent ones is quite noticeable, I'd say. I was planning my death, remember? I was planning to do myself in with a suicidal meal. 

Nowadays, I'm mostly glad to be alive and well, even though in the process I've came across a hard situation with a friend, who I considered to be one of my best mates, after a few chain of emails, he has been demoted. Things will never be the same after his last piece of communication. A most fucking awful that insulted me so deeply, I don't think I should ever forgive him completely. And I won't. Things will never be the same between us, now that he's revealed his dark - and truer - side. 

Well, you can't just win at everything. At least now, I know who I am dealing with. For real. Without masks. And I didn't like what I saw. And what was even worse - the fucker wanted a fucking apology. The nerve! of some people.

Anyways, other than that, things are great, even though I have 4 bucks at the bank, until the end of the month. Too much expenses, I gotta learn to control some urges of mine dealing with money-spending. But nothing was wasted, nonetheless. The things I bought, they've all been useful. Even to lift my spirits a little. 

So, tonite I'll be joining Gideon for yet another session of loveful scratches and bites(OW! he's got sharp teeth, he does), after that it's rock'n'roll and workout, amidst internet sessions. And you wanna know what? I love it. I love my simple life. Simple pleasures, simple things, a comedy here and there - and everything's fine.

(Speaking of rock'n'roll, go listen, download, stream, whatever - the latest Black Keys album, "Turn Blue". It's fucking awesome!)

As fine as it gets, at least for now. Be well, everyone, if there is indeed anyone reading this, be well.

Un-friendly Reminder.

Dear time-stealers,

Fuck you.

Sincerely, me.

Aftermath.

Well, that(installing Windows XP on an Athlon from 2004) didn't work either.

O piece of shit
you are made of shit
shit things from China
China, China, China,
Piece of shit won't work
Yes, I have tried turning it off and on again
There is no way
no way
A computer flies
outta the window
piece of trash
O piece of shit.

Fail!

Bem, este livro resume o que acontece quando se tenta instalar Windows 7 64 bits num Athlon de 2004. 2Gb de RAM didn't do shit to improve it:

E pode ser o resumo de uma vida inteira, de fato.

Anyways, that didn't work. So let's try something else!

Chegada.

Enfim, chegou a hora. De sair, de ir embora. É sexta, o dia mais esperado da semana, para nós que trabalhamos de segunda a sexta.

Andar, andar, andar, chegar no ponto, sentar-se e ver seu ônibus passar...e não parar. O quê? Ninguém, neste ponto inútil precisava dele além de mim? Sim, já aconteceu...duas vezes até hoje. Chego no ponto, sento-me, olho pro visor que diz, com um desvio padrao de +/- 50% ou mais, a hora que tal ônibus vai passar. Eu olhei, e quando me dei por mim, o fidaputa passou, não parou. Quer mais? Depois de esperar mais 20 minutos, o ônibus seguinte, veio vindo, dei sinal, mas havia uma porção de imbecis esperando outro ônibus, tagarelando feito pobres na chuva, no meio do asfalto. O ônibus veio vindo, desviou dos imbecis e...foi embora. Não parou pra mim, mais adiante. Simplesmente não parou. Aí eu tive que apelar pro "primo pobre" do 4103, o 4108...que me deixa na metade do caminho. Tenho que subir a praça do quatro-e-vinte a pé, bufando de ódio pelo fato do idiota não ter parado, dos imbecis estarem conversando no meio da rua, nem se deram conta do ônibus aproximando, não se moveram. E o imbecil do motorista poderia muito bem parar mais adiante. Fidumaputa.

Bem, andar, andar e andar, morro acima, caminhar, prestar atenção ao acostamento. Nunca se sabe quando se irá encontrar um pouco de "sunshine" no chão. às vezes acontece. Não aconteceu. Subir e subir, mais adiante. Mais morro. E depois outro. Aí acaba, só descida de agora em diante, mas não me impediu de ter ficado ensopado de suor, em tal caminhada.

Mesmo assim, essa é minha melhor hora. A hora da liberdade. A hora de entrar na Torre e ficar de boa. Giro a chave, adentro-me e tranco a porta detrás de mim, suspirando aliviado. 

Só me esqueci do dragão à minha espreita. Mestre! Ouço, tarde demais. Gideon pula por cima de mim e nos degladiamos no chão, como sempre fazemos quando chego em casa. Esqueci de pôr comida? O que foi? Mestre! Bem vindo, mestre! e me morde e me arranha, tudo na brincadeira, claro, mas Gideon é um dragão, esquece-se disso. Cheio de pontas e garras e dentes. Ai! Tá bom, seu "Haroldo" dos infernos. Acalme-se. Cheguei, estou em casa. 

Normalmente, eu passaria um café com cigarro, mas agora, que estou deveras abandonando os paiosos, nem tenho vontade de tomar café sem acompanhamento. Ainda mais nesse calor. Calor! Esqueci-me disso! Em um instante, vejo-me pelado. Calorão da porra, estes dias. Bem, eu como os pães que deixei para este momento, espero fazer a digestão enquanto me delicio com um episódio de "The IT Crowd" - que falarei mais adiante.

Então, agora, devidamente semi-digerido, vamos à labuta. Pesos e barras, supinos et coetera et al. Que calor. Quanto suor. Melhor estar pelado, de fato. Tudo isso ao som do mais novo disco da boa banda The Black Keys, que devo admitir, mesmo não sendo mais apenas um duo de músicos, eles sabem fazer boas músicas. E eu adoro o timbre de guitarra de Dan Auerbach. E sua voz, também. Escuto "Turn to Blue", o mais novo disco deles - novamente, recomenda-se a audição de tal CD - e depois emendo em "El Camino", o disco anterior deles, que eu meio que torcia o nariz pra ele, mas após acurada audição, não, eu percebo. É um excelente CD. Novamente, o que deve ser vencido é o meu próprio preconceito, pois para mim Black Keys deveria ser apenas um duo, feito White Stripes - agora não, eles são uma banda completa, e no início, isto me desagradou um pouco, mas...vejo que eles sabem o que estão fazendo. 

Depois de muito me cansar, eu desço para tomar meu banho, uma vez que eu cometi a "arte" de tentar consertar meu chuveiro e...o cano ter saído na minha mão, quebrando a rosca no interior da parede. Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Fiquei lá, com o cano e o chuveiro na mão, pensando, "I am a giddy goat." Ainda não resolvi a maior parte dos problemas do sótão, que são quase todos de natureza hidráulica. Agora, a torneira gira pra fechar, faz que vai fechar, você faz um pouco de força pra poder fechar direito e...ela torna a voltar pra estaca zero, não fechando. Gire de novo e obtenha os mesmos resultados. Pra se fechar a porra da torneira agora, é preciso agir com precisão milimétrica. E a tal ducha higiênica? A minha inicialmente virou uma emenda de cano plástico de chuveiro, com aquela ponta. Depois, foi quebrando aos poucos, vazando daqui e dali, até ter-se tornado o que é hoje: um aparato feito de silver tape e cola de silicone, que ainda assim vaza e sou obrigado a pôr um balde por baixo do registro. Sim, sim, que bela merda. Mas ainda funciona, apesar de às vezes, eu fazer uma inundação inadvertida no banheiro. 

Ainda assim, prefiro meu sótão a qualquer quarto de Ritz por aí. Porquê? Por que eu moro lá, oras! É meu porto seguro, minha torre, onde posso andar nu, escutar música nu, ficar de boa sempre pelado, nesse calorão.

E hoje é sexta! Dia de descanso da malhação, que reservo para o final de semana. Dia de ver filmes, escutar música, "let the sunshine in", e ficar de boa. Prefiro mil vezes meu programa ao de outrem - Vamos pro Chalezinho! Uahahahahahah. Vamos pra Obra! Uahahahahahahaha. Vamos pro Na Sala - AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Vão pra puta que pariu com suas boates. Eu fico em casa, com meu dragão, minhas guitarras, e minha grana, que já é curta mas ficaria ainda mais se eu fosse em qualquer um desses lugares. 

Então, esperemos ansiosamente a hora do "fuck this shit o'clock." Enquanto isso, deixa eu me divertir tentando instalar windows 7 num Athlon XP de, provavelmente, 2004. Esforço à toa? Veremos. A versão de 64 bits não subiu nem fudendo. Vejamos se a de 32 vai...

Monday The 13th.

Man, if it wasn't for Gideon, I'd never gotten up today. You know, those nights where you fell uneasy, until you figure it was lack of proper blanket insulation, then you get all comfortable, slip back to sleep and...RING RING RING WAKE UP ASSHOLE. I swear that I looked at the blaring cell phone, grunted something and almost went back to sleep. 

Fortunately, I've trained my dragon to go and remove my covers if I don't get up after the ringer has rang. And so he did, much to my protest. But you're gonna be late, master, he said, climbing up my leg until he reached the top of my head. Avast! Rise and shine, master, rise and shine.

Monday the 13th. A bad omen day, to be sure. But so far, no bad luck other than the usual, to have no fucking money and to need to attend to this ridiculous excuse of a job. Well, I'm guessing I'll be bossless today, so it gives me more freedom.

And I'm sure all of you noticed, I was plainly wrong about the time-stealing process. But it was only a week before the actual thing happened. This sunday, we'll be robbed. Of one hour. 

Man, all the coffee in the world won't shake this funk in my head. I needed to sleep for at least half hour more. Just that. Or maybe one hour. Two. Six. Eighteen.

In the meantime, I'm still wondering about The Great Fight, between me and [undisclosed recipient], I'm still amazed how clueless one person an be. For me, the plan wil be to keep my distance. I don't want to get Ingnoramusmis in my blood, not for a while. I've had it, lost it. I've had enough, I believe.

Well, let's get through this day...

Question Of The Day.

Have you ever been in a fight with someone who really offends you, but in the end is so clueless that actually thinks YOU are the one who should apologize?

Man, what a fucking drag it is.

Goddamned Time-Stealers.

Good morning Vietnam! We're on our way to a fantastic ride, filled with music, food, "healthier" smoke and guitars, guitars, guitars. And some Netflix, why not? Then we'll resume our workout routine and get sweaty. Then...

Well, I'm bummed to say, but I do hate what are they gonna do to our clocks at midnight on saturday. They'll steal us an hour, to be given back in 3-4 months. Goddamit! I swear, I'll dance on the grave of the mortherfucker who invented these so called "daylight savings". Savings my fucking ass. It saves fucking nothing, makes no fucking difference to economy, (0,0000000000000000000001 % of "economy") - and we'll be forced to wake up in the dark, see the sun shining at 8 PM, and everything awful that comes with this...disease called "daylight savings"

Go to hell! Shove this economy up your ass. No one is interested in this shit. Everyone I know hates this shit. With an exception of Hugo, who said it'll be more easy for him, because his baby will wake up by 6:30 instead of 5:30. Do you think I care? Your kid, your problem. Who told you to have a kid anyway? Fuck it all. I just hate this piece of shit. 

I'll need to reformulate an strategy to keep me up with sunshine...because now the fucking sun will only show up at 4:20 square by 6:30 AM. Leaves me barely 20 minutes to search and aprehend. Fucking government! They should've abolished this nonsense years ago. If they ever do, I promise, I'll throw a party, called "RIP Shitty Daylight Savings" - and will bea helluva party too. 

But not this year. It's been announced, and since we're governed by theses shitheads of the year, we'll be forced to comply. To wind our clocks back. To wake up in the fucking darkness, where we do need electrical light. So, where's the fucking economy, if everyone that has ACTUALLY a job, ulinke fucking politicians, will be waking up in the interval of 4 - 6 AM. Darkness everywhere. Great economy, there. 

You can say whatever you like - that this is meant to push forward the "peak" of electrical consumption, whatever. I don't care. You're all wrong. I fucking hate you all that has let this shit pass votation, once again. 

BAN THIS SHIT FROM OUR LIVES! Nobody wants to get up at 3 AM, because it's been labeled as "4" AM. No one wants to stroll in the dark in the early mornings, to wait for the fucking bus. 

Fuck. This. Shit. 

At least, it's friday. Either way, we will ALL be robbed blind this weekend. They will steal midnight. They're gonna call it "1 AM" - fucking hell.

If I was rich, I swear, I'd leave the country until the normal time has been reset. I don't want this. Do you? Do you? I guess not. I fucking hate this piece of shit. Of course, it makes no difference whatsoever to those who created this shit - the fucking politicians. Because they have no "real" job, they don't have to punch cards or anything. They hardly work 1 hour per week. So, what's the difference to them? 

Meanwhile, me and my fellow workers are gonna get fucked. I know people around here that indeed have to wake up at 4 AM. 3 AM in disguise for 3-4 months. It will drain us. 

Fuck you, whoever invented this piece of shit. Fuck you very much.

Meme of the day.

This is it, for today:

Hope it was worth it.

Guilty!

Blessed be the inventors of the nicotine patch. Yes, I was right. Those fucking things were dooming me at a speed much faster than to be desired. The coffin nails. Yesterday, I barely had one, just one, now today I'm 50% better, at least. With the sinusitis and body pain. I'm not quite healed yet, as my head still feels like a ringing bell after I do something more intense, that requires more strength. 

I think I'll need to take this week off, from working out. Which sucks, because if there's one frustrating thing about working out, is that if you suddenlçy stop doing it for a short while, even as a week, you'll lose strength and resistance. Which fucking sucks, actually. 

But it just has to be done. My body is fully rejecting these poisonous sticks. It usually does, everytime I fell off the wagon and start doing it regularly, my own body rejects it. But this time, it took a whole good six months to become unbearable. Before that, it was rather sweet to smoke. I can't help it, I like it, the feeling of puffing smoke. 

Now, I won't even get to the middle of a cigarrette without feeling kinda breathless. Yes, it's that bad: it's been giving me something like an asthma attack or heavy bronchitis. And I gotta reach for my inhaler, pronto. And sometimes puff on three times until I'm able to breathe properly again. 

Yeah, that's it for me. I'll stick to these patches - I've bought stage 1 & 2 patches already - and just keep away from the cancer sticks. Thankfully, I wasn't that badly hooked on it already, 'cos the patch is doing a fine job to contain the cravings. 

Pieces of shit, it's what they are. Again, could someone tell me why the FUCK are these cancerous thingies legal? The same thing goes to alcohol. Society bullshit ways. 

Well, that's the best decision I can make at the moment - to let go off these things. I am still coughing like a motherfucker sometimes, I thing it's my lungs starting to clear out some of the dark phlegm. 

So, that's it for these evil bastards. No more. No can do. My body won't let me.

It is strange to recall a time where smoking was not only "cool" but even prescribed by doctors as a relaxing tool. "You're too stressed out, start smoking cigarrettes." And there was a time it was so "in" to smoke, you'd be a loser if you didn't. Even my mom tried to smoke, but got sick from it, and never tried again. Her friend, the one who suggested it, became a chain-smoker. Now she's having enormous difficulties to quit it. 

Well, I'm off these things. At least for now. Because, you know the saying, Jackie-Boy style saying, "You know it's truee....nobody ever really quits....a smoker's a smoker when the chips are down."

Let's see if I can handle it. The weekend will be the test.

Coincidências.

Estranho. Às vezes me pergunto se não é o universo me mandando algum recado...ou simplesmente pura e simples coincidência, mas hoje duas pessoas vieram me falar de meu "futuro" profissional - a psicóloga, falando em cursos de SENAC/SENAI pra fazer....e agora na hora do almoço, meu amigo, o Advogado me veio com a notícia: "saiu concurso da polícia federal."

Ambos, nada significam para mim. 

Curso à noite eu não faço mais. Nunca mais. Ou seja, SENAC que vá pro inferno, concurso público, este, em especial, pode ir pro círculo mais interino do Inferno, onde estão todos os concurseiros desse mundo que já se foram. Aposto que estão estudando contabilidade ou racocínio lógico, que de lógico, não tem nada. 

De resto, pra quê? SENAC não vai me abrir nenhuma porta nesta bosta que eu trabalho. Simone, a funcionária que foi mandada embora semana passada, vivia fazendo cursos - e de nada adiantaram à ela, praticamente, neste emprego. Aqui, ou você faz parte da "panela" - o controller, a contadora, o Allan, a Zilma, etc. - ou não é ninguém nem nunca será. E como não faço parte de tal panela, eu não estou nem aí - nenhum interesse em fazer curso nenhum. Não vai me adiantar de nada. Crescimento pessoal? Vá pra merda. Não é este tipo de crescimento pessoal que eu procuro. 

Concurso, eu não faço NUNCA MAIS na minha vida. Não prova que ninguém é inteligente, não prova nada. Prova quem foi o rato de cursinho que ficou mais de cinco anos estudando as mesmas coisas, todos os dias, por cinco ou mais anos. Estude em casa! Vá pra puta que pariu. Estudar? Em casa?? Eu joguei todo meu material de cursinho no lixo reciclável. Aquilo era exatamente isto - lixo. Que bela porcaria de opções que eu tenho apresentadas diante de mim, viu. 

Nenhuma das duas me interessa.

Minha psicóloga perguntou se eu vou ficar por aqui, fazendo a mesma coisa, por mais cinco anos. Vou. O que mais tenho a fazer?? Escrever?? Desenhar?? Eu fico aqui sim. Sem problemas. É uma bosta? É. Mas muito melhor que ficar estudando incessantemente para algum concurso. Aquelas merdas de matérias. E aqueles príncipios idiotas de prova, como diz meu amigo Rafael, "nunca fiz uma prova tão mal-feita na minha vida," quando também cedeu à tentação de tentar obter o "dream job" dos brasileiros acéfalos. Concurso. Prova elaborada pela UnB. Se você chutar errado, perde ponto, então melhor deixar em branco. Que porra de prova é essa??

Sim, não sou idiota pra não perceber que estou num "dead-end job", mas não é assim com a maioria das pessoas normais? Todos, detestam seu emprego e ficam sonhando com esta merda chamada concurso. 

Futuro? Sei lá. Mas não tem nada a ver com curso de graxeiro ou cursinho. Não que eu queira, pelo menos. No momento, foda-se o futuro. Quero é viver o presente, que tá muito melhor que estes dois futuros hipotéticos. Mesmo com a porra da sinusite, eu tendo que largar vício de cigarro, e baixo salário, eu por enquanto estou de boa. 

Crescimento pessoal, eu quero que seja de verdade, não com estes pretensos cursos e concursos.

Fodam-se os cursos. Eu quero mais é curtir o pouco que eu tenho. Não quero estudar à noite, nunca mais. Vão pro inferno os concursos. Eu não faço, não farei. 

Que se foda.

Sick, sick, sick.

Fuck my life. Due to those bastards - I don't know what else to blame - coffin nails, I've got a fucking sinusitis. In my case, it leaves me like I got the flu - aching body and excessive mucous emissions, discomfort, etc. I should be in my fucking bed, not sitting here at this fucking office. 

Nothing can be done now but endure the whole thing and pray that it doesn't turns out to be bacterial - otherwise I'll have to go to the fucking doctor, take exams, take antibiotics. Goddammit this shit. I've almost completely stopped smoking these fags for now, at least. And I've been clogged with mucus for quite some time now, it's being expelled day by day, each day that passes without a coffin nail. 

Fucking cigarretes, fuck me. I really shouldn't have been hooked to them in the first place. But this kinda thing almost always happens everytime I took on smoking - after a while, my body simply rejects it - by giving me these sleeepless nights, or sinusitis. This time, though, it took way longer than usual...

Meanwhile, I can't do shit - I can't work out, or else my head will explode, I can't smoke, can't even walk properly withou feeling the pain all over my body. And since a most unusual "winter" has descended upon us, I feel even worse, like I got a fever or something - yesterday I had to put on several layers of clothing to get through the night. 

Some might say, "it's the fucking lack of humidity", and they would be right also, since this can really contribute to fucking sinusitis. I hate the rain, but I admit, we need the fucking thing. Specially since our water reservoirs won't last forever. And just yesterday, I saw something that I should have done something about - a fucking "madam" washing the fucking...asphalt in front of her house with water. I should have let it rip - "Fucking cow! Go waste water in the seven gates of hell, motherfucker!"

Instead, I just muttered, "fucking bitch, stop wasting water." I don't know if the fucking cow heard me - I guess not. And that's a resident of one of the most well- known neighbourhoods of this city, that includes "the cream" of our society. The cream proved to be ignorant and obnoxious. Wash asphalt?? Go to hell, bitch. 

Meanwhile, things are almost the same. Worsened now by this inflammation of hell. Last time, I did stop smoking and it went away on its own. I hope it does the same thing, this time.

Remember kids, do not smoke. It is really shit. Still makes me wonder why the FUCK tobbacco is legalized, and cannabis not. I assure you, cannabis does much less damage than these coffin nails. 

Well, can't do shit but browse the web aimlessly while this thing endures, since the slightest form of exercise will make my head hurt. 

Oh well. Maybe next time I won't fall for the trick of cigarrettes.

Pinçamentos Segundinos.

Tédio. Infelizmente, isto resume meu final de semana. Foi mais ou menos como isto aqui, 

Sitting in my day care, the art is decopainted
Blessed by the drink
Upon the corner's where we've seen it
Chased by the plane it
Haunted by the medium
Too high to flow toward to break the tedium
Glow from my tv set was blue like neon
Activated the remote I put the BBC on
I've seen this city somewhere
I'm looking out for no-one
Pallor in my eye it get blue like neon

(Massive Attack, Eurochild.)

Eu, que sou tão amante de fazer atividade física, fui surpreendido com uma coisa que deveria me fazer bem -  alongar-se - me fez muito mal, me deu uma dor no trapézio que acabou com minha noite de sábado e com todo o domingo, pois não quis arriscar piorar a coisa , forçando-a a continuar com o programa de exercícios. Aí eu fiquei só de bobeira, re-assintindo "The IT Crowd", que pretendo falar mais a fundo no futuro.

De resto, as coisas andam mais ou menos na mesma. Só estou estranhando o fato de que, aparentemente, este remédio não te deixa sentir negativismo. Tipo, semana passada, minha única amiga deste local aqui - a Simone - foi demitida, algo não muito bem esclarecido, rolou um escândalo da parte dela que está sendo usado como desculpa para justificar sua demissão, mas ouvi, de outras fontes, um papo de atestado frio que ela apresentou pra ficar de licença, o controller sacou e a demitiu. Algo assim. Não sei, não perguntei pra ela nem entrei nas fofocas da galera. Sei que foi muito fudido, especialmente para mim, que contava com ela pra umas conversas boas, de vez em quando. As mais íntimas que eu tinha com qualquer pessoa deste emprego.

Mas...eu sei lá, no dia que ela foi demitida, ela veio chorando despedir da gente, inicialmente fiquei sem entender, achei que ela tinha só levado uma bronca e tava extravazando. Apenas na hora de ir embora mesmo, aí sim a ficha caiu, e eu me dei conta do que tinha acontecido. Eu a  abracei com meu "abraço registrado" que algumas pessoas elogiam, e eu a senti chorando...mas eu mesmo, não chorei. E sei, se fosse EU, o EU de três meses atrás, eu teria me debulhado em lágrimas com ela. Mas não consegui, de jeito nenhum. Não sei se foi simplesmente choque mesmo - pois me pegou de surpresa - ou se é efeito deste Parnate.

Sei que me deixou meio preocupado. Por achar, no fundo, que este treco conseguiu, de forma inexplicável, ligar meu "foda-se" no quase máximo pra uma série de coisas, especialmente as emotivas. Não está ruim, não - fazia muito tempo que eu não gargalhava feito idiota de alguma coisa que eu vi na internet, feito "The IT Crowd", que tem cenas absolutamente hilárias. Mas é de estranhar o volume de risadas, o fato de eu conseguir, estar andando na rua, me lembrar dessas coisas engraçadas e começar a rir sozinho feito idiota. Rir é tudo de bom. Mas...

Não conseguir chorar, eu acho meio esquisito, no mínimo. Ainda mais para um cara feito eu. Sim, são efeitos deste medicamento sim, só pode ser. Fico preocupado pois a Risperidona, me deixava um robô sem emoções. Agora eu me tornei um bobo alegre? Algo assim? 

Não sei. Tá bem melhor que estava, evidentemente. Mas ficar assim, anestesiado pra certas coisas me preocupa pois...paro de me preocupar com elas, ligo o foda-se e vou adiante. Mas existem coisas que não se deve ligar o foda-se. Deve-se tentar resolver. Mas, sob efeito deste treco, eu não estou nem aí pra uma porrada de coisa que pra mim era um problemão, três meses atrás. Hoje em dia, eu nem penso neles. E é ruim, pois são coisas que DEVERIAM ser resolvidas. 

Bem...não reclamemos de barriga cheia. Por hora, eu estou ainda me sentindo super bem, tirando estes dilemas em minha cabeça que estão dormentes. 

Ah, segunda feira! Maldita seja. As horas passam tão devagar e...o quê? Dez pras cinco? Looks like it's "Fuck This Shit O'Clock" - fui!

A Prayer For Friday.

O friday,
holiest of days,
please take us away,
Clocks
function faster
quicker
let the hours pass
in less than a minute
O friday,
one step closer to
sweet oblivion
let us rest
let us pray.
Pray, for the clocks
to move faster.
Pray, for the hours
don't last forever
O friday,
you've come a lonf way
away
from us
since monday.
O friday, let us be
free
let us be
free
let us be
free
to go
to get leaving
our dreadful jobs,
our hateful hours
our passing minutes
in this holiest of days,
let us pray.
O friday,
release us
from our prisons,
our wages,
our work.
O friday,
please, come, stay,
pass away,
let us be free,
let us be free.
O friday,
holiest of days,
make these moments pass
away,
as quick
as you can.
Take us away!
Take us to the holiday,
not too far away
take us away.

Release us!
Let us be free!
Make these moments pass
as fast as they can.
clocks, do your job.
Faster
Better
Quicker
Let us be free.

O friday,
here to stay,
let us go away,
go away.

Tower of Nudity.

Ah, como estes dias estão fresquinhos, né. 120 graus à sombra. É foda, mas poderia ser pior. Eu poderia ser um desses adevogados por aí, que vivem num país quente como o nosso, trajando rídiculos ternos, num calor desses. Calça, paletó, camisa, gravata. Vá pro inferno! Ainda bem que trabalho num lugar que - ainda - posso me vestir trajando apenas o ridículo uniforme, mas que não é tão quente, felizmente...e calça de tectel. Isso, tectel. De esporte. Tô nem aí. Enquanto não me encherem o saco, continuarei a usá-las. Porra, é roupa como qualquer outra! Pro inferno. 

Eu ouvi outro dia alguém lendo porcaria em facebook, no ônibus e comentando - "Este ano não teve outono, teve eutono. Eu tô no inferno." É mais ou menos por aí. Ainda bem, outra vez, que meu escrotório é provido de um ar-condicionado, assim só experimento a sensação de estar sendo torrado na hora do almoço e na hora de ir embora, mas aí é diferente, na hora de ir embora, o que menos me preocupa é o calor. Especialmente que eu vou sempre de bermudão e camiseta regata, num calor desses. 

Agora, estou sendo praticante de algo que achei que não fosse jamais fazer: chego em casa, vou pra minha torre e...fico pelado. Nu. Malho pelado. Ahahahahahah, fico imaginando a cara de quem tá lendo, "EW!" Tô nem aí. Ali eu sou o Rei, posso fazer o que quiser. Aí outro dia eu falei isso, ora, porque não já ficar pelado de uma vez, já que tá tão quente? Desde então, as noites têm sido nudistas para mim. Qualquer coisa que eu precisar descer, só ponho por cima o bermudão "commando" e desço. 

Ah, mas com um calor desses também, vou te falar viu. O problema é que você se torna alvo de milhares de pernilongos malditos também, felizmente não me picaram em nenhum "lugar impróprio", pois ouvi dizer que não é nada bom. E não deve ser mesmo.

Bem, mas a semana esteve conturbada. Aqui, na última quinta feira, uma das funcionárias, minha amiga e confidente que arrumei por aqui, teve uma crise de stress, deu chute na porta, gritando, "Então me manda embora!" por conta de algo que falaram com ela e ela não gostou. Quis saber o que era, mas na sexta feira passada eu não estava aqui, e na segunda nem deu pra conversar com ela. Anteontem, demitiram-na. Eu fiquei incrédulo. As coisas de fato estão mudando nesta josta aqui...

Mas o que eu estranhei foi eu mesmo. No dia que a demitiram, ela foi chorando se despedir de cada um, eu a abracei com um de meus "abraços registrados", que algumas pessoas elogiam. E ela só chorando. 

O que eu estranhei, é que, num caso destes, eu teria me debulhado em lágrimas com ela também, afinal de contas não perdi uma colega de trabalho, mas minha única amiga de verdade que tinha aqui -isto tirando o Hugo, o Advogado. Mas com ele é diferente. Eu não tenho tanta intimidade com ele feito eu tinha com ela. E eu a perdi, pra sempre. Eu queria, juro que QUERIA chorar, mas...

Não saiu nada, nem deu sequer vontade de fato, de soltar lágrimas. E eu fiquei pensando nela à noite, me lembrando de como deve ser ruim ser demitido, e não sei, mas no caso dela talvez tenha sido até por justa causa, coisa que não sei ainda de verdade, mas se for, imagina que merda. Sair com apenas o FGTS e seguro desemprego, não ter acerto, não ter indenização. Eu fiquei lembrando dela, estava triste mas...não chorei, hora nenhuma. 

Será que este Parnate te deixa impossibilitado de sentir emoções negativas e tristezas? Porque, eu me conheço. Se fosse o "eu" de dois meses atrás, eu teria chorado, e muito, com ela. 

Não sei...como disse nos posts anteriores, atualmente eu tenho achado doido até viver, mesmo com minha vidinha simplória que possuo. Estou mais satisfeito que jamais estive, por pelo menos uns sete anos. E sei que é por conta do Parnate. Agora, não conseguir ficar choroso, isso eu achei meio esquisito. Pois eu sou realmente um chorão. Admito que sou. 

Mas não chorei. Nada. 

Enfim...se esse treco impossibilitar de sentir tristeza, tá explicado porque eu ando me sentindo tão bem, mesmo as coisas tendo mudado tão pouco, relativamente a uma vida inteira de tristeza e mau humor. E em email com a Loba do Sul, eu discuti com ela uns temas, que normalmente acabariam comigo, de tanta tristeza e desespero que era carregado o email. Tá certo, eram coisas amorosoas, que às vezes discuto com ela. E...vejo que as coisas estão ainda todas erradas, comigo. Mas eu não me importo. 

Aí eu acho esquisito. Certo, estou reclamando de quê? De não mais sentir negativismo? Não deveria ser uma coisa boa? Sim, mas sei lá, pela primeira vez, eu me senti seriamente modificado por este medicamento. Com um comportamento que não é o meu, nunca foi. Será que este treco está me transformando num ser...insensível? 

Não sei dizer. Só sei que achei estranho. Muito estranho. Talvez este treco tenha ativado a famosa chave do "foda-se" que tanto já me falaram em ligar. 

Bem...enfim...por hora, as coisas continuam caminhando. Estou conseguindo, de fato agora, reduzir drasticamente o consumo de "coffin nails" para apenas três por dia, no máximo quatro. Mas isso auxiliado pelo patch, que segura bem a onda. E hoje de manhã, presenciei algo que ainda não sei explicar, mas que foi deveras bizarro. Estava eu, esperando o ônibus no ponto, vejo circulando um helicóptero dos bombeiros, na área. Imaginei que deve ser pra vigiar focos de incêndio, com as coisas todas secas, qualquer brasinha vira um inferno, nesse mato seco. Mas aí o helicóptero veio vindo...descendo cada vez mais...e descendo...começou a levantar poeira da praça, depois pousou, no meio dela. Fiquei olhando, saíram dois caras, um deles parece que foi jogar alguma coisa na lata de lixo da praça. Foi o que pareceu. Depois, entraram no "trem voante" e foram embora. Eu fiquei olhando, não consegui chegtar a nenhuma conclusão. O que diabos eles foram fazer ali, na praça do papa, por dois segundos? Pra depois decolar, de novo? 

Sei lá. Mundo estranho, este. Dias estranhos. Estão sim. Não sei...