Blah

2009-07-02T18:01:00.002-04:00

My brother is going to be 35 tomorrow. I'm 26. It's somehow weird to feel that I am to my nieces what my uncles were to me when I was 5 year old. I'm old. My brother's even older. We're old. My brother met his wife when he was younger than I am. My other brother met his girlfriend when he was 21-22 (well, he met her long before, but they started dating only then). With each year passing by, my odds of finding someone and have kids of my own are getting slimmer. Well, with progress in medicine and all, and the fact that older men always seem to find girls in their 20s interested in them... my odds aren't all that slim either.

In answer to what someone said in the comment pop-up window of one of my recent entries, I'm not looking for love to make me better. I'm not looking for excitement and a rush of endorphins. I know better. I know myself better than that. I know that whatever excitement or exhilaration that might be expected just wouldn't come. I just don't get excited... ever. It pisses people off, but it's true. So, back to what I was saying, I'm not counting on love to enhance my life in any major way. You all don't notice it, because most of you love and are loved in some degree. But for someone who has never shared a connection with another human being, like me, love is a little thing, a completely natural thing, that is missing. It's like someone giving away a kidney to a parent in need... they know the kidney should be there, they know they can live without it, but still, it's missing. It should be there, but it isn't. Perhaps for the better, because the alternative might be terribly sad, just like throwing myself into a relationship just to make myself feel better might be terribly destructive. But still, it's missing.

I'm looking for my missing kidney. Not at any cost. And if I don't find that kidney, too bad, but I'll live on (if I pushed this analogy further, dialysis might become a metaphor for masturbation). I'll take my time. Slim odds or not, it's better to be looking than to be daydreaming.

Hey people, think of the weirdest and smartest person you know, and if it's the same person, and that person is a female, and a human being, and cute, then tell me!

2009-06-26T21:51:00.002-04:00

I don't exactly suffer from writer's block, seeing how I can basically write at will. What I have is more like a human being's block, in that I don't seem to get the simple action of living going. Whereas I have literary inspiration, I am overly uninspired in life.

I have all these ideas that would be worth exploring, that I keep to myself. I honestly think I could change the world in a positive way. But even if I did, what then? What would prevent the world from decaying all over again? I'm too cynical to believe mankind will survive its identity crisis. Why bother?

So, what should I do? Go see a shrink and have myself some drug prescribed that artificially uplifts me? Go see a cult and have myself brainwashed and turned into a wide-eyed grinning faithful? Go nowhere and remain who I am, and forever remain that way until humanity and I are no longer part of this universe? Who am I kidding... I won't live that long.

So... this is 2009... nice.

2009-06-20T06:41:00.002-04:00

It's almost been a year since I last posted on this blog. I've done much of my blogging on facebook, where my friends would almost be forced to see it. Not necessarily forced to read it, but it would be right in their faces. But over the time, more people I wouldn't consider friends were added, and I'm just too lazy to block them all from seeing my little notes. So, I thought I would resurrect this old fantastic blog of mine.

I tend to blog when I'm down. I wouldn't say depressed, because my entire life is one big long depression. Its evenness is almost hard to believe. I never get quite high, never get quite low. I'm always stable, below the average, I suppose. That's this evenness of mood that drives people crazy. Friends try to take me do things and ask me: "Aren't you having fun?" And I answer, "Sure, why not?" And it pisses them off. Last year, three friends and I went to New York, and they asked me whether I was impressed, and I had to tell them I was, because otherwise, it didn't show on my face. I'm always calm and straight-faced. That's why I was the only one not to panic when we got lost, or when strange people walked by. Fearlessness comes with the dullness, I guess.

Yesterday, and carrying it through the night into this saturday morning, I was lower than usual. Again, it's only slightly lower, because of my very limited emotional spectrum. I was thinking about the relationships I've never had, and maybe never will. I figured that the longer it takes me to find someone to love, the harder it will be for me to act normal. Sadly, there's no stability without some normalcy. And my being so stable emotionally (granted, I stabilized real low too) is anormal. Who would have thought stability would prevent me from finding stability in love?

A couple of years ago, after seeing TV ads and internet banners, I decided to give a dating site a chance. It wasn't just any site, but one that sounded somewhat different and somewhat credible. Sure, any site can make itself look good by using the 2 or 3 successes in publicities, discarding their thousands of failures. But there was something about this one site, though. When you registered (for free), you filled in the form and then you answered surveys. It was something like a psychological profile. Then the computer went and tried to match your personality with others. Only then, after seeing the results, you had to pay to contact the people found. So, I filled the form, answered the question and all... the result: ZERO match! I'm totally incompatible with their entire database of thousands. I can imagine some people being compatible with between 1 and 5% of the population. I'm not even compatible with 0,1% of the population.

No surprise, then, that I've always fallen in love with girls who didn't love me, and those who happened to love me, I just couldn't get myself to love (I even tried, fancy that). But that internet site... that's the most incredible part: first internet site EVER to refrain from making money off of a vulnerable person. Out of pity, perhaps.

I so couldn't have written this on facebook.

2008-07-06T17:42:00.002-04:00

As it turns out, I can't count. When I logged on, it said I had 249 posts, but when I count them by myself, I only have 248, making this one 249th, and the next one 250th. What's up with that?

Does it mean I still have a real chance to make a meaningful 250th post?

Make suggestion for the Super Awesome 250th Post Extravaganza!!!

Yes, three "!"s. That's just how awesome it is (for those who don't follow, it is super... as in Super Awesome... and it's an extravaganza...).

250th post

2008-07-06T16:54:00.002-04:00

This is my 250th post. What a proud moment!

Blah.

Did you really think I'd waste such an occasion? Really? Well, I am.

By the way, I'm still alive and breathing, and using clichés to describe how I am, even though it barely scratches the surface and really means nothing. I also assume people assume I live and breathe if I also type and click.

Click.

Angry Angry Hippo

2008-06-19T17:46:00.002-04:00

I've realized with time that I used to be expressionless. But not anymore. Now, I do express feelings and emotions. Mostly anger.

I keep getting angry at trivial things, like rain or inanimate objects. I kick tires with a footful of rage (tires, because it's bouncy, and while I'm angry, I'm not stupid enough to actually injure myself on top of it. I don't need that to be hurt anyway). I yell at people. I even yell insults at my boss. Well... I've done that for years, so it's nothing new. But this angry side is starting to worry me. Bad for the blood pressure.

I'm back where I was a teenager. Looking to pick a fight. How did I manage to get rid of it for nearly ten years? I can't remember. Was it just numbness and disinterest? Yes, apathy. How can apathy be the cause and the solution to all of my problem?

Not there yet

2008-06-19T14:28:00.002-04:00

I keep hoping I'll hit the bottom, but my free fall appears endless. How much more depressed can I be? I can't buy myself a new pen whenever I feel bad. I can't jump on a plane every time I feel blue. I don't know.

Yes, I do like purchasing pens. Girls get a new haircut to feel better about themselves. I buy myself a pen. My current pen is really hard to beat, though. Greatest pen ever.

Back on topic... I had this theory that once I get to that point where I'm sincerely disgusted of being who I am, I'd have no choice but change into something else, hopefully better. But I've never hated myself enough, and I keep waiting for the worse to come. Or for the best to come.

Listen, people. I could do really great things if only I had the desire. I need desire, but I desire nothing, except that which I can't have, or doesn't exist.

Help me.

2008-06-16T20:15:00.002-04:00

It came to me that it isn't a muse that I may need. I don't really need inspiration. I need motivation. But still, a muse could come in handy, if I were to struggle with ideas. So, I'll keep looking for a muse still. Perhaps I could manage to fall in love with my muse, and thus find some motivation.

Here's a reason why a muse should work for me: I'm awesome!

Muse wanted

2008-06-14T09:27:00.002-04:00

I need a muse. I need that person in my life that will come every now and then and stir things up and shake me out of whatever type of apathy it is that paralyzes me on a daily basis. I need a mental challenge, or someone interested enough to make me talk about these things that I know and want to write about. Right now, I'm just letting it brew inside, but to no avail. I have to spill it and share it, and make it into something else altogether.

But no muse, no spilling, no evolving into something else. I know I have all I need in me, but I just need someone to pull it out. Otherwise, I won't do it.

MUSE WANTED!

The salary's not great, but the benefits are... me!

Quote of the day

2008-05-26T05:16:00.001-04:00

We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin

I have to remember this one. This is good stuff, and true too.

Let's just write something

2008-03-25T19:11:00.002-04:00

Hey! It's 2008! Well, it's just a big blur. Actually, more like a blizzard, a snow storm, a long cold night.

On one hand, I'm true to myself and to my principles. On the other hand, I'm still far from being the man I want to be. I admire certain traits in me, yet I despise others. I hate my laziness. I hate my inflexibility. I do love how I can come off as wise and understanding. I love my patience. I love my ability to dream and imagine, and this ability to link ideas together. I love how I can make sense out of disorder. Then, I hate to watch myself let disorders grow around me.

I started this blog so that I'd be encouraged to write more. I hoped some feedback would fuel my desire, and the effort of mere writing would wake my literary instinct up. Unfortunately, while many ideas have come up over the year and a half I've done this, I have yet to find the catalyst, the focus, the drive or the voice. I'm like a catatonic with things to say, but no mean to express myself. A live mind trapped in a dead body.

Let there be change!
If only I believed myself when I say such things...

...blah!

2007-12-21T23:02:00.001-05:00

I've dug myself a deep hole, and I need an outstretched hand to pull me out. Or a mere voice. It might be able to jump out by myself, but right now, I don't feel like trying.

I'm weak and powerless.

2007-11-09T17:51:00.000-05:00

I've now gone thousands of miles in every direction from my point of origin, only to realize that it doesn't matter where you are, but rather who you are with. And I'm alone.

Why do I learn life lessons the hard and expensive way?

P.S. Bambi ran into the side of my car in downtown Medicine Hat, Alberta. Bambi gently stripped my car of its right side mirror and my radio antenna (which sucks, because I forgot all but one of my CDs home). Good news: Bambi kept running afterwards, which means I was the victim of a hit and run. Not the other way around.

You should see my car...

Quote of the day

2007-09-20T20:14:00.000-04:00

I quote myself once again:

"Ah, technology. Can live without it, but still don't wanna."

December 8th, 2005, 23h 23m 35s, during a chat with a friend.

Pains and revelations

2007-09-20T19:01:00.000-04:00

I suppose anyone having a life similar to mine would be far more depressed than I am. Being weird helps appreciating boredom. I feel like a martyr in my own eyes. I suffer and lead by example, but only for me to benefit, only for my own attention, for my brain to understand, analyze and incorporate. I won't have mankind learn from my pains and revelations. Those are mine, and mine alone.

I can't help but wonder why men always had to learn through pain and failure. Through war, torture, lies, crime, etc.

Pains and revelations, people. No epiphany without martyrdom.

2007-08-30T16:49:00.000-04:00

This is the emo-est you'll ever see me:

The nice thing about dead friends, it's that they don't ignore you... anymore.

2007-08-25T08:45:00.000-04:00

I've been going to bed real early lately. Like 8-9pm.

I'm just bored with reality.

2007-08-19T20:33:00.000-04:00

I've spent the day mostly thinking about the deads... the dead people that I've befriended and lost. Those who might or might not be dead by now, only I just don't know where they are if they are still alive.

I miss them.

Why do I have that much trouble with the livings? Why must I always isolate myself? Keep people at a distance? Am I trying to protect myself from disappointment?

I can make the deads say whatever I want, now. The deads all love me, by the way. They all wish me to become a great man. They all believe in me.

For a good cause...

2007-08-17T19:36:00.001-04:00

I'm one of those guys who believe love to be nothing more than neuro-chemistry. Yet, I'd want few things more than that neuro-chemical goodness, in all honesty. I need endorphins and dopamine (I'd especially like to keep a high level of dopamine in my nervous system, because its depletion may cause Parkinson's disease, which I might one day be subjected to, seeing how it is present in my family). Most of all, I'm tired of feeling like crap. Unmotivated crap.

I've only ever felt good when I've been writing, or when I've allowed myself to fall in love. Unfortunately, these loves never went anywhere, and I don't write enough to get my dopamine fix. Maybe this is why I'm so expressionless. I barely smile at all. I never get really excited. I never get really sad either. Neuro-transmitters are responsible for emotions, and I don't seem to show any. Maybe is it just neuro-chemistry. All these years wondering why I was who I was, not once guessing my problem didn't lie within the confines of an identity crisis, or existential crisis, but rather in a chemical balance, or a lack thereof.

I don't want the chemical way, though. So, I need more writing and more love. Someone, please, love me, and save from Parkinson's disease.

Uncling and more uncling.

2007-08-12T18:16:00.000-04:00

My uncling (the action of being an uncle) seems to be real good, since my brother and his wife are expecting another child. They must have felt so confident, considering how great an uncle I am, that bringing a third (or maybe third and fourth, you just never know) didn't seem that scary. Sure, my support isn't vocal. My support isn't monetary either. It's not to be calculated in terms of time spent. You can't see it, or point a finger at it. But it's there. You feel it.

Is it really my uncling skills, or that fact that I'm just the greatest guy in the world (until proven otherwise)? It's hard to tell, I know.

I heard the news today, mostly because they've started spreading the news today. They would have done it yesterday, but no one was home. So, they told my parents (actually, the twins told my parents... they just can't shut up for dramatic effect, can they?!), and during my lunchtime (yes, I worked today), I went home to eat something quick, and I was told. But on the way back to work, I started thinking: "Wow... that kid will be born and I will be living thousands of miles away, 3 time zones away. How long will I stay away? Will I be a stranger to this new nephew or niece all my life?"

It really has me thinking, and it's nagging, you know. I don't like having thoughts forced upon my consciousness. All these questions, including the oh-so-important: "Could that kid develop properly and live a happy life not knowing the greatest guy in the world (until proven otherwise)?"

2007-07-27T21:09:00.001-04:00

The one thing I hate the most about my job is the work. Obvious, isn't it? I shouldn't have to work. I can't write when I work. I work all day, get home tired. I just can't write, and if I can't write, I can't enjoy myself. So, I feel like crap and I start to hate myself and my life. Just because of that job that forces me to work.

I need to spend days walking around. That's the only way I know to write. Walk around, take notes, sit down, write and walk some more. If you guys felt like giving me money, so that I'd quit my job and travel, and walk, and write, and be happy, I'd take the money. I'm serious. I would take it, without any shame or guilt.

If anyone out there who happens to like me some and happens to be a millionaire feels like investing a little money on me, I'd appreciate it. I'd work my ass off trying to make him/her proud. I'm a work of art, but I need to work on myself, not on my job. I don't need that much money. I can travel cheap.

Please.

Frank says blah

2007-07-24T19:28:00.000-04:00

I think it will soon be a year this blog exists. I feel like I've done a lot during that year. I got my ass moving, at least. I travelled. I worked. I did manage to have some fun, for a change. Actually, the less you stay in front of a computer, the more you have to write in a blog. That seems really obvious like that, but when you're a stubborn motherfucker (in the most endearing sense), that's just... well, blah.

I started this a year ago with my mind kinda blank, with in mind only one word, that isn't even a word: blah. Frank says blah. Today, a year later, what would Frank say?

Frank says I'm bored.
Frank says who farted?
Frank says nothing rather than say something stupid (we all know that's not going to happen).
Frank says blah, still.

Blah means just that. What is that? Who knows?

2007-07-14T18:34:00.000-04:00

I'm afraid of everything, except confronting my fears.

2007-07-06T21:00:00.001-04:00

Il est des gens qui n’ont besoin que d’un instant égaré s’ouvre un univers de beauté. Le genre humain en est un de souffrances ignorées. Les hommes vivent à l’intérieur de murs de bétons afin de trouver leur existence contrastante, du fait belle.

And counting...

2007-06-22T09:44:00.000-04:00

Few people can pinpoint the exact moment their mind started to drift toward madness, but I can.

I've been in this spiral for exactly 7 years and 6 days.

Quite the little artist

2007-06-08T19:43:00.000-04:00

Quotes of the day

2007-06-08T18:47:00.001-04:00

Everyone is as God has made him, and oftentimes a great deal worse.
- Miguel de Cervantes

I got kicked out of ballet class because I pulled a groin muscle. It wasn't mine.
- Rita Rudner

An author is a fool who, not content with boring those he lives with, insists on boring future generations.
- Charles de Montesquieu

2007-05-28T20:04:00.000-04:00

I wouldn't usually want to have any other job, but at times, people really make stupid decisions, and now I'm missed. The new accountant doesn't seem to like counting. I was asked today... well, let me re-phrase: I was FORCED today to take my lunch break. But I don't need it. I don't want one. I like being able to work for 8 hours straight, then leave and eat at home. But no. The little accounting lady is getting confused over who's taking lunch time and who isn't. So, in order to ease her "hard" work (I mean, counting), I'm FORCED to take 30 minutes off my day to eat, while I only need 15 minutes to eat a quick snack in order my full 8 hours. That leaves me with 30 minutes sitting on my ass, doing nothing. Over the entire summer, it means approximately 50 hours wasted doing absolutely nothing. Those hours, I will never get them back.

When you think about it, my not taking any lunch time doesn't make it harder on the accountant. She has one less column to account for. I'm actually saving her time.

I will be pissed for a while. I'll bitch and moan for a while. I'll protest in clever ways. I'm gonna torture that poor little accountant. I could perhaps spend all these 50 hours tormenting her.

By the way, I have a pool.

2007-05-26T13:54:00.000-04:00

I just came in from a swim. Yep, my pool is clear and relatively warm enough to be enjoyable. It's nice. I feel good and fresh, now.

I'm so relaxed now. I think I'm gonna take a nap.

I know, I'm not saying much so far in this post. But for those who have to cope with the summer heat without any relief, it's my pleasure to remind you that I have a pool, and you don't.

I have a pool.

Best of November 2006

2007-05-23T19:23:00.000-04:00

I had nothing better to do. I have no life.

My unwillingness to make choices is in a way zen-like, whatever happens happens, but in general, it's just so unmotivating.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/drunk-brothers-and-poor-metaphors.html

I'm a weirdly layered guy. I'm consciously cynical and subconsciously naive. I'm a romantic in denial.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/im-weirdly-layered-guy.html

I'm thirty years old, but I read at the thirty-four-year-old level. - Dana Carvey
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/quote-of-day.html

The winner gets a lollipop.The lollipop, as usual, will be red. (Read the small script... hilarious)
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/lollipop-giveaway-contest.html

I'm talking about my blog during the month of october. It was all drug, sex and rock'n roll, but without drug... there was no sex either... and some would argue there was no rock'n roll either. Well, it was good anyway.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/october.html

Read this one. Fun.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/preferences-and-state-of-reality-in.html
Hmm... read the other ones too. Not just this one.

Spread the happiness!
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/spread-happiness.html

I've been known to be overly excited in the presence of an overly excited dog
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/empathy-death-of-dogs-and-quest-for.html

At least, I'll look awesomely cool with my new cooler than cool camera. Considering that I'm already the coolest human being in this room, I can't imagine how revered I will be.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/such-idiot-at-times-but-rare-times.html

"The Canadian way" is that in which we can see the true superiority of Canada, over all other nation, because we're so great that we are able to have others do the things we're too lazy to do ourselves, like war or economy.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/weight-and-letting-people-do-stuff-im.html

Later she asked: "If you need anything, my name is Jill."

Wow, it's the first time I meet someone with a conditional name.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/this-is-part-of-act-of-comedian-i-just.html

Hard work never killed anybody, but why take a chance?
- Edgar Bergen
2-in-1 is a bullshit term, because 1 is not big enough to hold 2. That's why 2 was created.
- Mitch Hedberg
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/quotes-of-day_27.html

Why bring children into this world? The obvious answer seems to be "because it's an excuse for having sex".
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/11/why.html

Best of October 2006

2007-05-21T18:02:00.000-04:00

However, in an open system, there can be an influx of energy into the system capable of reinvigorating the structure -- in full accord with the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Energy input can decrease entropy, and can simultaneously increase order.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/entropy.html

That's this ability to hypothesize that separates us from the wonders of the universe. Intelligent life IS the greatest wonder of the universe. An intelligent form of life like us WITH imagination IS the greatest wonder of the universe. Just imagine a race of ultra-advanced aliens with no sense of humor...
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/energy-of-vacuum.html

There's a reason why I don't want to be clear. That reason remains unclear... how paradoxical! I'll have to quote that one later (yes, as I proved in the past, I'm egocentric enough to quote myself).
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/just-saying.html

"There's a reason why I don't want to be clear. That reason remains unclear... how paradoxical!"

Me
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/quoting-myself-again-great-or-pathetic.html

Q. You quibble, Dr. Seldon. Can the overall history of the human race be changed?
A. Yes.
Q. Easily?
A. No. With great difficulty.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-cant-stop-it.html

"If I did have a tumor, I'd name it Marla."
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/repetition-of-already-posted-quote-i.html

As much as I love hyperdimensional physics, I love my hyperdimensional relationships. My despair is the superstring I'm strangling myself with.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-love-scientific-metaphors.html

It's either day or night (dawn is so inappropriately ignored).
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-feel-like-bit-of-psycho.html

But honestly, am I not spectacular in my disappointing kind of way?
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-dont-want-to-work-tomorrow.html
(great post, kind of)

This morning I asked my Magic 8-ball if this was going to be a good day, and it said "Most likely".
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/hey.html

I hate october 12ths.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/deaths.html

This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/this-is-your-life-and-its-ending-one.html

My last two hugs received were by the same person, and almost two years apart. How sad is that?
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/how-sad.html

Give a man too much time to think and he will think too much.
[...]
Up to this point, nothing has ever led me to believe I am not, in fact, the greatest guy in the world.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/wrong-era.html

I don't believe in fate, in any god or in horoscopes, but I do take Magic 8-balls really seriously.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/my-magic-8-ball-said.html

I don't even care about myself or what happens to me. Why would the entire universe, through a magic 8-ball, care about me enough to change the laws of probability in my favor?
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/laws-break-down.html

Can anyone prove, without a doubt, that I'm not the greatest guy in the world?
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/can-anyone-prove-without-doubt-that-im.html

There's something extremely rewarding in making a pretty girl laugh, you know.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/magic-8-ball-saga-goes-on.html

My favorite memory, my near-perfect memory. That near-perfect moment. That near-perfect reaction. All of that, because of an imperfect book, which still remains my greatest accomplishment, the greatest object I've ever held. My holy grail.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/book.html

I accept donations. Contribute to the Frank Fund today! Frank, the man who puts the fun into "funds". By the way, Frank is me.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/title.html

I found a letter a girl sent me, last year, I think. I just realized that that girl was disturbingly in love with me.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/lost-letter.html

A copy of a copy of a copy of any other day. It didn't even get to that surreal point where you start wondering if you hadn't already lived that day and it's just repeating itself over and over again. It was just a nothing-happened-and-I-don't-care day.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/10/thumbs-up-for-nothing.html

2007-05-20T21:00:00.001-04:00

Do you realize that in the future, the "Best of" of May 2007 will look like this:

Best of August 2006 + link
Best of September 2006 + link
Do you realize that in the future, the "Best of" of May 2007 will look like this
Best of October 2006 + link

etc.

Best of September 2006

2007-05-20T20:54:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm an uncle. Sounds weird, when I think about it. I barely have one toe in the door of life, and I'm uncle to 3 years old twins.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/09/go.html

"The non-cosmological tale of a supermassive asshole" and a few quotes
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/09/oh-and-few-quotes.html

You end up falling in love with the first imperfect reflection of the illusion of yourself that you wear as a mask.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/09/something.html

I'm expecting people to impress me in some regard. Where has my fascination with small details gone?
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/09/pathetic-post-of-week.html

The only limits to what I can do are my own prejudices and fears.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/09/limits.html

23 years old immature man with social deficiencies looking for hot female astrophysician, preferably still alive and fertile for long walks and hardcore undefined activities.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/09/personal-ad.html

"One could argue that even a successful marriage technically is a dead-end relationship."
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/09/dear-diary-let-me-tell-you-about-my.html

Best of August 2006... Yes, I'm revisitting.

2007-05-20T19:20:00.000-04:00

Making sense is overrated.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/sometimes-i-love-being-weird.html

My favorite quote of all time
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/best-quote-ever.html

Laws of physic break down past the horizon of a blackhole. Knowledge ceases to matter. Matter ceases to make sense.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/blackhole.html

Quotes of the day (that day being August 16th):
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/quotes-of-day.html

Being the greatest guy in the world might not be enough, but I like the way Little Franks think, and especially how Little Prime Minister Frank thinks.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/little-franks.html

The expression "quality time" is laughable. The quality of my time is so crappy that I couldn't get anything in return should I try to sell it. Aren't there governmental regulatory commissions preventing time from getting that awful.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/time.html

Everybody knows I'm entirely made of qualities, stitched together with carelessness and apathy. Yes, the seams are very apparent.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/quote-of-day_21.html

Le vol du siècle.
http://franksaysblah.blogspot.com/2006/08/le-vol-du-sicle.html (still makes me laugh)

I will go through september at some point. Look forward for october, though. That has to be my best month ever.

2007-05-20T18:42:00.000-04:00

Why do I always make a step forward only to make two steps back?

I went to europe, wrote a whole lot, met people, had a good time, came back with good intentions and renewed attitude... and now... nothing. I'm just the same old idiot. I deliberately stay by myself, going as far as rejecting offers from others. Seeking loneliness, up to an extent. I justify my laziness and unwillingness to do good things by saying that with my job, I get tired and unmotivated. The truth is, I'm just a lazy bastard who can only blame himself for his own inability to enjoy life.

But I'm planning. I'm thinking about buying a car and go on a roadtrip across the US, move to Kelowna, British Columbia (Canada, people, Canada!) and stay there for a while. I already have a job there, waiting. I will have to deal with life, there. Deal with people. Break this cycle.

But what if I just grow the same old habits back? What if I end up justifying my laziness again, perhaps in order to "rightfully" complain about life and people? It's like granting myself the right to hate and despise.

I'm afraid I might one day consider my life a huge disappointment.

Quote of the day

2007-04-20T10:06:00.001-04:00

On my income tax 1040 it says 'Check this box if you are blind.' I wanted to put a check mark about three inches away.
- Tom Lehrer

Answer to maybe

2007-04-13T10:42:00.000-04:00

Person X says:
its a way to wiggle yourself out of a straight answer.

I say:
nah. straight answers are a conspiracy of philosophers and philologists to keep simple people out of the loop, ignorant of the ultimate truth, the ultimate certainty, that we, in fact, know nothing for sure.

Which, in turn, is paradoxical, ironic and contradictory.

Maybe

2007-04-11T18:18:00.000-04:00

We've confined ourselves to a bipolar thought process. Yes or no. "Maybe" has yet to achieve similar status as yes and no, and that's why I must write "maybe" within the once again confining structures of quotation marks or similar literary trick, like italic. Maybe's failure is perhaps caused by the lack of seriousness it has drawn so far, or the limited faithfuls who praise its essence.

But, let's face it, nothing is totally white or totally black. Maybe is the closest thing to an ultimate truth that we're ever gonna get.

Quotes of the day

2007-04-06T07:55:00.001-04:00

Try as hard as we may for perfection, the net result of our labors is an amazing variety of imperfectness. We are surprised at our own versatility in being able to fail in so many different ways.
- Samuel McChord Crothers

I loathe the expression "What makes him tick." It is the American mind, looking for simple and singular solution, that uses the foolish expression. A person not only ticks, he also chimes and strikes the hour, falls and breaks and has to be put together again, and sometimes stops like an electric clock in a thunderstorm.
- James Thurber

What if this weren't a hypothetical question?
- Unknown

How's that democracy going for you?

2007-03-26T10:43:00.000-04:00

Provincial election today, in Québec. Democracy, right...

Here it's the dictatorship of the bureaucracy. We live in a socialist system that doesn't work, and no matter how much money you put into it, nothing improves. Why? Because socialism doesn't work!! It is expected, in socialism, that everyone will be doing their jobs and no one's gonna fraud. Yet, tons of people don't do their jobs (and they're still getting paid) and people do fraud the government. Injecting more money only encourages more corruption.

I don't believe in any of the politicians showing up. Yet I've voted. I chose the one who's closer to my beliefs. I believe in freedom of choice. For that to exist, we need one thing we do not have today in Québec: options.

Many complain that in their country, I won't name Saudi Arabia for example, they're lacking freedom. That sucks. But it also sucks to have all the freedom you want, yet no choice. I'd love to stay in Québec (well, no, I don't. I want to fuck off). If only it was as nice a place to live as we try to make it out to be.

2007-03-24T13:06:00.000-04:00

I need either a guide, a mentor or a hot girlfriend.

Discuss.

Completely fooled.

2007-03-23T18:30:00.000-04:00

Blog-writing, no matter how awesomely unbelievably great it is, is not fulfilling. It's like pussyfooting around literature. It's just not committing to words, no matter how greatly awesome, might I reiterate. A blog is like a story with no end, therefore a growing, yet incomplete work. Completeness bears meaning greater than the meanings of every used words that make up a work.

In all honesty, and in little humility, I am good enough to write stories that, when considered in their entirety, are actually several stories meshed in one, depending on who you are and what you are looking for. My stories are layered in such ways that no two people will appreciate it in the same way. Unfortunately, the entirety of my stories is something very few people know about. Actually, just one, me, because none of my writings have been brought to an acceptable level of completeness just yet. They are complete in my head, but that elusive physical achievement is a self-sufficient monster that grows and guards the doors of my motivation, inhibiting anyone from trying to get to me, and inspire me a will to put out the necessary effort.

Who will come with a sword held high and fearlessly at the monster, daring to go where people have ever only been trapped, never welcomed? Who will joined me to enjoy the beautiful views from my barred windows?

Damned prison, made of laziness and reject. Might I reject it as well, life would be somewhat brighter. But my confinement is self-imposed. It is my answer, or justification, to this social attrition I sometimes draw so much pride from. I guess that, perhaps, a man who thinks solitude rhymes with independance is only fooling himself.

How great can a man be if no one knows him really?

I'm a tree in a forest where there's no one to hear me fall.

2007-03-17T15:21:00.000-04:00

I'm not happy, but I'm not crappy, so I go on.

Working on thin ice

2007-03-16T19:05:00.000-04:00

I've worked these past two days. Ah, the beauties of a golf course. It was only what I could perhaps call a punctual assignment, as it wasn't an official return to full-time work. But it was a necessary task, and since I'm not doing anything else, I use it as a replacement for non-existing social life.

So yesterday was fine. It was warm. We had to dig up all the drains so that water from the melting snow can be drained out. Lots of them were covered with ice, under a few feet of snow. But it was easy. Some of them, more interesting, were under a thin sheet of ice, and surrounded by a lake. But I had good rubber boots, and good thick woolen socks, so it was no problem.

Today, we continued, did much of the same thing, with one tiny little difference: instead of being 2 or 3 degrees over 0 (celsius, people, when will you learn), it was 20 under. Oh, and more fun. There's a brook evacuating many drains that was blocked by a path made of beaten snow. It was a dam, that's what it was. So, water couldn't be evacuated. So drains didn't work. So we had to break it down. But it wasn't your regular snow path over a brook in the winter. It was a 40 feet wide dam. And we had to tear it down. AND... I fell twice in it, up to the crotch. -20 degrees, people. Cold water.

But I was wearing a good combination of crappy clothes, each having a different purpose and doing a fine job of it. So, I didn't get totally wet. I didn't get totally cold. I was comfortable. I could work, and I got the job done. We had a laugh. We had a beer. We ate Doritos. I'm glad this is the weekend.

The Scarlet Letter

2007-03-12T16:29:00.000-04:00

What if we wore our shame rather than our pride?

"Be true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred!"
-Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter.

Wouldn't we be more humble? Wouldn't we forgive others with greater ease?

Albert Camus, in the greatest book ever written, suggested that hell should be a street with signs, announcing to would-be consumers what everyone has in store. Who are you really?

Who am I? I guess I'm a half-blind, pretentious fucker who's to afraid to live life.

Sure, I have tons of qualities, and great ones, but aren't we truly defined by our limitations?

There I go, I wear my scarlet letter, and I repeat it for emphasis:

I'm a half-blind, pretentious fucker who's to afraid to live life.

Quote of the day

2007-03-12T08:29:00.000-04:00

The intermediate stage between socialism and capitalism is alcoholism.
- Norman Brenner

My friend Buddy

2007-03-10T14:32:00.000-05:00

I met Buddy in Bonifacio, Corsica. He followed for long periods of time spanning over two days, while I walked around the city before leaving for Sardinia. I wish I had taken him with me to Sardinia. But... he was a stinky. He will be remembered as such.

Buddy thought of only two things: eat and play.

He hung around the harbor, never bothering to go within the walls of the fortified city. Probably hoping to get on one of these boats.

We were silent friends. I did call out to him a few times. But he knew, when I walked away, that it was time to follow.

When I left, he probably didn't even look back. I don't think he has kept of photograph of me.

Gone. Done. Over. Blah.

Quote of the day

2007-03-10T08:31:00.001-05:00

Everybody lies, but it doesn't matter because nobody listens.
- Nick Diamos

Quotes of the day

2007-03-09T08:04:00.000-05:00

Get all the fools on your side and you can be elected to anything.
- Frank Dane

In democracy it's your vote that counts; In feudalism it's your count that votes.
- Mogens Jallberg

The word 'politics' is derived from the word 'poly', meaning 'many', and the word 'ticks', meaning 'blood sucking parasites'.
- Larry Hardiman

Political quotes... how pertinent, quotationspage.com!

Look who I found...

2007-03-08T10:04:00.001-05:00

http://tarheelblue.cstv.com/sports/m-footbl/mtt/rich_richie00.html

2007-03-08T07:32:00.000-05:00

I mailed pretty much all my unmailed postcards yesterday, except those I'll deliver in person.

I met my boss as well, talked a little and learned that I'm going to get much more money than I expected in salary this year. So, fine.

Finally, today's my birthday. 24.

Bored.

2007-03-07T14:13:00.000-05:00

Good news: Tool, April 27th, pretty much confirmed. Now, all I have to do is wait until the ticket sale begins. Yay!

Bad news: There's not enough air in my right front tire.

Ok, the air in the tire doesn't bother me much. It just sucks to do the "good news" bit when you don't have a bad news to announce along. To be honest, there were tons of bad things I could have said, but I didn't feel like being really pessimistic. For once, at least.

I have to start setting myself optimistic goals. My problem, though, is motivation. I have tons of goals, just none makes me want to outdo myself or only even move my ass some.

I have to start training a little. Strengthen my back, at least. Also add some flexibility to my articulations, especially the shoulders. I've had tendinitis problems in the last few years, but with proper training, stretching and strengthening, I can get rid of that. I want to be in good shape. Not to look good, because a great body hardly helps making an unattractive whole be looked at differently. Just to feel good. No more back problems, shoulders. Breathe better. Sleep better. In all of today's diets, physical exercize and good sleeping are unduely overlooked. That's what I want. That's how I want my body to work for the next half a century. The goal: be able to run around with my grandchildren, if I ever get some.

But where's the motivation? Hypothetical grandchildren? Me, a guy who can't even look a girl in the eyes and ask her out... I know I should make the effort in order to deserve the result, but instead, I look for a fairly certain result, then only can i work upon achieving something. I'm a weird guy.

I'm on a posting spree

2007-03-06T13:08:00.000-05:00

Third post today!
Now, I just have to let go of this excitement building up within. I will soon go to my first real concert: TOOL!

They were supposed to come to Québec city on April 27th, but Danny Carey tore his biceps in a fight (yeah, a fight). It will be reschedules, I think, and I'm definitely going. I have to find someone to go with, because it sucks to go to a show alone.

Tool has been my favorite band, since the beginning of the 21st century, at least. When I heard the news yesterday, I was all excited, and mostly shocked. I want to buy my ticket! NOW! They're not on sale yet.

You see, I can't even write anything even slightly interesting. I sound like a schoolboy on a holiday.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSJXV0ZJ4JQ
Ticks and leeches - Tool

2007-03-06T11:20:00.000-05:00

To all you australian photographs out there: I know what you did last summer!

Actually I don't, but I wanted to be 100% unoriginal, and I did it in a 100% original way.

I like to be cryptic at times. People could argue that I'm cryptic all the time, but that's not true. I'm a very honest and frank person. It could be said that I destined to frankness, bearing such a name, and crowning myself of such a nickname as The Frankness. My silliness of bygone days now sounds pretentious. Where's the line between stupid and arrogant?

Question better left unanswered (the politically correct thing to say when you're just too lazy to find an answer).

Talking about politically correctness. There's an election campaign raging in Québec. Just when I come back from 45 days in europe... It just makes me want to leave again. It's such a stupid campaign, driven by "smart" people taking people for idiots. It's a shame to see that it's always the way it worked, that it works again, and will work for generations to come. I guess I found out during my trip that there's no running away from political hell, as it's the same thing everywhere. The only way not to be affected by it all is to not care at all, and that's not something I can do. I'm concerned. It seems that I must now admit that I'm shamefully patriotic. But I think I could be patriotic anywhere in the world. Now that I've been to italy and returned, I still follow the Prodi saga. And here, two successive election campaigns: first in Québec, then the entire country.

Signed,

French Canadian Elitist Bastard.

Words mean something

2007-03-06T07:20:00.000-05:00

I photographed almost every postcard I wrote during my trip. They were mostly my memories, not those of the people I sent them to. By the way, Aliya, don't read this one, it's yours and I haven't mailed it yet.

I know my postcards probably won't have changed anybody's life. The first part of my novel probably hasn't changed anyone's life yet. Why write and be so inconsequential? My metaphors probably hide my messages.

I can make her laugh, but whoever said that to seduce a girl, just make her laugh, is wrong. I make girls laugh all the time, yet none is really willing to give me a shot. Some say they would date me, if they weren't 2000-6000km away, or didn't already have a boyfriend. Yeah, right.

Quote of the day

2007-03-04T09:07:00.000-05:00

In physics, you don't have to go around making trouble for yourself - nature does it for you.
- Frank Wilczek

The Angel of Death

2007-03-03T21:16:00.000-05:00

This piece of art was one of those who fascinated me the most during my trip. I saw many artists of the Renaissance that I really like, like Boticelli, Signorelli and Michangelo, but this one that I don't even know who is its author really made me stop. To be honest, it surprised me. It's in the Chiesa di San Pietro di Vincoli, in Roma.

Roma is a city extremely concerned with its image of holiness, even though it's equally, if not more, bloody and barbaric than it is christian and holy. I don't know why people try to hide its duality, while it could be exploited in a much more interesting way.

That statue, this angel of death, sparked an inner monologue within me. Since I was in a city that considered itself holy in many capacities, I wondered whether one city in this world could claim the title of "evil" city (and since one of the chapter of my novel is titled 'City of Evil', this debate was particularly important and fascinating to me). Roma just doesn't cut it as evil, in my opinion. I considered all the cities I've seen, and none qualifies as evil. Every city has its shiny moments, its liveliness. I guess good and evil are really just how we perceive things and places, or people for that matter. To me, Venice had a pretty gloomy look, perhaps only because the streets were empty, I was hungry, disappointed, sad, lonely, depressive and the sky was cloudy, and the canals foggy and smelly. I imagine well a deserted street of Venice haunted by a serial killer. It would be the perfect set-up. Venice is still a medieval city, that has never adjusted to modernity, because of a lack of space. It's a good thing, in my opinion. But Venice isn't an evil city. It would be perhaps, if its past wasn't so rich and glorious.

I can't put my finger on that elusive city of evil. One that would advertise itself as such, one that'd give you either chills or amazement, or both. I guess the closest to that we could find would be Nazi death camps. But it just feels wrong and morbid to be fascinated by such a place. A city is made evil by its inhabitants, who are evil, not crazy. Hitler was crazy, out of phase. Not evil. He probably thought he was doing good. True evil is selfish. It is one man's tool for his own service. Not a bunch of men's tool for a "higher" purpose, in their minds. I don't know.

Maybe a true city of evil doesn't really exist, just as Roma isn't a true holy city of God anyway. It's one big monument to human ego.

Pics

2007-03-02T06:18:00.000-05:00

Corsica is awesome. The french are annoying, but Corsica is amazing.

Bonifacio, Corsica. One of the most beautiful place on earth.

If I was to be a stray dog, like my friend Buddy, I'd get lost in Corsica as well.

Alghero, Sardinia. The Mediterranean Sea at its most mesmerizing.

Trequanda, Tuscany, lost in the fog. Yes, there's a village in there. That day, I doubt they saw the sun.

Trequanda, on one of its shiniest days. Remember, people, that was in the middle of winter.

2007-03-01T19:20:00.000-05:00

Wherever we go, we always find things to make us laugh, don't we? The very nature of man is generally laughable.

Why do I hide myself when I laugh? Some of you may have noticed already, those who have seen me laugh. Why do I avoid eye contact? Is it just an attempt not to be read like a book. Somewhat ironic, because then I just go off and write a book that displays my nature under all of its angles. I mock myself. I blame myself. I also talk of myself with lots of reverence. I'm fair in my description of who I am... but with a delay.

I show myself, who I really am, but I give myself some time to run for cover, then people read me, and I'm nowhere to be found when it's time to be confronted. Or if I'm to be addressable, then it's through some mechanism that allows me similar flexibility and cover. Have I ever been honest with someone, face to face? Would it make a difference in the result?

Back in Québec

2007-03-01T06:43:00.000-05:00

I'm back. I'm gettin reaccustomed to my laptop. I'm tired. I don't know what to think yet. I'll get back to you on that.

I have postcards I couldn't mail, because when I purchased stamps, I realized they were larger than the area left to put them on. So I will send the left-overs in bunches. Don't worry. You will get them.

Oh the fun of making fun of people who are just as lost as me, but less proud.

2007-02-24T14:40:00.000-05:00

Roma is so much fun... when you know what to really look at. that is, tourists lost looking at their map. You can see 10 of them on every street corner. Since I'm proud and stubborn, I'm fucking lost, but I don't look at my map, or I look at it in dark corners when no one's looking. Nah.. but I kinda know where I'm to go... and I still have lots of time... it's only 9pm.I give me until midnight before I start crying.

Congratulations to all those who got a job recently.

Hmm... I don't really have anything to say. It was pretty much only the map thing.

By the way, I'm in Roma, and I already have lots of blurry and dark pictures. They look terrible, but I prefer to call it artistic. I possess the artistic license, since I'm a writer, so i can call my crap art if I want.

Ok, back to trying to find my way toward my hotel.

Oh... I've seen the vatican... from 2 km away, and only the dome. I didn't know where i was at the time. So much fun.

Money

2007-02-18T12:16:00.000-05:00

I was suckered into buying a watch today. Moussah, from Senegal. I paid next to nothing for a rolex (really), even though I didn't want any stolen fake rolex, that will stop working in two weeks, in the first place. But I thought that money get spent anyway, I might as well lose it to a guy who lies with so much enthusiasm. i wonder how he will tell his buddies how he screwed me (ever so slightly... I paid next to nothing), still. Will it be with respect, at least? Will they laugh at me with admiration, at least?
---
Three americans were talking about baseball at the table next to mine in a restaurant. I didn't join in. I must really have changed. Or was it that they were talking more about money than baseball itself? I'm so disinterested in money.

Later on, one of them kept talking about things I'd talk about, bringing up arguments I would bring up myself. I found my good twin! Yes, I'm the evil one.

Ok, I get it now

2007-02-18T08:58:00.000-05:00

I now understand why people bash Pisa. Once you've been around, there's nothing more to be said. One day is more than enough. In the morning only, I've walked to every site of interest, taken 80 pictures (each with a comment in mind), returned to the Piazza dei Miracoli, and I now sit wondering what I'm gonna do with the rest of my day. Perhaps read, while keeping MTV Italia as a soundtrack.

Talking about reading... I can't stop buying books. I'm stupid. I think I've read 7 books since I left, and I've kept 6 of those, and still have 3 more that I have yet to start. Still I buy stupid books. I just love books. Not to read them... just to have them, to own them. That is perhaps my only materialistic trait. Along with my computer, I guess. The other things I just don't care about them. If people in the street mug me and steal my digital camera, I scream: "Leave me the memory card at least!" If they steal my bag, I tell them, leave me my papers and my favorite book that I keep at all time with me (unless I leave the bag at the hotel, as I'm doing nowadays because my shoulders can't stand the weight anymore), i.e. La Chute, by Albert Camus.

Back to Pisa-bashing. Although the people are nice and you can buy stolen fake rolex cheap (which I haven't purchased), there are things about tourists that just leave me almost speechless, after all, I'm writing about it. The joke with the picture of someone pushing on the Leaning Tower, with the help of perspective, of course, is funny the first time you see it, because it had just never crossed your mind. But when you realize that everyone's doing it, with daddy photographing sonny, and boyfriend photographing girlfriend, etc., you can't help but suddenly feel very sorry for manking. Oh the shame! It's fucking enough!! People, you're terrible (although I'm aware no terrible people pushing perspectively on the Leaning Tower reads my blog).

Last thought about today and Pisa: If I sit in front of the Cattedrale and the Torre Pendente (Leaning Tower, people... damn, just learn italian, will you?!) long enough, I could perhaps claim to be on a thousand pictures.

Now really, this is the last though: A thousand pictures are worth one word: crap!

Isn't it the greatest blog since God created earth?

A Quebecer in Pisa

2007-02-17T13:39:00.000-05:00

I don't know why all those Pisa-bashers say it isn't worth it. I've been here only a couple of hours, and already I've met several nice people, five of which I was even able to speak french to.

On the other hand, I was still sligthly unimpressed, especially when I saw the Leaning Tower, and I thought: "Hmm... mine's longer than that." By that, I meant that it wasn't all that grand, all that impressive overall. It was an analogy, people! But the tower... it's a tower... and it's leaning... I get it. Anyone ever seen the tower of the Olympic Stadium, in Montréal? Now that's leaning! Even though it was done on purpose, I'm still amazed it still stands. After all, it was designed by a french dude.

There, link to french again, and for a reason! I'm that good. A couple of frenchies came to the hotel/albergo/pensione where I'm staying here in Pisa. I heard them talk in the stairway, and they reached the top floor, I told them, with a smile, that here in Pisa, they always send francophones on the last floor. It must be some kind of vendetta, bitterness from the time Napoleon conquered Pisa and gave it to his sister. But this french couple asked where I was from, and didn't believe me at first that I was from Québec. I concluded that I must soften my accent to make myself understood around here. But don't worry, when I come back, I'll be swearing in no time, and the glorious joual will still live on my tongue.

Long live the joual!

Thoughts of the day... yesterday's day.

2007-02-16T05:41:00.000-05:00

I have lost so much weight since I left, mostly due to my eating habits and the countless hours of walk, that I am now able to sculpt abs with the fat left on my stomach.

Try to imagine that now. Isn't that beautiful, in a sad way?

---

Now with some french for you.

Umberto Eco, dans Le nom de la rose, prete au livre de l'ecclésiaste, de la Bible, la citation suivante: "Or je trouve plus amer que la mort: la femme, car elle est un piège, et son coeur un filet; et ses bras des chaines."

Ce qui m'inspirat ceci:

Mes chaines à moi ne sont que le souvenir de ces bras délicatement me serrant le cou, tandis que son menton reposait sur mon épaule. Un piège, certes, dans lequel je me suis débattu au point de m'emmeler davantage, si bien que je ne vois plus d'espoir. Amer, en effet, mais je la préfère tout de meme à la mort, qui est froide, tandis que mon piège me réconforte. Partout ou je vais, je sens son étreinte, et ça me fait sourire. Alors, je pense à son sourire, et je conviens de me débattre encore un peu plus.

On top of that and some more.

2007-02-13T05:33:00.000-05:00

Here's the lost post an evil firewalled computer swallowed and left nothing of, three days ago:
___

I met Buddy yesterday, when I got here, in Bonifacio. I think it's a desparate-dependancy versus desparate-affection relationship. He's the first friend I made since I got to europe. The other friends I met were already friends prior to this trip, more or less. Other people I met were friends of friends. But by myself, Buddy's the first and only so far. I call him Buddy, but I can't say for sure. He might be a she, and Buddy might be Girl.

He probably wants only two things: he wants to eat and he wants to play. I should take him on the ferry to Sardegna (I call it Sardegna, and not Sardinia, because in Sardegna, people call Sardegna Sardegna. There!). It's weird how travelling with animals is common around here. I've seen unleashed dogs on the ferry from Livorno to Bastia. But Buddy's dirty and probably smells. How welcomed would I be if I travelled with a stray dog, a dirty one on top of that. But I like his company. That's the one thing I've hoped for for almost a month.

Yesterday it also came to my attention that I have more gone than to go. Or was it two days ago (or five?)? Time flies. Only 18 days to go, and so many things to see. I should stop thinking about plans and timing and deadlines until two days before I leave Roma to return to Québec (or what I call "Glorious Canada", for its superiority is seen in the way Canada always have others do the things it is to do itself, like economy or war). It's crazy how time flies.

I feel like I have something to say about every street corner where I've been when I return. I still remember pretty much all I try to recall from my days in London. My memory is working well. I'll have things to say, at least to those who care to listen. My memory is really a sweet thing. It seems that my two biggest assets, besides my mesmerizing eyes [insert smiley here], are my memory and my imagination. For a writer, it's like having access to a limitless source of inspiration... and there's still TV, books and internet on top of that. "On top of that" seems to be my expression of the day.

My hair get fluffy in the wind. Guess what? I need a haircut, on top of that, because the top of that head looks ridiculous, and it's ridiculously windy. A haircut, or a sexy hat.
_______

Well, now I'm in Alghero, and there's even more wind, and I still need a haircut. Just try to get a haircut from someone who can't understand a word you say. Oh the fun!

---
Don't you think it's funny when you see an old man with a face that has started to eat itself? I do.
---
Tell me why would two ladies go to McDonald's to drink an espresso...
---

Nothing more to say. You... how are you doing?

French keyboards are evil.

2007-02-06T09:37:00.000-05:00

If you walk towards the back of a boat while it's going forward, you feel like hovering over water.
---
At this very moment; no government in the world can claim to know exactly where I am. This is so cool. I changed country without going through customs. Ha!
---
French keyboards are the stupidest things ever. When I got here, I looked around, walked a little and thought I could easily live here... until I saw french keyboards. Scratched off the list!
---
But... women are beautiful here. Or as french keyboards like to say: "ao,en qre bequtiful here:"
---
On that interesting note, I leave you for today... but not without more french keyboarding fun.

I cqn.t stqnd these fucking jeyboqrds: I cqn.t zrite qnything zrite zith these shits: Even itqliqns keyboqrds qre ,uch better thqn this horrible crqp: tqbqrnqk11 Thqt looks like untrqnslqted russiqn to ,e: oh ,y god11 qnd I don.t even believe in god: Thqt ql,ost cq,e out right:

Logging out:

Just left Trequanda. Livorno's a dump. It smells.

2007-02-05T09:14:00.000-05:00

It's hard to believe one could enjoy swimming in something smelling like rotten eggs. I give you an italian terme as evidence, your Honor! You swim through a white creamy substance that remind you a little too much of bird crap. But it's warm, so let's pretend it has amazing virtues. And there's your experience! Welcome to the good old Roman pleasure, leasure and social tool of ascension, because you know you're going somewhere fast when you see that many penises in the men's locker. And there's your experience!

Just so you know, ladies, men's room is for males only, although I did hear a high-pitched voice in there, which made me face the wall with unmatched rapidity. And there's your experience!

But it was still nice.

I'm in Livorno now, waiting for a boat that will take me to Corsica tomorrow. I found a room in a pensione, even though the little old lady never understood a word I said, and I equalled her in reciprocity.

I loved Trequanda. If it weren't for Hurricane Vivika, it would be the quietest place on earth. The most stress-free environment ever created, and God (oh the blasphemy) knows I needed stree-free-ness.

Vivika is a not-yet-3 years old viking blondilocks/tiny italian drama queen, who can't understand why I speak almost no italian and no norwegian. And she speaks so much. She speaks all the time. So I tried to learn from her, but like the italian that she is, she speaks too fast.

She's the wonderfully imaginative and dynamic little girl of an italian painter/mother/wig maker/human being and a norwegian olive picker/father/cook/human being (sorry if somewhere in there I missed a stronger vocation, but I didn't have that much to work with). All this in an isolated little place, just outside of Trequanda, Tuscany, where the hills are so steep you wonder if that wreck of a car (sorry if I'm hurting feelings) will make it to the top. Talking about this car... have you ever seen a beautiful and elegant italian woman beat up an engine with an iron rod, hoping to make it start? I have, and the car started... that one time. The other times, until it got fixed, I've had to push the car for it to start. That's truly fantastic (no kidding. You can't be sad or preoccupied while and after pushing a car to a start).

So, Trequanda must be a part of Eden left unwatched by God (I use the name of God in vain far too often. the three christians I met in London would crucify me... damn!). It's quiet. It's isolated. It's perfectly dark at night. The 400 years old house is very cold, but I've never slept better at night. The stress-free-ness, perhaps.

For over 10 days, I've felt so bad for feeling so good.

Trequandian cats

2007-02-03T09:16:00.000-05:00

Cats are gracious, when thye're not walking around with their tail up high, showing their anus to everyone. That's all I have to say about cats, except that they would probably look more cuddly than evil if it weren't for me constantly antagonizing them.

I guess I'm just jealous. I wish I'd be gracious and elegant, but the best I can do to hide my clumsiness and unfittingness to the world is to look threatening, uninterested and/or mysterious. I'm not sure it works either. Maybe I just look like an ass, but an unassuming one, so I guess I could potentially be somwhat endearing. I just have to find people with an open mind.

I always use that excuse to explain my inability to initiate and maintain human relationship. I could use that for all relationships, really, including animal. There, cats, you aren't open-minded enough! It's YOUR fault. I'm an ass.

I've spent the last 9 days in Trequanda. I don't know how desparate people are, around here, to see me leave. I'm leaving, I promise. I'm just not sure where to, yet. And I have to find a place where I can watch the Superbowl. I really have to go.

I've wondered a lot about my future, lately. There might just be something in it. I'm thinking about moving to Kelowna, where a job's waiting for me. But I don't want to leave alone. I've had enough loneliness, probably more than 97% of the people on this planet. Ethiopian die, but at least they die in bunches. And there's one person I want. I'd really like her to move away with me. I'm pretty sure she'd do it, if it weren't for me. But I just wish she'd give me chance. Don't I deserve one? Am I not a great guy? One who now has interesting stories about lands far far away. I can probably get invited to Trequanda again, if she wants to see this part of Eden forgotten on earth. A place where time, pressure, deadlines, expectations and civilization don't exist, as long as you're willing to fill up the bottles of water and put them in the fridge when you're finished. I've spent here nine days that felt like three. I've never slept better. I've never written more. I'd probably be as close to happiness as I can if it weren't for the constant thinking about that one person, the only person I'd ever want to share this with.

What do you say? Drop everything, move away with me, and at some point will fly to Italy for a few weeks, and I'll take you to Trequanda. I'll take you everywhere. I don't ever want to travel alone.

And no, I'm not talking about you, Pat.

Junk

2007-01-24T11:57:00.000-05:00

The universality of McDonald's warms my heart. Since I got here in italy, i haven't been so shy, more embarassed (I know shy and embarassed are kinda similar in italian, imbarazzato, something like that) when it came to ordering in a pizzeria, trattoria, osteria, allegria, et ceteria. I'm jsut unable to mumble the few italian words i know (we're talking about bad preparation here). But when I saw the big yellow "M" and entered, I didn't care. I was gonna stuff my face pretty bad. And i'm a bad, bad man. So I asked the cashier if he spoke english, and he said "un po". I thought: "I don't care if I look like the asshole who doesn't want to make the effort to speak italian in italy. It's fucking Mcdonald's!!"

So I stuffed my face, the good old north american way, and I don't feel bad about myself. I needed junk and I was fed junk.

the train to Firenze is cool

2007-01-23T09:08:00.000-05:00

I'm in Florence, people. Much better than half dead venice and this point. There was a very beautiful girl sitting in front of me in the train. She got on at Padova and stayed on the train in Firenze, so I suspect she's going to Roma. So very beautiful. I haven't told her a word. That could have ruined it. I know, I know. I'm lame. I'm a wuss. I don't deserve the title of master of the world (I never did, so I don't really mind). She wasn't the fashion magazine type. She was my type... and close to perfect as far as my type goes. That's the way she'll always remain.

"She's one of these italian angels, the ones that should be sculpted in marble. A painting wouldn't do her justice, because colors fade, and anyway, she deserves 3D."

I wrote that right in front of her. I should have dropped my notepad on the seat next to hers while going to the bathroom. Maybe I'll see her again in Roma. Who knows.

2007-01-21T13:05:00.000-05:00

I might just the only one to be alone. I'm the odd man out. I'm the outcast.

Please someone jump on a plane and come rescue me. Being alone sucks. I overestimated my love of loneliness. I love people. There you have it. I said it. I love people. I suck. Boo

I'm in italy...

2007-01-21T09:01:00.000-05:00

therefore, I have to learn all over again how to use a keyboard. Life is hard. There's fog all over Venice, and even worse, the keyboard is way too high for me to type without having a back ache. It's terrible. I'll find better places to write, though, because this place sucks (meaning, the hostel). Hostels suck in general. But I don't want to spend too much. That's because I'm a careless guy, and if i start to carelessly spend money, I will soon realize this trip is costing much more than it should.

It sucks to be alone. The only meaningful conversation I've had in 6 days was with three guys near London bridge who wanted to film/interview me about morality and christianity. I declined the being filmed, but we still talked for half an hour. Conclusion: I'm going to hell, and maybe, just maybe, I've made them doubt themselves about their belief in God and how beautiful and absolutely true the old testament is, still to this day. It was fun.

Now in Venice, it's deserted, because it's the low season. Half the shops on the periphery are closed, i.e. in Giudecca, were stupid hostel is, nothing's open except the little snack bar next door whose food looks honestly delicious. Or maybe the pictures are photoshopped :P

I'll take the day tomorrow seeing Venice, the real Venice, not Giudecca, I'll come back for the night (not that I want to, but I already paid and I hate to carry my backpack everywhere. I travel light, but it's still heavy). Tuesday morning I'll checkout, go out with my bag, go to the train station and see what I'll do. I'll be looking at something towards Genova. If I find something early. I'll take it. If it's late, I'll put my backpack in a locker and go back into venice for some more exploring.

There. That's an update.

*Jedi mind trick* don't complain about the updates *end trick*

2007-01-20T15:44:00.000-05:00

Leaving tomorrow for italy. The weather is said to be finer than usual. I'm all set. Been waiting for this my whole life, bla bla bla.

I'm pretty much updating only for the sake of updating. I'm a blog whore. 23 seconds left. Time to say goodbye.

3,2,1...

2007-01-19T15:01:00.000-05:00

I just can't get myself to like London. I've seen it under many angles, and each time, I keep telling myself: "I could never live here."

The last thing I want is to come back to Quebec and think it's not so bad after all. I want it to be worse than the places I will visit during this trip. It would be a great news if Quebec, out of all these cities, sucked. It would mean there's room for improvement. Well, I've said that for years, but finally I'll have examples to back it up.

I'm gonna kick your arse, Quebec!

I love mocking the brits.

London's getting better

2007-01-18T14:37:00.000-05:00

I just spent the last three hours writing. It feels so good. And with the twist in the plot I had imagined months ago, I didn't know how I could pull it off, but the operation is a success! Writing is great. I'm awesome. I also wrote a postcard, and I think it is great so far. I have to get to work with the other ones, though. There's no copying here. Damn... talking about copies... I wanted to digitalize everyone of my postcards before sending them off, but I forgot to do it with the first one. And it is a very good one. So, whoever gets that first one, I'll have to see you to photograph it (close-up style... it's more for the writings than the picture. those are my memories after all).

Besides that... well, London is hollow, and I'm better than that. So, blah.

And let there be blood..

2007-01-17T13:19:00.000-05:00

The nose-bleeding hasn't stopped. It happened twice more today. I went to the doctor. Got a little cream I gotta stuff in my nose. I'm feeling terrible. Everything tastes like blood (or even worse, dried blood). Therefore, I lose appetite. Therefore, I eat less. Therefore, I grow weaker. I'm fading, ladies and gentlemen. Life is hard. London's a bitch. What's in the air? What the fuck is wrong with me? How much blood can I still lose?

Worse... people around here aren't high on moral support. I'm such a loveable guy... half-covered with blood, swearing in french, etc. People should be offering me their sleeves for me to wipe the blood off of my face. London's a bitch.

First day in India... hmm.. London

2007-01-16T14:11:00.000-05:00

I'm in London and I don't know how to type anymore. Those damned brits! Damn! I hope the net isn't filtered here like it is in China, or I'll Scotland Yards and MI-6 chasing my arse for the next few days. Yes, I said arse, I'm britishanized... even though I'm not sure I've spoken to any brit at all, so far. I talked to a couple of chinese. To a german. I've come to believe that 90% of the population here is Indian. But the monuments are still there to confirm that this is in fact London, and not New Delhi. I have yet to have any deep discussion on the metaphysics of quantum mechanics with someone as angry as his enlgish accent will let him. That's really why I came here in the first place, wasn't it (question mark here... I can't find it on the keyboard anywhere, which makes me wonder whether the brits sometimes ask questions).

Oh the adventures, so far. I doubted I would have "crazy" stories to tell about this trip, but I have already one, and it didn't take long. Once I got here in London, after my plane had been delayed 3h45, after my bus got to the airport 3h30 late because of the storm (by the way, the bus that crashed on the highway 20, near Drummondville, wasn't mine. I'm safe, don't worry). Well, once I got off the metro, which was the easiest part of the trip so far, I had to find my hostel, but I was nowhere near it, in reality. So I started searching, asking, and asking again. At one point, my nose started bleeding, itwas pouring. It was horrible. I finally found the hostel, but I was kinda weak by then, having lost an impressive amount of blood, and having not eaten a complete meal in a while (plane meals are crap on trays), I wasn't feeling really well. Well, well for it to make it a crazy story. Just imagine the face of the lady at the reception desk when she saw me arrive, the face half-covered with blood. I had to keep myself from laughing.

Anyway, I hope tomorrow's gonna be a little more productive and interesting. I did manage to see a few things today, but it was rather superficial. I'll keep trying. That's what I'm here for, after all.

Blah!

Today!

2007-01-15T09:09:00.000-05:00

I'm leaving today!

I'll keep you updated during the trip.

0 day.

2007-01-14T20:33:00.000-05:00

In less than 24 hours, I will be somewhere in the sky. I'm extremely stressed. I'm sick. I don't sleep well.

Things will be better once things get going. It's all the waiting that's killing me. I keep reminding myself that everything will be fine. But I'm nervous.

I need a massage.

2007-01-12T10:02:00.000-05:00

Damn... still sick. Didn't sleep last night. I feel like crap.

3 days.

2007-01-11T12:08:00.000-05:00

4 days. Everything's going well. Shopping is done (I think). Laundry is done (drying actually). The only thing left to do is packing. Blah.

2007-01-10T20:47:00.001-05:00

5 days.

Quote of the day

2007-01-10T08:18:00.001-05:00

I don't even butter my bread. I consider that cooking.
- Katherine Cebrian

Unoriginal

2007-01-09T18:11:00.000-05:00

6 days.

I would feel so unoriginal to say that I'm unorganized, that I'm messy. I would feel so unoriginal to say I'm stressed. I would be so unoriginal to say I'm bored.

I'm incredibly unoriginal.

One week left

2007-01-08T17:34:00.000-05:00

7 days. As I had expected, I'm fighting the illness with unmatched efficiency. One good night of sleep and tomorrow I'll be well.

That was the good news. Bad news: I still have some shopping to do, including clothes, which I abhor with a calm, if invisible, passion. I have to clean my room a little, make sure I have all I need, and all I need is in order. Pack. Clean up my computer. That's about it.

Things would be much easier if I were an organized person. As anyone seen my plane ticket??

just kidding. It's right here.

Oh the dreaded...

2007-01-07T13:12:00.000-05:00

8 days to go and I'm sick! Damn... I was doing so well. Now, sinuses are jammed, which gives headaches. Which means I'll spend more time in bed than what I'd planned. Ok.. I never really planned anything, more like expected. But the headache's annoying. And I know myself quite well, and usually, my sinusitis is only the prelude to something worse.

But when I woke up, I noticed the sinuses, and started to treat it right away. I decided to wear clothes this time, in order to keep my warmth to myself. I even put on socks. Then I treated it with real medicines. If all goes according to plans, I should be sickness-free in two to three days. I'm taking care of my throat, because it's usually the second part that goes down. If I can limit it to the sinuses, I'll be alright.

Spelling is sadly more important than baseball...

2007-01-06T21:51:00.000-05:00

Is it possible that I may be so shallow as to reject a girl based mostly on her bad spelling? There was this girl I've dated three times two years ago, and I don't think I've ever really gotten over the fact that she couldn't write a sentence without making every words in it want to kill themselves. She was like a Slobodan Milošević, a Hitler, for words. A paragraph was an atom bomb. An entire email, a ruthless genocide. Is it possible that I've never given her much credibility because of that?

It basically means that I have to find someone who can write well. So now, it's a hot astrophysician, minoring in ancient history, loving baseball and architecture, desiring to travel and writing beautifully. It's getting harder and harder every day. Alright... I'm one to make compromises, so she doesn't have to be hot. I'll settle for cute. I can also live without her loving baseball, but she better cook instead! Damn... I really do need someone who can cook, otherwise I'll starve. The list's just getting longer. The search's just getting harder. Please, if you meet that girl, let me know. I need her.

And people, I'm leaving in 9 days, so for the postcard list, contact me. There are still plenty of spots, each empty one reminding me how much I don't have friends, you fuckers!

10 days and counting...down... counting down... as in a countdown... I count... down. Get it?!

2007-01-05T21:10:00.000-05:00

10 days...

...and I'm bored. I hate waiting. Having to wait 10 more days until I finally do something with my life. I'm sick of waiting, because I've waited almost 24 years. Well, I guess I could exclude the first four years, because I wasn't really aware of myself. Also, I don't think I can count the following fifteen years, because even if I had tried to do something with my life, I probably wouldn't have been able to, due to my being a minor, moneyless and hairless. Ok, maybe I give hairs too much importance in regard to my deficiencies. But it would explain why I went through this seemingly atemporal depression during the approximately four years I didn't get a single haircut. Even today, although I have shorter hair, I am depressed, and perhaps that the fact I only shave every month or so has something to do with it (and I'm not like these teenagers and young adults who don't shave just because they have nothing to shave. I just carelessly grow somewhat of a beard, until I get annoyed by it and decide to shave).`
`
I shaved today, yet I don't feel better. I'm bored. I hate waiting. Wait for something good to happen. What if I go to italy, spend a month and a half actively experiencing life, discovering the world and meeting new people, but nothing happens? I mean... well, I mean something. A friend told me to come back with pictures and crazy stories. What if nothing crazy happens, therefore no crazy story to tell? What if my trip is eventless? What if all I have to tell are my impressions, my recollections of places I've visited and just tidbits and anecdotes? Perhaps on my last day, if nothing has happened, I should just go in the street and try to get mugged. Or raped. Rape could be fun. But I have to find a woman willing to rape me, because dude rape isn't something I want to experience. What if beautiful landscapes and historical architecture, and inspiration and writing, and new interesting people, don't satisfy me? What if I need more? What if when I come back, I just sit down here again, feeling bored and lonely again. Waiting for something to happen and hating waiting. Waiting some more. Start a 25th year of waiting for something to happen, not really expecting anything to actually happen.

I quoted Lord Lyttelton a few days ago: "Love can hope where reason would despair." I do hope a lot. I'm a dreamer. If all my dreams were about having my hopes shattered, someone would have found me hanging in a closet by now (actually, that wouldn't work, because the bar in my closet is 3½ feet high, and I'm more than 3½ feet tall). But my dreams are sweet and hopeful. They tell of love, fun and success. But when I open my eyes, reason settles in, and it gets hard to think of love, fun and success, because what I see is a 24 year old solitary, bored and single for over five years, two-time college dropout. This is no picture of positivism and glory.

One could say that I'm desperate for something to happen soon. That one is me, by the way. I said it.

2007-01-04T17:39:00.001-05:00

11 days...

Quote of the day

2007-01-04T07:36:00.001-05:00

"We've heard that a million monkeys at a million keyboards could produce the complete works of Shakespeare; now, thanks to the Internet, we know that is not true."
- Robert Wilensky

2007-01-03T22:27:00.000-05:00

Do you know the world you live in?

http://www.geographyzone.com/new/index.php?t=1&b=1

By the way, I leave in 12 days.

Quote of the day

2007-01-02T18:30:00.001-05:00

"Love can hope where reason would despair."
- Lord Lyttelton

2007-01-02T08:43:00.001-05:00

13 days

2007-01-01T20:55:00.001-05:00

14 days before I leave.

The Postcard list

2006-12-31T17:42:00.000-05:00

This is how it will work. Everywhere I'll be going during my trip, I'll buy a bunch of postcards (if available, of course). Then, I'll walk around, look around, pretty much breathe and live, then I'll sit down and write about what one particular postcard makes me think of, always in this weirdly referencial, comical and pseudo-philosophical way I pretend to write. Each postcard will be unique, either in french or english, with bits of italian to make them sound authentic. Only then, when I'm done writing them, will I decide to whom I send it. Those postcards won't (shouldn't actually, you never know, I might change my mind) be personal. Sure, they'll be personal about me in a way, but they won't be meant for anyone else.

Those who will receive them will own unique creations, and if I ever get famous for some reason or another, they might one day be worth something. So, I guess I'll see you on eBay!

To receive postcards from me, write me an email in which you tell me why I should spend money on you, rather than on anyone else. Leave me an address, and it's likely that I'll send you postcards (not just one, several). The address you give me must be valid, and it should preferably be yours, or the one of someone you know, otherwise you might not receive any postcard at all!

There's no actual limit to the number of people to whom I will mail postcards, so don't worry about not being selected for the postcard list. The only reason why I wouldn't send you postcards would be not having the slightest idea of who you are. If you're a complete stranger, you have never told me a word, either in a comment to my blog, in some form of instant messaging or another recently or way back in the days, or emailed me, or met me in the street, in a fastfood restaurant, in college, high school, kindergarten (I love german words.. I love spy novels... Sicherheitsdienst!!) or on a golf course, then don't bother. We should at least have had some kind of contact, as in a two-way communication where you and I have exchanged structured thoughts towards each other. I'll also accept to send postcard to the cute girl who was sitting on my left in my french class, in 98-99, even though I don't think I've ever told her three coherent words in a row.

That's about it. And remember, people: the sun rises to the east.

Oh Abitibi!

2006-12-30T08:29:00.000-05:00

I just came back yesterday from a short four days trip to Abitibi, a far-off region of the province of Québec. I can't help but feel sad whenever I see all the abandoned houses over there, since jobs are getting scarce. In the village where my grandparents live, I saw two kids walking down the street (actually, one was walking and pulling what I assume was his little brother in a sleigh), and wondered how much they could have living there. The land is desolate. But Abitibi has its beauties, and I enjoy the 11 hours road trip. My motto is: Being bored at home, being bored on the road, I'd rather be going somewhere.

I saw one of my cousins' baby girl. Once more, a baby girl was attracted to me. She kept looking at me. Maybe it's because I didn't shave and I was the only man with a beard out there, so she was wondering what it was. But I prefer to think I'm great with babies. Take notice, women: I'm great with babies.

It seems I'm the only one left without a thing going on in the extended family, except the two younger cousins who are 16 and 13. Even them, I can't count them out, because they've probably had more boy/girlfriends than me by now. But I have nothing. No girlfriend. No family in the making. I hope next time I go over there, I'll have someone to introduce to the family. I don't want to go there alone again, wondering when, wondering who. Always facing the same old questions: when will you bring someone? Is there someone waiting in the wing? Etc.

My grandfather even tried to match me. He was going through all the girls of his village, until he realized there was absolutely no one of my age. Either much too old or much too young. That had the practical purpose of eliminating that village from the list of places to go to find my dream girl.

Also, it was fucking cold.

2006-12-25T16:41:00.000-05:00

Christmas IS the dullest day of the year. I'd rather be bored to death right now. On christmas, things taste bitter (not better). I just can't be happy on christmas. I think next year I should spend christmas away, alone perhaps... just kill the time. Maybe even ignore it and only realize I missed it two days later. Even I didn't expect this christmas to be as void of interest as it is.

What's wrong with me?

And so this is christmas

2006-12-24T18:05:00.000-05:00

Just so you know, I got my camera. It works better than I expected. When I get back from italy, I'll burn a DVD of my videos and I'll sell it $20! or not. I'll have to work on the soundtrack, though. I don't have any idea what it will be made of. Probably brit pop for the time I'll spend in england, and obviously not italian music for my time in italy, because italian music sucks. Don't try to convince me otherwise, it just sucks. Romanian pop sounds better than italian music. I'm not talking about opera singing and this kind of thing, which is very well recorded. I'm talking about italian "rock" and pop. I wrote "rock" between quotation marks, because it's actually an insult to rock. They also have a blooming metal scene, but after listening to some of it, it's just as poorly recorded as rock. It's not that they can't play. It just sounds like crap.

Oh right, it's almost christmas... as if I cared. The only thing I enjoy at this time of the year is watching my nieces being all excited. Am I the only one who hates receiving presents? They're often just useless, and when it's something you personally asked for, it's just not exactly the right one. When I need something, I buy it. Why should doing something nice for someone else be a thing of two days a year? Christmas and birthdays are the two yearly focal points around which people concentrate their love and appreciation. Am I just naive and foolish to think that we can be nice, considerate and appreciative a little every day? Don't people care about smiles? A smile can make my day. Damn... even the mere memory of a smile can make my day. Nowadays, people only expect their smiles to come when one unwraps presents on two days of the year. If I was caught in such a relationship, beside the one I'm already stuck in with my family, I just couldn't tolerate it. My rule would be: no present for christmas, just be nice all year long. We just pay too much attention to dates. We miss out on 363 days.

Can you see that I hate christmas? I also hate my birthday. Scheduled love and appreciation. No spontaneity. I deserve and ask for spontaneity. If someone can ever show me this, I'd be truly and wholeheartedly grateful.

Sometimes I have the feeling I'm weird, troubled and sick. But I'm not. I'm truly sane, perhaps one of the only sane people in this world.

You see... christmas ostracizes me.

Just blurting

2006-12-23T21:55:00.000-05:00

Cheap rhyming scheme. I'm so lame, I know.

I'm so obsessed, it's depressing.
I'm so stressed, that's the thing.
That's the paralysis, the shortened breath,
The overanalysis, the slow death.
The problem here, what I must overcome,
Is me.

I'm pathetic, I know. Tonight, I read a quote on her blog, saying: "Stalking is just another way of saying 'I love you'." And on the moment I thought "Yeah, but I'm not a stalker". But I am. I just realized it. I'm a stalker. Everyday, several times a day, I take a look at her blog, waiting for the next words she'll write down. Try to guess where she's at, what she's feeling. Holding on to the non-existent chance that she might give me a shot. I guess she's realized that. I have the feeling she's aware of the fact that I'm obsessed and every word she tells me just inputs energy in this perpetual motion machine of my mind, one that already doesn't need extra energy to remain obsessed. We haven't chatted in a while. She doesn't reply to my emails. Maybe that's the right thing to do. I need not to be encouraged, not to be fueled any more.

But I just can't ignore her. She's been on my mind for over three years. Let's hope running away to italy will heal me. She's my tumor. She's the cause of my atrophy. She's not responsible for it, because it's my fault really, but the cause nonetheless. It's much more than running away from her, though. It's also running towards something else. At this point, anything else. A life, for example. Anyone else. Sadly, it seems to be very difficult to find smart and beautiful (I'm not even that picky on the beauty criterias) women who are going to be interested in me as well.

Am I aiming too high? Should I just settle for less?

But I can't ignore her. Trying to ignore her is just so unrewarding. Perhaps it unrewardingness lies in that I don't actually try very hard. I pretend to try, then fail miserably, perhaps even mingling misery with faint hopes. That's because in being miserable, I wish to share my misery with someone. I often say the only thing humans can truly share is misery. It's the only thing that people are totally, openly and honestly selfish about, therefore able to share without holding anything back.

I'm a dam holding water back. So many things, so much pressure. There's a name, hers, that's been on the tip of my tongue for the last three years now. I'm constantly afraid it might slip out at any moment. If only I could have her in front of me, look into her eyes and tell her: "___, I love you. Sadly." Maybe she could look into my eyes, tell me she's sorry, then turn around and introduce me to her friend who is a hot astrophysician, who has minored in ancient history and is passionate about architecture and baseball, and loves to travel. That could be the greatest day of my life. Am I aiming too high?

I've never found that girl anywhere. I typed "hot astrophysician" in Google and got no result. If Google can't find her, how can I? Should I settle for a non-hot astrophysician, or a hot non-astrophysician? When I relativize like that, I consider myself reasonable when only asking for one girl, this girl, to love me. I'm not aiming too high or too low, and it isn't a question of beauty or astrophysics knowledge. It's just about knowing her and knowing myself, and wanting her and feeling that if I had her, I would never have to ask anything from life, destiny, fate, god or the universe, ever again. I could be content. Happy is a strong word, it's a chemical delusion. But content is fitting. It's appropriate, the way I see it, the way I feel. I feel I could make her feel the same way too. Perhaps I could even create some chemical delusion in her as well.

Ô jeune fille, jette-toi encore dans l'eau pour que j'aie une seconde fois la chance de nous sauver tous les deux!