Thursday, 6 August 2009


Welcome dear imaginary friends!

I would like to thank you all for your presence tonight, I understand that you are not here of your own accord and that you are all subject to my whims. But I have always been a humble man that gives thanks when thanks are due.

Now let us first take a moment of silence in lieu of your friends, and indeed mine also, that were not able to join us on this most auspicious of nights. You know what I'm thinking because, of course, you are also thinking the same thought; that I have been the one to expel our friends from our gathering, I'm sure you are confident that they are also subjects to my whims and that may I wish it, they would be here amongst us. Let it be clear that this is, on no account, a fault of their own, but simply a result of my indiscretion.

But please dear listeners, before you pass judgment upon me from your small wooden seats and before I'm reduced to a mere convenient object of hatred, let me remind you that you are no more innocent than I'm in this act, I agree, of selfishness. I understand your tendencies to shift the blame as this is indeed evident in actions of my own, even in this current one to be quite honest. You see, you keep making the preposterous assumption that I, speaking down on you from this high throne, am master. This of course is absurd; I'm merely the integration of all of you sitting beneath and no more than that. Where you to come to agreement amongst yourselves that you would like to include these detestable hordes form the past-our own dear friends-then so be it, I would have no choice but to do so against my own egoistic nature. But of course you would not wish such a feat accomplished because, it is my will that you don't.

Now you, lady in the back… yes you! Would be so kind as to enlighten us of why you are weeping? Perhaps all this drama is too strong for your own taste? Perhaps you think me cruel of heart? Ahh, that is it, isn't it? Now I remember, you look at me a think "you toke away my son!" You murdered my son! perhaps even? But your son was not real! Simply a fragment of my imagination. And now you come here and play the heartbroken mother… Let me assure you Madame that you only feel the way you do about your son because I thought you that way; if I were so inclined, you would be the cruel mother that gave her son to the sea. I will have no more of this nonsense!

And you young gentleman setting in the dark corner with that foul smirk on your face, you think I don't know what lies in this small skull of yours? You pride yourself on being the ultimate cynic, none of which happened here tonight escaped your sharp remarks, no? Well, let me tell you a word to the wise; a cynic who doesn't speak his thoughts is nothing but a coward! Yes, you can keep holding your tongue then.

And you, the man with the big mustache in the front row, you have schemes within schemes, and all of them revolve around winning my favour. Such decadency, and again, such cowardice!

My dear imaginary friends, I sometimes despair of you all!!
Ahh, such lovely train of thoughts that grip you all, this is the beauty of having one common enemy, a tormentor in this case, our own very selves. But even so, you will take no action, you know why my dear, dear friends? Because you are all cowards, and intentionally so! Yes that’s it; just let your doubts drown your anger. Ponder on all of the "what ifs?" and lose yourselves in your fear.

lastly, apologies dear guests if I have been brief on this day, but I'm tired and must take my leave to the real world. I'm sure you will excuse any excess by which I have offended you, it is my firm belief that your good nature and manners will suffice as to keep us friends still.

You may applause as I leave the podium, thank you all and goodnight!

Saturday, 18 July 2009


Voiceless, no sound breaking the dense blanket of a damp hot night.... the few dry words that escape torture my throat.
The need to talk to her is strong, make her understand.... but all i could offer is more pain.
i can hear myself trying to reshape the words to form a phrase that would cure it all, but this gives birth to a random clutter of noises that sum up to one thing only; i have failed her.
I breath in... I breath out. I breath in and blow clear white smoke into the thick evening air.
I look at the stars and through their sparkling beauty i can feel their anguish, so tiny and defenseless against the hungry stares of mortal men. I feel guilt of a thousand lives past condescending, i look away and find myself looking directly into her deep gray eyes.
"I'm sorry..." i begin to say, but now its her time to look away.
If only fate could be blamed one more time, if only each one of us was not his own personal monster, if only fear disappeared with the rise of the sun, then it might of endured..... but now it is over and all i have left are her dead flowers lying in the trunk of my car.

Friday, 15 May 2009


And so i'm sitting here in this small, almost empty, hall in a what could probably be a *** star hotel. let me mention, for absolutely no reason, that this hall served breakfast, lunch and dinner, and from 11PM to 6:30A.M. it served as snack bar. I would have been listening to some not so bad music playing on the radio but i'm not because there happens to be 5 british chumps that are drinking too much beer and seem to be having a good time. It is 1 A.M and it is probably time to head off to my not so big single bed, but i don't and keep eying the voiceless T.V as some images of a couple of faqs dressed up in shiny gold space suites jump around, i ignore them and write on, they are meaningless and so is what i'm writing. The Brits start to get crazy on the ass of the black bartender, they are asking for vodka i think, that and they were trying to shoot him down with their fingers... but that is not working, he just stares at them. i entertain the thought of telling them to shut the fuck up, and let it go quick, not worth it. I need a cigarette, i don't have a cigarette, i ask the bartender for a pack... he says "no cigarette" in what seemed to me as thick french slang.
The Brits are suddenly quite, and the music doesn't seem that good anymore, a cheap pop-techno gig "my heart is going bang bang!" followed by a uninteresting rap song about someone who's claiming that he is about to loose his control.
i hear you brother... i take a quick glance at the T.V and i see a girl, she reminds me of Nancy, i've just seen Nancy at work today, she is a bit old but she looks ok, slow at replying to mails though i gotta say, but that's fine, almost everybody is. She drinks her coffee decaffeinated and black, not that i care.
nothing more to do here, i consider reading what i have just wrote but go against, who gives a crap about what it comes out as...a few letters make a word and few words make a sentence and a few sentences make a fucking long boring paragraph, so it all adds up in the end.
oh wait.... the brits come to sing to me, they group around and start singing "it is only love...." i smile and think about it, i probably can take on 5 drunken suckers anyday but the bartender hushes them along, one almost falls, drunk... the bartender apologizes to me... i think they are sweet .
Till later... maybe.

The children of the night

We drift off and contemplate and think we are smart.... and other times we think we are completely dump. The voice of the unknown cries to us from the dark, beckoning us, reminding us of things past.... warning us of things to come. I know you sometimes hear it too, we all do. sometimes we ignore it for so long, acting as if it didn't exist, acting as if we couldn't hear it. But it is surprisingly persistent the damn beast, it haunts us for, what might very well be, eternity....
Cool under the roof of the rich silence of the night we play with our imagination, and what else could we do... for we are but children.
we are the children of the night...

Friday, 27 February 2009

Who the fuck do you think you are?

You deceive, cheat and lie
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You act as if you own the sky
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You scream, shout and cry
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You do and then deny
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You excel at being sly
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You meet your troubles with a sigh
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You are scared least you die
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You think you are big, while you are a small fry
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You mourn blood spilt, when red is your only dye
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You get hated and wonder why
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You say you are ashamed and still you try
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You say the words to justify
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You love self and think morals are high
So who the fuck do you think you are?

You are man…
That is who you are

Thursday, 15 January 2009

Fuck off

"so basically your saying that people are full of shit"
"well, i 'm saying that people don't know shit, that they got their heads so far up their asses that..... wait, not even that, they don't even give a shit where their head is at, as long as they are not bothered by the smell"
"And then you've got this asshole thinking that he is all zen and shit, just cuz he got sad seeing someone get his brains blown.... well, fuck him. nobody gives a rat's ass about someone eating a bullet, at least no one is gonna lose his dinner over it. they can give me drama and cry their heart out all they like, i would still think they are full of shit"
"And the funny thing is that this kinda bitching really appeals to people, works like a fuckin charm, probably plays on their basic emotions or whatever"
"so you spit any crap, blaming the world, thinking you're cool, well fuck you too, you are as jaded as the rest of them losers."
"at the end, all he really said that made sense is that he really didn't give a shit just like the rest of them, he never did, only he might of entertained the notion for sometime, while they believed they were all innocent fucks"
"you wanna hear about innocent? fine, i'll be your worn out piece of wisdom for the day; truth is nobody is innocent, they will tell you otherwise, but mark my words, we are all guilty as hell"
"guilty of what you stupid crazy bastard?"
"fuck off" he said at last.

Friday, 9 January 2009


Offensive conjectures, the offering of a twisted mind, they surround us, murdering our spirit and nourishing our decay. Yet we welcome them, we welcome them all. We welcome them as they have welcomed us before. We welcome them because we must…

We are the reapers, gathering the toil of others. We are the horrid monsters that look back from your mirror. We are the magic makers, the spell enchanters, cursing you till the end of days.

We are the yoke of humanity, the chains around your neck. Deny us not our right to consume your soul. Deny us not, least you deny yourself.

They met on the golden shores of where-they said- was paradise. They ate crab legs and drank sea water. They spent their days counting the tiny grains of sand, and their nights counting the sparkling stars. They walked back and forth, hand in hand; they walked and never looked back. They spoke about nothing and everything; they spoke because they feared the silence.

The time was busy as usual, it hurried along and nobody could catch up with it. And people called but to no vain! The time was busy, yes indeed. Then one day while running to its chores, the time fell in love with a young and charming space. They stayed in each others company and forgot about the worries of the world. Until in the end, time was running short, and there was no more space.

Speak gently, whisper even, or else he might awaken. Dance on the tips of your toes, dance on the fragile tunes of silent music. Sing songs of joyful remembrance; sing while your frail limps shake from absolute terror. Caress his beautiful face in loving affection; caress the curves to remove their harshness. Drink from the cup of misery; drink without voicing a complaint.

Thursday, 8 January 2009

The road that must end

The voices of the old, worn tires on the pavement speak for us, declaring that we cannot bare the load anymore.
The images from the dim, grey road portray us, showing the state of our demise.
The thick, black fumes clouding our judgment, existing because we produce them, are there to suffocate us.
The dark, deep holes in our path, do more than just cripple us, they are there to swallow us whole or deliver us to the next one.
The intense, reflected light from the mirror, it blinds our vision and leaves us impaired.
The high pitched, loud squeal of the brakes cries for us, voicing our pain and anguish.
The small, uninteresting numbers that grow with each step, they mark our journey and signal that sooner or later it is bound to run out of digits.
The sudden, impulsive turning of the wheel exposes us, reminding us of our fragility.
The unending, hungry chaos represents us, standing for our greed and indifference.
The irritating, repetitive horns, annoying to all but us, prove our vulgarity.

Saturday, 6 December 2008


Project #: 186452B

Medical ID #: 44378

Personnel #: 284

Type: Highly Classified

DNA Fracture tests indicate a strong tendency of the sap molecules to disintegrate under elevated temperatures (tests conducted at 45-50 C, “sapintg.doc” could be viewed for more info.)

80% of Samples started showing deep-core symptoms after 45 min. exposure. 100% of samples experienced complete breakdown after 57 min. exposure*(This rather supports the theory that last trial’s resiliency figures were unfounded)

At least 70 to 80 % of Standard regulatory nerve functions were damaged during the high-v phase of the tests.

Samples’ ability to achieve high level neural connection reached 100% synchronization ratio at 40G batched dosage.*( taking these values into account, the BVN board should consider revising the dispersion factor presented by the SiG department.)

Deformations were minimal in samples from D category, affected by stronger bone structure/composition.


1. Mortality rate: 100%

2. Outsourcing magnetic induction equipment should be considered, as the batch-run cost of operation is out of target center line by a huge offset.

3. Information concerning samples’ body function during the trial period could be found in the attachment.

4. Decreasing sample size might impact result accuracy, calibration might be required.


Terminate phase II as of next rotation.

Deploy buffer relief program before commencing phase III.

Saturday, 22 November 2008

Day Part lll

The Night

The fall of darkness, once again
Has made its show tonight
And captive feelings, mostly pain
Were set to make their plight!
All actors gathered, on the stage
Of gloom and dark despair
The sum of them, fool and sage
They made a lovely pair

The hallow room, which housed it all
Was set with seats of clay
And on a vacant chair, a needy soul
Chose to make his stay!
He came to watch, as watch he must
The show when evening came
And when it ends, and flesh is dust
It still will come the same

Saturday, 15 November 2008

The Day Part l

The Morning

Yesterday the morning came;
It came for me and others the same,
Alone I was when it appeared
It seemed as cruel as I had feared.
Yet with others, it has been kind;
It gave where I have been denied
It gave to each and everyone,
It gave, whilst I had none!
Yesterday the morning came;
It came for me and others the same.
It came for me, and now is gone,
It came and gone, and I’m all alone.

Today the morning came;
It came for me and others the same,
I welcomed it with chest sore;
As I welcomed it the day before
I welcomed it and said ‘hello’
In hopes of kindness it might show.
But answer me it did not
And lack of kindness is all I got!
Today the morning came;
It came for me and others the same.
It came for me, and now is gone,
It came and gone… and I’m still alone.

Friday, 7 November 2008

Ci sono centi modi per morire

Driving into the dark void that engulfed the traffic-less road, the bends dangerously steep and narrow, there stood a tall figure shrouded in shadows. A figure resembling in shape the form of a tree, a humanoid tree, its crooked limbs falling ideally to the road. The man in the car had no time to slow down before hitting the tree shaped figure standing in the middle of the road, he chose instead to drive off the cliff and fly into the night, shouting “GERANAMO!!” as the car was diving head first into the rocky terrain below, and then just before actually hitting the ground he spoke softly and said one word only… “rosebud” he said. The tree-figure, watching all this from above, stood still for a moment, as if thinking, its poster conveying absolute wisdom, and then pursed out laughing, hysterical laughter that no doubt would have driven anybody off the cliff to escape from it. And then just as abruptly as it started, it stopped laughing and walked back towards the roadside, where another slightly smaller tree-figure was waiting for it. “Let’s grab a burger” it said to the smaller figure. They both gave their backs to the concrete road…. only their backs looked strikingly similar to their fronts.

A week earlier, a woman was screaming… she was screaming into the phone, asking it to kiss her ass, and then she slammed it down when the phone refused to do as she said. She took 17 pills from a drawer beside her bed, and slept. She didn’t wake up when her sister knocked on her door 2 hours later, and she didn’t wake up when her baby started crying after waking up from the noise… she didn’t wake up ever. On her grave is written this one word “choiCe” with a capital “C”

At the same exact moment that the woman was slamming the phone, a man was smiling…. He was smiling a big smile, a smile so big that his mouth was stretched from ear to ear. He had been smiling for almost half an hour, he will continue to smile for another 33 minutes and then he will pull a gun from under his t-shirt which has a big “bite me” written in gold font on the front of it, and he will shoot his brains out. Just before pulling the trigger he will say between his teeth as he is smiling: “snowball”

Understandingly enough, the three kids screamed when they saw a man falling from the ten storey building, and then they started crying, their cries only interrupting the screaming for small intervals. This no doubt added to the gravity of the situation, this and the siren of the car he fell on that started making a loud sound as the people stood motionless, watching the corpse of the man who seconds ago was calmly sipping his tea with his best friend. No one standing in the street knew this of course, they also had no idea that the man was a successful businessman or that he had recently suffered from a terrible loss.

The waiter suddenly lifted his eyes from the yellow notepad that he was writing so vigorously in. he looked into the eyes of the man sitting in front of him. He was wearing an expensive looking black suite and a shiny silver tie. The waiter stood speechless for a bit and then he asked the man if he wanted anything else. The man gave him a weird look, but that was only understandable, he was stuttering and he doubted the man understood any of what he said. You should be more careful next time he thought to himself. He walked away from the table and headed for the counter, watching people sitting and mostly talking in the busy café, all are potential stories he spoke in low tones, he gave the order to the other guy (he couldn’t remember his name), verbally, since he had nothing written in the yellow pad but what wasn’t really useful for making an order. He had gathered four stories, not bad for a day’s work, he could try working one more, but he was tired and he already had enough to write on, he was content.
He had the stories alright, he just had to connect them together, but that was easy, someone of his caliber could link them easy, he already had an idea how this would work: The smiling man was blackmailing the woman, not exactly blackmailing her, but driving her crazy mostly, driving her as crazy as he was. He did this until the woman toke 17 sleeping pills and then he blew his brains out, her husband; a rich businessman, went to speak with his best friend just after his wife died. He told him that he felt she was hiding something from him and that this was the reason she toke the 17 sleeping pills, he told his friend this and then he left, but instead of taking the door, he toke the balcony. His friend, after seeing him drop ten stories and his blood spluttered all over the car he fell on, thought about what he said, about what his wife was hiding, and he at that moment, not knowing the story of the smiling man, thought that he was the reason that his best friend and his wife are now dead. A week later, at Halloween, a drunk was standing in the middle of the road, wearing a costume that anyone seeing from far would think that it resembles a tree, but in truth was only a random costume made of rags and long shredded sleeves. A car came by and its driver, drunk from his own guilt, drove of the cliff and died.
Perfect, it was perfect, just needed to tweak a few things and it would be ready. He was a total genius, he knew this fact very well. Yes, he was just some waiter in a café, and not a good one at that, but he knew how to write, this day was a good example, he found out four characters while working. People looked at him as if he didn’t understand a lot of things, but there was more to him than the simple waiter uniform. He spoke 4 languages fluently, he had a bachelor degree, and he read more books than all of the people in the café combined. The job had a shitty pay, but it was decent enough when it came to digging up new stories. He was a master at doing just that, he would stand in front of his potential character, and he would look him in the eye while he is thinking about his order ,and then he would know if he had a story or not, and he would write it down on his small yellow pad. It all looked like he was innocently taking his order, while in truth he was deciding his fate. The man in the suite is a good example, he was sitting there calmly drinking his coffee. Little did he know that, on the yellow pad, he was covering all ten floors in free fall. Although he knew his limitations, as Tolstoy said: he is not the river… he is the net. And for some reason he had to look people in the eye to fish out their story. He was the ultimate performer and he was getting ready for his final act. After writing the next few lines, he was going to get up on a chair and hang his head on the rope dangling from the ceiling of his small 3x4 room. And before jumping of the chair he will say only one word: “Swing”

Friday, 31 October 2008

The day K. S. Uiry lost his karma

Uiry thought he was a smart guy; he thought he was a smart guy because he believed in the rules, he also thought that only dim-wits could possibly deny them. And since he believed in the rules he thought he had a natural right to break them, after all rules are made to be broken… or so they say. But you had to believe in the rules to break them, and Uiry believes, he believes so much that sometimes he thinks his head is going to explode from all the damn zeal he keeps inside.

If you come that far, then you are all set, you can break the rules, you can even run them over by your old beetles as you are driving to work each day... in fact, that's exactly what Uiry used to do: run over the rules each morning as he is heading to work, occasionally bumping the car behind him as he is leaving his parking space, "kissing it" he called it … sometimes he run over the rules twice, call it his morning ritual.

And if you are a really firm believer, then you already know how things work, you break the rules not because you have to… but because you can. Anyone that has faith knows that he can get away with it, and faith was something Uiry had in quantities, he had enough to wake up each morning and shave, he had enough to drive to work each day and he had enough to make strawberry-and-faith jam for the entire freaking neighborhood if he had to.

Bottom line is; Uiry breaks the rules and never gets caught, it is a fact of life, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is what he calls his karma.

Then comes Jack. Jack was, if the string theory is to be trusted, living in an alternate universe... a universe where rules were as strict as your 3rd grad math teacher, where they might bend, occasionally, but never, never, break. And if the string theory is a ball of crap, then he is just some square living next door from Uriy. At least that's what uiry thought...

Monday, 27 October 2008


Like waves in shallow waters flow
Our paths in life come and go
See the future vague in shape
From the nothingness we escape
Is there not a wise man to head;
A mighty horseman on his steed?