Solidão faz Doideiras....

....tipo, re-adentrar na rede mundial de coisas idiotas e "curtir". 

É, foi  minha doideira do final de semana. Voltar ao Lamebook. 

E de fato, como se perde tempo naquilo. Meu domingo inteiro foi pro espaço. Mas...me senti menos solitário, de fato, pois toda hora aparecia alguém que eu não via há seculos em breves chats, alguns eternos inacabados, outros mais duradouros.

Doideira produz doideira. Eu, que jurei nunca mais voltar lá depois do episódio lamentável que custou a "carreira" de meu amigo Gabriel "Nazista" Spinola, lé estava eu, pondo fotos, classificando filmes, escolhendo bandas que gosto e etc. 

Mas aqui no silviço nem passo perto. E recuso-me terminantemente de instalar o app no celular, uma vez que sempre que for ali me adentrar estarei em casa, diante de um monitor de 24 polegadas. PRa que ficar olhando miniaturas na tela de um SIII? E não possuo plano de internet móvel nem pretendo ter, então, qual o sentido de ter tal app? Nenhum. 

Me sinto meio envergonhado, mas de certa forma, tambem, menos sozinho no sótão.

Infelizmente, esta foi a única forma que encontrei para sanar um pouco da enlouquecedora solidão.

E agora veremos o vem em seguida...

Cinza-feira.

Bem, hoje é aquele dia famoso, quarta de feira de cinzas, que não sei diabos o que significam, catolicamente(idiotamente) falando. Algo sobre fazer uma crus de cinzas nas cabeças dos imbecis, ou devotos, dê a eles o nome que quiser. Sei que para esta maravilhinda empresa que trabalho, significa expediente, das 12:15 às 5 da tarde. E cá esou, 9:07 da manha, a fazer cinzas e poluir o ambiente de minha sala, privilegio este que só tenho direito em tais dias, quando não há ninguém por perto. Ainda tentei fazer café, num artefacto destes:

Porém, não sei se é culpa da marca do artefacto em si, ou se todos os modelos de cafeteira deste estilo são uma verdadeira MERDA, pois tudo que consegui foi um café aguado e frio,bem diferente dos cafézes que faço em casa. E ainda usei café supostamente "extra-forte" nela, e tudo que consegui foi um dos piores cafés que já tomei. Pior ainda que o Cold Brew - mal aí, Rafael, meu irmão, mas aquele treco que vocês consomem é um verdadeiro desperdídcio de um café Verdemar caríssimo para se obter um chafé - sou muito mais adepto do café passado no coador, como é tradicionalmente feito nesta minas gerais. Mas não se preocupe, não é o pior café que já tomei. O PIOR mesmo se chama "café turco", em que o pó é misturado direto na água quente e depois tomado. E tem gente que até come o pó depois. Diz minha mãe fazer muito sucesso na minha "segunda" terra natal - Rapública Tcheca. ARGH! Aquilo é horrendo.

E cá estou, neste escrotório vazio, a fumar onde não deveria fumar, único "privilege" que tenho - existem duas máquinas a serem formatadas, mas pelo que pude ver nelas, ainda tem de ser feito algum backup ou coisa do gênero, então nem vou arriscar a mexer com estas ditas antes de meu chefe do TI realmente me explicar o que tem de ser feito. Para depois não dar merda e ter que passar horas e horas recuperando dados. 

Eu tentaria fazer um café de verdade no terceiro andar,mas...espere um pouco...acho que sei onde há uma chave sobressalente para tal andar. Irei verificar e ver se ao menos isso eu posso fazer, um café coado na hora, devidamente forte, devidamente CAFÉ, como gosto.

Senão vejamos. Caso contrário, irei panguar aqui até dar a hora do primeiro idiota feito eu chegar....

Rage Fit Aftermath.

Let me tell you, I'd rather be at work today.

Why?

Because being by myself in this attic is taking its toll.

Because I'm always alone, and these fucking piece of shit meds ain't working no more. The only use I see for the, is to fucking drain my salary by 80%. - to do nothing at all.(except Rivotril, that shit still works to put me to sleep)

Last night, I was on the infamous "zapzap" with a friend of mine, and the talk we had made me go on a fucking rampage. And since I can't play "Fight Club" on myself anymore, lest I'll be fucking fired on the spot, I've been gathering useless pieces of shit for me to destroy on such rampages.

And oh, the hatchet went down on them, yes it did - until it lost its destructive "head" - after all, it's a more than 100 years old tool.

Here are the results:

Yeah, that WAS a SSD disk, bt do not fret - it was useless. Not working.

I'm going crazy, and I know it. 

Alguém.

Alguém,
é ninguém.
Alguém,
perdeu o que tinha,
e o que restou,
nada.
Nada.
Alguém não vive,
dura.
E como é duro!
viver,
durar
de
tal maneira.
Alguém
não crê
em ninguém,
muito menos
em si.
Alguém
é objeto,
é elogiado
feito objeto,
abjeto seja.
Abjeto seja!
Vida?
Isto?
Vida?
Alguém
dormiu
no ponto,
perdeu
o ônibus,
perdeu
a passagem,
a viagem,
agora
passa,
como alguém
que não sabe
de nada,
nada!
Não sabe de
nada.
Nunca foi
nada.
Nunca será
nada.
Alguém
é
ninguém.

Employee of no-month.

For those of you who still haven't seen - and/or believe this is how I look nowadays, here it is....in full funchato's oficcial garb, slave collar and all.

Yeah, I know. A guy trying to stay in the shadows, looking like THIS. Makes perfect sense. Oh, my fucked head. At least it feels like I'm petting a dog, while I rub it on interior shame.

Pay-day 2014-A vs 2014-B.

(For those who don't know, I still consider this piece of shit year to be a mere continuation of the shittiest year EVER, 2014. Hence, the letters after the numbers.)

Pay-day 2014-A:

Me: Sweet! I got money! I'm gonna spend it all on drugs!

Pay-day 2014-B

Me: Shit, I got money. Fuck, I'm gonna have to spend it all on drugs.(meds)

Thus, it ends this sort comedy act.

Lost At Sea.

Lost at sea, lost at life -
no navigation tools or compass
to guide me -
just lost, so lost.
I've been a broken machine,
since I was born,
a handfull of pills
seemed to fixed me,
but no, oh no,
because I'm still lost
at sea
at life
No one beside me
but virtual friends,
virtual lovers,
and as the day comes
they hover, and disappear.
leaving me here,
lost.
No problems have been fixed
I'm still a fucking Omega,
left behind by the pack.
my past is my present
and my present is my past,
I don't drink, I don't drive,
I don't stay alive,
I simply am.
Lost.
A modern fucking clown,
shaved head, and bearing
handlebars 'stache,
I don't know why.
People stare, people laugh
at this post modern
neo nazi from the XVIII
century, I don't know why,
a cry for help, maybe,
a warning sign,
This man is lost,
this clown is Omega,
left behind
from almost
everyone
everywhere,
everyone I've ever met,
they carry on,
and thrive,
while I'm still lost at sea,
lost at life,
no future, no future,
People get married,
get boyfriends,
get a life -
what do I got?
A shaved head
handlebars 'stache,
and the general
laughter of all around
me. Lost. Lost. Lost.
No compass, no tools,
just a fucking fool,
Lost, utterly lost,
at life, at sea.

There, I Fixed It.

I'm not gonna tell you it wasn't easy, but then again, I'm not here to brag or whatever. But the fact is, that after much struggle with the soldering iron and mending pieces of wire that weren't supposed to break off, I did it. I fucking did it. 

My GCB-95 is fully operational once again. But let me tell you, it had been stored away since...well, at least 1999, or so, when this piece of rotted away:

That's the potentiometer that gives a wah-wah its distinctive sound. And since I bought mine already used, paying R$ 100 at the time, a bargain those days, I had no idea on how long it would last. 

The previous owner had been a slacker too, as you can tell by its cover underneath the unit:

Other than that, it was fully original, Dunlop-made GCB-95. I had fun with it but I'm no Hendrix. Never been able to even emulate the beggining of "Voodo Chile(Slight Return)"And when I bought the multi-effects Boss ME-50, I thought I'd be set, because it has an expression pedal, but the wah on that thing is so...goddamned LAME compared to this baby. I really thought of throwing it away, because once the potentiometer wears out, you're left with a cranky, noise machine. And back then, I never thought of fixing it myself. We had no Mercado Livre on that time, the very dawn of internet itself. eBay was a thing that sounded so absurd, no one would believe it back then.

Those days, my friends , were the first ones I've ever herad of an MP3 file compression, ant if THAT sounded like a fucking 'too-good-to-true' thing on those days, you can imagine how life sucked , in techonological terms, where a lot of labs in the biology department were still using XT computers...

Well, back to the wah. I bought one of these from our nowadays "true" eBay:

that's quite a bit different from the original one, compare them:

Those newer ones are supposed to be "dust-proof"and whatnot - but let me tell you, I missed those "soldering rings" on the new ones, as I went on my weekend's electrical engineer project - you'd have to wrap the wire around the contacts, then add the acid - not LSD, my friends, not anymore - to such comtact and solder them together. The instructions were clear and plain enough, yellow wire goes to the bottom, black wire went to the left one, and now bue - that was the tricky one, because it divided on two extensions, both went to the rightmost terminal, and it continued on to the pedal effect on/off switch. That was where I fucked up things a bit, because the blue wire that continue on from the potentiometer to the switch, it was way too short.

Here's a picture that shows where I fucked up:

I fucked up because the blue extension was so short, and I had to firmly attach the pot - again, not the drug I no longer use - and mounting the pot firmly was quite a bitchy thing to do, it kept on tuning, instead of the nut itself...and it broke off the connection between the pot and the on/off switch. Took me a while to figure it was broken, and since said extension was so short, I had to improvise:

You will notice that the blue connection had to be extended - I took a piece of whatever wire I could get my hands on- in this case, a reddish one, and mend it together with the broken, shorty blue wire that went on to the switch. Then I finally finished to put the pot on its place tightly enouh, using a tool to grasp on the pot itself, and firmly rotate the nut that held verything on place, praying it would work.

Luckily for me, it worked like a charm, and thus the pedal was fixed. Man, I am glad that I stored it away from all these years. Here's how it looked before I even set to work on its innards:

Quite a dirty motherfucker, if you'll compare to a brand new one:

I've managed to clean up some of the dust and grime away with a wet toothbrush, and still loks old enough...

Well, it doesn't really matter. The fact is that it IS fully functional again. I'm really glad I did not throw it away when the old pot rotted away. I purchased the new one from eBay, paid in total US$ 32,90 - quite a bargain if you compare to the R$ 120,00 that I'd have to pay on Mercado Livre....but nyhow, the damned thing stood on "customs clearence" for like a fucking month. I can only imagine all the other little thingies I've bought there will remain on that shitty clearence bullshit.

Now, to get that Hendrix feel, that remains to be seen - and heard - from this restored thing. One thing is a fact, though - it DEFINITELY sounds like a wah, not that crappy wah-emulated sound off the ME-50 from Boss. Shame on you, Boss!

If only this rotting finger of mine healed more promptly, I could get it to work faster...yeah, it is still quite nasty.

It almost seems that it'll get detached if I try and pry it of....argh,no. Better not even think about it.

So there you go, it has been quite a plumber-and-electrical-engineer weekend...

Do It Yourself.

Man, I surely had a tough week. Leg-se tough, I mean. Because, as many people around here know, I am the insane type of person who wakes up every fucking working day at 4 AM, a time that not even the birds are awake, doing their fucking chirps, "defending" their territory against other males. I woke up at this time because of my previous experience being a shithead, trashy-weed leftovers picker at the 4/20 square, known to me once again by its less than true name, Praça do Papa.

But like I stated here boefore - and will confirm it agai, my times of being a fucking pothead are over, just fucking over. Because not only they were messing with my fucking expensive depression treatment, an addict gotta know when it's time to say "Fuck this shit, I'm quitting this shit!" - specially when you are so fucking stoned you just break a more or less brand-new Galaxy SIII SIM card reader, and turn it into a useless piece of shit. Fortunately, I'm known of being a resourceful, if not cheap bastard who've seen a video of someone reapiring the same part of the phone I've damaged while being fucked-up stoned, and thought, "I could do this too, y'know." - and I did. I bought the broken part my stoned , clumsy hands damaged and replaced it, an it worked like a charm.

As the months passed by, a lot of stuff round my Tower of Solitude became more or less like that phone I could esasily repair. Like the bathroom sink's faucet, that became a non-stop leaking device. So I've opened it up, turned out that wasn't just a matter of simply changingthe rubber disk that seals the water, no. Something the plumbers called "reparo" had gone to hell, thus it never fully closed, just kept on spinning and eltting water leak out. So, I said, "Fuck this, I'll buy a whole new faucet." And that I did - on my universal virtual shop nowadays - the brazilian version of eBay, without the 10000 days waiting for your fucking order fo US$ 3.25 to ever arrive(and that IS a fact, ladies and gentleman - eBay my look tempting, but I do not reccomend it for anyone who wishes to wait less than an year for such cheap things to ever arrive here, stay locked-up on a warehouse on werever, stating that they are under "Customs Clearence" procedure- a procedure that apparently takes 10000 days, even it is a harmless thing like a set of guitar picks.). But we have our own EBay -You know - Mercado Livre. I bought a new faucet there, and changed the whole thing. Not that it waas an easy thing to do, no - specially to a fucking biologist who works as an IT assistant or "forever Auxiliar Administrativo" - according to my fucking piece of shit paycheck. I am not a fucking plumber, but had to act like one last night. Thankfully, after at least one hour or so of frustrated attempts, I've got the thing fixed, and was able to just toss away the ond, shitty one. 

There was another plumbing defect that was driving me nuts there - the hygienic shower beside the toilet, a thing that I tried to "fix" by whatever cheap menas available -meanind, the thing was much more of a hygiencid shower made of duct tape more than anything - and I don't know, north americunts are always claiming that "if can't be solved by WD-40 and duct tape, it can't be fixed." - either they are wrong, not a surprisingly fact about north americunts, or there is a way easier solution - you just remove the scorpion from your pocket and purchase a new one. That's what I did - I bought a brand new one on our brazilian eBay also. Yes, nowadays, I'm purchasing everything I need of that site - and most of the time, there had been no errors, except when they've sent an SIV cover for my sister instead of a SII, a thing that's been finally settled in, but not on amicable terms. Also, they've sent us a shitty SIII battery - but that's to be expected sometimes. I heard a brad new one, directly from the Samsung store, goes around 90 bucks, and we paid a third of that, on each one. There'll be some shitty chinese rip-off ones amongst them, to be sure. Of course ther'll be. For a third of the price on an original one? I'll take my chances with the $30 ones. But I digress. Changing the hygienic shower was the easier plumbing job I've ever done. I just took the reamins of the old hose, and attached the new one. I didn't even had to replace the water register. Done. No more leaking, no more duct tape, no more fuss. 

Well, I was saying something about eBay, and I've received three things I bought directly from the US - the moustache wax, which turned out to be a disappointment, since I finally figured there a WAY cheaper and WAY mor efficient equivalent on our brazilian version of eBay. Oh well, live and learn. I've also got a brass slide, which I havent tried out yet, sinve I still got that rotthen fingernail on my lef hand, that's been preventing me to play ever since it got crushed by that bench press incident. And I also got the most challenging item of them all - the Crybaby Wah-wah potentiometer. Now THAT will prove to be a challenge to replace, I guess. Because it involves not only tinkering with mechanical parts, there'll be some soldering involved also. From the diagram on the back of the potentiometer case, it looks simple enohu, but I dunno. Well, If I am able to fix this by myself, I'll end up having a somewhat brand-new GCB-95, one of the hottest wahs in existence, and WAY hotter than the piece of shit I got on my pedal board. 

So, let's get to it. I'll keep you posted about my failure or success on this one....

Alpha's B.D.

No, I haven't forgotten.
The 30th of January.
The day the Alpha's been born.
No, I haven't called,
I haven't left a message,
maybe because of sheer spite,
maybe because I got nothing much to say.
I am Omega, he's the Alpha,
It has always been,
It will always be.

The Alpha's got it all,
while the Omega has
nothing at all.

The Alpha's got the looks
got the dough, he's rolling
in cash, while the Omega
counts the scraps to pay
for his mental illness' meds.

The Alpha's got it all,
A nice car, a nice flat
he's even get luckier
while the Omega
has nothing
at all.

The Alpha's got muscles of steel
He's even get luckier in areas
the Omega's barely discovering,
and no luck at all - not even there
nor here, nowhere.
The Omega's got
nothing at all.

Firstborn male son,
Thus the Alpha has born,
on January the 30th
I haven't forgot it at all.

Firstborn, male son,
he's the fucking Alpha
while the Omega is
the middle child
and the middle child
is always an Omega,
is always a fuck-up.

Brothers, by the same
parents conceived,
by the same womb
we were born,
but he's the Alpha
I am Omega.

Even though we were
flesh and blood, bound
by DNA, we were born
to different paths,
different stories,
I am the Omega,
the fucking loser.
You're the Alpha
the fucking winner.

He's got it all - looks,
intelligence, drive,
and fearless motives
He's rolling in cash,
while the rest of us,
losers to you,
count every single penny
just to get by another day.

An no, the Alpha doesn't share,
he's even got his food labeled
and locked away, while we
were eating the same old bread.
stale old bread - he was having
caviar or some priceless shit,
The Alpha did not share,
will not share,
does not care.

When we were kids,
it appeared to be,
that we were good friends,
good brothers,
but no, oh no - I am Omega
I was his bitch, he was the Alpha,
do as told or he will kick your ass
from Monday to Saturday,

I am Omega, he was
the pack leader,
the evil leader,
of mischevious deeds,
and unfortunate events.

I had no choice but to follow,
for I was his bitch, do as told,
or the shit will unfold,
two blows, I was disarmed,
breathless, wounded and sore,
I was always the Omega.

Nowadays, I'm told he wonders
why we strayed away from each
other. Really?
Really?
Do you even wonder, o glorious Alpha
Why I kept away?

For one, I am Omega,
and a fucking loser,
living in a dusty atic
living with our time-bomb
living mother,
while you are rolling in cash,
living in a fucking nice flat,
somewhere away from us
- and thank whatever deity's in charge
for that - you really do wonder,
nothing rings a bell?

How about the labelled ice cream,
labelled wondrous food you
kept for yourself, while we -
losers all, specially me, the Omega,
had to eat stale old bread?

You invite our own mother
to your nice fucking flat,
and tell that SHE has to bring
the fucking food?
even while you're rolling
in fucking cash, how LOW
is that? How fucking LOW is that?!

O Glorious Alpha,
brothers apart,
I am Omega,
I got
fucking
nothing
at all.

I am left with the cobwebs,
the brown recluses,
and my self-made gym,
I will never, ever be
as glorious as thee,
O Glorious Alpha.

I have chosen a
different brother
for myself, and he's
an Alpha too,
but not a DICK like
you are, o Glorious ALPHA.

I am Omega,
I will always be Omega,
I will die alone like
every Omega should,
but at least, I will
have a truer brother
in another Alpha,
much more humane
than you ever were.

Happy Birthday, o Glorious Omega.
Hope someday you'll realize
the errors in your ways,
but you're to much
lawful evil
to do
so.