"Enter prize"

After just a few weeks, nobody could talk to each other. The dream of start a business together turned in exactly what they want to avoid: they had to work hard, of course. What the fuck do they have in mind? Selling “thermogenic” medicine without receipt was not that simple. They have to wrap it, sell it through mail and phone, count the gains, calculate the debts and divide the money. Rat really hates to go to different mail offices to keep things seeming like a normal operation. Necklace hates to account the money. He thinks that everyone is paranoid about his “management”, but no one gives a fuck about it, even the police didn’t care about it.

Mum's luv

I swear to you: I’ve never heard anything ‘bout this shit. Thus, I was there, but they never spoken directly to me. They just said hi and by. How can I image? The friends of my kid are on drugs. I noticed that, but I’m pretty sure he’s not a drug dealer…

Back to the Golden Dayz

Snuff movies does exist. Tapes of real massacres can be seen on television somentimes. Turn on the news. When I was a kid I saw an Evil Knievel wannabe dying after missing a ramp. In primetime. It was a snuff movie, I’m pretty sure of that. Anyway, TV was cool. I used to watch cartoons all the time. Cartoon Network only appeared years later, but I was working when I discovered it. Now I’m unemployed and I still can’t do my utopia watching cartoons all day long.

Alienation

You’re living your great-grandfather past in a factory.

Another plot wasted

Sleeping deprivation has taken its toll. Jen thought that she is stronger than her foes, but she was wrong. She became sick, pneumonia knocked her down. Paranoia yields bad results.
First of all, Jen doesn’t even have any foes.

Anonymous but famous

Inspired by what they heard from Steve’s big mouth Joy and Miranda started to write songs so offensive to Marlon that they can’t avoid a lawsuit. The mentions to his real name were so explicit and they can’t deny their (bad) intentions. What can they tell to the judge? A stupid, heretic break of rule for a Goth subculture doesn’t mean shit in the real world. And Steve was lying all the time. All of a sudden, Marlon became a kind of a martyr in the underground because of Joy and Miranda naïve confidence in a psychopath. And how many people in the world recognize the name Marlon Dean now? A few out of the diehard fan base of nü emo, a declining fad, anyway. But for small souls, nothing worth if they can’t be adored in their tiny world.

Looking through the mirror

The CIA insists with me to write in English. I don’t want to do it anymore. The critics really hate me, you can’t even imagine. The public from abroad continues to read my books, but if people from here don’t like them anymore, it doesn’t make any sense at all. I feel like I’m a kind of a prize: the writer who doesn’t remember his own native tongue anymore. A sculpture of my head is on a wall in the Pentagon, like a real embalmed moose head above the fireside of a hunter.

Prize Pride

Thank you for choosing us, Sir. You achieved a great status buying our life sentence plan. Proceeding this way, Sir, you could reach the nirvana of SM. You’ll be tied, sucked, pierced, licked, feed, fucked and swallowed till your last days. You don’t have to worry about your family and problems anymore. The press you never discover your whereabouts, be sure of that, Sir. Do you remember that guy from Manic Street Preachers? Well then, he was satisfied. You will meet him; I bet that you can barely wait, Sir.

Hi, how are you?

Jorge escreveu:
Hi susie, how are you?

Susan escreveu:
You´re a bastard

Jorge escreveu:
Why? What?

Susan escreveu:
I know what you are doing down there in your stinkin' country

Jorge escreveu:
You´re are so bigot... CU another day, maybe we could talk like normal people, who knows...

Susan escreveu:
Fuck you

Jorge is offline

Void in the vacuum

She kept saying it again and again, until I can’t listen to her voice anymore. So I dumped Molly. Now I miss her more than ever.

Sign

Droving around the mountain, looking to the steep hill, Mike gave up.

I screwed up everything again

She was just an excuse. I want to get out of there with a girl. It was never my intention to hurt anyone except for Lourdes. For my surprise, Lourdes was happy for us. She said to Mary: “They’re a beautiful couple”. But when I brake up with her, two weeks later, three chicks started to hate me, instead of one.

Cat Power

Cartoons can`t avoid her blues. Pussy, the cat, is not the real thing, really.

Joie de vivre

Everything is ruined. John fucked up with his own enterprise even cheating sexually the bank manager. He spent all the money in helicopters, planes and cars. When employees didn’t get paid for three months in a row and he bought a new SUV and appeared with it to work, somebody (but he doesn’t know who yet, because the security cams were disabled by someone) throw paint stoked in the factory all over it. The security guards didn’t see anything. Still, nobody gets paid and he sleeps till noon everyday.

It was years ago

My head aches with the noise. I can’t stand the barks and the motorcycle; therefore I can’t listen to my Sonic Youth album. So I stand up and just start to read an old magazine in the bathroom. My friends are doing a protest against police brutality in downtown at that moment. I`m interested just in sex. It’s a shame.

It follows me

Even here I have to hear this bullshit again and again. After all these years of college and hope and happiness and friendship. But, during all that time I heard the same nonsense of my salad days. But they can`t touch me then. Now I’m old and out of money, so they can fuck with my mind. I’ll work and keep my mouth shut, but for how long? Maybe they’re right from the beginning. Ever since I met her, I was afraid of this.

Get out of here

Ever feel so depressed that the Unesco`s charity auctions seems to need your help to compensate the emptiness of your of life? Well, so you are just the same as the people you always despised. Millions are equal to you, Mrs. One-of-a-kind. After all these years finally I’m able to see you suffer. You deserve that, you know? I don’t want to be cruel, but you can’t fuck with others peoples lives and don’t expect a payback. But I can help you, if you permit to do it. And, oh yes, I will pay a price, I’m sure.

Questions, questions, questions (part I)

The sleeves were around her neck; meanwhile the arms inside the huge blouse didn’t reveal her hands fondling her pussy. Her eyes staring at my chest freaked me out a little bit, and I was green enough to not realize nothing lascivious going on. We’re teenagers and I thought she had freakish manners. We talked about music all evening and she seemed to be a smart girl, but a little distant that night.

She kept asking questions about a lot of cool stuff and some nonsense stuff too. Not really nonsense, but it was so ingenious, even for our age, that I was startled. Things like if the man was in the moon, what was a charlatan, or whether an Indian is someone who was born in India. Anyway, she was cool and till this day I wondered if she was joking making all that meaningless questions.

We parted ways, because of school changes, college and all this shit. All in awhile we met each other, say hi and talk a little bit. However, since we became slaves of our jobs, after all the fun, we started to stumble upon each other in coffe houses and stores.

She says she’s getting used to it here, but I don’t buy it.

Blast from the past

I like this narrative that I wrote some months ago: 

http://humanoobsoleto.blogspot.com/2007_08_01_archive.html#5265260732703801367 

"I was thinking that it might be a good idea to …"

I don’t care about him; I just want to keep my job.
Two babies and an unemployed wife justify it, OK?
When I graduate, I´ll despise this type of attitude, I swear,
but do you have another option to me right now?
Please, tell me.
So, come on, open your mouth!
Wheedler, cajoler, arselicker, everybody call me names.
No one of them buys me food and medicine. What I’m supposed to do, bro?
He approached me, you know? Yes, I´m an informer.
People get fired because they trust on me. Do you think that I like it?
Found another job to me right now or get out of here.

Germs going down my throat scare me to death

When I was five, a cold made me shake like an earthquake. Since then, I’m afraid to loose control everyday. I stopped to eat. They put serum in my vein. I’m tied on a bed, as you can see. I’m a happy person, you bet.

Letter

Hi. Nothing to do right now, you know? So I decided to drop some lines and I’ll be straight to the point. You must look out for him. Jason was so sullen when I was forced to leave... You always have been negligent, let’s face it. Therefore, nobody there hears you, I know that; your complaints sounds so full of shit that you’ll never reassure as his father, unless you quit drinking and smoking pot. What da fuck do you expect for? Respect? You’ll never gain his love and attention acting like a pussy. You must be strong and take care of him. I just can’t stand anymore, so I have to rely on your judgment. Honor your kid and lighten my burden, for fuck’s sake. I have done some exercise here, trying to stay out of trouble. They killed a rapist look-alike last week, a stab on the back. He was just a smuggler. He was a loudmouth anyway, if he had explained who he really was and kept low profile, maybe he’s alive now. You’re free, value that, mi morocho.

With love,

Ramón

Dead

The morning light freezes me. The air is getting hotter, but I’m cold as hell. He’s dead. The knife in my hand weights like a shattered future.

Swung over there

Albert always wanted to smash it. To crush it. That thing annoys him since he recognizes himself as a person. That machine of a kind makes a noise… A sickening roar that makes him wants to puke even during the sleeping. So he avoids sleeping, to eat, to kiss, to fuck. Adelita left him after two months. She was patient, but can’t stand anymore. She didn’t help him to avoid his progressive ruin. Alberto kept talking and drinking water, talking and crying and slamper from psychiatrics. Finally alone, he murmured “Now I will rooster the roost”. Albert shot his head, smiling.

Phone call

Ramón always wondered how was to living in California in the seventies, when he was growing up in Sevilla, with nothing to do. He always had the sensation of a sunny day inside a comfortable and Spartan house, playing in a warm green bedroom and listing to Beggar’s Banquet and White Pillow. Sometimes he watches Hanna Barbera cartoons. Then, during the night, he goes skating with his parents and friends in the sidewalk by the beach. It is a weird feeling that he experienced as real, like the memory of a dead fella was absorbed in a kind of possession.

She knows: Ramón made a bad choice based only in a vague dream. Anyway, pigheaded as he always were, he packed up his most beloved things and moved to Los Angeles, promising to everyone, himself included, to come back in a year or in a year and a half, maybe.

The heat hit him like a hell’s flame in the “taller” of the old Mexican across the avenue where he’s living with other two Spaniards. Everything resumes to work and to go home. Even living just two blocks away from the job, Ramón is not having any fun at all: cinemas, theaters and indie rock concerts were far away from the hell-hole where he’s living. None of his fellow countrymen likes any of these gringos’ stuff. Always tired, watching TV, his only solace is to buy comics and read a lot of them during the night till the day he fall in with Tom Araya on the street. Ramón tried to talk with him just to see he slams the door of a building in his face. Luckily, she called to Ramón that day. California in the nineties sucked enough to him. One week later and he were promenading in Madrid with her.

Total Eclipse of the Moon

The throng is coming out through the throat of the city’s sewers. They supposed to look like vomit when they emerge from metro stations, but they seem like blood shed by a decapited underdog.
All of them are covered in red from their clothes and, yes, from the blood of other people. Innocent people, you bet, but for the Revolution they were betrayers, spreading greed from the center of the business practices which poisoned all the society. The world will testify the renaissance of the old religion tonight, they thought in unison.
When the night came and the moon vanished from the sky, a Leviathan form raised, shining red. The thing crushed the city with his hands, which have the format of a hammer and a sickle, actually.

On duty

The burn on his elbow is hurting a lot, thanks to the stupidity of his boss, who smokes like an old movie idol to impress the gals. Most of them think that he is ugly. And we’re firemen, for Christ’s sake!
While hoping for a telephone call to make the tediousness disappear along the pain, Ray is looking for pomade in the drawers above his desk, packed of report waiting for fulfill. Another day wasting time with minutiae; nine years ago he forecast a busy and helpful life to himself. Like all other of his dreams, this gone terrible wrong. Most of the people do things that they don’t like during their day jobs; Ray tries to solace himself with the idea.
The entire family died in the fire. Ray is trying to talk with his parents since yesterday, but they don’t answer the phones. OK, they’re traveling, but the thoughts of yesterday are haunting him. He remembers the old couple partially disfigured. They are hugging each other. The kids are in another room, beneath the remains of the bed. Pick up the phone, mom, please. Burnishing the truck, verifying the hoses, his soul is flying. The pain was forgotten. Fondling Laika with a thought, Ray remembered his daddy’s cell phone number. Out of service, out of reach.
A little boy drowned three blocks down the street, swimming in the river. The phone call arrived too late. Useless, we are useless. Another corpse to carry back to a crying mother. In the last three months no life was saved on his turn. Ray takes another cup of coffee and stands alone in the cloakroom, looking to a picture of Glenda in the cell phone. Finally, he erases it. Please, some kid must fall into an artesian well to be rescued.

Her last act

She forgot to put in the refrigerator the food that she prepared. Now the dishes are covered with dust. Nevertheless, months after that, the rice, beans and meat doesn’t turned sour. We can eat it. She thought in everything. You have never left this country, sadly. She talked in a kind of code. You can’t talk to angels and break the borders from far beyond.
Bauru, 1999

Don’t get caught

You have no options. Sometimes, there are no options. Your friend can deny it, but is true. Do it and shut up. Yeah, of course, there are options. Everyone can run away like a chickenshit, but then you must face the consequences.

Be a rat is not that bad, c’mon. All you have to do is talk with your old fellas, just bullshit them, and open your mouth here. Sing to us, if you prefer. You can write your poetry with subliminar message, we’ll understand the subtle. At least we will comprehend you. All you artists claim for that, isn’t it true? Finally somebody will dedicate some attention to your writings. That’s good, uh? Maybe I’ll write an academic thesis about it.

You chose this life, pal. From now on you’ll be a real “damned poet”, I don’t know the exact term, but I think that you can get the idea. Wait a couple decades and you can tell everything to your biographers. The day you fucked up a pair of fucking dealers in payback. Because they fucked you, you know that, uh? Now you can get even.

She doesn’t recognize me anymore

The bad days are coming back. All the ghosts of the past are haunting me again. When I was isolated in my room no one can harm me, except myself, and that was happening. But when I decided to come out and breathe a little, I suddenly found myself surrounded by them. They’re not fucking with my mind, but it is high school again. Their hatred for everyone who doesn’t fit doesn’t bother me anymore, but the simple contact with all these losers left a bad taste of stagnation on my mouth. And she still doesn’t look to me.

Are we walking together when we become old?

It was sixteen years ago. Now she is ugly and this is not fair. Maybe I have some responsibility in her precocious aging. I can’t comprehend why most of the men despise women in the next day after getting laid. All of them are like a gift from Satyr. But I did the same with her. I was a kid, but this is no excuse, I feel like a kind of a rapist now, even it was consensual. A rapist of souls. And I can’t avoid look to her I.D. around the neck. She got my surname. So it was her destiny, really. Did he get acknowledge about us?

I got a hunch

John is tired of being treated like shit by his boyfriend and yelled his resentments at dawn, waking up the neighbors. These thoughts were burning his brain for days and the mental flames are impelling his body. Smiling with contemptuous, Andre whispered something, but John can’t heard it. So he roared “what did you said, you fucking asshole?” just to hear it loud “Exactly, your asshole fills my dick with shit”. Fed up with Andre, John ended up in the headlines of the tabloids.

Fever

Hallucinating in the office, saying yes to everything his boss asks for and forgetting all the orders, licking the papers in his hands and looking to Eisenstein defecating in the middle of the reunion room, above the table, he asks to his colleagues if they’re not smelling something ominous. No.

He can feel it, the torpor going up inside his nostrils until his cerebellum, activating his animal instincts. He wants to grab the feet of the secretary and sucking’ her toes, but he go to the bathroom and lay down in the floor, privy aside.

He feels like had just take a nap for one minute, but after one hour and a half few people notice his disappearance and the production manager found him in the bathroom. They thought that he passed out and took him to hospital. Luckily, the resident doctor dated his sister a long time ago and lied to everyone: the bastard just had fever due to an earache and infection.

S’n’f

Julia was tired of hearing her MP4 at the pool. She is sick of that list of music, 60 gigas are nothing. So, after a good bath, she leaves for the shopping center to buy a MP5 in her uncle’s electronic store. But, before Julia could reach the shop, Albert stopped her at the coffee house. The shopping center internal cameras showed them leaving the place together.

In that afternoon, so tedious, Julia can’t imagine to have so much fun. She dropped Albert five years ago and he improved a lot. Sweating and howling like a she-wolf, Julia was strangulated when she was coming. First she thought it was just an S&M tactic to make she come harder, as he did in the past. She died confused.

Julia humiliated Albert’s father, Hugo, three years ago. She despised him as an old fart after he bought a Hummer to her. Albert had good times with her in his bed, but he can’t stand the rejection. And he was broke. She died without knowing about Hugo’s suicide after depression and Albert’s kinship with him. Albert was arrested and his image was on television, but he doesn’t give a fuck. The fuck that he wanted was revenge.

Nilky

Gillian was pregnant when Josh died from a stroke. He never signed a life insurance and left her jobless with two other kids, besides the upcoming baby. She started to beg for food and medicines in churches, ashamed of asking for more help from his parents and relatives, who helped her with money, but it was not enough. They are poor too, all of them. This life is just a waste, she thought in one of these days, seeing her mother smiling. Brenda was an upbeat person; always told their children how marvelous life is, but now Gillian feel betrayed by optimism. Thomas starves playing with the PS2, but he forgot the hunger because of the games. Jena was older and Gillian was afraid of the boys harassing her. Jena always wants this and that, and terrifying things pass through Gillian’s mind when she starts to imagine the perspectives of the teenager Jena. Gillian felt that future she fears for Jena must be her present now to avoid the worst.

Gillian knew what to do since she was organizing Josh’s stuff to sell what could be dispensable and profitable. She found a XXX magazine with an ad asking pregnant women to auditioning for a new production by the Bellyman. She knew instantly that will prevent Jena to do the same in a near future. She knew. Josh left her without good options, since she is an unskilled worker. If he just saves the money in a savings account for the children instead of buying tons of porn…

Gillian will get revenge. And she needs to do it. She adopts a bold approach. Gillian traveled alone for the audition and made a daring proposal for Bellyman: she will not permit him to shot or frame her face. Instead, she will wear a mask, and the movie will contain the catch phrase: “Is this your pregnant wife? Checks a real treason caught on tape”. He became excited with the idea and with her.

Life is dirt. Most of the guys thought something like that when they saw the DVD on the shelves. But a lot of them rented the film and masturbated when watched it. Nobody never ever had seen Gillian naked, except for Josh and her parents when she was a little brat. She was extremely nervous about her body to permit doctors or parents to see her naked since she gained breasts. Their relatives were too puritan too. Nobody recognized her, she gained a little with the movie and a lot with the following titles and, most important of all, came with the Bellyman and the all the other guys in every shot. Bellyman even married with Gillian to convince her to be pregnant again. Both got rich enough with the last installment (propelled by the slogan “the treason wasn’t discovered and she is pregnant again”), so after the storm they just dedicate themselves to produce their new series of movies “Tasmanian She-devils”. Gillian told to her kids that she is a movie producer, but Jena figured out the truth when she recognized a younger Bernardo as the Bellyman in an old VHS in her boyfriend’s bedroom and looked out for more recent DVDs. Now Jena is planning to do S&M movies with a mask before 18 years old, in Traci Lords fashion. Thinking about it and sweating in bed, Jena dreamed with the series’ title: “The Real Urban Legend”.

Headache

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Headache

Goddamned splitting headache. In the traffic jam, the river flooding one street behind us, with nothing to read and I can’t listen to music because the radio is broken and I forgot my MP5 at the office. My eyes are burning in pain, so I can’t even look to the beautiful drops of rain flowing out the glass. The rain is so intense. Instead of worsen the headache; the noise begins to calm me down. Calm me down. Down the street, the water is flowing. People started to get out of their cars and run away. When the water begins to enter in my car – this cart is antediluvian – sincerely, I think: this is a good way to die. To lie in peace. But Dawkins was right. I don’t have kids, so some genes probably forced me to open the glass. The cars packed in the street was levitating in water, hitting each other. People are crying, some of them talking in mobiles, desesperately jumping on the roofs of their cars. I just come through the door, the water almost entering in above it, and launch me over a pickup truck bonnet. So I jumped in the roof of a Minicar which is dragging down by the stream and, quickly, I jumped into a tree. After all these years, I realized that climbing all those trees in school was more important than learn biology. Hugging a massive branch like a lover, one of that idealized lovers who save our lives even if they’re despised, I watched people and cars and trash and tears going down in a choleric tributary to the new avenue. It took only about four minutes to happen. The Sims players who grew up into engineers and reached the power probably programmed a population control here. Two hours later, redeemed by the firemen like a frightened cat, a nurse who appears to be a lovely grandma helps me and warm me with a blank. The headache was gone, but few days later, I found that I cached a leptospirosis.

At home

At Home

Looking towards the window, the leaves and flowers of the old tree shaking gently with the wind, he thinks how warmly this bedroom could be in the afternoon. His nephew and Sarah, his daughter, came upwards and kiss his cheeks, one at each side, when he bends over, calling his name and jumping all over with dirty hands of chocolate. They don’t know what happened. They’ll just get acknowledgement of the incident more than a decade after that night.

Just before a shower, he told to his mother what happened. She becomes angrier because he leaved the hospital without telling her. Grandma, grandma, can we eat some cookies with milk? Worried about the children, as always, she looks at him with a recognizable face that means “We will talk later” and he just says OK. This tacit truce gave him some peace, at last, in the end of that long day.

After the bath, he laid down in his bed, turned on the TV and the children sited down using his torso as a back rest, happy to be around so late watching the news with him. When the report about the flood was screened, none of the three understood what happened, even paying much attention to it. He slept with Sarah and Paul the nephew fighting for a Spider Man comic book above him.

Marksman

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Marksman

He became to be a degenerated bastard. That what he wasn’t meant to be, but it happened. Cutting ants’ wings, burning them, throwing salt in snails and smiling in the sun, he looks like a typical old school sadistic child. But he becomes gloomy when his mother, who was looking for him, found her son acting like the perfect jobless piece of shit that he became since he was put in temporary dismissal after torture a kid to death. That filmmaker from Brazil would make him look like a hero. But no, here the criminals should be arrested in a red carpet. After lunch, he went to the district, with the excuse that he must open his heart to his friends. After some small talk with his old colleagues, he was able to go inadvertent to the cells corridor. There, he shots everyone behind bars that he could. When his friends approached, Robert shot his own head. His last think was, like reassuring to himself: “Someday this gruesome immolation will be recognized as the first benign suicidal shooting in US”.

How Come?

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

How come?

It was in 1987. I was skateboarding down the hill with an old fella, Markus, when all of a sudden a car came out of nowhere and almost hit me. And I was ON the sidewalk. The driver abruptly maneuvers to enter in a garage. He didn’t stop and barely paid attention to me. It was like two minutes ago, the remembrance is clear and livid. Shaking, I rest against a wall for awhile. Markus is laughing; he’s still a jester and I miss the motherfucker, but he’ll move to North again and will live farther. Engineers are dispensable toys for their companies. Anyway, I don’t say a word and he stops to laugh, then he just say “Come on, it was nothing” and we stay seated in silence looking to the palm trees. Don’t know what he’s wandering about, but I’m thinking about suicide. It doesn’t make sense. If you are desperate, it’s better to live on the edge and have some fun; probably this is a better way to die. But I want to live. Skateboarding on the sidewalk wasn’t supposed to be perilous. Tremblingly, I decide to rise and pay attention to a funny and obnoxious noise, which is annoying me. It looks like someone gasping. Markus then perceives that I’m curious about something. “What are you doing?” he asks in a low voice, maybe foreseeing some kind of trickery in my behavior, but I was naive in my early teens. Paying attention too, gazing at his feet, suddenly he is all smiles. “People are getting laid right here”. Then he moves down, scale on a rock and find out a window slit, since that old houses are next to the pavement apparently to expand in big backyards. It doesn’t matter. He could see them, which are what counts. With gestures, Markus asks me to keep quiet and to wait a little. Then he step down and look into the street and look forward to me. It’s unbelievable. She is a pretty brunette, has big tits and long, black hair. The guy is a Neanderthal and I avoid looking into him. We couldn’t see the act per se, just the heads and the nude torsos. That bosom is looking at me. Markus protests and I get out, astonished. I wait three minutes and come back to ask to see HER again. Ten seconds later, I’m contemplating those beautiful breasts when she sees my eye and give me a smile. Smiling and looking at me, she collapses. “It’s over”, I say to Markus, but he refuses to believe in me and climb the rock again, just to see them put their clothes on.

Next day, on school, we were celebrities. We told everything to everyone, minus the fact that she knew about me. Nobody knows, neither Markus. They came back there, never saw anything at all anymore, but discovered her name, age, occupation and even the identity of that Neanderthal: he was a cop. Ashamed, I never returned to that street. I saw her one more time, in a supermarket. She was pregnant, self-confident, embraced with another guy and, of course, didn’t recognize me. A Goddess.

Sit down giant baby

Friday, September 21, 2007

Sit down giant baby

Outro conto em que experimentei escrever diretamente em inglês. Se alguém notar algum erro por favor me avise! Obrigado.

Just before the restoration of his money, Jerry was thinking about suicide. He never have had any chance, he can’t stop thinking about that, over and over again. A perfect loser.

The parents were loose nuts. They spent all the money in drugs and alcohol. But they were deadheads too, so the kid grew up in a love atmosphere. They backed up a lot of his wishes when he was a brat. When the bike shop went bankrupt, both of them flee. After all, the dream wasn’t over.

He can’t blame on them. They not accept it when he rebelled in the wake of the hormones, ironically desiring to be a disciplined regular guy, and deny all of his accusations. The mother bought everything he desired. The father did everything Jerry wanted. The rest of money was invested on booze and marijuana and speed, but they never cared about possessions. Hippies, in the true sense of the word. When they left, everything belongs to Jerry, who couldn’t be charged on their name. Thankfully, the county didn’t have medieval rules and manners at that time, as well as a minority of places in that forgotten middle of nowhere.

The judge stipulated a new home for the abandoned kid. He was adopted with his Nintendo, toys, bicycle, anger and fears. At his teens, he only knew how to read and something about math thanks to his mother, but never went to school. He just drifted around the trailer park and has lots of fun. It was the end of the eighties.

The nineties were a nightmare. His new “parents” put him on school. Jerry never was a punching bag, despite his lack of sociability, because of his physical condition. But, in a small town, he had to study with small kids, from the start. Even if that was way more humiliating, he reopened the bike shop and sworn to honor all the debts. The people of the surroundings started to patronize him, because of his efforts. A kid with sense of duty. Or a fool who thinks that the feudal system is still legal. It depends from the point of view.

When he just became independent, after years of zero earnings, just paying the obligees, the bank make a mess with his account. A system error, they alleged. Well, ok, but they don’t fix the error, and even, subtle, tried to blame Jerry for the forfeit. He almost gave up and shut the doors down. Then, in a sort of a miracle, he saw a letter under his blankets. His mother – his biological mother – sent him a letter. Rosalyn, who adopts him, can’t disguise her jealousy, but she put the letter on his bed scrupulously. Mary was living on the road. She just relates banalities which sounds and smelled like the arriving of a sweetened zephyr in a sweatshop. This good sensation lasted for awhile.

All of a sudden, he becomes bitter and angrier as ever. His father just says a hello. They traveled through the country doing odd jobs and turned their back for years. Screw them. He came back to work and worked hard. The bank, finally, releases his money with a bonus, to avoid legal trouble. Nowadays Jerry is an example of a good American in his community, and his raybans and moustache became the face of terror to the illegal immigrants in town. As an officer, finally he earned all the respect that he always deserved.

Inexcusable

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Inexcusable

Outro conto em que experimentei escrever diretamente em inglês. Se alguém notar algum erro por favor me avise! Obrigado.

Just before the restoration of his money, Jerry was thinking about suicide. He never have had any chance, he can’t stop thinking about that, over and over again. A perfect loser.

The parents were loose nuts. They spent all the money in drugs and alcohol. But they were deadheads too, so the kid grew up in a love atmosphere. They backed up a lot of his wishes when he was a brat. When the bike shop went bankrupt, both of them flee. After all, the dream wasn’t over.

He can’t blame on them. They not accept it when he rebelled in the wake of the hormones, ironically desiring to be a disciplined regular guy, and deny all of his accusations. The mother bought everything he desired. The father did everything Jerry wanted. The rest of money was invested on booze and marijuana and speed, but they never cared about possessions. Hippies, in the true sense of the word. When they left, everything belongs to Jerry, who couldn’t be charged on their name. Thankfully, the county didn’t have medieval rules and manners at that time, as well as a minority of places in that forgotten middle of nowhere.

The judge stipulated a new home for the abandoned kid. He was adopted with his Nintendo, toys, bicycle, anger and fears. At his teens, he only knew how to read and something about math thanks to his mother, but never went to school. He just drifted around the trailer park and has lots of fun. It was the end of the eighties.

The nineties were a nightmare. His new “parents” put him on school. Jerry never was a punching bag, despite his lack of sociability, because of his physical condition. But, in a small town, he had to study with small kids, from the start. Even if that was way more humiliating, he reopened the bike shop and sworn to honor all the debts. The people of the surroundings started to patronize him, because of his efforts. A kid with sense of duty. Or a fool who thinks that the feudal system is still legal. It depends from the point of view.

When he just became independent, after years of zero earnings, just paying the obligees, the bank make a mess with his account. A system error, they alleged. Well, ok, but they don’t fix the error, and even, subtle, tried to blame Jerry for the forfeit. He almost gave up and shut the doors down. Then, in a sort of a miracle, he saw a letter under his blankets. His mother – his biological mother – sent him a letter. Rosalyn, who adopts him, can’t disguise her jealousy, but she put the letter on his bed scrupulously. Mary was living on the road. She just relates banalities which sounds and smelled like the arriving of a sweetened zephyr in a sweatshop. This good sensation lasted for awhile.

All of a sudden, he becomes bitter and angrier as ever. His father just says a hello. They traveled through the country doing odd jobs and turned their back for years. Screw them. He came back to work and worked hard. The bank, finally, releases his money with a bonus, to avoid legal trouble. Nowadays Jerry is an example of a good American in his community, and his raybans and moustache became the face of terror to the illegal immigrants in town. As an officer, finally he earned all the respect that he always deserved.

Murder

Monday, November 05, 2007

Murder

Maria’s eyes shrunk. Forced to live in his father’s office after the demise of her brother, she began to look like a small boy. You’ll be able to do whatever you want, they say, money gives you power and money is here. 23 years, sulky and with furrows on just one side of her face, Maria was tired of instructing the probationers and started to play with the Photoshop during the working hours. The mother, Irene, caught her sinning and gave her a good scolding. I can’t dream in America, the arts don’t make a living; listen, I once dreamed about it too, but it’s just a teen fantasy. Within two months, Maria’s pupils disappeared.

Tomatoes on my face

Nobody loves me. Even my family, they barely look to me when I’m home. It’s horrible, I know, but in my last birthday I started to take advantage of that. I went to a brothel, alone. I started to “date” a bitch there, but I never fool me or she. Yesterday, I just break with her. I don’t know why, since we’re never close, but she cried.

Enforcement

Waste of time. She kept think about that. Three days before, their friends invite them for a fishery. During all their conjugal life, it was like that. Someone decides something in a bar, she faces the consequences. Everybody, when thinks of Sheila, remembers a girl who likes to swim and to play chess. That was in the college days, when she graduated in journalism and won a lot of college championships. Now she works a lot at home, don't receive any money from nothing, look to her kids with despair and follow her husband in all sorts of stupid activities in the weekend, away from pools and chess tournaments. Everything changed in the trip to Paraguay, where she read a self help book. Now she is cooking pastries and found her vocation: be rich.

Chagrin

Naomi can't stand that. Can't support it. Can't talk about it. After Marylin's death, a lot of Brazilians started to write e-mails to her about the santicty of her daughter. She had to create an account in Orkut, which is a foolish thing infested with Brazilians who write in español to her. She tried to discover what that means in an online translator, but finally, when a boy write to her in English, she discovered that people speaks Portuguese. With the message of the boy and the automatic translator, Naomi figured out that her own daughter was some kind of a gothic chanteuse. She recorded her songs alone in her room with a computer and used Myspace and the goddamned Orkut to spread the music. Nobody cares about her in US, but she was able to create some kind of a cult in Brazil. If she just can discover the password, she'll cancel Marylin's profile and all the crap people write about her in Orkut. Now even journalists from big Brazilian newspapers phone to her to ask about her personal life, because of Marilyn's (who was known as Lady Dark Blues) lyrics. Marilyn sang about Naomi at last in three songs. But Naomi never have acknowledge of that and never really knew Marilyn since she becames a teenager, even living with her since her birth until her suicide (she was 20 years old, that was so unfair), but Marilyn seems to knew everything about her mom.

Bourgeoisie nightmare

Friday, January 11, 2008

Bourgeoisie nightmare

Nothing was there when we arrived from Japan. The burglars had stolen everything. Everything, literally. The house was empty, except for some newspapers in the kitchen and a package of toilet paper in the bathroom. LCD TV, blu-ray, DVD, CDs, sofas, carpets, Porsche replicas, X-Box, computers, bottles of wine, Rolex, jewelry, whisky, cameras, even the surveillance system, all is gone. They took even the cutlery, the medicines and the shampoo. Someday I think that I’ll be strong again, but now I’m lost and mortified. I’ll go to bed with an extra dose of Valium now.

Perception

Friday, November 09, 2007

Perception

Yesterday I was listening to Blisters, Mario’s first band. They wrote out of tune compositions in bad English. I can’t imagine why someone will ever listen to that, except for their close friends, but they had a fan base in other cities. People even chant the grammatically incorrect lyrics. Good times.

Cynthia hates the band, like all the girls of our crew. She was a green-eyed beautiful blond, presumptuous and frivolous. Mario dated her at those times. After two months, anybody can’t stand her whining chat. I pretended to listen because I surmised an easy fuck. Mario seems a little upset, but never said a word. After two excruciating months listening to her committing all kinds of blunders, like I did, he broke up with her in the middle of a Blisters’ set, just before they started to play a Mineral song. Ironically, nowadays probably someone will know the fuckin’ song. I lost Cynthia in the middle of the crowd. When I went to the club’s bathroom, a playboy was fucking her on a cabin. So I came back to the middle of the crowd and started to sing an Afghan Wigs tune alone. Total nonsense. A Chan Marshall look-alike seemed to understand and approached me. I forgot her name, but I’m always grateful to her because she opened my eyes to cool chicks, which are, usually, prettier than plastic blondes. I never cared about Barbie bitches anymore, until the day I met my future wife. What a mistake.

Hostility towards recognition Part I

In November I was so stunned by my daughter’s birth that I didn’t notice that my greatest foe was planning a catch 22 to me. Jet announced a fight in those bad neighborhoods in the west part of the town, near the place I was born. The rumor spread with the quickness of an old Tyson’s jab and people started to ask me about it. I was so tired of fighting and was dreaming of being part of the legalized MMA. I deserve that. Then I could concentrate on my repair shop, summing enough money to looking as a regular guy to my children when they start to grow up. But, oh boy, I couldn’t quit whether people don’t trust on me anymore. My name is my capital. Therefore I can’t avoid this last fight, even it is against my will. Jet hates me since I defeat him and broke his nose and two of his frontal teeth. The fight was in a park, nearby the train station, at 4:00, so just the gamblers were there. No girls, luckily no bums, none of our friends. Nobody saw it, just the people who put the money in and our agents, so wasn’t all that humiliating. I’ve already lost fights in terrible conditions. Anyway, probably because I was greedy enough to accept a fight in my own city, now my opponent knows who I am and I’ll have to deal with that. Fuck, he is stronger than me now, well skilled in ju-jitsu and he trained hard all these years. Meanwhile, I was happily spoiling my girlfriend. People keep talking, fascinated, about street fight. What a stupid name. Since I started to do it, because I’m not displined enough to be a professional fighter, I fought in mansions, closed bars and mainly in warehouses. Without testimonies, just us, our agents, the gamblers. Eventually some crazy bums, when it happens in open spaces like abandoned amphitheatres. It is usually quiet. A sadistic voyeur pleasure. Forget the screams, angry faces and other bullshit that you see in the old movies like Danny the Dog. Nowadays it’s worse. One day I saw a sick fuck masturbating above the blood shed. You have to ignore it or face the facts. I never went to school, never get adapt to a regular job and never go through all the steps in martial arts. But I know so-so almost all of them and wasted my adolescence in gyms and fights in the schoolyards. In the wake of adult life, what else I could do for living? I was the right guy, in the right place, for the perfect job. My first fight was with a fella named Gecko, I don’t know why. I don’t know why they put me to fight with that guy, why he was nicknamed this way and I don’t know how much I earned because my “agent” invested all the money in anabolic steroids to me. Well, to him too. Anyway, the secret is: you must don’t acknowledge anything. You could see the face of the gamblers, if they don’t care about it, but don’t ask their names and pretend, for fucks sake, that you’d never saw them, if you unadvisedly bump into those fuckers in the streets. You don’t know who your opponents are too. I only know their nicknames (sometimes, even this wasn’t permitted) and we’re always brought from distance places. This avoids things to get personal. I really like this approach; it’s an excellent way to travel around the world. Israel, Dubai, India, Malasia, New Zealand, Japan, Thailand, Australia, England… Canada too. How could I travel to those places being a John Doe? Being an anonymous punching bag guarantees me a lot of pleasures. The disadvantage is that someone ends dead in a fight, which is not uncommon, nobody will know about that. Despite this, they usually drop the fighters in a hospital, without money, to simulate a robbery with beating. In December, after solving lot of problems, all that ordinary daily bullshit, I restated my training. And I trained hard. My body felt the gust of anger and almost collapsed. The stroke that I inflict to myself was deserved. I became indolent and there is a price for that.

I forgot your name

Joshua has to decide whether buy a weddind ring for ask her in marriage or saves the money to the future, which doesn’t see bright at the moment. After weighing for a week, he went to jewelry and bought the rings. But, when the shop assistant asked for her girlfriend name to etching in the ring, he, inadvertently, said his mistress’ name, Anna. When he asked Donna to marry him, she saw the wrong name on the ring just after he puts it in her finger. Nowadays Joshua is a janitor where I live and tells the story to everyone, including to his wife, Norma, who laughs in front of everybody when she hear this piece of crap over and over again.

Evil Weevil

That farm was a harmonic site until Duck arrived. Since he installed himself in the log cabin down the river a lot of things started to screw up. At first place, everyone was infected with measles when he was safe and sound, running around with his sickle and telling jokes all the time. Just after that, the cattle and pigs caught measles too, which was very ironical, because it is different diseases for human beings and animals with the same name. The gullible employees in Sprout Heaven became very suspicious with that. Behind Duck’s back – his name is John and he never knew the mock nickname they invented for him – the simple-minded person who lives there until today started to fantasize, blaming him for the impairments. Then, one month after the incidents, the worst happens: someone discovered the storage soybean crop ruined by weevils. It couldn’t happen, with all they efforts and care. But Duck committed a mistake. His sickle was in front of the storehouse, with a hammer above it. Why? It is a provocation, there isn’t another explanation. They almost beat him to death. He was delivered in the police station and charged as a communist on the police files.

Get up to fuck

Since Nelly met Thomas in a supermarket in Germany and after they moved to Australia her life became a Torquemada’s dream. Thom convinced she to tell her parents in Argentina that aren’t nothing new going on, so they went to Spain anonymously and then to Down Under without telling anyone either. When they arrived, she supposed will make a surprise to her parents and relatives, but, before any calls, Thom submit her to bondage unstopped dementia in the attic of the rented lodge. He imagines himself as a kind of cool guy because she can see the beautiful bay view and he gives enough food to her (under a gun presence). Trying to escape three weeks later, she cuts her own throat with a knife managed by the mouth. When in home, Thom was stumped with Nelly’s newly acquired bondage skills.