The Lithium Effect.

Again, nope, it ain't nothing about the Nirvana song, "Lithium" - it's just about the bizarre experience I had last night, and I suspect it has something to do with my carbolithium intake. My last blood test results showed they're somewhat below the desired amount it should have been, so the good ol' Doc callem me yesterday, and told me to increase the intake by 300mg, meaning three pills a night. He also ressurem me that my TSH test, which I was worried about, that I was about to develop some hypothyroidism, or some shit like that, he told me not to worry, because the test results weren't so bad after all. Well, he's the doc, he's got the PhD's and shit, so, okay, thank you doc, that was yet another weight off me mind.

Strange thing is...I don't how that many former stoners, potheads to the extrem, like I was. When you smoke that much, one side effect noticeable...is that you don' dream, at night, at all. Or so I've told, you DO, but you just won't remember shit about them dreams...Well, I'm off that forbidden vegetable for about, I dunno, a month or so, And the dreams re-started to be at least, truly remember-able(is there such a word?) So it was all good, because I like to dream, all that crazy shit that comes out of your subconscious world. But it's all just it ever was - you do dream, you remember parts of the dream, and there are times you don't dream at all, you know, just plain uncosciousness.

But yesterday, like the doctor said, I took the extra lithium. And man, I don't know if it REALLY had to do with the increased amount of lithium, but I felt like was...I don't know. I felt like I was dreaming the whole time I was asleep. Long, really long dreams, sometimes macabre, sometimes just boring, like we were kids and our parents were looking for a new place to rent, and weird things would happen in all the places we'd stay. I remember one of them, it was being in my aunt's house, in the night, my father was sitting on a decaying throne, mumbling nonsense, I can't recall none of it, but it had to do with myself, my life....sometimes, through the dreams, I'd just go, "Enough of this shit!" and woke myself up. Have you ever done that - escaped from a dream? Then I'd go to the bathroom, and when I fall asleep, the dream would continue...there was a fucking weird scene, like someone, I just don't really know who he was - he was holding Magneto's(the very same off "X-Men") severed head, but it was cut in the most creepy way, just below the eyes, and he was alive all the time, and the mystery man would show off all the things he'd miss being dead, and those were lame things, like soapoperas, ans shit like that, and Magneto was suffering, you could tell by the look on his eyes, he wanted to "go to sleep", but everytime he tried, a new vision would appear and he'd widened his half-dead eyes...

What the fuck was that? I was fucking glad when the alarm went off and got me out of that sea of weirdness. Will all nights be like that, from now on? I hope not, because I really have fucked dreams. And sometimes it was just me and my siblings fighting over a broken lute or something like that - while the house was all flooded, and no one seemed to care about that. And I believe it was my grandparent's house...

Well, that night was quite tiresome, for my mind. Let's see if tonight it will have the same effect. I hope not, because I need just the emptiness of pure slumber. To rest my already weary mind. You know what I am talking about, right?

Well, we shall see.

About a Girl.

Nope, it ain't the Nirvana song. Last week, my sister went away on som sort of "retreat", I really don't know the details, something new-age-y thingie her friend Baiano, or Luís Cldas, like we mock him, told her about, something that sounded, well...pretty boring for a guy like me. 

But I don't judge her; she's into that whole "spiritual" thing much more than myself, and i won't be the asshat telling that it's nonsense, rip-off, crap, whatever. I really can't jufdge her at all - for she's WAY more centered on that aspect than yours truly.

Her friends assembled some sort o "surprise" party for her departure, and each and everyone was supposed to write her a farewell letter, something like that. Even I was told to do it. So, I just sat here, early in the morning of that day and wrote her this:

-Lady Snow Panther-

White, white, white,

just like me, just like ma

she's like a snow panther

running through the streets

trying to remmain unnoticed,

but no one fails to see

the redhead snow panther

moving quick, dodging people

just like I do, everyday.

We're a family of white animals

she's the panther, I am the dragon,

and we're all related, raised and born

on the wrong side of the ocean

on the wrong county

we're foreigners, she and I

an mother too

but here we are,

and here we'll be,

running through the streets

dodgind bastards, with so 

many quick hands and 

less than good intentions, we know.

We've always known.

But she's that special to me,

the redhead snow panther

sister of mine,

easy to see, to spot,

throughout the throng

of so many people, 

so many common faces,

there she is,

snow panther

sister of mine

And she's special, 

very special

- to me -

because she listens and 

she tells, she won't let

you off the hook if

you did something wrong,

something crappy,

like I always tend to do,

because I'm defective,

and she was not,

she was always happy,

with an easy smile

on her bright face,

she so carefully tend to,

everyday, for hours and hours,

as if she'd needed anything

more, to show up those

brilliant, so brilliant

blue eyes of her,

snow panther,

you are.

So many times, I was

rescued, by this beloved

sister of mine, so many

many, many times.

when the world was crushing 

me, she'd buid a shelter

hugging me with those

beautifully tattooed arms

of her, saving me, oh, yes,

she saved me, so many times

I cannot account for

nor thank her enough

because I suck with

verbal contact, I never

know what to say,

when a simple "thank you,"

through my cloudy reddend

eyes, I should have said,

but in my heart I believe

she sensed my gratitude

through this bond we share,

that transcends time and space

being brother and sister,

she felt it, and if she did not,

then there I write about,

thank you,

my snow panther

sister of mine.

and when, suddenly,

the same sickness I

am used to deal with,

stroke out on her,

it almost broke my heart,

to see her, suffering 

with this same pain,

I've got used to carry,

I tried to help, but I'm

not a doctor, unfortunately,

but only a brother

trying to help out

this wounded snow panther

sister of mine, oh, it

broke my heart, it did.

I'm glad to see though,

that's she's tougher, 

sh's strong, she defeated

this evil malady, much

more quicker 

than I did.

So she can go on

running through

these crowded streets,

trying to remain undetected,

but she just don't care,

for she's a feral cat,

a fierce beast

when it needs to be,

I have felt,

I have seen.

So, now we have to part,

even for a few days,

it is a great deal,

to not see her smiling around

turning her life around,

while I am stuck on a 

dead engine, dead heart,

dead plans and dead hopes,

she naver, ever gave up,

and it really amazes me me,

- yes you do -

sweet sister of mine,

my snow panther

redhead lady,

sister of mine,

sister of mine.

I bid you farewell,

and hope you can tell

by these lines that

don't even rhyme,

that I care, and i love you,

yes I do, because 

you were there for me,

all this years, all this time

I was in hiding, I was

in pain, we got this

strong bond,

that transcends

time and space,

yes we do.

Thank you.

And farewell.

If you ever need me,

you know where I'll be.

waiting for your

safe return. 

Thank you,

snow panther,

sister of mine.

And, believe it or not, these words really touched her, and my whole family, at least on the "snow white" part of the family, should've included mom as the White Lioness or something like that, for she's into spiritual stuff, horoscopes(not that she reads all that bullshit they print out every day, a shuffle of optimistic words, y'know, on papers and magazines), but she's a Lion according tho that belief, while Marcela's a Libra, annnnnd(drum roll)...I am a Virgo.  Matches perfectly, this idiotvirgin imbecile that I am, ehehehehe. 

Well, I don't buy this crap at all, but it is rather ironic, I must admit. So, for today's post, after all the praise I've been getting on writing that "poem" about my sister, Why not post it here. But believe me, it's just...ah, I dunno. Not my best words at all. I just sat and wrote it down in about 15 minutes, whatever came to mind. 

So, there you go. Ta ta.

True Depression.

You know what it is, true depression?

It's when you feel depressed because you can't afford to buy the antidepressant meds you were supposed to buy on your piece of shit salary, and has no one else to turn to for a handful of money.

Might as well start begging on the streets: "Will work for antidepressant meds."



Like I said before, fuck my life.

Phone Call.

It's known to a few people that actually know me, or has indeed come face to face to me, and have a deeper conversation, that I'm almost what you could call, an "imported person" - not only on the fact that I'm quite crazy, almost a walking lunatic, but nowadays quite soothed and serene, thanks to so may drugs - legal ones folks, remember, LEGAL ones, even though they are strictly controlled by pharmacies. I've already told here befre - I'm done with the illegal psychotropics I once so dearly loved to take. No more of that, and it's been great for me, I must say, because that shit was indeed fucking up everything. No, nowadays, I take these drugs - drugs for mental patients like myself or my Owner and Boss, the Heir himself, who's giving me access to this MORE than expensive doctor I'm being treated with.

But that doesn't change the fact that I'm sometimes borderline wacko, batshit crazy or whatever you want to call me. If someone could have a looke inside my brain, or had access to the dreams I am experiencing these days, they'd have to concur with the fact that I'm somewhat crazy. Just the fact that I almost have no friends anymore can sum up to that fact. No one can tollerate me for too long, or so I've gathered. 

I'm not on any kind of allucinogenics or psychotropics or what the fuck all those people are doing nowadays, I dunno. But I do have this crazy imagination, and sometimes, it's the only thing that's been holding me together, even as strange as it may sound. Just the fact that I willingly chose to keep my head shaved, like a neo-nazy freak, but also sporting these old-fashioned handlebars whiskers on my face, you know straight away, this is not your ordinary Joe. This is something else. This guy is crazy, must be the thought of many of them people I get weird looks on the streets.

Frankly, I don't give a fuck. I chose this weird look ...well, because. The almost bald look gave me an advantage on these fucking hot days we've been experiencing, because I sweat profusely on my scalp, and have it shaved makes it easier for me to bear with the sweat. The handlebars, well, that's another story. I just let them grow, to see if I could have a full beard instead of looking Amish, but my whiskers have a mind of their own, if I may say so - they naturally grow UPWARDS instead of going towards the ground, so, what the fuck, may as well twist them a bit, and get this old-fashioned look. I find it neat too. And the people who think I'm sporting handlebars to try to be fucking hipster, can go fuck themselves. I don't care. In fact, it really amuses me, how they look at me, sometimes terrified, at this whole setup on my face and head. Besides, having this shaved head can soothe me sometimes. I just rub my hands through my scalp, it feels like I'm petting a dog, or something. Even my little niece liked to "pet" me. 

But I digress. I was talking about my crazy imagination, the only thing that sometimes help me to keep it together, as strange as it my sound, because it's my imagination that keeps Gideon a live pet, not only a masterfully carved piece of lifeless wood. And throughout times like these, where all my REAL friends have all vanished or are too busy with their wives, kids, careers or whatnot, to come and pay me a visit, or just write me something, I've got to keep it together on my own, and sometimes it's a fucking hard affair to deal with. I know, I know, what most people would say - just join that thing - facebook. 

But I've already explained why I refuse to experience that shit once again. I've seen what can it do to a person, a once close friend of mine. They've destroyed his whole life in a matter of days, and months ago, they've achieved their final, twisted goal: they got him expelled of his university, and not only that, he has no longer the legal rights to even try to enter another public university, nor the so-called privilege of even trying to enter one of those "dream jobs" of the mnajority of brazillian slobs - the public, governement-funded jobs. Yes. He can NEVER try one of those "concursos" - not that I would recommend that fucking shit to anyone, but, anyway, he was planning to, after he got graduated at Law School. But - bam - facebook destroyed all of his dreams. And, in my opinion, somewhat drove him a little crazy. I'm not getting into details, because I don't want to anyone to destroy even further his already destroyed image. But it messed him up.

So, no. I'm not joining a piece of shit "social" network, where people only post inane, stupid things, selfies, photos of sluts doing "duckfaces", people collectin "friends" like they were commodities, like a fucking competition, or whatever the hell they are thinking adding this guy, that girl, that onther guy, mostly people you'll never meet, or even talk to. THAT is batshit crazy, to me. 

I've recently acquired a slightly better smartphone, a little outdated to today's standars, but nonetheless quite a fantastic piece of technology, I must admit. I am signed to that other trendy application, or "app", to sound more "hip", Whatsapp. That Google so smartly acquired, just to keep people hooked on a free year, and then paying a somewhat insignificant amount of money to use it for another year - but if you add up ALL of its users, now that a SHITLOAD of money to our future overlords. Because that's what Google will be. Our overlords. The Beatles, or more specifically Jphn Lennon, once said the controversial saying, "we're more popular than Jesus."

Google is WAY more popular to ALL deities that people on this planet worships. You can't deny that. No one can. I DARE you to prove me wrong. You cannot. No one can.

And to thought, that it all began with this device:

Yes- I have one of the original phones, in my attic. An heirloom from my late grandfather. It's missing some parts, and it 's got its cord somewhat chewed up by time, but it only shows how OLD this thing is. A long way away from this:

NOW this one a lot of people will remember. A fucking rotary phone, at least those of us old enough to have lived through the 80s and 90s. And it's a "modern" version of similar ones used through the 40s, 50s, and so on. This one is at least 20 years old. And then, more time passed, and we got these fuckers:

Who doesn't remember these? The so-called "unbreakables"? Because, if they fell to the ground, instead of breaking the screen, it would break the fucking GROUND itself? I've used the one to the right for quite a long time. And I've got lots of other examples, like the famed "Startac" from Motorola, but I don't know where they are. I'm keeping a small museum of old things, like one of the first digital cameras ever, that saved its images on a fucking floppy disk. And it still works! I've tested it the other day...My grandfather was a keeper of such things himself - for example, the first photo here displayed. The original phone. And all these photos were taken using my "outdated" Galaxy SIII phone. That will be include in my "museum", if I survive long enough.

You know what's missing on our handheld computers we call phones nowadays? Teleportation. We should have that, by now. But I'm pretty sure they will be a standard feature to future generations. While "keepers of the past" like myself will be nearly dead, I suppose. But I guarantee, it WILL happen - that is, if humanity doesn't destroy itself on whatever future war we hope does not come. 

Well, this post has gone off the rails. I have a whole different idea for it, but nonetheless, there you have it - a trip to the past, and present, and a glimpse into the future as I see it. 

Teleportation! We demand teleportation!

And that's it for this lonely, rainy Saturday...

Free-day.

Friday, friday, friday,
it means a lot
a lot to us
those who work
and plough,
day in, day out,
friday is here
to save us all.

Friday, friday, friday,
such a magic date
and everyone's excited
and prancing and
waiting, waiting
till the clock strikes
five, at least for us
who work here,
doesn't matter,
we all wait,
for the end of the day,

and the beggining of
the night.

the night, a lot of
people gather on bars,
and club houses,
and this and that,
whatever, wherever
away from home,
they are.

But not all
of them.

Some of us
are loners,
who'll stay inside,
out of sight
and out of trouble,
and away, so far away,
from where the other
people stay,
we stay.

I was not
always this way,
friday would
be, bar day for me,
and all the friends
I had back then,
money didn't
mattered, cos I
hardly ever drank,
anyway.

Ten years pass.

Now I'm not going
anywhere, no more,
I don't really care,
but I know I should
because I'm here,
all alone, in here,
all alone.

No, not alone...
I got Gideon there,
He's my friend, my
pal, in times like these,
I know, it sounds
nutty, to talk to a
wooden dragon,
but he's been more
than a friend, in
times like these,
where all the other
friends have
dissappeared.

Am I insane? Well...
a little bit, I'd say,
but try and be alone
for ten years in a row,
remember Wilson?
remember Castaway?
you need someone
to speak, someone
to say,
that you're not
truly alone.

Yet you are.

You know you are.

They have left.

All of them.

you are alone,
going insane, bit
by bit, day by
day...night
after night.

Friday night.
I'll be there.
Me and myself,
sometimes called
Gideon.

The Tale of The Lone Beer Bottle.

Well, yesterday was one of those sucky days, you know? Not too bad, just...it sucked. Boredom and the realization that you will NOT get a fucking raise, never, ever again, in this fucking company, for as long as I'm stuck with this bullshit job title known as "Auxiliar Administrativo"(and according to our good-for-nothing syndicate we're affiliated, my current salary is the so-called "teto" for such an "occupation" - meaning, EVERYONE else got a raise, but me.), even though I AM NOT such a thing, at least in theory, since now I am working full-time on IT, but will they change this so-called "occupation"? To give me more money? NO. They will fucking NOT. And the reasons? I have no idea other than the fact that either I don't deserve an "status upgrade", with the proper salary, or that they're just a bunch of fucking CHEAP bastards. So, another time, thanks a lot, O my Owner and Boss, Heir to the Empire. 

I know. He still helps me with the ridiculously overpriced treatment with the Dr Miracle-worker, that has inddeed been improved my life, even though my last visit there has left me in a bankrupt state - for I bought whatever meds I was already taking, BEFORE the last appointment, which added two meds to my daily drug cocktail. One of them, Stabil, I don't have to worry buying for a while, for the good doctor provided me with a LOT of free samples, but the other, Socian, goes for 70 bucks a box, and I'll need 4 boxes of it. Add that to the fact that he increased my Parnate intake, making me in need of buying fucking SIXTEEN boxes of them a month, and the lithium, and Pamelor...it will all add up to something around 800 bucks a month, or so I calculated, give it or take 30-50 bucks. 

So I was already concerned, as I left my house in the dead hours of morning, to catch the 5:30 AM bus, and when I came to the crossroads near my house...there was a single, empty bottle of Stella Artois beer. I figured, maybe this is one of the cheapest attempts to do a "macumba", to steal my "mojo," or "juju", whatever. I left it alone. It'd be probably picked up by somebody, I dunno. 

I came to the office, and it was this dull day, where fucking nothing happens, my IT boss and the other "big cheese" boss of accounts, they were traveling to São Gotardo, to do whatever. I don't really care. And since now I do have an actual colleague on my office, Valquiria, who is doing that dreadful thing I was in charge of for at least an year and a half, scanning documents, I was left with nothing to do. Well, I did try to aid someone in the accounts dept., who was not being able to log on remotely to a server, but I failed and failed and failed, until a consultant guy from the company that is in charge of maintaining our ERP software, sat there and solved the thing in 2 seconds. I stood there, feeling like this fucking useless tool, good-for-nothing piece of shit. No wonder they won't  "promote me."

So, the day dragged on slowly, and when I finally punched my way outta there card, and entered the elevator, there were seven people along. As we reached the "Terreo" - the elevator seemed to have stopped in a weird way, from what I felt. Yeah, you guessed. It was stuck. The doors wouldn't open. And immediatelly, all women inside went on a panic. For fuck's sake, I told them, we're on the earth floor, no need for panicking, but they were frantic. Pressing the alarm button to no end, and "getting outta breath," you know how women easily goes int these panic states in such occasions. Me and Franklin, the other guy who works on accounts were about to force the doors, but the doorman opened them as we were about to pry them open. All women fled, like it was gonna explode or something. 

And as I walking down to my bus stop, it started to rain, but only a light shower, so I didn't even bother to get my umbrella. But someting else was amiss. The traffic, seemed too jammed for a January's wednesday afternoon, 5 PM. By the time I reached the bus stop, the rain started to fall on heavily. And from the distance...I heard the source of the traffic's problem. 

Ther was a fucking PROTEST somewhere up. A voice, that I can't no longer ignore, for I've heard it on EVERY damn protest that surges off from where we work, almost every fucking year, may it be teachers, doctors of the state or wahetever, that fucking voice is always yelling at the protesters, leading them on. A woman's voice. A voice that I will hate forever. Last year, it was quite peaceful on the "protest" scenario, because we - "we" as in fucking brazillians, presnt writer not included, please - had something to "worry" about - "the ill-famed, ridiculous "Pão e Circo 2014", AKA World Cup. And it was also an "ellection" year, so no one would get anything from the government, so there were no protests. 

Well, this year has gotten on its wrong foot, again. I'm betting I'll be hearing that damned voice from time to time, since "Praça da Assembleia", not too far from where I work is ground zero for such damned, fucking things. As I waited for the bus, smoking a fag, the rain turned into a brief but powerful storm, and I thought to myself, "Good. Soak those motherfuckers!" 

My bus came, after quite some time, because of the fucker voice and whatever they were "fighting" against, and I setep inside. As we passed the "Secretaria de Saúde Pública" building, there they were - and there SHE was. 

Now I KNOW not only the face behind the voice, I knoe the WHOLE person. As if you could call that THING a person. No wonder tha fucking bitch makes a "living" screaming bullshit through a microphone, she's FAT, SHORTY, and on top of that, FUCKING HIDEOUS. I took a looong, good look at the fucking bitch. Because, if I see her on her own on the street, an "accident" may happen to her. "She jumped into traffic, officer! In front of my eyes!"

I swear, if all those meds on me weren't working, I'd maybe stuck my head out of the bus window and scream all kinds of profanities against not only the fucking BITCH herself, but at all the fuckers moaning against the government? You have a lousy paycheck? Well, take a loot at MINE, you fucking pieces of shit!!!

So I got off the bus, and as I got to the crossroads I previously mentioned...there it was STILL, the fucking Stella bottle.

I suck at fottbal(Soccer for north americunts), but never have I before took such a perfect kick like the one I gave to that fucking bottle. It bounced once, and smashed in a billion bits. The gatekeeper on that street gave me a mean look, then quickly looked away, because my face - I guess - must have been one scary thing to look at, a mix of anger, mischief, and evil grin. 

So ends the tale of lone beer bottle. If it was "cursed", fcuk that too - I'm already cursed as the way I am right now; for one thing i forgot to mention, it's highly probable that I'll be earning even LESS money, because the bus fares went up, so, I must conclude the paycut will be higher too. 

Fuck my life. As that bottle. And the fucking protestor bitch.

A Helping Hand to a Stoner in Need.

The title may be deceptive. No, I'm not referring about me. Myself, I'm done with "the lady", you know, what is called "Maria Joana," or "grass," "weed," whatever curious name they refer to this frbidden vegetable, known in the biology ways, genre Cannabis, and species, either "sativa", or "indica" and also "ruderalis", or whatever I don't even know about. If you want to know the full details on this plant, ask a Dutchman, preferrably from Amsterdam itself. 

Me? I'm done with my infatuation with her. Ther comes a time in a depressed fucked-up like me that he's gotta realize, and admit to himself, "I'm a fucking addict to this, and it does me no good." Yeah, I was a hardcore stoner. I'll admit, throw stones at me, insults or whatever - I've narrated here how much of an addict I'd become, going thru great dangers to acquire this thing, from going to the slums with a former stoner friend of mine to purchase it, and even nit-picking leftovers of them "roaches" at the "Cannabis Central Park" of this lousy city, you know, the affamed "Praça do Papa", also known as "4/20 square" by yours truly.

But I've had to put an end to it all. It WAS, indeed, messing up with my treatment for depression, because, well, I just couldn't handle it like a occasional user. I was a fucking pothed, if I had it, I'd go 24/7 stoned as fuck, and like the fucking(begone, begone) "Dr Evil" himself told me, probably the only actually accurate and true information he'd gave me, I was "self-medicating with it, on a fucking high rate." And when I started on the Parnate, I've undergo that potentially dangerous way of getting me a lot of the stuff, for free, from the remains of all those roaches left behind by stoners at said public place, int the dark of night, a madman picking up scraps of them roaches, and I imagine I was on the brink of getting into some serious danger with the other people that did the same as I did, BUT they were beggars, bums and whatnot. 

So, yeah. I'm done with her majesty Stoner-Lady. I just can't handle it, and it was fucking me up, badly. But the funniest thing happened yesterday, and this where I acted as a "helping hand" to a stoner in need. I was waiting for my bus, smoking the well, I can't really tell why tobbacco is legal, and Cannabis isn't, but either way, I was there smoking my straw fag, and I saw one guy approaching the bus stop, he seemed to be quite the happy fella, that was the "energy" he transmitted. The bus was still at least 15 minutes away, and when I was done with my cig, I threw it in the bin - I don't litter, I hate those who do - and this fella approached me, and asked about the way we "mineiros" like to smoke these straw cigarrettes, and I snickered, "Yeah, I prefer these to regular, out-of-the box Marlboros or wahtever." 

And then he asked me, "But do you know where I could get some 'green', man? I'm from Rio de Janeiro(which I already deduced by their particular accent), and I'm leaving tomorrow, and you know, I have a need of just a bit, just to unwind and shit," Then I smiled, despite of myself, I thought, "Eheheheh, it takes one stoner to know one, amirite?" So I said to him, "Man, you gotta go to the Praça do Papa, you'll most certainly get some there." and he told me, "Yeah, so I was told by another friend, I've even tried to get it at Praça Sete..." And I go, "No way man, you'll get in trouble trying to get it there, trust me - you'll want to go the 4/20 square." and gave him all the information he needed, the bus to take - which was the same one I was waiting for, you know, "the miracle-when-it-shows-up", the 4103, it's the only way to get there withou too much hassle.

And we chatted about the city itself, how he felt so much more refreshed here - I can only imagine the fucking INFERNO Rio de Janeiro must be these days - and then the bus came, we got in, I thought of even offering to pay for his fare, because I got way too much accumulated bus fare credits on my card, but he paid himself, so, okay, there you go. We sat in separate seats, but side by side, with the bus row in between us, and he kept saying, that he hadn't been here for 30 years, he liked how the city is arborized, and it's a nice thing, I agree, at least it cool us down a bit, I suppose, and when we got near the place, I told him, "Ther's the square, You'll want to step out in the next stop, ang et to the middle of it- ask for the affamed "chá", and I can guarantee you'll get some, at least." 

He thanked me a million, and left, and I suppose I'll never see him again, but I believe I dind't steered him wrong. As a former "scholar" on the subject of acquiring "the Lady", I do know that it's not the best place to buy it, for the fucking pushers around there are all motherfuckesrs, who'll take your money and give you WAY less than it's worth. But I couldn't just steer him to the slums near the "Serra" neighbourhood, that was the place I've often bought it at the lowest price possible, when I was an uncorrigible stoner myself. 

Oh well, I really hope he was able to get what he wanted - just a bit, like he said, because see seemed to be not a total professional pothead like I was, just a "regular John" user, not abusing it like I did, on my heydays. 

So, that was my, in a way, twisted, "good deed" towards a stranger for yesterday. And surprisingly enough, he wasn't an asshole, like most of the younger "cariocas" usually are - he was a nice guy, so why not lend a helping hand? I might not be a stoner anymore, but I totally get it, y'know, he just wanted a bit, just to unwind, for he was going back to Rio today. Just imagine, if this HELL we are having on our thermometers are like a tolerable temperature for him, I can only imagine how HELLISH Rio must be on this particular summer we are having.

Well, I hope you've got what you needed, "single-serving friend" of yesterday. Here's to you, man. Bon voyage, my unknown "friend".

Chemicals, Chemicals.

On the pharmacist's drawers
locked drawers
there lies my chemicals
that once again,
saved my life,
saved my rotting brain
of collapsing in vain

Oh, but what a cost!
And me, ain't got no more
money to pay, money to say,
I'l have them all,
I'll need them all
I NEED them all.

yeah, a lab rat, an walking
experiment, I am,
but I really do think
it's worth the price,
worth the risk
worth to be
living through
chemistry.

Well, I'll have to ask
for a loan this time,
because I was careless
and stupid enough
to spend more than I
should, on things
I didn't really need,
but my, they're so neat,
I had to have it all,
and there it goes,
more dough than I
should've spent.

So please, send me
money, send me wealth,
send me a fucking raise
but no, oh no,
your work permit
states the same shitty pay,
and now, what a shame,
I'll need a loan, from my
maternal bank, because
even though she's also
on a strain, she's my
saviour, my grace,
in times like these,
what a shame.
it's so fucking lame.

but I need them chemicals,
I do, to keep the raging bull
inside of me in check,
the imbecilic thoughts
of an early death,
away from me,
away from me.

no shoes, no shirt,
no dice.

I'll need to get some
off our beloved
government, if
possible, because I just
can't handle these
expenses all by myself,
I don't want to owe my
maternal bank no more,
than I already do, oh no.

Chemicals, chemicals,
it's all too much,
but I DO need them all
in order to remain
here,
remain
sane,
remain
lame
- if you will -
Oh yes I do,  but oh no
I don't have enough, no.

If only my Master
saw what I really needed,
but no, he does not.
He's getting married(!)
Yeah, what a surprise.
another one bites the dust,
another one will leave,
and be friends no more,
but...we already were
friends no more,
what a shame,
once I signed for this
I'm owned by him,
he makes the rules,
not I. Well, he pays
for my doctor, at least
there's that, because
without Dr Robert,
I'd have died already,
or even worse,
got fired,
from this place
that pays me less
than I'd like to, yes,
but I need this gig,
I need this thing,
we all call work,
even though
it's way more different
than what I had in mind,
once I signed the contract,
I was doomed, restrained,
in chains, I am,
because I don't have
nowhere else to go,
nothing else to do,
but be this thing,
nothing.

Chemicals, saved me
once again, all over
again....and now,
now I must pay,
nothing's for free
nothing is free
payday, miles away
oh no, what a shame.
to not be able to pay
not be able to relay
on myself alone,
but I've got a disease,
yes, a disease,
just like the Master,
just like my sisters
even though different
we rely on chemicals
chemicals we take
everyday
I don't mind, no,
I don't mind.

But I wish, how I wish,
these chemicals I take
would make me feel
able again, to do,
what i could do,
ten years ago,
I do.

Sunday Twilight Musings.

Yeah, it's Sunday...5:20 AM on a Sunday.

Whaaat? And why the hell are you already up?! - that's the question, amIrite?

I guess mostly because I'm already used to get up early, everyday...and I just feel like waking up early, and see the twilight slowly morphing into daylight...and I was fucking hungry, too. And wanted my nic'n'coffee treat. Yeah, what a treat. I'm also used to go early to bed, you know:

Early To Bed 

Early to bed and early to rise

Makes a man or woman

Miss out on the nightlife

Early to bed and early to rise

Makes a man or woman

Miss out on the nightlife

One drink, call it an early night

Soon you're curled up beneath the reading light

Or you bathe in the TV's blue tint

On your pillow an after-dinner mint

Early to bed and early to rise

Makes a man or woman

Miss out on the nightlife

Early to bed and early to rise

Makes a man or woman

Miss out on the nightlife

Early to bed so you can wait

For three buses, a trolley and a train

I think it's worth it for you to stay awake

Maybe tomorrow you'll be a little late

But early to bed and early to rise

Makes a man or woman

Miss out on the nightlife

Early to bed and early to rise

Makes a man or woman

Miss out on the nightlife

You'll miss out on the night life

You'll miss out on the night life

Ah, Morphine. Now that's some excellent band I haven't heard in ages. And thank you, Mr Bittorrent, I'll have the full discography today. Yeah. A rock'n'roll band thrio, one bass, one multi-saxophone man, and a drummer. What could be wrong?

Could it be weird? Yes, I guess. But what am I, if not a weirdo myself? And no, I don't  mind. I'm even started to enjoy the terrified looks on some faces, when they see a human pitbull, all dressed in black, covered in tattoos approach. Some criticize it, like that fucking cab driver. But who was he, indeed? A fucking idiot, that's what. Evangelist, lamb of god. Full of shit, my brain translated. 

And most of the people who feel afraid of me, are fucking morons. What? Haven't you ever saw a neo-nazi from the eighteenth century, shaved head, handlebars and beard? No? Well, I am your surprise today, tell all your friends! A fucking "cerol" had quite a laugh at me, while I was rididng the bus last Friday, and you know, fuck him too. What does a fucking asshole who has money to own a smartphone(owned or stolen? that's another question) blasting that crap they DARE to call music, "fanque carioca" and rides for free, like a fucking parasite he IS, does know or understand about me being myself, unique in my weird way, while he was just like a fucking worm of society, living in some dump at a slum somewhere, infested by those rats of society, what does he know?

Do I really care? Not at all. I'm feeling fine, better and better, day by day, thanks to my very own "Dr Robert", my man, my doc. Drugs are quite amazing, ain't them? Because I shifted from being depressed and suicidal to...well, feeling quite alright, at the moment. I just hope it lasts. 

Today, at this very early hour, I feel just fine. Again, round of applause to "Dr Robert", PhD in dealing with weirdoes like me. And I know, I do have some issues to worry about, like the fact that I'll need a loan to buy my remaining meds I'll need to buy, a shitload of money to a poor bastard like me, who barely make ends meet, with my piece of shit salary. 

But I don't care. Shit happens. And I know, I should've been aware of the fact that I might had the need to spend more of my own money on those drugs, before I made my newest purchases, to further enhance this amazing device  I am still paying for, this gigantic smartphone, "outdated" to some, but absolutely better than my previous one, that drove me mad every time I had to type anything, on that tiny screen. Well, lesson learned. And I do have one of the best moms one could have, even though I was too busy worrying about killing myself to even consider the fact that I shouldn't have spent all that money on the gadgets I purchased that day, the same day I went to see Dr Fabio. I should have thought that he might have some additional drugs for me to take, thus more money to be spent on them. 

But I'd rather owe more money to mum or whoever loans me such money, than undergo ECT, that nightmarish treatment they still use on some patients at this point of history of medicine. That is some barbaric process, let me tell ya. I know, because I've seen what it does to a person, years ago, when my Owner and mighty Boss, the heir to the Empire i work for, had to undergo on such "treatment". It literally tore him apart more than anything. Erased all his memory from those days. He doesn't even remember that I did spend a night with him at that nuthouse he was committed to, the ill-famed "Santa Maria Hospital" - man, that was a night I'll never forget. One of the most AWFUL experiences I've ever had. I couldn't sleep at all, surrounded by such human misery, all that pain and loss those unlucky people roaming throughout the hospital were experiencing, dribbling opn themselves, barely able to speak at all, due to so many drugs they had to take, mostly forced upon them, Thorazine and such. They all looked like fucking zombies, poor bastards. 

And my then friend, Mr Millionaire was one of them. I don't even like to remember how fucked up he was back then. And did the ECT cured him? Nope. It just made him even worse. The crazy doctor who treated him recommend that shit, and it did more harm than good, WAY more harm. That's why I freaked out that day. I think I'd die if I had to go through that hell myself.

What I did forget is that my own "Dr Robert" - who is, by the way, the same doc treating my Owner and Boss nowadays - isn't a nutjob like that crazy doctor who recommended such evil "mistreatment" to Antoan, Boss and Owner of mine, is a pharmacologist. He treat us crazy people with drugs, and I'll have them all, oh yes, I'll take wahtever he prescribes me, other than going to the nuthouse. Have my brains fried. Drugs? Well, I am a drug user since 2000, even though it was the still illegal plant known as "grass", "marijuana", and other slangs I'm not even aware of. 

I've quit that, now. I've stopped being the bum I've turned into, daring into the darkness to acquire the roach leftovers at 4:20 square, now again merely "Praça do Papa" for me, again. No way I'm using that shit again. At least,not intentionally and on a daily bais like I was doing, like I described here so many times before. It was messing all the treatment I was under, in a bad way. So, fuck that shit. I'll just have the prescribed medicine from now on. 

And you know what? I feel so much better now, so why fuck it all up just to feel stoned? Fuck that.

And here it is, the new day arises. Time for me to finish my breakfast and go sweep the yard. It's the least I can do to please my mom, my family. I don' really care, for now I've got this amazing device they call Galaxy SIII, and in it I've stored enough music to please me while I do unpleasant things.

Well, that is it for now. Early Sunday report, ends here. Have y'all a g'day, mates. 

Until later, I bid y'all farewell.

Good ol' Doc.

"Doctor Robert"

Ring my friend, I said you call Doctor Robert
Day or night he'll be there any time at all, Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert, you're a new and better man
He helps you to understand
He does everything he can, Doctor Robert

If you're down he'll pick you up, Doctor Robert
Take a drink from his special cup, Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert, he's a man you must believe
Helping everyone in need
No one can succeed like Doctor Robert

Well, well, well, you're feeling fine
Well, well, well, he'll make you... Doctor Robert

My friend works for the national health, Doctor Robert
Don't pay money just to see yourself with Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert, you're a new and better man
He helps you to understand
He does everything he can, Doctor Robert

Well, well, well, you're feeling fine
Well, well, well, he'll make you... Doctor Robert

Ring my friend, I said you'd call Doctor Robert
Ring my friend, I said you'd call Doctor Robert
Doctor Robert

Yeah, there's no one like the good ol' Doctor Robert. Or in my case, Dr Fabio Lopes Rocha, whom I went desperately to see yesterday, after my recent episodes of a near mental breakdown coming my way, a thousand kilometers per hour. 

No, no ECT for me. Nope. Thank you, doc. More drugs? Sure, I'll have 'em all. Like my friend and owner said to me even before my Parnate treatment had started, "Get ready to become a lab rat," and he was right. And do I mind? Not at all. I just wanted to get rid of these "bad trips" going down on me. So, I went to his office, told him about everything that I thought was dragging me down to the pit of endless despair once again, and, chit-chat, blah blah blah, "Let's add this and that, increase the Parnate intake and you'll call me in a week. I want to know the effects closely."

But fuck me, I'll be broke all year, unless I can manage to get some of these meds off those affamed "postos de saúde"...The thing is, I'm afraid I'll have problems managing to go to one of such places, specially not the one that's nearest my house, for it sits REALLY close to a place where I went to buy, er...some sort of "herbal medicine", still prohibited by law and that indeed causes me damage, because I am - or WAS - addicted to the thing, you know, grass, weed, marijuana, call it whatever you like. No more of that for me. Nope, I'm done with that shit. But you know how addicts are...they smell the thing and have to get ahold of themselves. And honestly, I can no longer afford it PLUS the ones I am INDEED supposed to take.

Well, might be a placebo effetc, but today I feel much at ease than yesterday. And I just began the new arrangement of pills and whatnot. 

Let us hope this thing will go back to the tracks. 

We'll see.

Oh, the Guilt.

Well...I'm still here.
Even though I don't know why.
Pay raise? Ha, ha, ha; you're fucking worthless. Get this copper coin from 1983. Fetch!
And the fear....it is subsiding into acceptance.
If there are no options left, what the fuck am I supposed to do?
Sure doc, get your wires on my brain. Fzzzzt.
Maybe I'll forget that I'm such a fucking loser.
Maybe I'll forget that I feel panic on crowds.
Maybe I'll forget why the FUCK have I chosen fucking Biology over Medicine.
So, go ahead, fry me. I don't care.
I've got shit for brains, anyways. A jolt of 100000000000000 volts may improve it.

I don't care.

All I've got is fucking nothing, and what do I have to lose, then?

Nothing at all.

Fry me.

I don't care.

Oh, Shit.

Yeah. One's gotta know when it's time to seek help. Professional help, in my case. I've been reading further about all these shitty side effects I'm experiencing, and guess what? Recurrent suicidal thoughts are amongst them. I cannot ignore this, so I promptly called my doctor, shaking like a fucking tree in the strongest winds, because the alternative to this...thing I'm taking is ECT.

ECT. Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, a mol of nopes. D'you know what ECT means?

Electro-Convulsive-Therapy. No, no, no, no.

I've seen my boss and owner receive such treatment. It's medieval, to say the least. No, please, no. I'd rather die than do this. It erases memory, it messes with everything on your neurological system. It's fucking brutal. Nope. Nope. Nope.

But I've experiencing all of those symptoms, the irritabilty increase, aggressiveness, and all this crap about suicide. His Assistant, she noticed the panic on my voice, and she's going to try and schedule me for tomorrow. I can't last until the 9th of February, my previously scheduled appointment. I just can't. 

But I'm not willing to undergo such thing, such "treatment", this ECT. No way.

Just NO. Man, I hope I don't have to do this, for my own sake. i've seen what it did to my boss. Closely. It wrecked the shit outta him.

Oh, shit. Why do I have to get the most defective brain in the family? Why? Why?

I'll be damned. Fuck, no.

Tiredness.

I'm tired.
So fucking tired.
I am.
Tired of this thing,
we call "life"
To me, it means
To be slowly dying.
I'm tired.
Of waiting
for a fucking miracle
that doesn't happen,
seemd to have happened,
but it was all a ruse,
just a fucking, sick ruse
of finding the cure
I am an incurable
and nothing else
would set me free,
thanks Bob Pollard,
for understanding this.
I'm tired, tired, tired,
of being this thing
being this freak
unable to feel
almost nothing
at all.


All I feel is this
shroud of nothingness
surrounding me,
all the time.
I'm tired of this,
tired of that,
tired of life,
as this could
be even
called
life
at all.

I'm ready to move on,
to permanent stillness,
to whatever lies
beyond the flatline.

I'm tired of being sick
and finding no cure,
I've tried, oh I tried,
to find the cure,
and for two fucking
weeks, I thought,
I had find it.

What I found
is that all I've given up
for this so-called "cure"
meant nothing at all.
I'm irascible, irrational,
a pit of fucking despair
a downward spiral
to the very end
of it all.

I can't take this no more,
I don't want to take it anymore,
I must flee, yes I do, and I will.
Because I'm tired.
tired of being
nothing
at all.

Fuck these pills,
all these medications,
gave me an illusion
that I had found the way,
what I found,
is this thing,
these pink fucking pills
that acted like
fake cocaine,
a wild rush, for a time,
and endless depression,
after all.

I got no future,
no credit,
no dough.
I'm not on drugs,
other than these
fucking pills
that only gave me
the fake feeling
of happiness.

Happiness do not exist.
not for me. No,
not for me.
I'm trapped
inside a dead body,
that still moves around,
fakes smiles to get
around all those awful questions,
"But why? You got so much,
are you really willing
to throw it all away?"

Yes.

Because I got nothing.
I am nothing.
less than nothing
a burden, a fucking burden
to everyone else,
a freak, fucking freak
that's what I am,

I get nothing at all,
Talents for fuck-all
talents for shit things
shitty scribbles,
shitty noise,
I am nothing
at all.

So let me complete
the whole equation
let me be
nothing
at all.

Murder, he wrote.

Still here. I'm not going to proceed with my already thourough planned self-murder, not befor I have the next appointment with my doc, to tlee him, to his fac, that what he prescribed me was shit in pill form. Or, like I said befor, "fake cocaine", as it'll give you two weeks of a super high, then throw you back right into the mud of depression, anger, hostility and self-loathing. 

That's Parnate, boys and girls. Don' take it. It's not worth it.

Man, I am having all these murderous thoughts too. I guess that's why I feel the need to arrive here two hours befor people start to pollute the streets. Yesterday, As I rode the bus back home, some of those we  call "pivetes" - or future robbers, rapists, murderers and drug dealers, also "took" on the bus, barely hanging from outside. I was sitting right in front of the bus door, and saw the little fucker's hands gripping on the rubber inning of the door. 

The thought came to mind almost immediately. I envisioned the whole thing. I'd get up, kick on those fingers with these fucking hard-ass boots until the future filth had fallen out of the bus, and ended up being mangled by traffic, or the bus itself.

I swear I really wished I had the balls to do it. But then, what would happen to me? I'd be arrested, charged with child slaughter - as if those things were human to begin with - and things would get even worse.

So no, I did not kick the fucker's fingers. I stood there, imagining it all though. And smiled darkly to myself. I'd have a laugh over that, for sure. Why do I gotta pay for the fucking bus fare, and those motherfuckers, scums-to-be filthy things get to ride for free?

But I did not murder anyone. 

Then I got home, and was so amped up with hatred. I turned on my PC, which has a fucking idiotic tendency not to recognize the SSD HD as the boot driver, sometimes it appears on the BIOS, sometimes it acts as if doesn't exist at all, and the fucking thing keep on trying to boot from the backup data HD. It does that at least one time before I'd press the familiar CTRL+ALT+DEL combination. But no, yesterday was a special day, for it repeated this lameness for four times. 

And on the fifth attempt...it failed once again. I was fuming with anger, I wished I'd destroyed the whole damn thing, but the "voice of reason", even if weakened had it right- if you do that, you're gonna regret it, because you'll be simply without a PC for a long, long time. That thing cost me more than 3000 bucks to build it. I don't know why THE FUCK the BIOS keeps on ignoring the existence of the SSD, but all I know was that I had to destroy something, so I opened a locker, full of of old shitty keyboards, picked up the first on top, and smashed it to bits, all the time screaming incoherently things. 

So, I came back to the rebellious PC and rebooted it for the sixth time, and it booted the rigth way. I sighed in relief, because I think I wouldn't be able to at least punch the fucking keyboard or the screen.

I've read about this fuck-up on the fucking BIOS of this shitty motherboard but to no avail. No one mentioned the same motherbord, no matter how I googled it. 

Well, at least I did the right thing, and did not prived me of my only source of entertainment in that dusty attic. 

But once again, how long can I mantain this? How long before I lost all my shit, and end up doing something terrible? At work, I have to force myself to keep it down, or else I WILL be fired. And I just can't get out of this shithole, no matter how bad they pay me. I need this fucking job. 

I'm going crazy, man. I am. Nuts.

Same Shit, Different Days, forever  and ever...until the plan takes place. It won't be long now. At least not if the said "miracle-worker" fails once again. 

I can't be fixed. Nothing can get me fixed. I am a ticking bomb.

When will it go off?

Well, you'll know.

Oxymoron.

Oxymoron. Now that's a very interesting word. Simply put, it deals with ambiguity. You know, like "make haste slowly," or "cruel kindness", or...Parnate.

Yeah. Parante. You know, this fucking piece of shit fake cocaine drug I'm using. I made a research about it, even though they say you cannot trust everything you read - exceptionally on the internet, where lies and lies and lies and fucking lies spread like a fucking plague. But, I've lokked at aleast a half a dozen medical websites. Here's what I found on its side effects:

If any of the following side effects occur while taking tranylcypromine, check with your doctor immediately:

Incidence not known

• Absence of or decrease in body movement
• actions that are out of control
• agitation
• anxiety
• black, tarry stools
• bleeding gums
• blood in the urine or stools
• burning, crawling, itching, numbness, prickling, "pins and needles", or tingling feelings
• chest pain
• chills
• coma
• confusion
• confusion about identity, place, and time
• cough or hoarseness
• dark urine
• decrease in frequency of urination
• decrease in urine volume
• depression(????)
• difficulty in passing urine (dribbling)
• dizziness
• dry mouth
• fast, irregular, pounding, or racing heartbeat or pulse
• fever
• fever with or without chills
• general feeling of tiredness or weakness
• headache
• hostility
• hyperventilation
• increased need to urinate
• irregular heartbeats
• irritability
• lethargy
• light-colored stools
• longer than usual time to ejaculation of semen
• loss of bladder control
• lower back or side pain
• muscle twitching
• nausea and vomiting
• nervousness
• painful or difficult urination
• pale skin
• passing urine more often
• pinpoint red spots on the skin
• rapid weight gain
• restlessness
• seizures
• shakiness and unsteady walk
• shortness of breath
• sore throat
• sores, ulcers, or white spots on the lips or in the mouth
• stupor
• sudden jerky movements of the body
• swelling
• swelling of the face, ankles, or hands
• swollen glands
• talking, feeling, and acting with excitement
• trouble with sleeping
• troubled breathing with exertion
• unsteadiness, trembling, or other problems with muscle control or coordination
• unusual bleeding or bruising
• unusual tiredness or weakness
• upper right abdominal pain
• yellow eyes and skin

Yeah. These are most common side effects...but I've bolded out and underlined what I've been experiencing the most: depression, hostility, restlessness, irritabity, lethargy, anxiety, actions that are out of my control - like smashing things only because they won't work, or like my ex-ventilator, that has fallen to the ground this saturday, and had an unexpected encounter with the wall, at aproximately 100 km/h. It does not matter, ehough, for it was already a half-broken, piece of shit aparatus. 

But...an antidepressant drug that may cause...more depression??? What THE FUCK is this shit?

So, I gave up on eating some of my favourite foods, became an almost forced vegan, experience the "limp dick" effect for at least five to eight hours after I take the second dose of the drug on a day, and what for? For all those effects I've highlited combined, all happening at once. 

Yeha, Parnate is THE oxymoron. And like I told you on previous episodes here, it was my only choice of treatment left. Yeah, it gave me "THE HIGH OF A LIFETIME" effect, for two weeks. Then, it caused me all these side effects combined. 

My next appointment with the so-said Miracle Worker doctor is somewhat far away yet. I'll give him a full report, and if he gaves up on me, that's all fair and good, for I've already got a foolproof suicide planned. No, I'm not telling anyone. But it'll work, and way better than going into Jackson Pollock on the walls with a gun I don't have. I have something better. It's not the cheese either. I'm not risking having a fucking stroke and becoming an even harder to bear burden in everyone's lives. 

I'm out, I'm out. Fuck this shit. Fuck this world. Fuck this rotten brain of mine that will not work, even with the most potent antidepressant drug there is on the market. 

And no, I'm not smoking weed no more, nor any other drugs at all. I thought they  would be the cause of these effects, turned out they are not. 

It's this piece of shit pink cocaine-wannabe drug. So, I'm out. I'll be out. I can't handle this endless war inside of me no more. Every night, I've been crying myself to sleep, for a week  now. 

I'm tired of this shit. And I won't have it no more. Not, if the doctor says it's over. Because it was either this or nothing. All chips in. 

I've lost  them all.

And I can't take it anymore. I hate myself, this fucking world, these fucking people, the post office, the fucking customs that won't release my orders from eBay, all this shit. I've  had it.

No more.

The end is near. 

Ocaso.

...e eis de novo, que ele toma conta conta de mim. O nada. Nada acontece. Nada. Zero. Zip. 

Particularmente quando estou aqui, novamente me preparando para receber a carteira de trabalho com os magníficos dizeres, "Auxiliar Administrativo", ou seja, mais um zero à esquerda nesse bando de gente, que às vezes me pergunto o que fazem de difernet de mim para merecer melhores salários. Conferir números? Qualquer retardado faz, como diria, amavelmente meu Dono, o Dono, o Herdeiro. 

Que herança deixarei eu quando finalmente esta bomba atômica se formando dentro de mim fizer-me cumprir o dever de todo fracassado que sabe que chegou a hora, de acabar com tudo e deixar a vaga par um outro retardado que tenha mais valor ao Império em meu lugar? Nada. Zero. Zip.

Tudo que penso em fazer, me vem imediatamente a voz na cabeça - "Pra quê?" pra ser ridicularizado? Pra ser comparado àlguem que realmente saiba o que está fazendo , ou escrevendo ou traçando? Não. De fato, pra quê? 

Como dizem os engraçadinhos da internet, "Não existe nada que você faça que uma criança asiática de menos de 10 anos vai fazer 1000000E+23 gazilhões de vezes melhor. 

Tenho vergonha de existir, de ocupar espaço, de consumir o que alguém que de fato mereça poderia estar fazendo melhor uso. "Você tem talentos!" de novo, pra quê? Pra fazer uma música de 2 acordes, que nem acordes inteiros são de fato? Eu nem sei mais o que é um acorde, musicalmente falando. Combinação harmônica de sons? E o que é harmonia?

Não faço idéia. Nem na música nem nessa existência inexistente que deixarei, um monte de nada pra ninguém. Não quero tentar fazer a tal "última ceia" pois sei que posso sobreviver, e ficar ainda pior que já sou, um vegetal que só dará trabalho aos outros, feito um bebê de 38 anos, se cagando e se mijando todo, tendo que ser alimentado porquê não consegue mais controlar nada. Esse é o risco de um AVC. 

Se meu amigo Gabriel, o "nazista" que o facebook destruiu a vida privada, ainda pudesse de fato ser meu amigo, eu pediria emprestado o .357 que o avô dele possuia. Bang, e adeus cabeça. Não sobraria absolutamente nada desse bosta que só me fez ter idéias erradas, aptidões para coisas inúteis, escolheu tudo de errado que poderia escolher, e foi "abençoado" com....com o quê?

Desenho? Pra quê?

Música sem sentido e sem nenhuma técnica de gente?

A única coisa que sinto vontade esses dias é comprar besteiras baratinhas no tal do eBay, mas estou vendo que é uma fria também.. Pois nunca chega. Além do que, uma mera carga de 100 doláres no paypal sai a mais de 300 reais. E pra quem ganha menos de 2 mil reais, e ainda tem que pagar quase isso de ramédios que não servem pra nada, exceto pra me fazer dormir, e pagar a dívida que eu insanamente fiz no cartão de minha mãe, mais outro tanto de pagamentos, nem sobra grana pra pôr nem estes 100 dólares. Pra depois ficar nessa expectativa eterna.

Expectativa eterna. É o que eu tenho. Que algum dia chegará a luz...que nunca chega. 

Sexta feira passada, eu me sentei no fundo do busão, e presenciei tudo que eu não queria ver na hora, um casal de 2 mulheres, pareciam em perfeita harmonia uma com a outra. Comecei a chorar ainda dentro do balaio. Cheguei em casa e chorei aos berros, feito aqueles bebês que a gente tem vontade de arremessar de um prédio quando abrem o berreiro. 

Este sou eu. Nada. Zero. Zip.

Vivemos numa época sinceramente fantástica, ao menos do ponto de vista da tecnologia...eu, mesmo com um celular que era top em 2012, fiquei embasbacado com o que é possível fazer com uma coisa dessas hoje em dia. Ainda assim, nada, não importa, nada, preenche este vazio que sinto. Pareço realmente uma casca sem nada dentro. 

Que diferença faria se eu explodisse minha cabeça? Duas balas de 9mm eu tenho....talvez, com uma gambiarra....Aí vem as pessoas, pessoas, me falar, uma me diz que eu não entrarei no céu. Céu? Depois de tudo que fiz? Já estou condenado, catolicamente falando, ao inferno faz muito, mas muito tempo mesmo. Porque, por mais que você tente, se você teve pais idiotas que te educaram nessa merda, sempre fica essa dúvida na cabeça, inferno...imagina, algo PIOR que esta bosta aqui? Eu tenho medo, sim. Admito que tenho. Foi enraizado na tenra infância. Esta merda de certo e errado, de deus e diabo, de bom e do mal, quem me garante alguma coisa acerca do que acontece depois. E ainda mais se voce sair daqui , "batendo a porta", como diz Mário Quintana? 

Eu preferi ser educado feito os luteranos, que acreditam que quando você morre, você morre. E fim. Nada de espírito, nada de julgamento, nada dessa palhaçada toda que ainda me faz pensar em apertar o gatilho. 

Aí me dizem, "Pense na sua família, nos seus amigos..." Família? Eles nem sabem que eu estou de novo na lama, eu nem contei. Acham que estou de boa. Nenhum deles lê esta bosta aqui. Não queo que saibam, já causei despesa  demais e preocupação inútil demais na cabeça deles. E amigos...bem, alguns sentiriam a falta deste bosta aqui, mas vocês superam. São todos mais fortes que eu. Que diferença faria, um covarde a menos em suas listas? 

E além disso, eu me sinto tão desconectado da humanidade que nem sei direito o que é ser amigo. Na minha hora mais negra, ano passado, somente dois me socorreram, e um destes eu mandei pro inferno depois de um bate-boca via email, que mostrou quem ele realmente era. Um bosta. O outro, bem...sinto muito por isso. Mas eu sei que ele supera. Sempre superou, e teve ainda mais perdas que o imbecil aqui. E tem outra também, que sei que sentirá minha falta, mas como sou apenas textos numa caixa postal e não mesmo uma pessoa, pra ela, que também já superou o inferno...não seria muito difícil aguentar a perda de uma formiga. 

Os outros...os outros sumiram. Só dirão, "É mesmo? Nó!" Eu sei que estão TODOS no facebook, no whatsapp, que mesmo EU estou. Mas não sinto coragem de procurá-los e trazer mais problemas na vida deles. E esse aplicativo, bem, não conseguirei nem ficar pagando por ano pra usar algo que só posso usar quando estou perto de algum wi-fi, pois não tenho plano de internet móvel no celular e nem quero ter. E nem posso ter, na verdade. Dinheiro? Sumiu!!

O nazista, depois do que ele teve que suportar ano passado, para ele, isso também seria fichinha. Então, o que me prende aqui? O medo....de ainda ficar pior. Pra mim, eu digo.

Não sei. Estou ficando farto desta bosta. Mesmo. E toda hora, aparece uma ilusão, parece que tudo vai melhorar, que a tal "luz" surgiu....mas é só fogo de palha, feito este remédio inútil que me fez tornar este chato da festa, este vegan forçado. 

Não sei mais o que fazer. Não mesmo. Todos os dias eu penso nisso, em encurtar essa chatice. "Este válio de lágrimas, esta merda," como escreveu João Ubaldo Ribeiro.

Merda, de fato.

Hypothetical pothetically Stand-up Special, Starring "Noiado on the Attic." Part II

I swear, man, the things I do and the way I act, in my day-to-day basis, they would be stand-up comedy gold. At least, to those fucking idiots, the north americans. Let's see some examples, shall we?

- Man, I  just had the WORST Christma's eve dinner of my life this year, thanks to these pink pills of fake cocaine I'm taking everyday. I mean, I felt like I was a fucking vegan. And I just hate vegans, right? I do. "Oh, you can't eat meat because---" Let me stop you there, you fucking idiot. What do you think are these(points to my canines) - I know you have 'em too, asshole. It means you're a fucking PREDATOR, like I am. Like all humans are, you know? Fucking idiot. These are for ripping MEAT, not eating your fucking celery special or whatever hoirrible thing you consider food! Fucking imbecile. And yeah, I couldn't eat the turkey, not the pork. I ate the raw materials tha make up the superb chicken salad my mom does every christmas. But these fucking pills won't let me eat that, nor any kind of meat that more than two weeks old, right? Fuck you and you vegan people. And you can't even beat me, asshole, because you've got no protein in your muscles. Eat all tofu you want, you'll never get near MEAT, a fucking barbecue. Never. And that's another thing banned from my food list. I am brazillian, and can't eat barbecue no more! You might even deport me for that CRIME, it's a fucking crime, I tell you, not be able to eat our barbecue. Not that piece of shit "barb-Q" north americans eat. All they do is toss some hamburgers on the fucking fire, hmmm now that sounds delicious, overburnt hamburgers. No! I mean Large chunks of meat, delicious meat, still bleeding on the fire roasting them. I can't eat that anymore, unless I go with one of those crazy guns you can buy at any K-Mart on the States, and kill the cow with a barrage of gunfire. Ra-ta-ta-ta, "Okay guys, it's dead!" Now hurry up, we gotta roast her before the evil thyramine takes over. Fresh meat! It's all I can eat nowadays. I think I'll end up eating people alive. "Oh, that guy looks fresh." then an old woman would pass me by, and I would go, "No, that expirated. WAY beyond the expiration date!" I'd be know as the "Parnate cannibal", or something.

or:

- Man, I feel so overcharged with frustration and anger these days, that I feel like a fucking human pitbull or something. No, it's got nothing to do with my neo-nazy from the eighteenth century style, you know, these handlebars and shaved head. People see me and get the fuck out of my way, and you know, it's probably for the best. Because I get all this pent-up, stuffed anger inside of me, that I might just do something terrible if someone just bump into me, "Oh, sorry there." and I would be like, "Yeah, I'll give you a reson to be sorry for indeed," and just toss the motherfucker in front of a moving bus! And I would go, "Oh, sorry there, motherfucker!" And oyu know - it's not too bad. Because I fucking hate people, man, I do. And I ride the bus, because I'm fucking stupid to not have a driver's license at my age. And you know what? I don't fucking care no more. I earn less than a thousand of your american dollars a month. How the FUCK would I be able to afford a fucking CAR? Get into a 30-year pyment plan to buy a fucking Fiat 147? Fuck that. Nowadays, every idiot has a car, I know, becuse we brazillians love to get into debt. Man, you're gonna be apying that shit for what, five, six years? How much do you think your piece of shit Uno will be worth once you've paid it all? I would trade it for a cum rag. Do you have any idea how long six years are? Do you have it all planned? You could be fired, you could get a stray bullet from a slum kid that was cleaning his drug dealer special christmas gift, a fucking TEC-9 or MP5, and I'm not talking about a fucking music player, no. You would be on a wheelchair, paying for the fucking decaying Uno piece of shit sitting forever on your garage. You don't know what could happen in five or six years, you fucking moron. "Yeah, but I get a car and you don't." With this traffic? I'm sometimes GLAD that I don't have a car, because I would've killed somebody at this point. Yeah! Have you noticed how these idiots drive? And they get mad at YOU! Fuck this shit. I'd rather step into a crowded bus and be led. And with this eternal bad mood I live in, Everyone steps out of my fucking way, "Oh man, look at that FREAK over there, no way I'm sitting next tho that THING." And It works, like a charm, and I find it great, to be honest. I'll sit down, NO ONE will seat next to me. No fucking body. I tell you man, it's one the advantages of having hatred and self-loathing as my fuel. And displaying this neo-nazi from the French renaissance looks, wearing wife-beaters, and all these tattoos showing. 

or:

- I'm glad, sometimes, that I don't own any guns. Because, at this point in my life, either I would've gone berserk shooting random people at the street until someone put me down with a fucking bullet. Or I would've gone all Jackson Pollock, using my fucking piece of shit brains as a medium. Now THAT'S art, eh? I bet someone would buy the fucking wall splattered with my blasted head remains for at least a million dollars. If someone can afford to buy a fucking black square, they would be fucking DELIGHTED to purchase a real piece of ART - my final masterpiece, for at least a couple millions of dollars. And I would raise from the depths of hell, or wherever your fucking religion tells you that fucking LIE that "suicides don't get into heaven" or some shit like that, and I would emerge, all evil-red gleaming, a fucking TRIDENT on my clawed and furry hands, and I would mangle the idiot who would've buy a splatter of blood and brains someone sold on eBay or wherever, for a fucking billion, gazillion dollars. "Buriol's final masterpiece" - ART! Because these days, if you do a detailed, cross-hatched shaded drawing, it's not art, no. It's fucking GABAGE, according to today's "artists". But you put a glass of water in the center of a white room, now that's art. And nobody questions it, because they're fucking idiots. "Eh, it looks contemporary, and has a message..." Yeah. Let me tell you the message it sends: "There is a fucking hoax of an "artist" with his discourse or whatever they call it, memorized, and everyone applaud them, because they don't want to look dumb." - Herd behaviour, ever heard of that? It applies specially to these "art" installations. A friend of mine, who is TRULY an artist, draws magnificient cartoons, told me he took a photgraph of an electrical installation, and his teacher went crazy, "Oh, how magnificient!" - This would be one of the people I would add to my "fresh meat" menu. And I would've take a photograph of me cannibalizing this idiot, and it would sell for a gazzilion dollars. ART! There you go, motherfucker, ART.

(continuing)But I was talking about guns. Yeah, I don't have one, and I just told you, it's for the best. But you know what I do have, sitting on my nightdesk right beside my bed? A fucking HATCHET. And it's not even brand new, I found it on a toolbox on the attick I live in - Yes, I live in a fucking attic, and I love it! I fucking love it, you know why? Because most people are afraid of attics. And mine, they fucking should be, because if someone breaks in someday, the first thing they'll encounter is a fucking human pit bull from the renaissance, hadlebars 'stache and all, wielding a fucking hatchet. And I would use it, I swear to you, if that motherfucker shot me and missed, that would be the las fucker he'd ever shoot in his miserable lifetime. And then, I'd go, "Ah well, I cannot get this fresh meat go to waste, you know?" 

Thank you and goodnight. And stay the fuck away from me! I hate people, and you all are quite fresh, except from the old ones terrified and already trying to open the emergency doors!