The meat diaries.

Más sano cada día.

2011-05-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

Cuando mis últimos alumnos del día cancelaron la clase de las 21hs decidí aprovechar y salir a correr. Durante las últimas semanas había comenzado a seguir un programa de ejercicio basado en ejercicios que podía hacer en casa para iniciar pero por lo cual pensé que no estaba haciendo lo suficiente para mantener mi sistema cardio-vascular.

Mi acuerdo que en "The Dharma Bums" el escritor estado-unidense Jack Kerouac, al llegar casí a la cima de una montaña con su buen amigo, tuvo que para por miedo que tenía. Se preguntaba cómo bajar la inclinación que había subido con tanta fuerza apenas antes, no quería tropezar y caer sobre las rocas filosas que le impidieron el camino. De repente le pasa a toda velocidad su fiel compañero, bajando en linea recta a toda corrida, y era ahí que se dió cuenta de que la única manera de hacer una cosa así era arrancar y no parar.

Aunque la calle Independencia no parece para nada las montañas de los Rockies un poco así me sentí yo al arrancar; hay que ir, la única manera de comenzar es comenzar. Corrí, y lo que para mi fue mas importante era que no paré. Normalmente durante mis recorridos de la ciudad tengo la necesidad de hacer pequeñas pausas, recuperar el aire gastado y estirar mis piernas exhaustas, pero hoy me sentía liberado, con la ganas y la resistencia para continuar... Así que continué y para calcular la duración decidí contar las canciones de mi iPod y luego sumar los minutos.

Mi recorrido fue de Independencia hacia Puerto Madero, como siempre, pero al llegar a los diques sin necesitar recuperar fuerzas fui por el largo del agua hasta el Buque Bus. Animado por mi repentino aguante seguí hasta el Kavanagh, un viejo edificio de desamores, y bajé el largo de la calle San Martín hasta Plaza de Mayo, y de la Plaza principal hice las últimas cuadras hasta mi casa.

En total corrí por 48.27 minutos, o sea 12 canciones! Un milagro cuando considero que casí no había hecho cardio últimamente.

Bueno, terminé escuchando éste bello tema de Jeff Buckley y acá lo comparto: Lilac Wine - Jeff Buckley

"Just do it."

(Early) International Worker's day

2011-04-29T10:53:00.000-07:00

The people have spoken with their feet and the streets are once again empty of cars, instead lined only by the parked, giant long-distance buses which transported the demonstrators into the city for their march in support of the current government and its program of social reform and fairer distribution of wealth.

It's something fascinating to witness, the almost complete shut-down of the metropolitan transit system, all the businesses shut in fear of violent disturbances, workers sent home from their offices to avoid the congestion, hordes of hundreds of thousands of people; grouped into their separate organisations and commitees and wearing bibs and t-shirts displaying names such as the Jovenes Peronistas, La Kamora, Sindicato de Obreros and many many other Trade Unions. Yet despite the variety they have all been called out by one man: Hugo Moyano, the chief of the General Workers' Commission (CGT) and an ever more influential figure in Argentine National politics.

Probably not since Juan Domingo Peron's populist governance of the nineteen-fifties have the Trade Unions (sindicatos en español) backed a presidential candidate with such open vigour and enthusiasm. Yesterday the opposition candidate Ricardo Alfonsín from the Radical Civic Union (UCR) criticised such unreserved backing of any one candidate, calling for a less partisan position, but his cries ring hollow in the minds of the people before an election which can only be described as in the bag.

There can remain very little doubt that Cristina Kirchner will win the elections; at present she holds 15 - 20% leads in all national and regional opinion polls and the once talked-up opposition candidates are now dropping out one by one leaving very few plausible alternatives and little room for an electoral alliance of any real strength. The streets here are bedecked with pro-Cristina propaganda, her face smiling down on the masses of organised workers, her late husband smiling down benignly from heaven.

Yet as a private teacher, the majority of whose students come from the mid-upper classes, I witness a growing despair and disillusionment. While the 'obreros' are mobilised the white-collar workers recoil in fear - one of my students told me he had ensured Spanish citizenship for his daughter... Just in case. Others talk about heading abroad to study and desperately struggle to improve their skills in the hope of landing a top-paying job or a much sought after foreign job.

So whilst the masses rejoice and the burguesia cower in their apartments the air of uncertainty grows as fast as the optimism. I don't believe this to be the downfall of Argentina at all, the government has done great things for social and political inclusion while unfortunately failing to stem the tide of fierce, criminal violence and marginalisation due to extreme poverty. They have inspired the less well-off to rise up and reclaim an improved situation for them and their families but the doubts remain about their ability to fulfil their wild promises and combative rhetoric.

However, as I previously lamented after the death of ex-president Nestor Kirchner there seems to be a complete absence of political will to negotiate or engage with other diverse sectors of society. "Our way or the highway" the 'Kirchneristas' seem to scream. "Would you rather the dictatorship and the enslavement of the poor by the evil corporations?" they challenge, yet does it have to be so black or white? So Boca or River? I find myself torn between admiration for the immense mobilisation of the populace and disgust at the bile and hatred Argentina's politicians seem to deal in.

What will 2012 hold for Cristina's Argentina? Will she be able to satisfy the trade unionists if they will have played such a prominent role in her re-election without ceding too much power? Will the country ever improve the internal security situation and confront the Police mafias that currently extort and murder with impunity? Will the rampant inflation start to cause real headaches and possibly wider social repercussions for the man on the street and will the government be able to sell it as a destructive plot by the bitter oligarchs against the proletariat?

Winter is coming in Argentina, yet living here one can sense that things are only just starting to heat up.

"Politics, n. Strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles."

"I have come to the conclusion that politics are too serious a matter to be left to the politicians."

Easter Weekend

2011-04-25T08:08:00.000-07:00

And just as quickly as it started it was over...

I started my rare three days of rest by sleeping early, a premonition told me that sleep would come in useful and frankly after having moved my classes into great long streams of teaching I had been left exhausted. So 9 o'clock Thursday night I didn't set an alarm for the morning for the first time in months! Remarkably I woke up at 8:30 and was a little bit overawed by the amount of time I had to take advantage of / kill.

I made an effort to read some more of Roberto Arlt's "Los Siete Locos" and to eat a proper breakfast of cereals and tea. Later in the afternoon I went out with a good friend, who shares my love for San Telmo, to buy a new jacket. We first had coffee in La Poesia, a beautiful antiquated café on the corner of Bolivar and Chile. He managed to convince me that buying a second hand jacket wouldn't be as satisfying as buying something new for myself so we headed out to a few trendy stores around the area but nothing much was taking my fancy and in fact he found a great 3/4 length coat which he ended up buying! Fortunately after finding myself empty handed he had a brain wave and offered to hand me down a jacket he'd bought in LA and practically never used. We went back to his apartment to try it on and it fit pretty well so I gratefully accepted it.

Still in the mood to peruse some vintage clothes I walked over to the shop I had been thinking of visiting and bought a waistcoat and a tartan scarf before passing another designer store and getting a green jumper with an odd hood/collar.

Later I played some backgammon with Luis and headed out to another English friend's apartment in Palermo for some balcony beers, cigars and (obviously) backgammon before taking a short cab ride over to Sugar where we drank, were merry and discussed everything from my apartment woes, Bradley Manning and the stark feeling of change that seems to be pervading the lives of most everyone we know here.

Happily drunk and ably accompanied by my iPod and "Los Siete Locos" I took the bus home and crawled into bed to prepare myself for more realxation on the following day.

Buenos Aires Jazz 2010 Trastienda

2010-12-09T07:57:00.000-08:00

And all that Jazz that I never listened to on my PC but always harped on about to anyone who would lend me an ear suddenly becomes clear again, ringing in my ear again, stage front and of paramount importance. Jazz 2010 Festival Internacional takes me back to the days of my heady zest for the music that sprung from the lips of Charlie Parker, that rolled out of the mouth of Herbie Hancock and that continually made me bop my head in dark, backstreet hipster Mexico.

It's a remedy, a cultural tonic to the inane 8am first class, 10am second class and intermittent social networking between appointments and push ups and eating raviolis from a packet while I try to put some order on my days, arranging my life into some semblance of regularity despite my desperate soul's determination to defy such unfamiliar practices.

So I nap, listening to the garbled, Jewish gobbledigook filtering distorted over the wall from the hostel next door, drifting in and back out of dreams about killing taxi drivers and then wake and barely conscious stuff sandwiches down my throat to God only knows where I don't care and it's a bus and the filth and then free! to race some more, riding the regular routes of the BA transit system, pushing on, always carrying my weary bones forward towards the Trastienda where I saunter in like I own the joint although it's free.

The tonic morphs into a bottle of El Portillo 2009 Malbec and despite my back ache on bad chairs I read articles on international finance deals between Latin America and Iran before the music breaks out again, catching me supping from the wine glass and I gawp and smile and tap'a rap my fingers on the table grinning at the nervous porteño next to me. And it rolls and it runs and I stare and simultaneously close my eyes and lean very carefully on my elbow connected loosely to jerking dancing fingers...

Called away to dine and I'm stealing away through the city streets, improvising a route up to San Martín plaza, to and fro in the highs and the lows of the now empty streets bar the young kids kicking a ball around the Plaza de Mayo. Humming along as I slip out of the weekend I'm now stuck in the moment and thrusting bills at cab men to go faster to go back to the Jazz. Where am I from? France my good man now step on it! And out and back in and there're friends and good times around the table and they saved my half bottle for me and we murmur excitedly, enthusiastic and we have to make silly arguments when angry Argentines turn and growl but they don't understand and all's well and the music recommences and nothing could be iller than the combined talents of a multitude of musicos internacionales strutting and frowning and earnestly sharing such exertions as they can, revelling in the jam freedom, darned piano guitarist grimaces whilst playing rolling melodies, G plays on almighty Jazz fusion rock and w love it until it gets even better later, picked up by double bass licks and lines and it's all a rhyme and a group riddle. We nod and tap and jerk happily soaking up the rhythms through ears and fingers and hairs on our arms and flashing looks to costados to see if everyone can gozar lo mismo, if those cats have got the groove and we're sharing the universal joy of it all or rather got caught in an intense concentration like willing the band on telepathically!

And after a long day it's enough, it's heavenly and a part of me feels that this is why I came to a city stuck in the early twentieth century and why I frequented those Mexican bars and this is what I want to see and hear and enjoy as much as anything you could push on me right now.

It's jazz and everyone leaves happily, although my feet hurt my heart floats home on a grinning bassline before a slow fade out and gone...

"But then there's a moment like tonight, a profound and transcendent experience, the feeling as if a door has opened, and it's all because of that instrument, that incredible, magical instrument."

The Death of a President

2010-10-29T11:12:00.000-07:00

Bold, divisive but never reserved Néstor Kirchner (1950 – 2010), represented to many the archetypal militant politician. His legacy of determined street-politicking and defense of downtrodden peoples brought hope and vigor to many sectors of a society who had previously suffered terrible repression yet his aggressive, unflinching partisanship has indelibly scarred the national political arena for many years to come.

For almost three days the streets surrounding the Plaza de Mayo, the public square in front of the Presidential Casa Rosada, have been thronging with people paying their respects to this ex-president of Argentina (2002 – 2007). His sudden death shocked the country and inspired a massive outpouring of support for the current president and his widow Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner with tens of thousands of Argentines visiting the Salon de los Patriotas de Latinoamerica to salute the coffin and chant political slogans and passionate cries of loyalty as she sat choking back the tears alongside her children and the solidarity of the presidents of Latin America. Along the route of his funeral cortege to the airport the passage was almost completely choked with raucous supporters smothering the hearse, singing, tossing flags and flowers and reaching out to touch the passing vehicle.

There can be no doubt watching these scenes that Néstor was a beloved figure but as we find so often in Argentina his was a career of dualities and extremes. He nobly ordered the police to stand down from confrontation with protestors and thereon gifted the streets to the diverse groups of social and political activists, in stark contrast to contemporary European politicians who prefer things to be resolved exclusively in the Parliament. However the extent to which this dynasty bribed demonstrators and trade unionists to attend their rallies has always been a point of much suspicion and the vitriolic attacks on rival or dissenting politicians fermented a culture of bitter disputes and unseemly bickering.

Kirchner literally gave his own life for his ideological vision for the country. Despite a history of coronary complications in recent years he never drew back from his grueling commitments and relentlessly championed the implementation of a populist Peronist agenda at home as President, Senator and Leader of the Justice Party, simultaneously working towards the Bolivarian dream of a more united continent as president of the UNASUR.

Much will be asked of the current president, now left to continue the fight without the presence of her mentor and confidant, the real power behind the throne as many believed him to be. Soon our attentions will turn to the future and the coming year’s elections and the opposition will not wait long to capitalize on this weakening of the current regime. Serious electioneering amongst the presidential front-runners must begin soon and the recent show of public support may be utilized by rising union leaders to garner support.

This tragic event heralds a new, exciting dawn in Argentine politics. Suddenly stripped of this massively important figure how the country quarrels over dividing the political spoils will be crucial to the future of this ever fractious nation.

Rehearsals

2010-10-11T10:47:00.000-07:00

I spend so mch of my life running a film reel of future situations in my head and therefore generate a very realistic impression of what will happen and what we will say in said encounters, but so often despite all of my convincingly constructed confidence in my own premonitions I am left stunned and surprised by what actually occurs. Preconceptions can delude me and I must learn - as Gabriel seeks to teach me - that prejudging things before they happen leaves me open to making a damned fool of myself. Better to be open to any possible eventuality and rest happily pleased by successive events, sitting, aware of the world and the beautiful people who dispel the myths I'd created in my head... Life is what we make it but I would challenge the metaphysicists and rather live it as we evolve around each other, revolve through our thoughts and spin into wonderful shocks together and from a distance.

Left feeling recharged as a reloaded gun following the empty barreled impotence I step out into the streets envigorated and anticipating future events. I'll have a pancho and buy "In Cold Blood" and watch a Mapuche protest march. But I know of what I'll be thinking, imagining.

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

La Búsqueda...

2010-10-08T08:40:00.000-07:00

Reseteamos la cuenta regresiva a cero nuevamente. Un nuevo comienzo arranca al aterrizar en el Aeroparque Jorge Newberry y otra fresca aventura poreña abre delante mio.

Provisionalmente estoy de vuelta para ayudarle a Benito con la edición de la película pero despúes de nuestra primera reunion dudo de lo cuanto me va a bancar y lucho contra mi instinto que comienza a creer que nada va a salir de esta avenida. Mientras sigo empujandole a darme la milagrosa apertura al cinema que tanto quiero hoy día hay que mantenerme racional y considerar otras oportunidades. Que suerte que Matt tiene contactos afuera de ese grupo y ya tengo una pista para laburar con David Garret, un entrepreneur Yankee que vive en BA. Es probable que tome muchos tazos de café acá...

Me levanto hoy, refrescado, con ganas, y salgo a la calle a buscar habitaciones. Necesitaré donde vivir si de verdad me voy a instalar en esta puta ciudad hermosa.

Como siempre he creido me siento muy cercano al ave fenix viviendo así, volviendo a nacer en formas distintas y (lamentablemente) quemando los rastros del pasado para subir de las llamas hacía arriba. Este estilo de vida me invigora pero la genética de mi madre asegura que no son pocas las mariposas atormentando mi estomago mientras choco de un encuentro a otro. Es un tiempo de incertidumbre pero tambien de esperanza. Vuelvo a los viejos habitos en tales situaciones: trato a no obsesionarme con el pasado, a tener un régimen de ejercicio que me ayuda a funcionar, a pensar positivamente, y a ser simple, más zen, en mi vida cotidiana.

Esperamos los resultados con un creciente ansiedad...

The more things change, the more they remain... insane.

Parisian Daydreams

2010-09-29T02:57:00.000-07:00

Looking out languidly over the rooftops of Montmartre, the coffee cooling at my side, bags packed and ready to return via Easyjet flight I'm taking, all is tranquil after nights of folie.

Reflecting on this year and all of the emotional and physical upheavals, of journeys undertaken and avenues pursued I arrive at the point of another metamorphosis and the eager anticipation of great things to come. No longer a citizen it is my duty to realise the dreams of so many people, to not play at producing but really jump into the business and make a success of yet another new life.

I spend time re-reading old conversations, notes scribbled down in journals and the reflections bring back such a sea of emotions that it's often hard to read, but I process it as best I can and continue down the streets where every step has been taken side by side, laughing together, hand in hand. Familiar roads and the unrivalled ambience of glorious frontages, I rode a velib pedalling manically on this tarmac.

I've intrigued people, much to Marcus Aurelius' contempt, with tales of Peru and cinema and bathed in the glow of passionate youths discussing art and beauty on rooftop terrasses while grumbling neighbours quarrel against loud revellers. Such enthusiasm and so much inspiration is sown, to grow strong and bold - the self-made-man born into the arms of his brothers.

Scripts and stories penned and waiting for drafting to begin, new books in old languages started in front of Notre Dame, my Bonsai have been patient for 7 years and they maximise my harmony, sharing their aura.

For those who have had confidence in me take heart, my metamorphosis will reveal a beautiful butterfly. Nothing is forgotten. Always parting but so glad to see us when we return that my heart is ever warmed.

To find fulfillment...don't exist with life - embrace it.

Alcune parole...

2010-09-13T09:40:00.000-07:00

Per Dante Alighieri:

Queste parole si leggon nel viso

d'un'angioletta che ci e apparita:

e io che per veder lei mirai fiso,

ne sono a rischio di perder la vita;

pero ch'io ricevetti tal ferita

da un ch'io vidi dentro a li occhi sui,

ch'i' vo piangendo, e non m'achetai pui...

I am living in a trap of my own creation,

unable to express anything due to my self-tied chains.

I am a man in the depths of obsession

torturing myself every minute of every day.

Eyes open or closed it makes no difference,

Angel or daemon I can not discern

but you are an ever present resident in my head.

Per Giacomino Pugliese:

La dolze ciera piagente

e li amorosi semblanti

lo cor m'allegra e la mente

quando mi pare davanti,

si volentieri la vio

quella cui eo amai;

la bocca ch'eo basciai

ancor l'astetto e disio!

L'aulente bocca e le menne

de lo petto ciercai,

fra le mie braza la tenne;

basciando mi dimandai:

"Messer, se venite a gire,

non facciate adimoranza,

che non esti bonna usanza

lassar l'amore e partire."

Allotta ch'eo mi partivi

e dissi: "A Deo v'accomando"

la bella guardo 'nver mivi,

sospirava lagrimiando;

tant'erano li sospiri

ch'a pena mi rispondia:

e la dolze donna mia

non mi lassava partiri.

Eo non fuivi si lontano

che lo meo amor v'ubriasse,

ne non credo che Tristano

Isaotta tanto amasse.

Quando vio venir l'aulente,

infra le donne apariri,

lo cor mi trae di martiri

e ralegrami la mente.

How does it feel?

2010-08-13T12:56:00.000-07:00

To depart and promise that I will come back but without ever knowing the twists of fate that will take me further away to other shores and new horizons.

It's never a pleasure to say goodbye when you can't be sure when you'll be back again but at the same time it's exciting to be moving on to fresh pastures new and not so new, feeling good about going back to Buenos Aires to see the people I love, to Paris to walk those Funcky streets and England to remember how to dance for real - enough salsa!...

So with a happy heart me despido de Peru y de toda la buena gente que ha enriquecida esta experiencia para mi . En los ultimos dias podre ir a ver unas pelas latino americanas en el festival de Lima, capaz al circo, ayer fui al concierto de Gustavo - Black Sabbath motherfucker!!! some drinks, some dances, some tears I expect and then once more trekking to the airport with my mochila enorme sobre los hombres.

I'm looking forward to you Buenos Aires. I want to take yoga classes everyday and eat in wonderful restaurants and hopefully not freeze my ass off too badly.

See you soon -

...cuando yo te vuelva a ver

no habrá más pena ni olvido...

We waltz through existence like wandering Cavaliers

2010-08-02T18:33:00.000-07:00

The nickname is sometimes a rushed judgement, a tender comment and often a difficult epithet to conquer. I have known a few in my time and reflecting back from now, a time when I enjoy 3 or 4 "apodos", each conjours up a plethora of memories and fragments of settings of my past. Finding myself with time to reflect on a rare day off I was tempted to write about the subject when I was asked about "Juanelportentoso" my Gmail address.

Juanelportentoso
For six months I lived and studied in a small Mexican city located on the trade route between Veracruz, the main Gulf port city, and Mexico DF, the capital of Mexico and the largest city in the world. My time there is marked on my left shoulder by an Aztec tattoo I designed representing Quetzalcoatl, the God of fire, blood and re-genesis who sacrificed himself to save the Azteca from the wrath of the other vengeful Gods and was prophesised to return from across the ocean leading to the eventual mistaking of Cortes to be Quetzalcoatl's reincarnation.

It was a time of spiritual re-genesis for myself because the previous year had seen my chaotic descent into a flawed suicidal misery, a wild and complex often ruinous first year at university and the pursuit of certain Nihilistic tendencies. Like so many young men I needed a massive distraction from the hum drum drunkenness of Univeristy life and could not wait for my gap year for fear of my overbearing temporary delusional state. Having spent the first months of the year miraculously avoiding tsunamis in Thailand, where they called Woody and I Farang, I passed through the UK only briefly before my parents saw me off to Mexico on board a Lufthansa flight along with John and Rosa.

Once there I embraced as much as possible the zestful living of the Beatnik poets, always carrying with me my journals, attending late night jazz reunions in bars with names like El vortex and El Tajin, meeting dark and sultry senoritas from Chihuahua and Monterrey and drinking and intoxicating myself with seedy characters trawled out of the local miasma. I lost myself with great pleasure in the youthful vice of Xalapa's underground cool scene, attending punk rock concerts in hidden bars and all night raves by the sides of rivers out in the jungle. I remember vividly how a negro American girl gripped my arm in terror one night in the booths of yet another blue lit club screaming "They're climbing over the sofas!" as stupoured Mexican boys leered over the backs of our couches, literally clawing at this exotic foreign meat.

For the first time in my life I felt libre enough to adventure without care, the tropical climate and my status as the Gringo gave me an enormous courage and I enjoyed a decent popularity with the local ladies, entertaining my dates in the floral gardens a short 10 peso bus ride out of town. I would take them out to walk under the boughs of great monkey puzzle trees and bumble my way through seduction amongst the beautiful, vibrant flowers in a broken spanish.

I spent the majority of my time with Mexican 20 somethings and the odd extranjero deemed cool enough to enter into elite parties and fashionable theatrical circles and revelled in being special, a veritable attraction for everybody to say "Mi inglesito" my English gentleman. On this wave of confidence and learning I was taken to the Lucha Libre by a friend and laughed all the evening long at the corny spectacle designed to inspire and educate Mexican schoolboys (the most famous wrestler in Mexico EL SANTO promotes the conservation of the Gulf's turtle population). There I witnessed the satanic, muscular heroe GRONDHA fall foul of the trickery of the other evil wrestlers yet rise to hear, departing, the roars of the adoring public.

Walking home that night with my poster underarm I gleefully related the experience to my thespian companions and declared that from then on I would also call myself JUAN, El Portentoso and the following day, in one of hundreds of visits to an internet cafe in the times when wifi was sparse in Mexico, I gave digital birth to my first and current gmail account.

Q J
Although University was a dark period in my life due to my great anxieties it was also a time of extreme exuberance. My nihilism was born of a strong determination not to be hounded by depression but rather to throw caution to the wind and leap before I looked, how very typically Aries of me. I used to dye my hair red, read preposterous philosophy and dance for days on end, consuming almost constantly and almost certainly damaging my delicate frame for years to come. I never tried to be cool or streetwise but I mixed with happening people such as Nicolai, the musical guru of our band, and Rob, my angelic brother and poetic inspiration to this day.

Whilst my friends were an eclectic mix of drugged up Welshmen and hipster late teens my classmates were Pompey geezers and rarely comprehended the pretentious nonsense I would often bore them with. Nonetheless they did appreciate my boundless energy and we would attend the horrorific Student's Union in search of fresher meat and tarts in mini-skirts. I remember a pair of red snowboard trousers that I would wear out on the town and all manner of garish tops and accessories, up to 3 or four wristbands of assorted colours bedecked my arms and elbows and helped hide my "attempt" scars.

I gained the nickname thanks also to the presence of another John, a complete opposite of that which I represented in that moment. A man of dark complexion and an awful tendency to be one of those useless human beings who you wouldn't mind seeing strung up in a town plaza sometime in the 17th century. A man you may denounce as a heretic just to have the pleasure of watching the inquisition burn his skin from his body. Perhaps this is extreme but until recently I found it almost impossible to like this boy. He loved Depeche Mode and wanted to tattoo the bassist's face onto his shoulder after seeing my Mexica ink work. To my knowledge he never dared. He would speak incessantly about things he knew nothing about, always trying to fit in, begging for attention like a whipped street dog. One time when I failed to avoid him and took him to one of my delightful local restaurants I tricked him into revealing his stupidity by purposefully mixing scenes from Doctor Strangelove with Casablanca. "Oh, yes, that's the best part" he would sputter between slurped mouthfuls of refried frijoles. "I've always loved Kubrick, Casablanca is one of my favourites, that scene with the nuclear bomb on the boat is great!" Game, set and match, sometimes I can be cruel and especially then I revelled in sinking his battleship, cutting him down with the line "You've no idea what you're talking about. You've never even seen that film and you've no bloody idea who Kubrick or even Humphrey Bogart is!" But I can also be tender and once grudgingly invited him to stay the night, scaring the thespians with his insane stare and garbled spanish. There on the rooftop I offered him some of the joint I was smoking to help me tolerate his presence and he uttered a memorable phrase - "It's crazy, your life is so amazing. You've got such fantastic friends and everything seems to go right for you." Well, I suppose that's why I got the nickname QUALITY JOHN from my university colleagues and he received the less flattering nick DJ, DULL JOHN.

Readers can take some solace in knowing that I believe I saw him many years later smothering another skinny white boy with sordid kisses in an East Village nightclub in NYC. He looked like he'd finally found his niche in life.

Respect yourself and others will respect you.

Poesia

2010-07-16T04:56:00.000-07:00

Charlamos tarde a la noche,
No es este el amor?
Aprovecho revelar mis intimidades,
Notando nuestras idiosincracias.
Pisamos con delicadez alrededor,
De las respetuosas y merecidas memorias de,
Instantes compartidas, vidas enamoradas.
No era esto todo lo que habiamos querido?
Como es que me vuelvo mas lirico lo mas,
Me acerco a alguien, al alma de ti.
Nombro cruel mi infatuacion, pero para quien?
Mi enlace persistente con todo lo bello que imaginamos.
Que surreal que se han vueltas nuestras consciencias,
Solamente monos que nadamos en la sopa primordial,
o angeles divinos con destinos atados,
Extendiendo lazos de hilo romantico.
Vivimos una pasion que comprendemos tan pocos
Nosotros dos.
Los comentarios danosos de los otros seres humanos,
No me pueden tirar hacia abajo...
A pesar de la distancia, de la frialdad, y mis negaciones, nuestro amor vivia tanto tiempo,
Pero con un golpe frio lo desgracie y no podemos mas volver al paraiso, nuestro Eden temporario.
Te extrano pero admito mis errores y las fallas de mi personalidad, y no puedo mas aterrorizar tu existencia...
Adieu ma belle, un bisou eternel jusqu'au fin de notres jours

2010-06-13T21:45:00.001-07:00

There was a woman who was taken in adultery. We are not told the history of her love, but that love must have been very great; for Jesus said that her sins were forgiven her, not because she repented, but because her love was so intense and wonderful. Later on, a short time before His death, as He sat at a feast, the woman came in and poured costly perfumes on His hair. His friends tried to interfere with her, and said that it was an extravagance, and that the money that the perfume cost should have been expended on charitable relief of people in want, or something of that kind. Jesus did not accept that view. He pointed out that the material needs of Man were great and very permanent, but that the spiritual needs of Man were greater still, and that in one divine moment, and by selecting its own mode of expression, a personality might make itself perfect. The world worships the woman, even now, as a saint.

Yes; there are suggestive things in Individualism. Socialism annihilates family life, for instance. With the abolition of private property, marriage in its present form must disappear. This is part of the programme. Individualism accepts this and makes it fine. It converts the abolition of legal restraint into a form of freedom that will help the full development of personality, and make the love of man and woman more wonderful, more beautiful, and more ennobling. Jesus knew this. He rejected the claims of family life, although they existed in His day and community in a very marked form. "Who is my mother? Who are my brothers ?" He said, when He was told that they wished to speak to Him. When one of His followers asked leave to go and bury his father, "Let the dead bury the dead," was His terrible answer. He would allow no claim whatsoever to be made on personality.

- Oscar Wilde

http://aurgasm.us/ - Beautiful music

Writings... Acaba de descubrir esto dentro de mis archivos lo habre escrito yo?!

2010-04-14T11:18:00.001-07:00

Not something I wrote but something someone sent me, rather good!

Mr Montignoly is the darkest of all men; such darkness that can not be seen by others, for it is not his complexion that defines such a trait for his face is as pale as a winter’s night, as if never touched by the warm rays of the daylight sun. To find the darkness of Mr Montignoly one would need to see beneath the flawless skin that encompasses his black soul kept alive by the rhythm of a cold heart. Harbouring a sinister brain devoid of acceptable thoughts, he could never be said to be a moral man.

From his first memory of life, it seemed that all the young boy could do, was to unwittingly anger his father, and be punished from night to morning and noon. Where his mother had gone, was his first question in life which his father would never address, this caused him pain that never died down and the comfort never came. Whether it a blessing or blot, ten years on, it was his father he found on the floor, beaten to a pulp and bleeding to death, he just stood and watched in awe.

As the young boy grew, the anger swelled like a pustule ripe to burst, but he drowned those feelings in his muddy soul, as he was passed from home to home, unwanted by most and disliked by many, in an orphanage he was left alone. From that day on the confused child grew, with a warped understanding of being; to stay hidden away, keep himself to himself and not to stand out in a crowd. And so it began, the reclusive life where others are not to be found, in a room, in a house built on the side of a hill, far from the hustle of life.

From the town nearby, rumours were told of the man that lived on the hill and those who dared to snoop around, would not regret it for long, for the rage laid dormant for all those years could be unleashed at the drop of an axe. With hate victorious in the old mans mind the child can not be heard. It would seem that as much as he despised the man who yelled and hit him, the child had grown up and become the one that started the very circle of sin.

2009-10-10T12:05:00.005-07:00

2009-10-10T12:05:00.003-07:00

All change please!

2009-10-10T12:05:00.001-07:00

The season is in a transitionary period, an Indian summer Audrey says, the weather jolts from cold, wet and windy nights to hot, muggy days, when I inevietably have to take the metro several times and arrive at my classes all sweaty like I used to in BA.

My work continues thick as ever, lots of courses are finishing though so I'm not sure what work there'll be in a few months. We'll see.

The biggest change is the return to Rueil chez les Rossi and my common struggles to define what kind of future I envision for myself at the moment. I know I'm looking for a career change and I've pretty much set my heart on working internationally, perhaps as an analyst like Dominic but more excitingly I'd love to work as a journalist or as a writer. Only problem being that I don't write..

I just found an advert online for a journalism internship in San Telmo at a "respected BA publication" but they are asking for two notas so I'll have to get on with scribbling down something serious! I've been trying to write a kind o short story about a night out in BA with a few emotional twists and turns but so far it hasn't turned out too well and needs a lot of editing if not a complete re-write. Hopefully Rueil will give me the time to get cracking on that.

Oh, and did I mention I've become a classic love fool? Yep, I may go through life with an armoire of regrets but in this current case I feel that a bold and beautiful redemption could be possible if we're as mad as we say we are!

But that chapter is yet to be written, for now I'm off to the wall and the France match, a pleasure to see other big teams suffering what may be a similar fate as that which we were subjected to after that ignominious night at Wembley all those months ago. I'll gloat at the French, and maybe the Argentines, but deep down I'll be disappointed not to be pitting our re-vamped, thoroughly motivated Capello machine against those perennial giants of the international game. Messi for one deserves his world cup moment an so too Ribery and the exciting young French team.

Let's see how this all works out then, I hope to be writing a lot more very soon indeed!

Be strong red puppy..

2009-09-17T00:40:00.000-07:00

Today I've awoken to a new world, a fresh beginning that I long thought impossible. It took a desperate night of jangling nerves and raw fear to make me realise that all is not as guttural as we believe it to be and that our brains, although intimately linked with our hearts and stomachs, can display remarkable clarity in their resolve..

Many cliches came back to me after having been dismissed along the by the wayside, passed over and forgotten. Strength is not only physical and pain is a shared emotion, to be overcome together through maturity and resolve, not heartfelt yammerings, the whimpering yelps of terrified puppies separated from the maternal embrace. Life will throw us many curve balls and sometimes that boomerang we throw will come around and smack us in the face but we get up and we throw it again and again, fearless of physics and the damned biology that hampers our rational minds..

I am again determined and hopeful. There have been daemons inside of me that needed expelling and I hope that now having crudely ejected them in an emotional outburst I can begin to take those steps towards an emotional enlightenment that will liberate us from the pain I've caused.

"Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be."

Is this the life?

2009-09-08T14:18:00.001-07:00

So after labouring through a day of what are now fairly bog-standard reaching motions it was out to the bank and of to the metro to entertain friends over glasses of wine and sincere conversation on such typical Parisien topics as women, love and romance and employment, promotion and laboral fuck-ups.

It was hardly the melée of drunken revelry I've become accustomed to enjoying on those regular forays to the bars of odeon, Belleville, and grands boulevards but then some restraint is called for after living a blur of frantic activity the week before around the Latin quarter, Bastille and Montparnasse... Teaching pays the bills but it's the social excitement that gets me flowing, yawping and feeling the intense tension, the groups and challenges of my eternal infiltration quest; Brigitte says I'm a sensitive youth, touched by human kindness and in no need of the harpies, the wretched urchins, but I'm eager to run and skate to some unknown destination, just moving, gazing through the window portals of my eyes alon the way, regarding the fast moving shapes and the constantly changing visages of my friends and acquaintances as I hurl through on my way in one solo direction. Ahead, don't stop or you'll stagnate in your own filthy existence, strive for more, never settle, ever. There's always a new highway or a drunken embrace awaiting around the next corner and that strange intrigue that draws me to the people who hover near my sphere of conscience and they to me in equal measure.

Rape your comfor barrier permanently and never repent your passionate explosions, fly free Icarus, without the sun you would no legend be!

When worlds collide

2009-09-02T14:23:00.000-07:00

A strange feeling of distance from reality, an intertwined perception of the trillions of realities that we hold true in their existence has washed across me in a night of philosophy and history, a classic blend of entertainment for weary souls still damned to walk this once paradise.

After indulging in some high-brow but youthful banter at Les Etages with my colleagues; discussing human nature, positive attraction, and the practice of wearing a one-piece on Bondi beach, Australia, I returned to my pleasant little garret slipping away on my new blades to therein find an e-mail from my Father in my sparse hotmail inbox.

In the mail he had attached his discoveries from a family geneology trip that he and my mother had taken to the far northern reaches of Scotland, even in his humble pensmanship a bleak and depressing sounding place. There they had travelled the Lochs and Glens in search of the remaining traces of our family's past, the cottages still standing and the records and censuses that with such basic information prove to so unveil the histories of our ancestry and create a vision of where we come from.

In the bar, legs shaking from my short trip, we discussed the passing of knowledge from one generation to the next and F's idea that ambition is an unneccessary hindrance to true human expression. It seemed to me to be an enthusiastic but early theory that lead me to think once again, but while watching these young philosophers debating earnestly on the rain spattered sidewalk I could not help but think back to my Kerouac essay that revealed to me so much of the suffering of the post-war generations. L seemed to have had experience of the changing perspectives of parents and children, the tensions that family life seems almost destined to carry in a world that perhaps systematically denies us the nourishing childhood that we so need, the familial rifts that separate us from our elders, the folly of youth versus the weary cautiousness of old age and the desire to see our children grow strong and proud but coupled with an oft crippling fear to dominate and unwittingly stiffle the development, or by alienating the youth from a prescribed path, drive them to greater advancement through a difficult struggle for independence.

The realisation that our family has risen from the humblest of origins, highland shepherds and local constables, to become professors at the country's most respected universities, computer engineers and international citizens of the world's great capitals was for me an awesome moment of revelation. The short expanse of 200 years has taken the blood of this mountain dwelling clan across the globe, and perhaps it was indeed that dreary existence on the fells of the extreme north that provoked our inherent wanderlust.

Whatever the pessimism of modern adolescents and weary travellers trying to pen memoirs and struggling to make teacher's salaries meet on an international budget I cannot be turned from the pursuit of something as yet unattained, a drive within me that is yet to realise it's full potential. As the Ted talk declared there are perhaps invisible forces that surround us, inhabiting the nooks and crevices of this Earth providing us with inspiration for our creativity, daemons to the Greeks, Genii to the Romans... How will mine be manifested?

"Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with them?"

Was it a delicious meal or a lonely memory of you lying across my pillows??

2009-08-30T21:04:00.001-07:00

It's 5:50 am and I don't know if it's my imminent seminar that's hanging over today like a slow dead or memories of you that lie next to me in this bed as I clutch my pillows tightly, but my stomach is knotted, an unsettling pain that can only be worried away over time. It's a sleepless night worthy of remembrance, I spent the prior evening happy with Amaury and then upon returning home beat myself against the empty vacuum where you used to sit online, faint traces of you to be found on Facebook and I'm leaving MSN running only to tempt a message from you when I know that you're trying to forget me and that window may never appear again.

Were you here I would hold you close as you loved me to, it would be all I know how to do; enveloping you in my arms as if telling you feel safe!, be confident in my love and melt your back into my chest, your buttocks into my groin and we would interlace legs like so many knots that we tied ourselves into, the warmth of our bodies provoking a leger sweat to form between us. You wriggling backwards to reach that perfect corporal harmony, eyes closed to lock out forever and stretch this dream into our own, personal, tender infinity...

The creation of my own myth...

2009-08-30T02:09:00.000-07:00

It was a strange moment to be feeling Mexico, the temperature and the number of glasses on the table being probably the only similarities in the physical environment around us but all the same it was a cogent sense of deja vu that permeated the experience. The excited tension that builds before the eruption of a storm and the collision of groups of friends always sends shivers along my spine and tonight was to be no exception as, drinking with my work colleagues, the other members of my rag-tag band of amis turned up to Les Etages after various long days of work, swimming and sleeping (in the case of some lucky individuals!).

The happy hour blended these random souls into an interwoven mesh of human warmth and kindness and earnest intellectual discussion in English and French while our guards and inhibitions were stripped away by the alcohol flooding our systems. Nine o'clock and the night was already well underway, the less keen drinkers making their excuses and slipping away to quiet, homely evenings and prior social engagements while everyone present, feeling jovial and cajoling, finished up their pints and mojitos and caipiroshkas and grabbed their work satchels to march forth into the night towards the metro and Bastille, the promised land of madness and alcoholic freedom!

The journey was short enough but looking around the carriage at my companions I could tell that tonight was to be a great social success. It was this anticipation of the diversion to come and the stories to be written which reminded me of those chaotic, brilliant nights in Xalapa, Buenos Aires, Tokyo, New York and San Jose, the movement and desire to enjoy the bonheur of all present to mix and spread love and happiness amongst friends new and old that built a kind of elated buzz in all on hand. I personally was eager for these before distant souls to become one, one ensemble of free, young individuals coming together to leave the working week well behind and dive into the boozy excesses of the evening ahead, to throw my friends into a melting pot of dancing and flirting and watch with pride as all unfolded before my contented eyes!

Arriving at Trucmush after a mediocre street crepe it was time to fling open our senses and gorge on the mania that so often only a bar packed with amiable strangers can permit, a place of music and dancing, much more consumption and unforseen rendez-vous that thrilled all the onlookers with their erotic indulgences. Some went to extremes of sudden passion and clawed each other like beasts, reverting to a primal sexuality in the midst of the throbbing energy of the crowds, others pushed their bodies to new heights of drunkeness, dizzying for their anatomies and fell like Icarus into a swoon of vomit and violent convulsions.

I flitted between these raging scenes inside and the calm of the smokers in the street where the grizzly bouncer fought against the rising tide of excitement, just trying to do his job and spare the voisinage the soundtrack of shouts and laughter that hurried forth from our fun and inebriation. Jovial moments shared with klop in hand I threw my butt into the street and plunged back into the melee, barely holding onto my balance and coherence, eager to return to the entertainment within and the joie de vivre exuberantly splattered over the walls and floors of the bar.

It was not long before we had worked up the energy to move on, back out into the street sauntering like a swarm of happy bees towards the next nightspot, picking up people along the way, attracted by our ravenous energy, and losing those who could not take anymore madness and who sought out the comforts of their beds.

Le Furieux was the after-hours bar we chose and therein met more funky souls with whom to continue the soiree but by this point things were drifting into a sour tasting blur for me. Conversation no longer came easily and my image must have seemed tortured and unsanitary to those who now avoided my presence, I cared not and awaited the arrival of another best mate but I knew that the evening had gone as far as my body would allow and upon his arrival I explained that I had reached that aforementioned peak of inebriation and would be making my way homewards to revel in a great experience, a new memory burnt into my brain forevermore that would bring a smile to my face with its contemplation. Leaving my friends kissing and stumbling around the facade of the bar a friend and I started out into the night and took bicycles over taxis, parading our happiness around the streets of Paris crossing a large expanse of the city and arriving en route in front of Notre Dame, the normally over-crowded tourist plaza now emtpy, not a breath of life present except for the rodents and our good selves.

We bawled at the church and ran in circles, exploiting the space for our childish delights before remounting the bikes and slipping along the now so familiar banks of the Seine through sleepy Saint Michel and back to my garret where we could finally rest and laugh over one last glass of wine. But before dropping off the bikes my friend turned to me, lidded eyes and off balance, and mumbled in an embarrassed tone that he had lost his precious satchel of three years containing many important things. I could barely believe his words but my instinct took over to I sent him, tail between his legs to wait for me on the steps while I turned round the Velib and darted madcap back along the avenues and streets we had just passed by, circling the fountains and dodging the sparse traffic all the way to Notre Dame where right in the middle of the plaza lay his bag, unstolen and serene, a relic of a crazy evening like ancient artifacts discovered under desert sands by European explorers. It was to bring him one last moment of great joy to see me riding towards him, bag raised high in triumph, picking him out of his doldrums and giving us one last laughter-filled trek up the 7 flights of stairs to chuckle our way to sleep and to dream of the adventures we had lived this one liquid night in Paris.

"There is universal substance which is divine substance because where else can it be?"

Nobody reads this...

2009-08-25T13:55:00.000-07:00

I should rename this blog my journal for that is really the purpose for which it serves.

Thus I shall feel free to scribe my latest, and simultaneously my oldest, dogma for the coming months. Less of this, less staring at what is far too often meaningless internet chatter and banal drivel, repeated from those far too numerous visits to the same monotonous sites. This is not the way to be a better person, if that truly is what I wish to be, and I believe it is.

So a restriction on access is in order and the best way to do this is to keep myself occupied with other things. For this reason, but not this one alone, tomorrow I shall be aux Invalides with my skates and Florian and I'm trying to organise a trip to the cinema for thursday.

I've mourned long enough, I still feel sad and lonely in her absence but I refuse to be a broken man once again, I've the experience of picking myself up to give me strength in these trying times. Today for example I was socially inactive but instead went to the pool after work and then managed to cook and study french in between playing my guitar, as usual producing the odd pleasant melody but nothing worthy of much interest (but then I've only ever played for myself!). I was happy to have contributed to my learning once again, perhaps inspired by Dom's comments about doing a masters course next year at Kings college in London, a new bold plan to suddenly launch my life in a radically different direction once again but at least in another capital city (is it that I'm destined to live in the greatest capitals of the planet one day?).

And so the plan is not set but the path to mental contentment seems to be at last revealed to me, now all that remains is to test my discipline in instigating these common goals of learning and physical activity intertwined in my own peculiar way.

As for women I have no need of them for the moment, I've let myself scar emotionally once more in the hell holes of nightclubs (why can't I be content with dancing?!) but shied away from the challenge once more, and thus it's time to withdraw myself from female company and to concentrate on my more pressing needs, a little self-improvement that so often leads me down enriching paths. Hopefully the removal of this malicious obsession of mine will cure my gaping, sensitive wounds and who knows, actually help me blossom once again into someone I'd like to know myself!

Back to the classics, I've not bought Moliere for nothing you know!

"Que ne me jurez-vous que vous etes toujours dans les memes sentiments pour moi, que vous m'aimez toujours avec une ardeur sans egale, et que rien n'est capable de vous detacher de moi que la mort!"

The real end of everything.

2009-08-23T04:58:00.001-07:00

And so it had to end like this, both parties drawing away from each other, losing touch with who they once were and can now never return to being again. It's not something I could control anymore, I've been thinking for a while now that because I was the instigator I had no right to the sadness that has touched us both and that at the same time I have been denied the right to sympathise because it would seem patronising and hurtful.

And so it ends, I shant make anymore contact, it's not doing anyone any good to be running through these labyrinths of acceptable topics anymore and I'm clearly not sensitive enough to better pick and choose my phrases. Time to actually move on with our lives, but, sadly for me, alone. Friend, confidant, lover she can no longer be and I must respect her wishes and turn my back to walk away for good.

I've loved you. I won't hurt you anymore.

Adieu

Bored with strangers...

2009-08-22T13:24:00.001-07:00

It's depressing after having passed such a lovely day with Romaric and having had such high hopes for a funky soirée that I unfortunately find myself sat distantly at the end of the table watching the conversation pass me by, picking at the remains of my cassoulet de tortellinis au 4 fromages and staring intermittently into the middle distance... Nul...

I can't justify this experience in any way, I've never been so excluded in social company as I am tonight and however much I'm not trying it has still shocked me how much these three young ladies have completely ignored me... Ni importa, I know I'm not some insignificant loser who deserves to be relegated to the level o interest of the table cloth but this is a bit much.

I find solace in my iPhone and pretending that by ignoring them I'm taking control of the situation but if they'd talke to me I'd probably be lapping up the attention and thinking not at all of posting blog posts. I wonder if they're actually becoming unaware that I'm sat at the same table at them as they don't even refill my glass when passing round the wine. Perhaps I've somehow dissolved into the furniture and the waiters will stack me away at the end of the night. Bah, whatever, I'll pay my food and take a walk to clear my head. I can join up with Romaric afterwards when it's time to meet Eva (someone with some decorum at least).

What could I be doing instead? That's an intersting question to pose myself at a time like this. As I mentioned before I would almost certainly have bitten your hand off if you'd offered me this situation earlier, but now find myself wallowing in the pits of loneliness, some horrific social limbo that I can't seem to escape!

Walk time, time to get away from this bullshit.

Sunny days, dream away...

2009-08-16T06:07:00.000-07:00

It's high time I returned my mind to the beatiful grime that stains my life.

It's a slow start to a fast skate dream of passing cars and scared pedestrians. Swooping through gaps and leaping over cats and dogs and vegetable sellers I'm gonna speed up again at last in this sweaty summer heat and burning Paris streets. Back to being juvenile doesn't concern me at all as the world's too serious, no time to wallow in constrictions and constraints like the victims of a social boa squeezing the life from our flowers. Instead to be like Christophe and get on never get off, get up and not down and spin around and around, like a record on a turntable making his existence a fable of high times'n'flourishes enjoying that which nourrishes and burn, burn, burn like roman candles going pop like spiders stretching across the stars.

Conservar tu fuego, dejar de fumar.

How can the US government ask soldiers on the battlefield to give up nicotine? It's a 21st century obscenity, further proof that we're losing our collective sanity in a world that shares a collective inanity, an ongoing insanity of desperately unhappy seekers lost in the desert of our citiesto drink and drugs while the world divides around us letting those less fortunate drop limp and lifeless into the chasm that opens up therein; a social limbo lived out under bridges and outside churches that close their doors as they criticise others yet offer not the warm sanctuaries of the chapels, he who throws the first stone will be free from critisicm, a messenger to illuminate the people or a cynical manipulator of images and opinions, the beast that drains the blood from the world's poorest communities by their own free will and coerced mental slavery... The hope massacre. Popes in palaces...

Boys of the night dash around drinking on street corners and arguing their books away late into the dark hours, not until the sun goes down can we really feel free to sense and express our innermost energies, our throbbing mind-flows. Stunted in the daytime we long to release ourselves from the chains of office chair tortures and underground rat tubes, to run free and naked across the parks and bridges, stumbling in the heady night air, supping from the cups profered by smiling bar-folk and mumbling about the essence of existence and nature as if there in out concrete dungeons we were to be liberated from the stench of the sewers .

The book I'm reading is technology and porno blended into an overly active nightmare that is ultimately unnecessary and overly extreme yet enticing, tempting our own currents of paranoia and sexuality to be combined and considered in an unhealthy light. Come back from the brink and realise that all is not lost and this is not the Watchmen but exactly what we make of it. Does anyone read these tracts on modern living and go home with an axe to smash open their PCs and automobiles, buying a horse to prevent more large scale erosion of the environment, writing with pencils to save our retinas from searing pale lights, cracking our wrists on a mountain trek rather than sat infront of a dozen digital conversations with other ghosts of the web.

There is no truth, trillions of perspectives experiencing each other at the same time cannot agree and yet we pretend that there is a way that is acceptable, a proper behaviour for every situation. It's a series of experimental compromises and determined thrusts of unexpectedness that provide character to our passage through our short time on this world.

Don't let the man get you down.

Everything that comes must pass...

2009-07-30T01:00:00.000-07:00

It's not the morning after the night before, technically I'm still asleep, or at least that's what my schedule tells me.

Environmental Tracking presses ahead across the channel while here my own projects lie dormant, biding their time before my inevitable, tri-annual phoenix resurrection launches them back into motion and hopeful fruition.

Nicolai has his blog up and running and is producing podcasts about way out music. I'm proud to see my friends and acquaintances bringing these ideas and interests into the field of reality, using the internet to make things happen, searching out nooks of online joy where to lay their heads and lay seeds in the dewey shadows...

Is it a seasonal thing that I have become ginger again? Time for a trim methinks, a summery cut, but not while everyone is full of compliments and praise...

Things tick along and time complys with our will to order and direction, it's time to jump onto that rolling bandwagon and put down the bottle of inadequacy.

Into the dawn bold youths, your hour draws nearer with each waking hour!

Telemonian Aias

2008-10-27T19:45:00.001-07:00

Bold and fast, rushing to the fore is the only way to make waves.

All time flashes by in an instant. Wouldst thou dar'st contemplate infinity for even a moment!

The comfort cleanses my weary body and cares for the soul in a neat fashion. The Antics of the weekend have passed and it's onto the week, but that's no reason to slow down, Get up! ON and through..... Atravesando todas las barreras que te impiden.. Pero ha che sappere che questi alberi sono cresciute rapida come Hermes, il messagiero...

Oh Gladiators of yore how wouldst we seem to thee?

Oh Princes and Emperors what has become of England's brightest beacons?

A rallying cry goes up in the midst of the mob, a swell is approaching.

Those left behind will be first, those with wit and courage will ascend royally!

Staring into space is better than staring at the screen but it's a case of there being an attention deficit at this moment.. And then, suddenly, the phone rings, it's surely .. pero - io no capivo niente !

memories

2008-10-24T15:03:00.001-07:00

Take the plunge, don't stop to think, dive in head first you proud Aries prince.

The drop is not nearly death defying enough to cause any serious harm and yet all the same Winston's body is flailing like a kite with no string in a gale. The too boys plummet in and break through the water like two torpedoes, penetrating the membrane with a great double splash..

Portsmouth is not normally reknowned for it's beach culture and yet these proud princes cared not, for their whims had spawned an outbreak of merriment that had consumed the evening entirely and anon had ticked the time.. Were it not for the dizzying mix of coffee, alcohol, poetry and love that permeats the scene one might consider the pair misfits..

The truth hits both Jon and Rob at the same instant as they are submerged under the disturbed sea shore.

Up above, on the pier, a fisherman can be seen staring perplexed and confused, trying to come to terms with what had just occured..

Breaking their heads up through the surf both boys begin to splash and flap and Yorp like excited bears wrestling in the currents, they break apart and swim around the poles of the antiquated structure. Their supple young extremities limbs should rightly be exhausted, an evening spent at maximum intensity learning to breathe and assimilate the creative juices of the universe gave birth to a marauding night of smiling readings and grooving to the words and the experiences comparted that night.

It was Rob with his Baudelaean enlightened style jousting with my lairy kerouac driving texts. The prose, anecdotal prose poems and sheer enthusiasm all poured out at once, the youths both jostling each other on to greater feats of pretention and egoistical glorification! The power thrummed the air to the beat of our tongues, letting slip rhymes and improvised commentaries all to the tune of "Yes, Yes!"s and "go cat" rocks.

A favourite poem which made me rejoice at the time was Riobard, the transformed angel child's, ode to the legend of My Iron Tiger claw!

An outleashed thrust once did graze the throat of a startled lass. The world seemed to stop for this minor scene but almost as quickly restarted with the flight of said maiden, distraught at the outbreak of violence. Dan had to run on behind with his tail between his legs, how would he

Slither

2007-03-18T10:31:00.000-07:00

"Meat"

I'm sweating pork chops under a parasol on a wide avenue in the city of Bs As. A haze has fallen that spells carne heart attack for young boys waiting on Yoga (Shoga in Argentinian) classes and employment. Considered being a waiter yesterday just to get into some kind of working routine. Still living at the hostel and there appears to be lots of teaching work to be had, I just have to get off of my arse and find those schools and get those curriculums printed off. It doesn't help that I lost the most recent copy and have had to rework the current edition on spanish computers that make it difficult to find templates...

I stumble raucously down the street hand in hand with the lovely Cachorra witnessing police molestation of innocent petrified looking youths on drug store corners and crying babes begging for change. I got out of the organized mania of Buenos Aires for a few days and contracted a social conscience in La Plata, visiting poor neighbourhoods and witnessing police intimidation. But the friends of Franco's I met there were fantastic people and welcomed me to Argentina with open arms, how sweet!

This country rocks like Keith Richards supercharged on wine and valium. I love it!

Buenos Aires

2007-03-09T16:00:00.000-08:00

This place is HUGE!

I'd never imagined how big this place was and how full of beautiful people it is, and not just beautiful but classy looking people - unlike the slutty shop dressing of the Ticas (no offence, just an observation). It really is a small taste of European life here in Latin America, even the Spanish accent has been further europeanised to sound more Italian than Spanish at times and yes, safe to say I'm having trouble being understood by most everyone I talk to...

The taxi ride last night was a hilarious turn of events with the taxista being a racist Uruguayan who hates Argentina, Buenos Aires and all Argentinians. Errr.. A lovely welcome indeed and more news of high crime, social problems and car accidents galore.. Somebody sort this continent out!

Anyway I spent the night passing in and out of consciousness due to the return of 3 French party-goers in my hostel room. I'm investigating apartments but the one I'm looking at in San Telmo doesn't have a room available for at least another week.

Good news is I already have some contact details for some schools, one being the British language and cultural centre - sounds right down my alley! - the others are universities and private language schools so I'll have to print off some CVs to drop around over the weekend and into next week.

Off for my late night dinner now, something I'll have to get used to!

Ciao bellas!

"I've never know a Waleman"

Born Yogi

2007-03-07T11:20:00.000-08:00

"Estile the cuapo to the atras!"

Yoga is cool, I'm naturally flexible and the teacher, Jimmy, says I'm a born yogi and I should do yoga all my life.. Ummmm.... Well I enjoyed it and it's great meditation so'll be looking for a studio down in Buenos Aires or wherever I end up in Argentina.

Just another reason why I'm sad to be leaving San Jose, dirty city of crime and reggaeton fame. It seems like only in these last two months have I ventured away from the DVD screen and into the sunlight of friendship with the many friendly folk of the instituto britanico and the centro cultural amongst others. Shame I didn't get out more before or I may have found myself sticking around longer and enjoying the proximity of some of the world's most beautiful beaches.. Ahh well, que sera sera..... "O O O, O O shikuru..."

I managed to sell almost all of my stuff and I'll be feeling vulnerable when travelling through numerous airports with a few thousand dollars in my pockets :-P ahh well, like Telamonian Aias I will stride tall and proud to dissuade potential pickpockets.

Speaking of which I've become almost totally body obsessive what with the gym and yoga, I've decided that I am a lump of clay potential and that I will demand my body serves me rather than vice versa. I guess I'm just tired of never having had a good, strong body and now that I have so much free time there really is no excuse for not taking more care of myself - note drinking and smoking probably not included yet!

Well, here's hoping that Argentina will prove as enjoyable as San Jo has ended up! I'm full of vigour and confidence so a little open mindedness and some rapidly improving spanish should stand me in good stead.

Hasta Argentina!

"Nothing endures but change."

Another fine mess you've gotten me into!

2007-02-28T11:34:00.000-08:00

Damn, how does a quiet night with a couple of drinks and some food turn into a nightmare descent into darkness followed by a rise to glory!

I was intending to finally hang out with Carlos after class on tuesday, my last class finished and Roberto and I were drinking in Sand making the most of the cheap prices. After four or five and no news from Carlos we chowed down at the mall and tried to connect once more. He replied but was already home warming his tootsies in front of a fire with a cup of F-ing cocoa and was therefore a big going out disappointment!

Whatever, Roberto and I decided to get hammered and find some adventure and traipsed around a few bars and street drinking parties looking for diversion and people to hang out with. AS the evening dragged on a lightbulb switched on over Rob's head.

"Why don't we buy a bottle of rum and go drink with my alcoholic dad?"

A new mission was underway and so we dropped our unwilling charges and raced to the AM PM in time to buy the bottle and some muffins and chase down the last bus up to Guadalupe. We played some pool at his local cantina and shared cigarettes with chortling, toothless bums, chatted up the 4 foot 8 barmaid Marina and left in high spirits to wake up his Pa.

Arriving at Rob's house we opted for a few joints out the back to prepare ourselves for the high energy drinking session that was about to ensue. We rolled out by the wall and enjoyed the views out across the city towards the volcano Irazu in the distance. Whilst smoking down to the end of the first joint I swung my hand out to the left and accidentally dropped the still smoking butt into the neighbour's back garden... down a 20 foot sheer wall... Roberto eventually laughed it off but he was pretty concerned for a while that his neighbours would bring it back round the next day and embarass him in front of his family. To chill things out he passed me the second joint to smoke and would you believe it, I accidentally tossed that WHOLE UNBAPTISED joint down after the first one.

It only took a minute to soak in but when he recovered his senses Roberto was furious and I was distraught. I've never done anything quite as ridiculous as that in my life and now I'd just done it twice! Awful. Rob was cursing and trying not to scream and shout under his breath, saying how I'd be going to the worst section of hell where I would drop precious things down steep cliffs for eternity!

He was really mad and we were starting to feel some bad karma building when he mentioned that he had a climbing harness in his room. A desperate plan was hatched and Roberto left me to ponder my descent of 20ft in pursuit of the runaway doobies. When he returned I was totally psyched about what was ahead and eagerly strapped on the ropes before testing the weight and support by free hanging.

We moved over to the wall, me with a cycle helmet and wearing only socks, trousers and a wife beater, and I climbed carefully over to begin the climb down. It was easy enough making it down to the ground although it burned my sides slightly but once I was down there I was mobbed by the friendliest guard dogs ever, licking and sniffing like maniacs. Poor fellas probably didn't get much attention, least of all from visitors coming down from the skies in their normally quiet Orange grove.

Trying to avoid the dogs and to avoid stepping on too many oranges I found the butt and the fresh joint after about half an hour of scrambling and scraping and pocketed the evidence with a boyish grin. Then came the tricky part. How to escape from my blatant trespass without shattering the calm of the night and bringing disgruntled, scared, gun wielding Ticos running to engage me in a lethal defence of their property!

We tried scaling the vertical face but had less than no luck with that attempt, getting only a few hand scars in the process. On the right was a low standing shed with some beams underneath and so we replaced the rope more to the right hand side and attempted my climb again. This time I was glad of those sessions in the gym trying to lift and haul my body weight around. TOby would have been proud of my scaling of the shed and Roberto was a veritable Hercules at the top heaving my body weight onto the ledge and up over the wall to safety!

Safe to say that was the happiest most exhilirating joint I'd smoked in a long time and we vowed to pass down this hilarious incident to all future generations we could! Viva San Jo!

"What you risk reveals what you value. "

Killing time my darling

2007-02-20T09:49:00.000-08:00

The date is set and the escape from San Jo draws near. The city of innumerable muggings and robberies, of drunken depravity and so much pura vida (read walking too slowly and driving like you've been recently released from a mental asylum) it hurts my poor little soul.

So long to Poker tuesdays and pool thursdays, to winning and losing at the Radisson, to almost dying everytime I attempt to cross the road in my normal gung ho fashion and to the ladies with their ridiculously slutty dress sense... I salute you madames of madness.

All in all Costa Rica hasn't been bad to me. I will however be runnign far far away from San Jo as soon as my contract is up, probably to the coast once more to surf and sunbathe and sleep off the joy excess of teaching.

I want to take a monkey with me to Buenos Aires and have it do my board work for me!

Mmmmmm, real meat and proper football! I can't wait!

"Do you want superman to fly around the world and turn back time?"

Estudiantes chistosas

2007-02-14T11:35:00.000-08:00

1 - "Who put on your make-up, Your dog?"

2 - "I once killed a dog with my bicycle and a rolled up newspaper."

what am I teaching them?

Today I did a huge lesson on repeated speech and it was soooo cute to see their little faces all screwed up in painful learning agony! Normally I'm so laissez faire but this one showed them the real mental sacrifices they'll have to offer up to the ESL Gods to gain any decent level of English!

"Cruel to be kind, in the right measure."

Beer bar blitz

2007-02-14T11:15:00.000-08:00

In true British style I blitzkrieged the bars last weekend, harassing the locals, jibing the bartenders, being loud, drunk and ever so much jolly fun! Ooh-rah!

My manic beer chasing began on friday night as Roberto, Kevin, Eli, Asi and I knocked back a hasty few whilst dancing with old ladies in Virus before Rob and I caned it down to Rafas to dance with fire and shoot the shit with some kids in the calle.

After my class on saturday morning I ran some errands, rented Factotum and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, "Everyone here is heavily armed and drunk.. It's like Gone with the Wind on mescalin!", played a rough and tumble game of football, that almost saw Tom start a fight with one of the fatty pie eating Ticos, went home to shower and change and then proceeded to wander around the post office building downtown looking for the elusive Embajada! That cantina was full of slobbering whiteys and empty beer bottles and I remember having a great time arguing the toss between Cricket and Rugby as the greatest sport in the world.

Anyways, we drank and shouted and wrestled our way through many beers and various shots until we ended up on the main avenue drinking in a mariachi bar where I confused the security guard by asking him about the availability of soft drugs in the area. Unperturbed by his nervous disposition I continued shooting the shit with him before I got bored and wandered home.

Sunday was quiet. I watched those movies, ate some popocorn for breakfast (damn my inadequate shopping habits!) and did some marking before topping off a great hangover by watching the hilarious Borat in the evening. I never knew movies could be so senselessly racist and yet so funny!

Scooba Mopping Robot

Monday saw a return to drinking form at El Cuartel with Kevin, Randall and Alex. We spoke to lots of girls, danced with some more, drank a moderate 4 or 5 beers, Kevin almost got into a fight, some guy and his sister talked my ear off about Monty Python and Snatch - normally I wouldn't mind chortling heartily over British comedy quotes in the midst of crowded, sweaty bars but the guy's favourtite quote was:

"If you hold back anything, I'll kill ya. If you bend the truth or I think your bending the truth, I'll kill ya. If you forget anything I'll kill ya. In fact, you're gonna have to work very hard to stay alive, Nick. Now do you understand everything I've said? Because if you don't, I'll kill ya. "

The night rolled on and eventually I tired of the mainly Germanic meat market and stumbled off to my bed but on the way I was shocked to see a half-naked man jogging down the road towards my house with his equally naked woman friend and a 2 foot machete in hand, scraping it against the railings on his way to God only knows.

I tailed him for a while but when I eventually passed and he started to follow me it was luckily only a short sprint to my front door and the sanctuary of my room.

"If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kinda pussy to drink it."

Violence is endemic

2007-02-07T08:55:00.000-08:00

Hmmm, today the vocabulary that my students asked for was - Tazer, rape, ransom, talk-time and poverty. Are Costa Ricans conditioned to violence in their society?

Last night I broke even at poker but with some good chances to win a few big hands. Darn it.

"Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd."

Bang bang you're dead...

2007-02-04T15:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I scored 12 goals in Futbol 5. Wow! Although it didn't really matter because we were only playing with 9 people so it wasn't a proper game as usual. Drat.

Afterwards Toby, Tom and I ate dinner and went around some of the bars in San Pedro, meeting some Ticos (no Ticas) and drinking till late in Sand and Virus.

I reached home safely enough and slept a good 6 hours before having to get up to play paintball on the morrow when Kevin Wong came a knocking. We ate toast and I beat him at chess before Toby and Robbie meandered over and I said a curt farewell to Tobias, oops, and the other three of us went with some folks to play paintball in Escazu.

A great game all in all. Randall's girlfriend Alex actually owns a paintball field in Germany and so was a crack shot at times and very sneaky, utilising many flanking manoeuvers! Kevin Randall and I had a ten pace duel as well which was lame because we all missed, Kevin even having the cheek tohide behind a barricade!

Great japes all round this weekend!

"Friendship make prosperity more shining and lessens adversity by dividing and sharing it."

Funny weekends follow flat weeks

2007-02-04T14:56:00.000-08:00

The crazy lady I mentioned briefly at the end of my previous blog was in fact Maria Gabriella or Gaby for short. A Tica who approached me in the mall and demanded to be my girlfriend. Intrigued, and having nothing else to do after watching the overrated but well shot Babel, Robbie and I accompanied her to El Pueblo and later to a Karaoke bar where she proceeded to regale us with tales of times when she had almost been killed by men she described as literally being daemons who would vomit whenever she discussed her religion (can you guess it?).

Although she was speaking fantastic English I couldn't help but interject with some subtle quips that luckily only Robbie caught. Anyway, she was a very direct person and demanded I be her boyfriend. I kissed her briefly in the taxi on the way home, sitting in the back, but it was quite possibly the worst kiss I've ever experienced! I wont ruin your happy lives with the gruesome details but safe to say it was awful for someone who must have had her share of experience of life and love... Horrific. That was one taxi ride that couldn't end soon enough...

I saw her again on friday and tried to let her down as gently as possibly but she wasn't taking it and gradually lowered her expectations down from boyfriend status to just friends with rights but even this i refused. I don't feel like being a toyboy right now for some Christian mentalist.

"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead."

El fin sucio de San Jose

2007-01-31T08:55:00.000-08:00

So I passed a fine couple of days in Monteverde but on the first night when I was trying to be sociable no-one wanted to talk to me apart from a couple of Germans. The next day I walked around all day in the park and was pretty exhausted when I returned to the hostel in Santa Elena, so I didn't really feel like socialising and retired early to my room with a kick-ass book called Bangkok 8.

The next day people were queing up to chat and be friendly but sadly by that time I had drifted into a melancholy mood and grumpily distanced myself from everybody around before waiting for the midday bus back to San Jose. What a sour puss.

Well back in San Jose I continued with some marking, went to the gym, played football (we battled through a hard fought draw with the Ticos thanks to a dogged performance from our new Spanish Puyol, Antonio) and generally hung out with Toby and Eric in Parque La Sabana.

That evening however I felt like going out and drinking away my cloudy emotional state with some cats in town, perhaps at Vertigo, but when I tried to call Dave, who had told me of some entertainment earlier in the day, I only got some angry Ticos, who clearly didn't like to be hassled by poorly spoken Spanish! Que strange.

Disappointed but not bowing to the pressures of a shrinking wallet I proceeded to Eric and Ben's pad with Toby in tow for some drinking and poker that somehow turned into a jaunt across town up to a small "night-club" in San Pedro. The entrance was 5g with a couple of free drinks and we got seats dead in front of the tiny stage but somehow all that naked flesh failed to turn me on and I was left cold by the experience, completely unlike my days in Jalapa when I'd so enjoyed what was a very strong (and more erotic) social experience. To be perfectly honest the strippers looked bored for the most part and although there were some amusing moments it wasn't long before the three of us had jumped in a cab speeding (crazy taxi drivers) towards Vertigo.

Toby couldn't contain his excitement at finally finding a place that played some quality electronica, bouncing around the inside of the taxi with a Cheshire cat smile stretched like a taught tarpaulin across his chiselled Germanic mug. I simply wanted to lose myself in the music for the remainder of the evening and managed to do so for a good 4 or 5 hours of non-stop dancing, dancing, dancing.

I have no doubt that I looked like an absolute muppet to all and sundry, those upmarket Ticos who stand arrogantly looking down their noses at the manic freaks sweating away under the dim lighting and the smug presence of the DJ.

A mixed evening to be sure.

Next I'll tell you about a lady who sees Daemons!

"A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain."

Monteverde - waking life

2007-01-24T14:59:00.000-08:00

I was planning on writing about my interesting bus journey but that was before I had a fried egg and cheese sandwich and attempted to get some much needed rest in the dormroom, which was empty at the time.

I lounged in my vest and pants on the bed thinking about not one thing in particular when the walls fell away from my peripheral vision and I was being lifted out of my bed by a helicopter sound and unceremoniously dumped down in the street. I felt woozy and restless but i couldn't open my eyes even for a minute. I turn over in the dust and push myself to my knees. My hand feels for a strange sensation emanating from my belly and glancing at my upturned palm I see that I've been shot.

There's no chance of controlling the sensations but I need to survive for something, there must be someone around who knows whats happened. Focus! There! In the corner of the square, running in slow motion I spy a street rat. Concentrate Jon, concentrate. I reach down to where my revolver sits by my right butt cheek and draw it out to head height, trying to control my shakes.

Slug, slug. The shots hit the boy in the shoulder and I see him topple head first into a newstand in front of a cafe sending Bradd Pitt streamnig helplessly across the street. I myself fall into the wall next to my left shoulder and my vision starts to swirl uncontrolably. I sink down from a standing position to a half crouch, hands clasped across my reddening belly. Apply pressure. Wait it out, stay conscious....

All blacks out finally and I can hear the hum f the helicopter once again overhead.

Whum whum whum whum whum whum.

"You gave up on life didn't you, you fucking bum!"

Festival fun (or how to equalise blood alcohol levels)

2007-01-23T09:03:00.000-08:00

So Sally breezed through town last week, gracing us with her presence for three days before flying out to ecuador to continue adventuring around the World - "Only four more months of travelling left!" She moaned. Bah humbug.

We drank, watched films and drank some more in between my classes. On saturday she and Toby came to footy and provided some refreshing chants of "Toon, Toon, Black an White army!" along with other unintelligible rubbish..

"Children of men" was a good film but I was annoyed by the appearance of a large boat at the end.

We trekked off to Palmares on Sunday, me dragging Toby sleepily from the couch as we ran down the street pulling on our socks and shoes and leaping into the awaiting minibus. The festival was great fun and the bands were not reggaeton!!!!!!!! Awesome. We all got very drunk and I'm still feeling muy delicado en mi estomago.

Teaching has gone v.well this week. Lots of classes of students talking like howler monkees! Unable to shut them up I sip at my Hi C and daydream of one day introducing conjugated adjectives into English...

"Thought is the sculptor who can create the person you want to be."

Toby's story

2007-01-23T08:49:00.000-08:00

So Toby's story, as related by him to me in a bar one night last week -

Toby was travelling alone round the south of Costa Rica in one of the national parks and one night went out to a Mexican restaurant. There he noticed three young senoritas sitting at a nearby table and duly asked them if he could join them to which they agreed. They were joined by some gringo hangers on and all departed shortly for a club with Toby having taken a fancy to one of the girls, who was the older sister of another. When they reached the disco however Toby's lady friend abandoned him on the dancefloor for one of the gringos because Toby's foot was in a poor state of health at the time and restricted his dancing.

Slighted by the abandonment Toby decides to dance instead with the younger sibling thereby making the older sister jealous. Upon leaving the bar, each girl partnered with a guy, they proceeded drunkenly to the beach before the gringos left for their hotel, leaving Toby and the three girls standing outside of the restaurant where they also lived.

Toby heard them talking about whether or not to have a threesome with him and believing it to be a test he said "no no, I only want the one of you. I'm not that kind of guy!" To which they replied, in the finest Mighty Boosh accent - "You have passed the test." and they all entered the residence, proceeding to the back room.

Therein the girls began to undress and shower in front of Toby. They then asked him to take a shower in full view of them and were about to commence the deed when the younger sister cried out "No! I want him for myself!"...

The rest is easy to imagine but safe to say Toby was very eager to share said story and I feel it my duty to alleviate his current run of bad Karma by sharing it with the world in a most bastardised fashion. Voila.

" What would you have me do? Give out? Give up? Give in? "

Dildo cafeteria

2007-01-19T11:28:00.000-08:00

Sitting in the cafeteria watching Mexican shows about the merits of various "jugetes sexuales" I wondered what kind of daydream I am currently living through.. The staff and students didn't seem in the least bit interested but that only led me to believe that they secretly were noting down the number for discreetly packaged mail orders - never forget that it's almost always the quiet ones.

I've been hauled round various bars recently with everyone that knows me trying to get me a new girlfriend and very drunk in the process. I don't like it. I've never been the kind of person to enjoy the mating rituals of the young and virile and least of all when I'm feeling melancholy and not enjoying the music. Whatever. On the walk home last night I decided I was the biggest social loser on the planet and that I'd be better off living in a box somewhere on a street corner - an apparently acceptable lifestyle choice here in San Jose, but where to get my cheap crack? - or alternatively just sitting in my room all day reading to myself.

Things could be worse. I could be Tobias Keefer. My erstwhile German travelling acquaintance turned up recently expecting a few heady days of partying here in San Jose while awaiting his saturday flight home. Unfortunately on the second day of being here he received word from his parents that his flight had mysteriously been cancelled due to a lack of funds on his credit card. A madcap dash around the airport district only served to tire and infuriate said German with the news that his flight was cancelled and the next available vuelo is february 7th... Fuck. Poor Toby is now sitting around the house all day waiting to check his e-mails for a cancellation or availability and generally not doing much in particular.

So last night I took him out after work to get us both drunk and we ended up in the dreaded Calle Amargura. "Sigh". Toby's penis began to itch and, alcohol fuelled, he missioned it around the bar looking for crumpet with which to share good old fashioned viscreal experiences. Having found two likely chicas we danced and sat at a table with a bottle of rum. Sadly my tolerance of the bar and the girls evaporated quickly and I decided to leave and beat myself up on the way home to precious sleep. Toby wanted to stick around but now wishes he hadn't because on the way home, on the main avenue, with plenty of traffic around, he was robbed at gunpoint while I slumbered noisily in my bed. Poor fella ay?

Oh, he did tell me a funny story though and I'll include that more positive note in my next post.

Movie of the post is "Little Miss Sunshine" a happy dysfunctional America satire of living to be a winner. I enjoyed it and now I carry a porn mag everywhere with which to bribe traffic cops to prevent them finding dead bodies about my person - genius.

He who binds to himself a joy, does the winged life destroy: But he who kisses the joy as it flies, lives in eternity's sun rise.

“Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please.”

2007-01-17T09:40:00.000-08:00

I'm reading James Joyce's fearful depictions of biblical school meditations on the fiery pits of Hell and the intensity of our souls suffering therein. It's a riveting depiction of our final punishment but ultimately one that Joyce came to reject as fanciful and merciless of our Lord.

Knowledge is power but making teenagers run around in a circle like headless chickens can give one a sense of omnipotence that is unrivalled in the teaching profession. Screw the test scores, I only ask that my students leave the room with a smile on their faces and a few bruises to boot. One kid actually stood gleefully punching another in triumph when he managed to leave the cursed seat of doom! I had to restrain him with imploring sarcasm - "Big and clever Marco, big and clever."

I won a pound at poker last night but I was happy not to have left penniless for a change. The game dragged on into the madrugada but eventually we all agreed to cash up and exit into the mild morning air for our respective abodes.

Everyone who reads this should pay attention for my next post where I shall entreat to you all the gems of the silver screen that I have discovered - with a little help! - whilst residing in Costa Rica. Some genuine treats!

Adieu!

"You're so wise. You're like a miniature Buddha, covered with hair."

Surrounded by darkness

2007-01-15T14:51:00.000-08:00

The lights dim in the computer suite yet it halts not my tap tapping fingers on the rickety centro keys. I'm deep in the midst of a failing presentation to 5 generations of Ticos, presumably students, all thinking of enrolling their rugrats in the English for sprogs program.

It provides a surreal point in which to type this blog entry at least.. "Find the 5... FANTASTIC!"

Today I was lazy and despondent, laying around the house doing little and thinking little. I haven't managed to muster any enthusiasm for anything much this year but I did go for a spluttering run today around the neighbourhood and I am looking into going to some kind of martial arts academy and maybe the gym when I feel more positive.

I went out to the Calle Amargura on saturday night with Kevin, Roberto and some other folk but I was looking dishevelled and unshaven and I really hate fucking reggaeton which led to a dull, uneventful night. I'll find some other routes out into San Jose soon but for the meantime my social calendar remains tuesday poker, thursday pool and saturday football. Thrilling stuff I'm sure you'll agree. Give me a week or so and I'll snap out of this foolish melancholy...

A new day dawns

2007-01-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

I woke up at 4:51 this morning and my thoughts wandered around for 10 minutes while I waited in bed to return to sleep. Yesterday we crushed the Germans underfoot in the blistering Costa Rican heat thanks to a far superior level of organisation and skill. Oo-rah!

I've decided to take those extra hours I talked about to boost my economic situation to sustainable levels. I know it's going to be a real headache evaluating nearly 60 students but the experience should see me in good stead for future employment and it will give me a lot more teaching practice.
Otherwise I'm bored most of the time but trying to be more sociable than I was previously. Tonight I'm dreading the thought that I might actually attend Palmares the big annual festival here in CR. F%$& Reggaeton music square in the rectum but I can't resist a drunken daytrip in the sunchine! I am weak...

Should I shouldn't I?

2007-01-12T10:00:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting at a computer terminal on the fourth floor of the Centro Cultural pondering A- why did I even think of climbing so many stairs so soon after eating? and B- should I accept an offer of three more evenings a week teaching a Speak class for an extra 100,000 colones a month?

I have said to everyone that I want more money and some more hours but this would seriously fill up my timetable and have me working splits four days a week so I'm wary of burning myself out teaching... Decisions don't come easy. I think I'll take it, after all I don't have much of a social life here just yet and I came to teach so teach I bloody well should!

I'm off to beat some Germans at football now. Oo-rah.