Friday, 21 December 2007

You talkin' to me? - Galaxy fires powerful particle beam at neighbour

Tuesday, 23 October 2007

North American Union - Part II

North American Union, the price of everything in London, winter is coming, but I don't care. I'm happy, amazed, wondering, wandering through this melting pot of a city, laughing quietly at the loyal Indians that, despite the chilly evening, stroll around in sandals and thin saris. Yeah man. They really stick to it. No "life is a river" kind of babble for them.

I think this mood I'm in is partly because I don't read the papers anymore. Ordered The New Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards and Java for Dummies and now I wake up and rush to the front door to see if I can soon start being a drawing geek. I'm gonna draw and program until the S.W.A.T. storm in through the window (cool!) requesting an accurate list of previous residencies. I can't remember!! For fuck sake!

They will go through my stuff for evidence to find a pile of weird shit, and amongst it all, my most recent favourite: Why Cats Paint: A Theory of Feline Aesthetics. They will yell "weirdo!" and I'll yell "sheep!" and they will jump out of the window into a wicked army green helicopter and fly away. I'll stare at their bums and think "nice outfit".

If that's not the sort of thing you add after "North American Union", I would say you're heading the wrong way.

Let us make them obsolete.

North American Union???

Friday, 5 October 2007

Speed of light barrier broken - Arrive before you leave

If zooming beyond the local speed limit is punishable by law, then some scientists may have a gargantuan speeding ticket to pay.

In a controversial experiment reported in this weeks journal Nature, scientists at the NEC Research Institute in Princeton, New Jersey claim to have broken the ultimate speed limit -- the speed of light. Though hotly contested, some say this achievement could dramatically increase the speeds at which we can send and receive information.

Taught in physics classes the world over, Albert Einsteins theory of special relativity holds that no object or information can move faster than the speed of light in a vacuum, or 186,000 miles (300,000 kilometers) per second. But NECs Lijun Wang says he created an experiment in which a light beam raced through a gas-filled chamber so quickly, it exceeded the speed of light by a factor of 300. Whats more, the light pulse appears to have left the confines of the chamber before it even entered a seemingly impossible occurrence according to theories of causality, which predict that causes must always precede their effects.

"It sounds crazy, but this can actually occur," said Raymond Chiao, a physicist at the University of California at Berkeley. Chiao, one of a group of researchers who have been working to break the speed-of-light limit, explained that although a common object such as a baseball could never be flung faster than the speed of light, pulses of energy with certain complex properties have been known to bend the rules.

[...]most scientists agree that even if such a beam can be proved speedier than light, it would probably not be able to carry any information. Such a feat could conceivably allow data to be sent back in time, thus violating laws of causality and sending quantum physics into disrepair.

More on

Or BBC News Sci/Tech

Wednesday, 3 October 2007

8 for eternity

If you went outside at exactly the same time every day and took a picture that included the Sun, how would the Sun appear to move? With great planning and effort, such a series of images can be taken. The figure-8 path the Sun follows over the course of a year is called an analemma. With even greater planning and effort, the series can include a total eclipse of the Sun as one of the images. Pictured is such a total solar eclipse analemma or Tutulemma - a term coined by the photographers based on the Turkish word for eclipse. The composite image sequence was recorded from Turkey starting in 2005. The base image for the sequence is from the total phase of a solar eclipse as viewed from Side, Turkey on 2006 March 29. Venus was also visible during totality, toward the lower right.

Astronomy Picture of the Day

Some people hang out on the Beach in Turkey recording analemmas. Lovely.

Sunday, 16 September 2007

Have you got a lighter, please?

At about 100 meters from the cargo bay of the space shuttle Challenger, Bruce McCandless II was further out than anyone had ever been before. Guided by a Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU), astronaut McCandless, pictured above, was floating free in space. McCandless and fellow NASA astronaut Robert Stewart were the first to experience such an "untethered space walk" during Space Shuttle mission 41-B in 1984. The MMU works by shooting jets of nitrogen and has since been used to help deploy and retrieve satellites. With a mass over 140 kilograms, an MMU is heavy on Earth, but, like everything, is weightless when drifting in orbit. The MMU was replaced with the SAFER backpack propulsion unit.

Astronomy Picture of the Day


I'm looking forward to saturday the 22nd. It's the official Sanford Party!! We're having it large again over here, and I'm playing at midnight, the witches' time. :) I would love you to come.

To get in the mood for the party, here's what I think it's going to be the number one hit:

Lady Bug - Bumblebee Unlimited

Tuesday, 11 September 2007


For you to sleep as nicely as I will tonight.

Prefuse 73 - Perverted Undertone

Tuesday, 4 September 2007

mmmm... Berries!

I lived most of my childhood in a house with a garden in the Italian suburbs of Sao Paulo. No no. Rephrase that. As a child, I spent most of my days up a mango tree in my back garden. Mangoes, I had loads. Looking at old pictures with my mum one day, I spotted a huge tree that obviously wasn’t there anymore. Why did you cut it, Mama? I asked. She said it was an old blackberry tree and it was cut because it would cover the sun and stain the clothes drying underneath it. I felt bad. I really like berries and would love to have had a close relationship with them as I had with mangoes. I grew fonder of berries.

Berries are expensive in Sao Paulo. They come in little boxes that cost nearly 10 pounds! Some days I would refrain from buying New Kids on the Block posters to eat berries. I once gave up my religious Saturday visit to a club (yes, I used to go to clubs when I was11) just to sit in the park and eat berries.

But then I turned 18 and started experimenting with illegal substances/boys/weirder clubs and forgot about berries, as one would. Berries would come to my mind, sometimes in-between clubs, in the queue for the loo or waiting for a drink, those rare moments of clarity, but I wasn't really listening to my inner fruit.

That lifestyle was harming me so much (too much fun is bad for you) I had to come to London (haha), and to my surprise, berries are not that expensive here! I eat berries everyday. If a bad Karma takes me to Oxford Street I buy huge boxes of all types of berries in one of those fruit stalls that sometimes only sell berries (!!!), sit in Soho Square and press them against my face, laughing hysterically.

My most extraordinary berry moment was when I went to Finland with Mike Camel and hand picked wild berries in the forest. Free berries!!! I would roll in the grass and cry, shake the little berry bushes over my head with my mouth open until I swallowed a caterpillar a stopped being silly. Mike's Grandma would make fresh berry pies every night and I confess I felt sick of berries for a day or two. But that's past. I still love berries.

I wonder if I had the blackberry tree in my garden, would I still frenetically buy then everyday? I think I would. My friend T says we want what we can't have, and when we get it we value it much more, or find something else to crave for. She told me to play hard to get like berries in Brazil to make guys falls for me. I find this idea very distressing; I don’t need it, but recognize the pattern. I caused me serious problems. I tend to let people know how I feel about them, so if I like someone I kiss, hug, massage them and tell them how amazing they are from the very beginning. I did make some run away, fucking larval humans, and deeply regret it later. Don't call me anymore, hahaha. Brainwashed larvals on automatic pilot must perish.

The other way around is even worse. I say I’m not interested and they think I'm playing hard. I don't return their calls and they think it's cute. Fucking hell, people. You’re deranged! I'd rather play Pac Man!

We can't do much about "human nature". Let it be. But as I said to my friend T, I won't treat people badly in order to keep them near. That seems sick to me. I think you misinterpret the message. Everyone loves someone who's got a life. If you take time to reply the message or return a phone call to someone you like, it's because you were running between meetings, gym, work, cinema, and when you get home you do it calmly, in your own time. That's sexy. You can't spend more time with the loved one because you're working on a dream project. That's hot! That's what we want!

Playing games, to me, it's like simulating a busy, interesting life when you haven't got it. Got it?

I kept on being me. I'm all over my boyfriend. No games between us, I say. If I can't answer the phone it's because I've got my mouth full of berries.

Friday, 17 August 2007

"The Matrix" on the news

Wednesday, 15 August 2007


"If a foolish man is associated with a wise man, even all his life, the foolish man will understand truth as little as a spoon understands the taste of soup." (Buddha)

My friend K called me to ask if I was ok after reading my last 2 depressing posts. You know, the flypaper one and the by the pond one. She's so lovely, little K. Don't worry K. I wrote the second one by the sea, watching my workmates commenting on gossip magazines, boats passing by, sun shinning. It's fiction, with a touch of reality, K. Just a touch. But thanks for calling.

I'm not blogging as often. Lots of funny things happened and they would fill this space gloriously if it wasn't for my foolish attempt to write in E-Prime. It is not easy to eliminate the verb "to be" from our writing, ladies and gentleman, but apparently it restructures the way we think, and obviously the way we sound. But it takes time to get used to it, and it sounds weird as fuck, for instance, to substitute "Portishead is better than Shakira" for "In my mixed state of musical education and ignorance Portishead seems better than Shakira to me". Or even, "the phone is ringing" replaced by "The phone registers as ringing to my human ears".

So now I spend my time translating my once flowing writing to E-Prime, and sometimes it sounds so hilarious I just give up and laugh. It will definitely make me even more weird, especially if I get very good at it and start speaking in E-Prime. And I will. Fuck Aristotelian logic.

Monday, 13 August 2007

Ecover loses green backing over 'animal tests' on a 0.2mm flea

The world's biggest supplier of environmentally friendly cleaning products is embroiled in a bizarre row over 'animal-testing' - on tiny water fleas.

Products by Ecover, which the company says are not tested on animals, carry the prized Vegan Society mark. They fill shelves of British supermarkets and help the Belgian-based firm achieve a £30million annual turnover. But the Vegan Society is to refuse permission for its trademark to be used when the endorsement comes up for renewal later this month.

The move follows a tip-off that Ecover uses the water fleas - between 0.2mm and 5mm long - to test the effects of detergents on aquatic life. According to Ecover, the microscopic crustacean - scientific name Daphnia - found in rivers, streams, lakes and ponds, isn't actually an animal. Certainly it's not covered by EU animal-testing rules which are limited to vertebrates past a specified embryonic stage. But the Vegan Society members consider water fleas - named for their jumping style of swimming - as "part of the animal kingdom".

Chief executive Nigel Winter said: "We have mutually agreed with Ecover to withdraw our registration because they are not meeting our criteria."

More at the Daily Mail website

Tuesday, 7 August 2007

Ok, today I'll make an effort. We sit by the pond and he tells me of his life, cup of tea in his hand. He tells me of his loves, his dreams, his job, and jokes. I think of socks and where the socks go. Where do the socks go?

I think socks are cool things. They are revolutionary beings, constantly asking themselves: How do I feel? How's my life? What do I want? Am I getting what I want? If not, why not? Then they fuck off somewhere nice, far away from our washing machines and drawers. They don't fool themselves with a sense of purpose in sacrifice, suffering and submission to our feet. They have seen it all.

In their quiet demeanor resides pure wisdom. As you walk to the washing machine carrying your dirty clothes, thinking about how you feel about your shoes, socks stare into the detergents eyes. Socks know detergents say they have compassion for your hands, but they just crack grease molecules and infect the water, just like Jesus loves you. Before Jesus was, socks are.

Socks! I scream quietly inside my mind. How can I generalize so unjustly! Some socks think for themselves, but not all. As I notice the tendency to absolutism, I mentally run away and bang my head into a huge cynicism. Ouch!

I must be crazy. Where's the middle way, please? My eyes focus outwards again and he's still sitting by my side, half way through his cup of tea, tapping his foot, talking. I hear him saying David Hasselhoff and it makes me laugh hysterically. He smiles, and says half mumbling: You know what, Debbie? It was really good to open my heart to you. ☺ It doesn’t always happen, you know. You are a good listener.

Shame on me, somewhere else all the time. I smile back, and sadness creeps in. I try thinking of socks again but now they're just a garment. My phone rings. Perfect excuse to leave. Bye! Gone. I switch off the phone and walk fast towards my house. Two girls giggle loudly in the front garden. I pass by smiling and overhear the conversation. They're talking about big brother. I want to die.

My house seems miles away. My legs feel short. My head hurts. I have nothing in common with anyone. My room walks towards me and embraces me with love. I’m safe in my loneliness.

Monday, 6 August 2007

Six ways to increase intelligence:

Increase the diversity of input (varieties of sensory perceptions)
Increase the diversity of transformations (multiple meanings/interpreations/metaphors)
Increase the diversity of output (expression/application)
Improve the conditions of the physical support systems (body, environment)
Remove or reduce the environmental factors which inhibit intelligence (labels, bureaucracies, etc.)
Increase the environmental factors which support intelligence (trust, communities, unpredictability, communication technologies, etc.)
Bureaucracies are designed to reduce intelligence by limiting information (input) and conditioning pre-defined interpretations of value, authority and procedures (transformations) while increasing obedience and efficiency (output). Fixed hierarchies remain fixed through force (or threat of force = terrorism).

Natural hierarchies reflect the intelligence of a system by constantly changing, emerging and dissipating relative to the needs of specific situations.

Communities are designed to increase intelligence by presenting new information (input), discussing new perspectives (transformations) and offering new actions and tools for sharing, participating and fellowship (output).

Sunday, 15 July 2007


I never really thought about that flypaper. It was there, full of dead flies, a few passing away, some seemed to shiver, some endured their faith with honour. And I did look at it, sometimes for more than a minute, but this creepy vision never reached my real inner mind. Why don't we use lemon plant? We'll buy a lemon plant to keep them away, and this action will send ripples all across the world.

We are changing our behaviour, but never ever sweeping under the carpet our first attempt to kill the flies with torture. I sit in the garden ripping the grass, thinking obscure thoughts, body and mind as one. I wanna kill it, and kill myself. I wanna destroy. 13th day without cigarettes. I read Quantum Psychology for the 10th time wondering if I ever gonna really apply it fully.

I'll let the grass grow, the flies fly away, and use flypaper with him, to see if he will endure it, or shiver and cry. He talks about himself all the time, and I listen, truly interested in everything he says. I love his ideas. I tell him about my own things and his mind slips away, entangled in his own foolishness. Why have I fallen in love so deeply? He's so selfish.

I called him yesterday and said something really stupid that will keep him away for a long time, I hope. It has to be this way, like an old band-aid. You have to pull it quick otherwise you'll feel every hair being pulled out. Oh, God, it hurts.

I used to pull band-aids slowly, haha. But now I know the trick. I am that selfish cunt. I will wake up every morning thinking about him until the day I truly understand I'm outrageously selfish too. Selfish and fickle.

Tuesday, 26 June 2007

When I say hey, thou shalt not say ho!

Tuesday, 5 June 2007

We're having it large!

Tuesday, 22 May 2007

Safe Now

Friday, 18 May 2007

Cure for Hiccups

Same job today. I'm still picking the devil's teeth with poison in my guts, thinking anytime I want I can fart and kill it. I'm wrong, obviously. Devil senses something weird in his mouth, take me out of it and glance at me with charm. Sometimes I feel like fucking the Devil, but then my shift is over and I go back home. And wank.

Thinking if I split myself into 3, I would still get jobs for all 3 of them.

My workmate taught me something amazing today. If you hiccup, someone is talking about you. To make it stop, say the name of people you think is talking about you. When you say the right name, the hiccups stop. It worked twice!!
I'm going to an Indian to test the hiccup thing.

Wednesday, 9 May 2007

Carmina Burana - Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

1.O Fortuna (O Fortune) - with Audio

O Fortuna, O Fortune,
velut luna, like the moon
statu variabilis, you are changeable,
semper crescis, ever waxing
aut decrescis; and waning;
vita detestabilis, hateful life
nunc obdurat, first oppresses
et tunc curat, and then soothes
ludo mentis aciem, as fancy takes it;
egestatem, poverty
potestatem, and power
dissolvit ut glaciem. it melts them like ice.

Sors immanis, Fate monstrous
et inanis, and empty,
rota tu volubilis, you whirling wheel,
status malus, you are malevolent,
vana salus, well-being is in vain
semper dissolubilis, and always fades to nothing,
obumbrata, shadowed
et velata, and veiled
michi quoque niteris; you plague me too;
nunc per ludum, now through the game
dorsum nudum, I bring my bare back
fero tui sceleris. to your villainy.

Sors salutis, Fate is against me
et virtutis, in health
michi nunc contraria, and virtue,
est affectus, driven on
et defectus, and weighted down,
semper in angaria. always enslaved.
Hac in hora, So at this hour
sine mora, without delay
corde pulsum tangite; pluck the vibrating strings;
quod per sortem, since Fate
sternit fortem, strikes down the strong man,
mecum omnes plangite! everybody weep with me!

2. Fortune plango vulnera (I bemoan the wounds of Fortune)

Fortune plango vulnera I bemoan the wounds of Fortune
stillantibus ocellis with weeping eyes,
quod sua michi munera for the gifts she made me
subtrahit rebellis. she perversely takes away.
Verum est, quod legitur, It is written in truth,
fronte capillata, that she has a fine head of hair,
sed plerumque sequitur but, when it comes to seizing an opportunity
Occasio calvata. she is bald.

In Fortune solio On Fortune's throne
sederam elatus, I used to sit raised up,
prosperitatis vario crowned with
flore coronatus; the many-coloured flowers of prosperity;
quicquid enim florui though I may have flourished
felix et beatus, happy and blessed,
nunc a summo corrui now I fall from the peak
gloria privatus. deprived of glory.

Fortune rota volvitur: The wheel of Fortune turns;
descendo minoratus; I go down, demeaned;
alter in altum tollitur; another is raised up;
nimis exaltatus, far too high up
rex sedet in vertice, sits the king at the summit -
caveat ruinam! let him fear ruin!
nam sub axe legimus, for under the axis is written
Hecubam reginam. Queen Hecuba.


Thursday, 19 April 2007

Happy Easter

Saturday, 7 April 2007

Stuck in the Tube

I used to live in a palace worth 12 thousand million Lindens. All rooms faced north and the sun would never set in my little empire cos I had natural light lamps everywhere, even in the dungeon, so my sexual slaves wouldn't suffer from seasonal affective disorder. My closest neighbour was a windmill 10 miles south so I felt alone and vulnerable. I read too many psychology books and was convinced the only way to find happiness was to live in a community, with cats and juggling hippies, so I packed up and moved to Sanford.

Now I am in this 6 meters square room and my clothes fall over my head every time I sneeze, but I'm happy cos I belong. I look out of the window and smile at the hippies. They shout "come Debbie, come enjoy the sun!" but I stay in, all naked apart from my mink coat, shinny leather boots and a glass of red wine.

I glued some bubble wrap on my door and sometimes hippies on acid come and pop the bubbles, laughing hysterically, and I laugh with them, popping my own personal bubbles inside my room with the heels of my leather boots. When it happens we connect and feel like one.

Twice a month we have meetings but I never go. I don't really agree on the method used to resolve issues. Persuasion, power of rhetoric, they all imply you are a very articulate person. I'm not articulate. I'm not gonna come down to groan at them like Chewy and even if I could express myself as well as a well-spoken public-school-eco-wacko I know deep inside they are up for themselves, like any other ordinary homo sapiens.

But they are quite keen to save the world (sic) so we are testing these new zero-carbon-emission boilers that burn wooden pellets. The system is so new nobody in the UK has it. It's the first time the company installs them boilers so, guess what, they didn't work for a month and a half. I froze to death in my little box, damning everyone, casting spells on all eco officers. We need to clean them once a week so guess what? Hahaha, yes. They are not sufficiently clean so the pellets get stuck in the tube and die.

I sometimes wonder if I wish to get stuck in the tube and die with them, or if I could maybe stick the officers in the tube with the pellets, but in the end I entertain myself imagining I'm stuck in the tube with someone interesting and the grief fades away.

There's a house meeting next week and I'm coming, but I won't say a word.

Tuesday, 3 April 2007

I'm a hermaphrodite

I'm a hermaphrodite. I feel quite independent cos I can fuck myself with my own big willy. At least I will be sure my children are mine. I'm a wanker with one too many options trying hard to convince the doctors I'm fine with it. Today I went to the sexual health clinic for my by-annual check up, rehearsing my lines, looking forward to the final moment of my appointment when I would finally get multi-coloured, multi-flavoured, ribbed condoms.

As I waited patiently in a baby-blue waiting room full of posters of Chlamydia awareness and help lines, a magazine flew on my lap so I thought it was a divine sign I should read it, and so I did.

There was a man trapped in there. He was a cynical English man, sent to a self-help workshop in order to write an article about it. He started with all those statistics on how miserable the nation feels, especially compared to Denmark. Denmark for those who don't know is a country full of blond semi-gods who can do pretty much anything. Those statistics looked like the ones that produce 54% of the country's GNP so I read it carefully.

He had lessons on compassion, responsibility, wisdom and all the other underrated feelings. He listened to the life stories of happy people and later remarked they were exactly the ones he wouldn't like to be trapped in a lift with. He's a lost case, just like some of his cynical compatriots.

When he sits by the table with his mates, tearing people apart, only laughing if the joke rips off someone's limb, deep in his unconscious he knows evolution already left him behind. He doesn't like to be miserable, but he knows no better. He can't change his patterns and the only thing left for him and his mates is sarcasm.

Now they are all concerned with their serotonin levels. Now they suggest schools teach what for thousands of years has been common sense in the east. They don't know why they feel so bad, especially in the mornings, but he doesn't even suspect when he cracks people's head open with his words he's digging his own grave.

I see the big picture as a river and as we float with the stream of life I wave to the sarcastic people trapped in the bend, like plastic bags and bottles. What a dire strait. I stretch in my ironic boat.

Saturday, 31 March 2007


All those ramblers, my bag full of strawberries and mushrooms, I set out a bit numb in the middle of the crowd with one thing in my mind: give up. I thought of myself as a beautiful corpse. I made a shrine inside my red channel lipstick and put all my desires in there. Don't get me wrong (or do, whatever), this is all very positive.

I thought at first the hard bit would be ignoring the sea of beautiful men coming my way, but it wasn't. It was my own self-righteousness. Yes, he came in black, all nice and smiley but I went the other way. Then another, a blond god, oh my gosh. If I were to design a man he would look just like that. Lots of tasty angles and the music. No. I managed to hold the mushroom twist and keep on studying paradoxes. I won't let you, blond Greek god, sweep me off my feet. I've got more important things to do.

My mates, bless them, so nice and cheerful, made me feel a glimpse of belonging every now and then. Belonging to the human race, let me explain in time, cos the unseen, the grass, the frequencies of the music, oh yeah, they all blinked at me 24/7. Love, love, love.

But then Serotonin levels started to run low and they all blamed each other for their own faults. To watch it is quite funny, sometimes boring, but certainly lovely under Hemsby sun. Since I decided to fight my addiction to self-righteousness, I managed to keep my mouth shut, never mentioning projections or the "like treat like" theory. A festival is not exactly the right time to trace parallels between Jung and Homeopathy.

My mind wondered quite a few times back to that Alpha A Plus semi-god in black, and for really long 5 seconds I even projected a holography of him leaning on the pool table. What a fucking cliche! I thought of a funny part on The War of Emmanuel's Neither Parts: "He was taught how to make knives and arrowheads out of teeth, mussel shell and split bamboo, he played music in the huts on pan-pipes, bark trumpets, and the goo. No woman was never allowed to see the musicians play in case she should think it effeminate, and any woman who did see was obliged to allow the offended musician to prove his virility."

What a brilliant fashion. Hey DJ, I think you are fucking gay.

Sunday, 18 March 2007

Finnish Disco Lesson

Tuesday, 13 March 2007


Wednesday, 7 March 2007


Do you know the feeling of no feeling? Fucking hell it rocks. I don't feel much anything. It's like... well... I'm not happy, I'm not sad, I'm not concerned or feeling repulsion in any way. I dragged myself to this word document, don't know why. Maybe is the reminiscent of a long time dead joy of expression, who knows. But yes, I walk around in a newly acquired state of mind, facing the once full of promises with a blank face, stumbling into chameleon thoughts changing from red to blue, whispering potential happiness with an accent of sorrow. I ignore them, and they go away. I know you bastards well and your hands are made of jelly, schizoid hands, take you to paradise and hell in no time. I chose neither. I don't choose neither.

I did not force myself into all this, dear reader. It happened to me after a wave of desire and I decided to keep it. Once you spend long enough into it, it keeps itself. I laugh at it and everything else, and I laugh a lot. Now THAT I had to force myself into at first. Not that I don't laugh, I do, but this is a different kind of laugh. It's much funnier than before and yet doesn't make my face go red. It is hilarious. It has no opposite. Just like Love.

Thursday, 15 February 2007

Viral marketing at its best

Wednesday, 14 February 2007


No, I didn't think at any second I wouldn't get it. England wants me. I want England too. 3 hours, no cigarettes, bags of documents were not that necessary in the end. No questions, they granted me the indefinite leave to remain in the UK. I could sign up tomorrow and sleep forever but I WON'T!! I'M GONNA GO TO NEW YORK! HAHAHAHA. IIIIIIIII WAAAAAANNA WAKE UP... IN THE CITY... THAT NEVER SLEEPS...

No, I won't. People, I'm off to my first cricket session. When in Rome, do like the Romans do, so I will play cricket, drink earl grey tea, talk about politics and other very masculine things while acting very gay. What? This is not very English? Blimey. So, I really don't know what to do. Forget about the English thing then. Let's just talk politics. Did you get your redemption yet? I've seen it real cheap on a Chinese website. Postage included.

While we're in the subject "hooked on things we can't control" I must say it is just an excuse for not doing the things we have control over. Do you remember that thing you said you would do? Yes, that one. Did you do it?

Saturday, 3 February 2007

I'm busy, very buzzzzzzy zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

A recent study conducted by the sociology department of Oxford University found out that most people under forty living in London spend 37% of their time telling other people how busy they are. 57% of the sociology department of Oxford University spend 24% of their time telling people they are too busy calculating how long people spend telling people how busy they are, and life goes on.

I decided not to be busy for the whole month of February and it rocks! I'm playing chess for an average 3 hours a day, sitting in my bed and breathing without any intent to meditate or do anything other than breath and sit for about 1 hour, avoiding my computer till I start shivering which takes me about 20 minutes each time, and finally making music, the only thing I'm actually doing. Please don't get jealous. It's a terrible feeling. I'm probably poorer than you if it makes you feel better.

Between one song and another I grabbed one of those magazines that comes with the Sunday newspaper and read an interview with Amy Winehouse. That was the first time I ever heard of her. I had this weird feeling that I, myself, was answering the questions. Every word she said could be mine. That was fucking scary. She's groovy and now that I heard her music I like her even more. Ladies and gentz, Amy Winehouse.

Also, great news: RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE IS BAAAACK!! I can see myself being thrown up and down in a stadium full of people, finally listening to one of the best bands on earth, LIVE! Thanks guys! You can't imagine how happy I am. I love you!! Rrrrraaaaaaaaaaghhbmabakbboagaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr!!!

Friday, 2 February 2007

Rejuvenation, mate.

An eagle can live up to 70 years but to reach this age she has a very difficult decision to make. When she reaches 40 she has long flexible claws that can't grab preys, her beak is long and bendy, her wings are too old, her feathers are heavy and she can't fly, so she has two options: die, or face a renovation period lasting 150 painful days.

If she decides to endure, she flies to the top of a mountain and hides in a nest close to a wall where she won't need to fly. She bangs her beak against the wall till it falls, then she waits till a new one grows so she can pull her claws off, and when new claws grow she pulls off her feathers. Ouch. So after 5 months are gone she flies away to live 30 years more.

I thought this was a beautiful analogy for renovation and explains well why I'm tearing my hair out, poking m eyes with a spoon, scratching my limbs with my midi cable, and other painful things, but there is nothing growing back. I'm just red and bleeding.

I decided to do my rejuvenation flight and went to a Soma workshop. It was created by somatherapist, writer and psychologist Roberto Freire in the 60 in Brazil, in the middle of the military regime and explores anarchism and group work. We spent 3 hours jumping out of tables over each other, being pushed and pulled in many fun ways, always secured that our mates would hold us. I really feel more confident and trustworthy after that. I recommend you all to do a Soma workshop if you have the time. After the next session we are going to get a group of people together to play different anarchist games once a week for 12 weeks. If you live in London, write Goia an email and he will send you more information: jorge.goia AT

Tuesday, 23 January 2007

Dreamland of Portishead

What is harder? Save the world or choose you favourite Portishead song? I think choosing. Who wants to have a favourite anyway? Who tha fuck came up with this idea in the first place? Favourite... Blah... The concept of favourite irritates me so deeply it makes me hate a once potentially special person just because of this stupid question. What is you favourite type of music? Oh, get lost! I can listen to it all!! Very bad thing to hate cos it seems people are eager to wrap themselves in comfortable labels, as if becoming that favourite thing.

Aaaaaaaanyway, This is a topic for a whole different post. Today I want to talk about Portishead, ladies and gentleman. It can make the most unpalatable human being seems sexy, and it's no good. Haha. But hey, if you're with a real sexy person in your bedroom, put this music on and you'll see. Pure bliss. If you are alone, well, you know what to do, don't ya? To me, this is perfect music. Have a few, cos I could not decide for just one.

Portishead's Musik

Monday, 22 January 2007


Got my book section up and running again. Have a look. Feel free to grab anything you like, and if there's something special you can't find, google it, get it, give it to me and I'll add it to the library.

It is not in alphabetical order and you can't read the full title. It's all crowded and messy and I don't know how to change it. Hope you enjoy it anyway.

My E-books

Thursday, 18 January 2007

R.A.W. rests in peace

Robert Anton Wilson Defies Medical Experts and leaves his body @4:50 AM on binary date 01/11.

All Hail Eris!

On behalf of his children and those who cared for him, deepest love and gratitude for the tremendous support and lovingness bestowed upon us.

(that's it from Bob's bedside at his fnord by the sea)

RAW Memorial February 2007
date to be announced

Guardian Obituaries

Check out a post on his blog a few days before he left us.

- Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night

Various medical authorities swarm in and out of here predicting I have between two days and two months to live. I think they are guessing. I remain cheerful and unimpressed. I look forward without dogmatic optimism but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying.

Please pardon my levity, I don't see how to take death seriously. It seems absurd.


Virtual insanity

I strongly recommend Second Life. Got there a bit lost but soon found my mates girlfriend and went for a walk with her, sweet creature. Some places look very nice and I even managed to find a meditation place/art gallery where you earn while you sit on sofas. My second life is as easy as my first one. I've got a nice body, a strong name and money. Asked my first second life friend a few questions and we soon agreed (she's Brazilian) that I needed a pussy. She took me to a specialist shop where I bought a highly customizable xoxota for a bargain. Not a wise thing to do on your first day there cos I was still getting used to the controllers and things so trying it out, matching the colours and learning how to hide, show, pee, come and all these things vaginas do was a mission.

I put my clothes on, and she teletransported us two to a beach in Brazil. We strolled around while I played with my new toy, hiding and showing. She gave me a motorcycle and I got stuck with it in a hole. She laughed and asked me if I wanted to go back to the pussy shop to try and match my pussy with my skin colour. Off we went. I forgot to get off the bike before we travelled and got stuck in that motorbike position. So then I was naked, bending with a multicoloured pussy showing, half of my body outside the changing room and slightly embarrassed. My second life started to kick in.

I did what I always suggest to everyone in similar circumstances. Reboot. Restart. We went to an S&M dungeon where I could strap myself to one of those wooden things and focus on my pussy. For a moment I thought that was a good analogy of my situation now but the feeling went, I matched colours and we went shopping and clubbing with my friend. Found truly amazing places and very, very interesting people. I'm a skilful mover now. It is addictive, but I definitely see the point.

Wednesday, 17 January 2007

Words are boxes

Words are boxes and each and every one of us paints them with colours no one else sees. The more words we learn the more we think we live in a spacious house with a garden, but still they limit us, still we are scared to go out sometimes. Some people, like women in chauvinistic cultures, live in a world of 2000 words or less. Some may think it's cosy in there, since you wouldn't have much to clean or fix like a small flat downtown, but most are trapped in a very small cage, with no shelves to put their worldly memories on. Their memories are hanging in the air, which could as well be nice.

I have boxes inside boxes, words inside words, and despite the fact that I have many thousands of boxes, the way they are intricately piled makes any abstract wind a big threat. Would they fit the physical idea I try to convey? Mostly they don't and it's partly my fault.

I sometimes make new boxes euphorically, compulsively, to later find out that I'm only building my own dungeon, what doesn't stop me from decorating it with care. But after spending so much time trying to fit our different concepts inside the same boxes I decided to pretend for a few moments I live in one box only, and it feels good. It made me make fewer boxes and also open them to free the content. Right now, as I finish this writing, I'm walking into a very tiny box, and all things in life have no name.

Monday, 15 January 2007

My Arcadia

I'd much rather love than be loved. If both happen, great, but if I had to choose, oh silly supposition, I would choose to love. It happens inside our precious minds and every cell, every receptor loves and floats in this beam of eternity. Those little 5 square inches in the back of your neck is as in love as your mind is when your lover floods your mind space. Every single inch is as in love as you feel when for a few moments, or hours if it's a huge love, there is noboby else in the world. Just you and your loved one. Just love. Try it now. Your whole body is listening.

We sometimes fool ourselves, thinking that we must reach the loved one, touch the loved one, but I think we are tripping. We must hold the loved one with care in our minds and love. Can you see your loved one bursting with laughter? I can see it! My loved one is so happy! My loved one has a golden white light all around his body and he shines with happiness and bliss. He has everything. He is everything. A self-contained fraction of the world's finest feelings. Can you feel this feeling? Close your eyes. There is no tomorrow, there is nothing apart from your love. Every time you breath in and out your lover feels even happier, and you feel happy too, because you love with no boundaries (yes, you can) and every bit of your body greets this wave of love with the joy of those who just found out that they will live forever.

I'm sure I will see you again. Oh, maybe not. But that is not the point. I just want you to live in my mind for now, for there you are the most beautiful source of delight, my Arcadia, divine happiness, my unconditional love. Your smell... I remember your heavenly smell... Oh no, no, not down that road...

Tuesday, 9 January 2007

Hypocrisy in the tropics

Every time I come back to Brazil is the same thing. Who shagged whom? Who wants to kiss whom? Kiss, kiss. Shag, shag. Gringos go there and go crazy! Wow, you're very liberated, you Brazilians, hu? No, my dear, we're very stuck in a loop. Everyone thinks about fulfilling his or her immediate needs. No long time planning at all! Food, sex, things that give us instant buzz, ooohh yeah, loads. The thing that bugs me the most is that they talk about sex, they actually have loads of sex but there is a constant taboo and the girls who admit liking it are called sluts and other sweet names. My reaction to it was to move out and avoid sexual relationships with Brazilians. It works. I feel free to yell to the world I have an amazing sexual past, I like sex, but I don't always talk about it. Do I write about sex here? Rarely! It's always on my mind but I make it special. It is the most amazing thing in life and men in England are very aware of that. Brazilians are mostly vulgar, trapped in the social-sexual circuit, blind to the fact that they are prisoners to their own sexuality, and the government loves it!! We have all the resources a country needs to be completely self sufficient, yet we are slaves to U.S.A., fucked in the arse by our politicians due to our complete ignorance and "joy de vivre". Carpe diem, my fellow Brazilians. Enjoy it to the most. Shag while politicians fuck you. I'm here with sex on my mind, feeling the bliss of having, on the top of sex, loads of other concerns, plans and hopes.

I don't know if you know Cicarelli. She's a beautiful model/MTV presenter that recently married/divorced Ronaldo, the fat football player. She was filmed with her new businessman boyfriend on the beach in Spain, kissing and hugging, getting in the water and discreetly shagging him with water up to her waist. The video ended up on youtube and the Brazilians went crazy! They flooded the Internet reaching unprecedented view rates. They left astonishingly rude comments and Cicarelli is now officially a whore in Brazil. She was shagging her BOYFRIEND in Spain, so to the narrow Brazilian minds she is a slut. My first thought when a stupid Brazilian mate sent me the video was, it must be quite uncomfortable to shag under water. My second thought after reading the comments and the articles about the whole public reaction was, THANK GOD I LEFT THAT SHITHOLE! In time, sorry my dearest friends. You are wonderful exceptions. Hope you are surrounded by other exceptions too.

Now the amoebas can't access youtube cos they are not allowed to see the video due to a legal action. Hahahahahahahahahaha
That’s what you get for being so stupid. Twats.

There's a huge amount of morons here too, and they read celebrity news just like them fucking Brazilians, but at least they admit it, they enjoy their mental illness to the full. If you're ill, enjoy your illness. Well done English morons. If you buy certain garments cos such and such wore them just to have a bit of immortality, go for it. Soon more of you are going to realize we are already immortal, and you, I, the Brazilians, are all the same fucking thing.

By the way, this is the video. Sweet little beach shag. Beautiful Cicarelli, hope you had an immense orgasm and that your businessman boyfriend takes you to places, far away from the Brazilian crap. Love (and sex), P