Playing with knives

I played records in the most unusual circumstances, and to be honest these are the ones I like the most. Back in Brazil when I still played techno, I remember my gig at Temp in a huge "samba warehouse", pouring down with rain outside, the floor was wet and the equipment kept giving me electric shocks. In an inexplicable fit of masochism I kept messing around with the mixer like never before. Ouch.

Another remarkable episode in Sao Paulo was when my friend R played at Lov.e, one of my favourite clubs ever. We went there together, very early cos he was the first to play, and when opened his case he noticed he had forgotten his headphones. Loads of people coming, panic, what should we do? Haha. Leave me to it, I said. Go get your headphones, mate. He left me with his bag full of records and my favourite dance floor to entertain. I mixed the tunes for half an hour by watching the level meters flashing. The mixer so smooth, the sound so clear, the crowd so lovely...

There were so many nights filled with technical problems. Cross faders coming off in my hands, no monitors, inverted knobs (maximum is minimum and vice versa), fucked up needles, fucked up mixers, all sorts. Last Friday I played at The Synergy Party at SeOne, a massive club under London Bridge, high ceiling, brick walls giving that nice industrial feeling to it, full of smiley hippies mixing party, protest and quality information. Good stuff. 4 sound systems, food and proper coffee.

So I got to the stage to play at the Peace not War sound system. Most people were sitting down cos it was 6 in the morning, the crazy ones were in the trance sound system but the vibe was good nonetheless. I asked the Mc to say some crazy shit and he looked at me suspiciously. Hold on mate, I thought. Wait till I smash your brain with my music.

I started playing. In 5 minutes there were 100 more people and by the end of the set they were hundreds, screaming thank you, with that ecstasy urgency. I know, I know, my shit is heavy. Sometimes too heavy.

I asked the longhaired middle aged hippie engineer to record it with my mini disc but he said the batteries went and he replaced them but it stopped a few times anyway, so I have fragments of that night, which is a shame. Haha, I was missing the technical problems. But hey, I recorded a session at home with the same records so if you want to hear what it sounded like, click here

Mushroom talk

"[...]Since it is not easy for you to recognize other varieties of intelligence around you, your most advanced theories of politics and society have advanced only as far as the notion of collectivism. But beyond the cohesion of the members of a species into a single social organism there lie richer and even more baroque evolutionary possibilities. Symbiosis is one of these. Symbiosis is a relation of mutual dependence and positive benefits for both of the species involved. Symbiotic relationships between myself and civilized forms of higher animals have been established many times and in many places throughout the long ages of my development. These relationships have been mutually useful; within my memory is the knowledge of hyperlight drive ships and how to build them. I will trade this knowledge for a free ticket to new worlds around suns younger and more stable than your own. To secure an eternal existence down the long river of cosmic time I again and again offer this agreement to higher beings and thereby have spread throughout the galaxy over the long millennia. A mycelial network has no organs to move the world, no hands; but higher animals with manipulative abilities can become partners with the star knowledge within me and if they act in good faith, return both themselves and their humble mushroom teacher to the million worlds all citizens of our starswarm are heir to."

How to find happiness

If you want to be happy, move to someplace where more people report feeling that way. However, the happiest countries may not be the ones you want to go to. And don't get breast implants, unless you want to become seriously depressed.

An analysis of happiness in more than 65 countries by the World Values Survey shows Nigeria has the highest percentage of happy people, followed by Mexico, Venezuela, El Salvador and Puerto Rico, while Russia, Armenia and Romania have the fewest. They say, "New Zealand ranked 15 for overall satisfaction, the U.S. 16th, Australia 20th and Britain 24th-though Australia beats the other three for day- to-day happiness."

The things that make people happy vary. Personal success, self-expression, pride, and a high sense of self-esteem are important in the United States. "In Japan, on the other hand, it comes from fulfilling the expectations of your family, meeting your social responsibilities, self-discipline, cooperation and friendliness," the researchers say.

The study shows that happiness has remained the same in industrialized countries since World War II, even though incomes have risen, except for Denmark, where people have become more satisfied with life over the last three decades.

But one thing that doesn't make people happy is getting more things. The study says, "Survey after survey has shown that the desire for material goods, which has increased hand in hand with average income, is a happiness suppressant."

One example of this is the fact that women who can afford the luxury of breast implants are more than three times as likely to commit suicide. Ceci Connolly writes in The Washington Post that studies in Finland, Sweden and the U.S. all show the same reaction. This isn't true with women who've had mastectomies, only with those who enlarge their breasts for cosmetic reasons.

Being able to spend money this way is an incredible luxury, so why does it leave women so depressed? Researchers think that women who want this kind of procedure think it will solve their psychological and dating problems-and then find out it doesn't. "The ironic thing is that nobody was looking for this suicide information," says Joseph K. McLaughlin, who ran the Finnish study. "There have been lots of studies of women with breast implants, and the only consistent finding that's problematic is the suicide excess."

Women's advocate Diana Zuckerman says, "Tripling the risk of suicide is a shocking finding-growing evidence that the 'cure' might be worse than the problem it is supposed to solve. We can't just go along with the manufacturer's assumptions that implants are great for women's mental health."

One key to happiness is finding inner peace.


Found at http://www.unknowncountry.com/ via God is not an asshole

Downward spiral

You've been reading far too many books on body language. I've got my arms crossed cos I'm cold, shit. Nothing against you, mate. No, I'm ok. Just a bit distressed. Forgot my book twice this week and got hooked again. No books in the train, let's grab a newspaper. First I read them cos I have no books and a few days later I just read them for the sake of it, leaving my book in the catacombs of my huge bag. A few weeks pass and I'm looking for them papers avidly.

Sometimes I just don't think. You see me checking every carriage while the tube train stops at the station, as if I'm looking for someone, my eyes surveying all seats like a boarding school inspector. Even when I'm right at the beginning of the platform and I have to peep real quick cos the train is moving real fast, I still try. It all means I woke up too late so there is no more Metro newspaper by the entrance of the station, but I can usually find one. Immediately in those lucky days, never in those bad ones.

For some unknown reason, in the last couple of months the free newspapers multiplied themselves like gremlins in a pond. We now have 3 types of fuckers, and an average 25 copies laying around in each carriage. They are made with special ink that doesn't come off on your hands. Goooooooood. Content? The Metro is quite entertaining but full of useless statistics. The other 2? Well... Kate Moss farted, X got bigger boobs, Y got stabbed, letters from the furious readers, completely revolted with Madonna's new African baby (get a life!), and so on.

The TV critic used a whole page to completely destroy 3 programs, and I wondered what type of human being watches complete rubbish in order to criticize it. Isn't it the most miserable way to spend your days?? And then I realized I was down there in the food chain. I was criticizing the negative critic of rubbish TV programs, so I must be three times worse.

So in this downward spiral of filthiness I came out of the tube to find a Big Issue seller. God bless ya, mate. Bought it and read it, cleaning my system, brought back to light.

Here is the ad that I like the most:

Say goodbye to your petrol station. Use totally green road fuel. A simple upgrade can make most diesel lorries, vans and cars run on locally-produced, carbon neutral rapeseed oil. Feel good about your car and fight climate change.

http://www.biomotors.co.uk/

To speak the truth they will have closed mouths.

Lovely. All of a sudden television and glossy magazines seem to be relevant and useful. Read this:

[...]The critical mass of enlightenment can be defined as the smallest number of awakened human beings whose collective influence can initiate a significant shift in global consciousness. The process of creating enough enlightened ones to achieve this critical mass can be likened to the transformation of coal into diamonds. The pressure of surrounding human unconsciousness creates an urgency in the potential enlightened one to awaken from illusion. The total weight of so much unconscious 'carbon' exerts a tremendous pressure, through which a few coal stones reach the appropriate mass to become 'diamonds.' These awakened beings embody the crystal clarity of enlightened consciousness which can transform the level of consciousness of the entire planet.

[...]


The end of the Kali Yuga is history's darkest moment. In her dark age, the population explosion has dumped more unconscious human burdens on the Earth than ever before. According to the Indian mystic, Osho, these darker times exert a higher pressure of unconsciousness, which could produce a greater buddhatomic detonation of joy and awareness. Osho estimates that at least 5 percent of the human seed base has the potential intelligence to germinate an awakening. Out of an expected manure pile of 5.5 to six billion people fertilizing earth during the nightmarish nineties, there are more potential buddha buds than there were people alive on the Earth at any time for most of man's four million year history - between 275 to 300 million spiritual rebels![...]

http://deoxy.org/critmass.htm

Dragons are princesses

Oooook, life goes on. I can tell you are wondering which nasty company I'm working for now. It's a very nasty one. Westminster council. Legal daylight robbery going on in London, people. I won't give you a full parking price list cos there must be children awake at this time, but I'll tell you, people are not happy with the rules downtown. Today an angry guy did the maths and guessed if he comes to west end everyday he would spend 200 pounds a week on parking and congestion charge and fees, and probably unfair tickets to add on. They are pushing, and I'm pulling. Don't use you car then, for fuck sake!

Quoting my friend P quoting someone else:
"Perhaps all of the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is, in it's deepest being, something helpless that wants help from us."
Maybe Westminster council is a well-disguised environmental group that wants help from us. They want us to stop using our cars in order to save the planet! Oh, that's so noble!

Anyway, my job. My job is to inform people they can pay for parking by phone, and to let them know Westminster council will get rid of all the parking meters in 3 months so paying by phone will be the only method available. You have to have a credit card, a mobile phone obviously, and trust. A lot of trust. I couldn't work out what the environmental group behind Westminster council wants with this move, but I'm sure I will find out.

I guess you are worried about my safety. I mean, I could lose my 2 weeks job if they find out I gave away their identity. That's really nice of you, but don't worry cos as M pointed out, my google rating is 3, which means what I write is not really relevant to the bigger picture. Google keeps 10 wise bearded men and a Geek with a clipboard in a room in China. The wise bearded men browse the web day and nite, all of them simultaneously reading the same website (sic), while the geek with the clipboard takes notes on how many wise bearded men nodded with their hand in the chin. Only 3 bearded men nodded while reading my blog, so I can write whatever I want. Thanks wise bearded men.

My job starts really early so I have my Colombian coffee with buttered toast and a ginko bilobaobaoba pill, which allows me to be 10 times more clever right away and read my book in the tube. I'm reading Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s Breakfast of Champions. It's one of the funniest and wisest books I read lately. Wild fantasy. I love when a book makes me look forward to getting in the tube again. This one does.

Urgent appeal

I can't express how sad I am. Robert Anton Wilson is dying from post polio syndrome and has money to pay the bills for the next couple of months only. I am shocked by how cruel life can be. He sold over a million copies of The Illuminatus Trilogy, thousands of copies of Cosmic Trigger plus all the other wonderful books he's written but even though he's not been able to afford a decent end for his life. He is a genius and influenced the way I live my life tremendously. It is painful for me to see him suffer this way. If you have any spare money, please send him. I'd be immensely grateful.

Money can be sent to his PayPal address olgaceline@gmail.com. You can also send a check to RAW c/o Futique Trust, P.O. Box 3561, Santa Cruz, Ca 95063.

Please send him some money. Please. This is out of order.

http://rawilson.com/


http://www.rushkoff.com/2006/10/robert-anton-wilson-needs-our-help.php


http://www.boingboing.net/2006/10/02/robert_anton_wilson_.html

Commit no Nuisance

I have this picturesque picture on my door, so I can be reminded, among other things, of the subjective character of public messages. What do you mean, mate? Haha. What is a fucking nuisance? My piano teacher said it was originally made to keep people from peeing on the streets. Right... I imagine a drunk 18th century man dying for a piss getting his willy out of his trousers, feeling the warm flow of piss coming, the relief of pissing, oh, so nice, blissfully looking up to see this sign and quickly holding his urine cos he doesn't want to commit a nuisance. That doesn't happen, does it? This sign lives round the corner from my college, and I come and visit it every couple of weeks, just to say hello, since now the times changed and no one seems to know what a nuisance is anymore. And I love it!

But, hey, that's how they do it in England apparently, in conjunction with the "fit in" lobotomy and imposed "common sense". They put signs everywhere, expensive ones, and people just follow it(?), and the respectable middle class smiles happily. They made this huge campaign to tackle illegal work. Big fuck off posters in every bus stop saying "we know where you get you cash in hand work". Scary, hu? Not really. They spent 3 million pounds on advertisement and caught 3 people! Haha.

But I really think it's a clever way to do things. I suspect that odd fellow thinking about cheating the system is going to think twice if he/she sees big posters on every corner. Don't know about the knife campaign. It's a big problem here in England. No guns? Let's stab, then. The piss campaign, well, I won't piss on the street cos I don't have a willy, that's the main reason, but that sign would never keep me from doing it cos I wouldn't guess what it means. Lovely. Keep it like that.

100 Monkeys

Haha. As I reach peak alienation, my life reaches the top of the happiness mountain. I think I don't know what you are talking about at any given time. Alienation. Oh, don't think it's bad, hun. Should I say individuation? It is a paradox, isn't it? Just like when I bought my "I love sex" mug and went celibate for some unknown reason, I feel so close to you as much as I'm so fucking far away. I'm a walking T.A.Z.


So, tonight I'm starting a new type of autonomous zone. I will call it called SPAZ (nothing to do with spazzy), semi-temporary autonomous zone. Since I reached the peak of alienation and now the wheel of life will probably connect me to the masses again in a mundane way, just like before, I decided to test the 100 monkeys theory. I need 99 more monkeys to spread the SPAZ idea through the morphic field. My initial idea is that we practice transcendental meditation, innocence, fun useless sporadic work, sleep indulgence and that we speak like The Cat in the Hat . It will be tricky, I know, but it's worthwhile, the benefits are immense, and no higher skill comes without discipline. Any volunteers? Suggestions?

In the cracks of the system we think. The cracks in the system here in London are huge caves with air-conditioning, free food and exotic dances. It's fun. Some people manage to make the cracks even wider so we can pretend to be useful for a fair amount of money. This lovely lady made up a travel information website to try and convince people to walk or use public transport instead of using cars, and also invite people to go to Muswell Hill festival. How lovely! How do you think she wants to promote it? With a pantomime horse and funny walkers, of course! What else?

I don't know if you ever tried walking around dressed as a horse but I'll tell you, you can see fuck all, so they needed me to guide the 2 guys inside the pantomime horse through the streets of Muswell Hill, dressed as a horse rider, obviously.

Good money, the lads were fun, all good, but I feel in love recently and you know how it is. My mind kept wondering away so the pantomime horse walked into bushes, banged their head on those plastic roof things outside cafes, crossed the street randomly and nearly invaded the teddy bear event happening at the church across the road.

There was a small queue of children waiting to see their teddy bears fly from the top of the roof in parachutes. They even got a certificate afterwards, to prove that they entertained their teddies at the church that Saturday. There was a lady with a stethoscope, checking the teddies heartbeats after the jump, assuring the little ones their teddies were fine. Sweet.

We stumbled across the pavement into the church, causing various reactions. The horse's face wasn't exactly kids-friendly so the scared ones screamed in horror as I clumsily got my horse out of their sight.

Well, this story wouldn't be so special if it didn't signify the end of my beating-around-the-bush-till-last-year-at-college. From now till the end of June 2007 I'll be pursuing my noble plans of setting up an educational project in deprived areas of London (yes, there are deprived areas here) and teaching as many south London people as my energy allows how to make music.

I truly think if you have a creative output you're half awake in this world. No, I don't have the delusion or the ego trip of changing the world or the educational system as my teacher has, but if I can get a few kids in my area to make new connections, get their arses in gear and explore their unconscious through music, I'm sure the other monkeys will benefit too, and maybe they'll contaminate the neighbourhood with songs about love and detachment. Who knows? Let's see. But I just want my neighbourhood to be groovy. That's it. Merely selfish reasons.

Believe those who are seeking the truth, doubt those who find it.

I'm a highly suggestible creature. As soon as I see a big beard I believe the bearer to be a wise man.

Save... Save who?

"Save The Planet? The planet isn't going anywhere. We are. We're going away, pack your shit folks. We won't leave much of a trace either...Maybe a little Styrofoam. The planet will be here, we'll be long gone, just another failed mutation...The planet will shake us off like a bad case of fleas, a surface nuisance. You want to know how the planet's doing? Ask those people at Pompeii who are frozen into position..." - George Carlin

hahahaha... Well done Mr Carlin. That puts things into perspective. Should we change our slogan to "save the human kind"? Huummm... Are we vanishing soon enough to save the earth? I don't know. We humans are tough, you know.

If we reduced the population of the world to 100 people just as an experiment, keeping the actual proportions, there would be 57 Asiatics, 21 Europeanss, 8 Africanss and 4 Americanss. 52 would be women, 48 would be men, 70 would be non-white, 30 would be white, 70 would be non Christianss, 30 would be Christians (sigh...), 89 would be heterosexuals and 11 would be homosexuals. 6 people would possess 59% of all mundane riches and all 6 would be Americans. From all 100 people, 80 of them would life in subhuman conditions. 70 would be analphabets, 50 would be undernourished, 1 would be about to die, 1 would be about to be born, and only 1, ladies and gentlemen, would have a university degree. There would be also 1 lucky bastard who owns a computer. It if wasn't me, it would be my husband, of course.

So if you woke up healthy this morning you're luckier than millions of people that didn't make through this week. If you have never experienced the perils of war, never felt the loneliness of prison, never felt the agony of being tortured or the afflictionss of hunger you are better off than 500 million people. If you can go to church or to your chosen holy place without the fear of being humiliated, arrested, tortured or killed, than you are more fortunate than 3 billion people.

If you have food in the fridge, clothes in your wardrobe (or everywhere in the room like me), a ceiling above your head and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the world population. If you save some money in the bank and in your money pig you are among the richest 8%. If your parents are together and still alive you are a very rare person. And since you are reading this, you are "safer" than the 2 billion analphabets.

I'm ok, really. Can't complain. Sorry for the heavy post, but I thought you would like to think about the world this way for a few moments, on a different scale.

Poisoning pigeons in the park

As you guys must have noticed I'm well into Buddhism. I'm cultivating the power of now, transforming negative thoughts into light, not feeding my passions (not necessary but celibate for a while now), avoiding meat, working on my aggressive behaviour and refraining from killing, which is quite hard considering the amount of huge hairy spiders strolling around my house.

I'm reading The Tibetan Book of the Dead, but reading the mantras in a western way can be quite hilarious, so I often start laughing, which is not very respectful, is it? I also laugh out loud when I read the description of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities in the Great Liberation by Hearing. 3 heads, one is blue, the middle one is burning dark yellow and the 3rd one is red, six arms, one holding a skull cup, the next one holding an axe, and so forth... hahaha. That's the type of image our minds produce when we die, apparently.

But you know, it's tricky to be Buddhist. I went to a Buddhist centre near Soho Square, just to see if they could help me in any way. They could. I bought a nice Nag Champa soap, flicked through a few good books, talked to the smiley lady behind the counter, went downstairs to get some tasty Veggie food and sat down at Soho Square to eat my lunch.

As I opened my lunch box, feeling so fulfilled, so happy to be, so so Zen, a flock of filthy pigeons flew my way avid for a bit of my food. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh, filthy flying rats! Get tha fuck out of here, you nasty creatures! My Buddhism is gone. Just like that. Machine guns, poison sprays, a big crane, Marshmallow Man tap dancing. I thought of a thousand different ways of killing them all, and killing quickly, right there by the peaceful Buddhist centre.

They got the message and flew away, covering the real Buddhist sitting 5 benches away. She didn't mind it at all and shared her food with those things, smiling at them as if they were babies. Fucking nutter, I thought. They carry deadly diseases, they stink, they... they... They should be dead!!!! Ok, I'm not 100% Buddhist then. Maybe I'll be born a fucking pigeon in my next life, but I did my part. I didn't act on my emotion. I didn't kill any pigeon, so it's fine. But I must be going backwards in my spiritual journey cos I remember clearly I used to like pigeons when I was a little girl. I used to feed them and everything. In fact every child likes pigeons, just cos they don't have the slightest idea of the nasty things they do. Oh, the age of innocence...

But still, I have to do something about my rage, so I thought of singing this lovely tune with you guys. It's harmless. Let's sing along! Let's sing for democracy! Let's sing for the rights of the unborn pigeons! Let's sing Poisoning Pigeons in the Park by Tom Lehrer! For those who never heard this before, please click on the link and follow the lyrics bellow.


Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
I do, don't you? 'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

Lalaalaalalaladoodiedieedoodoodoo

We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety,
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment.
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strychnine
We feed to a pigeon.
It just takes a smidgin!
To poison a pigeon in the park.

The Flow

Behold! That is a lie! They are also called comedians, writers, dancers, painters, artists in general. Why, beautiful people, these artists attract us so much? Why, ladies and gentlemen, do we have orgasms on the dance floor, shivers in the art gallery, giggles in the studio, bliss on the Internet and all sorts of emotions flooding our brains when we are exposed to art? Don't you worry, oh Buddha child. I'm going to tell you why. It all starts inside the bodies of these skillful human beings who managed to merge action and awareness and feel the FLOW. We feel the flow through them, and it makes us fly.

First, let us have a look at the components of flow, nicely categorized below by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

1 Clear goals (expectations and rules are discernable).
2 Concentrating and focusing, a high degree of concentration on a limited field of attention (a person engaged in the activity will have the opportunity to focus and to delve deeply into it).
3 A loss of the feeling of self-consciousness, the merging of action and awareness.
4 Distorted sense of time - our subjective experience of time is altered.
5 Direct and immediate feedback (successes and failures in the course of the activity are apparent, so that behavior can be adjusted as needed).
6 Balance between ability level and challenge (the activity is neither too easy nor too difficult).
7 A sense of personal control over the situation or activity.
8 The activity is intrinsically rewarding, so there is an effortlessness of action.
Not all of these components are needed for flow to be experienced.

I would like to elaborate on the bullet point number 8, which to me explains why some brilliant artists, having made a genius album, forget the flow in a search of external rewards and end up making a rubbish album following the initial success. Yes, beautiful creatures, they may think of fields of girls/boys chasing them down narrow corridors, but the main focus is the art itself when most careers start. A few buckets full of dollars later and the smell of money, the pressure of a whole society, an ego trip or a possible identification with the mind causes them to chase their own tail instead of feeling the flow. Having said that, we can move forward to illustrate this idea with examples related to our more humble reality, and maybe find out why some of us disconnected from the source and stopped making art.

Desmond Morris, as published in The Biology of Art did a very clever experiment where chimpanzees were given canvas and some paint. They got into the flow making weird paintings, using colours to create effects, completely absorbed. They were truly having fun. After a few weeks Mr. Morris started "rewarding the chimpanzees for producing their paintings. Very soon their work began to degenerate until they produced the bare minimum that would satisfy the experimenter." Mr. Morris managed to get them out of the flow by introducing external rewards, just like schools do to us, just like society, hindering our natural flow of creativity.

Just bear that in mind when you are making art, and suddenly a voice in your head wonders if people are going to like it. That's not the point, really.

Chinese medicine

My hormone imbalance is very good for me, I think. It makes me more assertive, physically stronger in a way, slightly masculine in a sexy way. The downside is that near my period I go nuts and my skin resembles an overcooked lasagna a Bolognese. No one notices it cos the lovely Egyptians invented make-up and I know the best places to buy it. Other than that it's fine, my skin is peach-like throughout the month, apart from those 5 fucking days.

Western medicine treats my condition with pills but those horrible things make me very sensitive. So much I cry watching washing powder commercials. It's sad. I wonder if that's what it is to be a "normal" woman. I don't like it, so I made my way to the nearest Chinese medicine shop and told the Chinese woman behind the counter about my suffering.

I said I have cists in my womb that cause a hormone imbalance and it is a normal thing for a western woman to have. She said it's not normal with a very alarming tone of voice. I explained myself saying what I meant by "normal" is that 1 in every 6 women has it. She said something happened to me in my teenage years and I have to fix it, balance the hormones, and clean my blood. I wonder what happened in my teenage years. hahaha. Well...

Anyway, she gave me these lovely Chinese boxes full of pills, a Chinese soap, a Chinese lotion and wrote the instructions on the boxes cos I can't read Chinese. I'm totally in her hands. She could give anything. I wouldn't notice. Lovely feeling.

The treatment lasts for 2 weeks, and after that I'm sorted. 26 pills twice a day, a bit of Chinese soap, a bit of magik lotion and I'm saying goodbye to the Egyptians. I get home, lock myself in my room and stare at my collection of Chinese boxes, beautiful and mysterious. I feel so happy I bought them! I don't know why.

Next week I'm doing acupuncture, as recommended by the lovely Chinese woman. I've done it before. It's great! And these pills are working! But they leave a slightly metallic taste in my mouth. Anyway, they are wise people. I won't ask the I Ching if I should trust the Chinese doctor cos it will slap me in the face with a rude hexagram. It must be a bit patriotic, I suppose.

Transformation/Utopia

If the accumulated knowledge of Western civilization has anything of value to offer us at this point, it is an awareness of just how much is possible when it comes to human life. Our otherwise foolish scholars of history and sociology and anthropology can at least show us this one thing: that human beings have lived in a thousand different kinds of societies, with ten thousand different tables of values, ten thousand different relationships to each other and the world around them, ten thousand different conceptions of self. A little traveling can show you the same thing, if you get there before Coca-Cola has had too much of a head start.

That's why I can't help but scoff when someone refers to "human nature," invariably in the course of excusing himself for a miserable resignation to our supposed fate. Don't you realize we share a common ancestor with sea urchins? If differing environments can make these distant cousins of ours so very distant from us, how much more possible must small changes in ourselves and our interactions be! If there is anything lacking (and there sorely, sorely is, most will admit) in our lives, anything unnecessarily tragic or meaningless in them, any corner of happiness that we have not yet thoroughly explored, then all that is needed is for us to alter our environments accordingly. "If you want to change the world, you first must change yourself," the saying goes; we have learned that the opposite is true.

Continues at Deoxy.org

Life is music

I'm floating, or maybe I'm liquid myself. Crazy days, running from big gigs to small gigs, from my own gigs to someone else's, fun work, exciting explorations, I feel as if I'm on acid all the time. The order of things, the disorder, instant Karma, changes I made and worked out brilliantly... Life has been treating me well. A few turning points later and my enemies became my old friends, my old friends became a question mark full of sweet surprises, new friends jump out of bushes with purple flowers in their hands, wise. Life is good.

I posted this website on my myspace and it was a big hit, so thought of introducing Pandora to my blogger friends so they can feel the flow of things on this fucking excellent website. Webradio? Much more, I would say. Check it. It helps you discover more music you like

Politics and history

If you ever hear a fellow student say, "I'm not turned on politics," give that student a history book, because if you don't turn on politics, down to the air you breathe, the water you drink, the racial profiling you detest, the health insurance many people don't have, and on and on. If you don't turn on politics, politics will turn on you in very disagreeable ways. - Ralph Nader, On The Stump


Right. Columbus, stupid example, named the natives of America Indians cos he thought he was landing in India. Whatta? We still call people from 2 different continents by the same name cos fucking Columbus said so!? Well done! haha.

Eddie Izzard said he only fancies women who are able to discuss politics. Fuck. Me and Mike got a bus to Dublin to see his gig last Friday. All the way to Ireland to see him! Yes, I love him. Waiting at the airpot on the way back (coach back is too much), dizzy, still laughing, I asked Mike to train me to discuss politics in case I meet Eddie somewhere. After a useless attempt to be outspoken I ended up claiming I support New Labour by accident. I don't know what I'm doing. Well, I won't shagg him anyway. I know it.

By the end of our conversation I asked Mike: do you honestly think all of us should know our history? Should we spend a considerable amount of time reading about politics? He said yes, we all should know our history. Ok. So you think the average person can by pass the bollox and retain the useful information? Do you think the average person benefits from our history made in Europe? hahaha. Wake them up first! They are asleep! History has been told as some want it to be read.

I just don't get it. Do you think the information available to you is any close to "reality"? If you tell me you take pleasure in collecting pieces of a puzzle you won't solve cos it gives you a sense of... umm... being in control I will understand but won't comprehend, or the other way round, not sure.

Maybe you are one of those who believe we should know our past so we can do something, can't remember, with the future. I just think you are anal fuckers and you should definitely cut down the amount of alcohol you consume. Also, I recommend you form little communities, 15 people or maybe more, and create your own politics. Take care of those around you, that's my politics. I read about the world politics, yes, but always sure there's something else that is not being said that changes the whole thing. I read it as if it was a very realistic fairy tale. Stop me if I'm wrong.

Let's protest agains all that's wrong. Today! But bear in mind we're not as well informed as we think we are, and even if we were, our information can't stop the war. Can we stop it? Why is it happening, hey you, reading politics? Stop it!

I think we should know ourselves first. Nothing can stop us, aware.

Oh, that's rubbish

So, yes, this week I am bleeding. Menstruation, ladies and gentlemen, politely referred to as period. If I was a Dogon woman I would be put in a special hut for the duration of my period, which I think is very wise, but I am not a Dogon woman so I'll just stay in my room, bleeding.

Get up, organize things, feel the pain, lay down again, feel better, make a cup of tea, watch the boys go up and down the stairs unchangeable, smiley, stable, feel the pain again, go back to my room, relax, feel ok again, grab the guitar, make some music, feel a great deal of pain, breath, feel ok again, make a song about pain, grab my rhyming dictionary...

This rhyming dictionary I have is organized in a very unpractical way. I have to go through all endings to find the one I want, but then I come across weird rhymes and feel like changing the song to fit them, poor rhymes, cos I'm sure no one is going to rhyme vagina with North Carolina, and it makes me really sad.

Fuck it. I go downstairs again, make another cup of tea, watch people cook, FEEL A LOT OF PAIN AGAIN, I stare at the wall, no, better stare at something else, ouch, fucking hell, I stare at our collection of bins, the organic bin, the recycling bin and the landfill bin. Landfill, OUCH, as the name says, fills the land with things we can't recycle. My house only must produce a big bag a day. I just wonder where we are going to put all the landfill bins from all our houses.

Most houses put all their rubbish in one bin, fuckers, trusting the government to do something nice with it. Bush is going to do something about them bags, I suppose. Maybe they are going to launch them into space! Yeah! P. C. was telling me about this guy who's building a lift that goes all the way to space. Maybe we can use it to get rid of our rubbish!! Alien creatures would be astonished to bump into our stupid rubbish somewhere far away and would probably think it's a sign, an S.O.S., and they would follow the rubbish till they get here, to see that rubbish is all we've got at the moment, and they would fly back, moaning.

A little girl or an old woman?

Post censored as a slight sign of respect for my mum
















The Illusions

It's ok.

No people. I read novels as well, not only self-help books, but I have to admit though, that the idea of self change is very appealing to me and I spend a considerable amount of time trying to rearrange my brain in order to live better, and this includes devouring self-help books. Good ones.

Some people get shivers when they hear the word self-help so I better call it self-development. I don't know. Is that better? Well, the fact is that I really want to mutate and create groovy biochemical bonds in my brain so I can function better and, for instance, be less irritated by the smallest things such as my workmates asking me simple questions like "Did you use to dance samba in Brazil? With you mates and stuff?" or "Is every Brazilian girl like you?" or even "Did it take long for you to get here?" Don't know why, it gets on my tits big time. Do they really want to know how long it took me to get there? I doubt it. Is it possible to have 100 million girls with the same personality or look just cos they live in the same country? Nah. AND I DON'T CARE ABOUT SAMBA, FOR FUCK SAKE. But hey, small talk, break the ice, it's all cool. I just need to find a way to go through these situations without much friction.

Also, I'm trying to get rid of my musts, shoulds, can'ts and other limiting thoughts. You know, everyone has them. At some point of our lives them thoughts were useful tools of survival but that time is gone and our brains need adapting. Many of these chemical bonds were formed before the critical-evaluative mind was formed (we were just silly kids) so let's push things forward.

Energized Hypnosis, A Non-book for Self Change by Christopher S. Hyatt, Ph.D. and Calvin Iwema gave me that last piece of much needed advice on the matter.

"Imprint theory states that at critical times during early development, or periods of imprint vulnerability, strong bonds are created as a result of one-time-learning.
Researchers such as Konrad Lorenz have studied this in animals, and have documented cases where a baby gosling was exposed to a ping-pong ball shortly after birth and imprinted it as "mommy". It then followed the ball around, nestled with it, and later in life attempted to mate with white round objects.
Although this research has not been studied extensively with humans, the possible similarities are worth thinking about."

I know what you are thinking. You are worried if the baby gosling is doing fine now. Not to worry. He is alright. Apparently he has been spotted walking around Shoreditch, a trendy London area, trying to mate with all shapes and colours. Well done, Baby G!