venerdì 30 dicembre 2011

His Screams Hurt Me, So I Cut His Tongue

I'm pretty sure i can speak extensively abou my own side of this story, because i am excessively aware and i have taken a lot of time for myself to ponder on it. But it's a darkness many share and even more dont alk about. Its there and it's a fact, and it's what slowly kills people, even more than diseases. And while indifference isnt good, thats not what im talking about.

When you are ill, and in my case, when your mind is ill, the cures often do not take away the rotting roots of the problems. You visit someone who is a servant of an industry who wants to enslave people to pills. So you get given medicines that silence you and put your brain into a vat of grey tasteless soup of numbness. And you still want to scream but your voice is gone.

And that's where the darkness resides: ive been thinking about it and i think i grasped the truth. It's not for you, defnitely. They dont wanna cure or help you. And while its is for their own pockets, they cant stop there too. What the idea of a "Cure" in such cases is, is for your relatives and the people around you.

And while i know that a lot of you feel loved, bear with me while i try to explain. People around you see the external aspect of your pain. In the case of mind pain, they only see the manifestation of it. Your screams, your tears, your anger.

So what the "cure" does, is silence those symptoms. It muffles your screms while your head still feels them. It locks your head in a silenced cage. The ones around you dont hear it no more. To them, youre ok, cause they dont SEE or HEAR you suffering. And even if they would never admit it in broad daylight, that is ok for the most of them.

From the age of lobotomies, padded cells, shock treatments, we've moved to one where the doctors just lock you in silenced roopms that have no physical presence and no walls. They are padded cells in your brain. They null you so you dont bother anyone ever again. Yes there are side effects. But when you live with a person who suffers, you can cope with a few sacrifices if there is a way to make it stop. and that means make them stop being able to cry. Being able to need you. Ask you for help. Ask you to listen.

No, its a couple of pills and they are empty vessels, and you can go on with your life and forget it all. And that means they are cured.

And thats so similar for other illnesses, too. Why cure, when we got hospitals to lock them out of sight? Places where they are taken care of by strangers that are paid to take the burden off your shoulders and see what you dont wanna see anymore.

Cause in the end the "Cure", isnt a solution for the people who suffer. Its a wayu to shut them down and make them invisible. So we can forget they're there.

mercoledì 21 dicembre 2011

Putting Holes In Holidays...

I am not the type of person who craps on the holidays. I usually love christmas. Used to be and still is, kinda, my favourite holiday.

Still, in the latest times of my life, a lot of things chancged and kinda ruined some of it for me.

I like the spect of presents, decorations, cards, lights, carols and dinners. Love it. I even loved to do christmas shopping for years.


No holiday like this enhances, for me, solitude or the hypocrisy of a lot of relationships. Or how some are broken. Before youy call me a grinch, think about it.

You might be surrounded by love, and ive been like that too, and in those times Christmas was beautiful. Cause love makes anything special. It might sound corny but its so true.

But Christmas also brings hurt when things are flawed and dysfunctional. Bad relationships become even more painful on Christmas. The presents are a chore, the company of the other person is torturous cause the oversized cheer that surrounds you makes you feel like you have to be cheering but only makes you feel more empoty inside. So you do a christmas dinner with friends, you drink and its supposed to be fun but you really drink to numb that hole. And then you abd your loved ones use the alcohol as an excuse to flirt with others. Hey, we were drunk, it doesnt count. But it does, cause there is pain behind it. And its the holidays and you have to drown it down, cause you dont wanna ruin christmas.

And families reunite. But theres no reunion that erases the memories of decoration ripped through fights. Drunken christmas nights with beatings and vomit. Hate instead of love for years and years. And that accuse of ruining the holidays, always coming back.

And getting presents for friends, like i used to love. Which starts as a joy cause theres nothing that makes me feel more fulfilled as giving something to someone i love and seiing their happiness. No matter how it fucks up my account which always gets thinner and thinner during holidays, to the point of crysis. But its worth it. Until something breaks and you realize that for them its more of an embarassment cause they dont really want to give back, they dont care and they just do it like theyre doing chores. And you open a present they give you and its something that has no heart but you have to smile anyway cause you dont wanna be an asshole. Its the thought that counts.

And the worst. New years eve. The giant day where everyone feels the need to have the fun that they havent had for the rest of the year. Soi wherever you go theres chaos, noiuse and loudness. And you have to be part of it. Wait for miodnight. get mugged. Get drunk. Fight a lot.

I have nightmares abouyt past New Years Eves. But i have to do it. Cause if you dont, youre a buzzkill. Youre not like the others. Youre a hermit.

All i want is to share the moment with people i really love. And besides that, i am tired of all the rest. I love the percent of it that resides in the heart. I love who i love. Outside of that, fuck the holidays.

martedì 20 dicembre 2011

That Will NOT Do, Pig....

I hate Doctors. There i said it. I usually think that "hate" as a word is way too strong to be used indiscriminately or without the safety net of a second thought. Mostly cause REAL hate is as powerful as love, if not more. Yes, love makes you happy. But a real, deeply rooted hate can give you an energy and a drive that is unparalleled. So i always have an issue whenever people use both words without care. Actually i am more prone to understanding towards a free-form use of the word "love". Hate is powerful, it has meaning. Dont waste it.

That said, i DO hate doctors. I think that doctors, lawyers, and journalists are three categories that humanity should get rid of if we want to evolve even barely. And i swear i mean this. I do not respect any person who is part of that professions. All of those three are a confederacy of two legged leeches who, with the help of the severely flawed and ridiculous laws that us hairless chimps have put up to self convince ourselves that we were able to work that whole "Society" thing out, have been exploiting human suffering on different levels.

Yes, there have been doctors who have discovered cures and helped people, but as the social circus has moved on, those have become less and less. When was the last disease that has been succesfully cured? The last pharmaceutic discovery that has really helped mankind?

Instead, we have those overpaid pill pushers who endsalve patients to all sort of chemical paraphernalia, so they can suck their blood one drop at a time (a dead patient doesnt give money but a cured one doesnt either), that have egos that are unparalleled and wouòd destroy anyone in the name of the Farma companies.

I have had a flu recently, and the flu has turned into a persistent cough that doesnt seem to go away. So i, with a heavy heart, decided to visit a doctor.

This guy, which is the one that my healthcare affords, used to be a dentist.

He wasnt even a bad dentists, if that means anything. He did the job. But he always was a rude, filthy, animal who enjoyed cracking jokes at patients on their illnesses and openly molest his assistants.

Nowadays, he looks like a large swine, covered with a crusty grey fur. He is still an asshole. So he visits me, tells me i should go ona diet (to which i answer with a stare that makes him go "yeah i know, but at my age, food is better than pussy". Oh you). And then prescribes me a therapy of antibiotics and inhalations. When asked for more details he just says "well would you let me do my job? i am the professional here!"

After the first day, the cough is slightly worse, the meds were ultra pricey and i confirm my theory.

Kill all doctors.

lunedì 19 dicembre 2011


There was this girl. I dont know what her dreams were. She enever told me, really. But when she was a kid, she was raised in a loving family: her, her sister, her father and her mother.

They were dirt poor, and not in the way people use the word today. They were seriously fighting each day to survive. The mother worked in the rice planations. It was a nasty job, you were stuck in swampish water all day, surrounded by water snakes and it slowly destroyed your back. But it got her money to raise her kids. Her sister was a "special" kid. No clear defnition of what she had, she was normal, but had a mind developed slightly slower than the rest.

The father, who the girl loved more than anyone else in the world, was a worker in the train station and tried to make ends meet with other work as a handyman.

They loved each other. One day a form of illness, maybe meningitis, no one was sure of anything back then, took the younger of the girls. She fell asleep. And died.

After a while, the mother, broke down by grief, also got hit by leukemia. She died too.

The girl, whose name was Rita, and her father were each other's world, the beginning and the end. The man did everything he could to full his daughter's life with love, to be enough of a family for her, to be her strength and to protect her from the pain of all that loss.

Rita had grown strong, intelligent and witty. She was a brilliant student, although she never went to University cause she couldnt afford it. She found a job quickly though and was great at it. The father was proud.

She also had started dating the son of a rich family. He wasnta bad guy, weak, a bit spineless and bropken by a family that raised him with steely disdain for him, fists and anger. But he loved her, it seemed, and he could've made her... maybe.... happy?

Yet, the father drank a lot. Pain is a bad beast to cage. And that took his toll. So he died too, of liver malfunctions.

Rita was left alone in the world. All she had was this man she was dating. He seemed to love her, and she loved him back with all his flaws. Maybe his family couldve been a family for her too. Gove her love, besides security.

Did not happen. The two married. But the man'0s family always hated Rita and did everything they could to humiliate her, hurt her, and make her life miserable.

It hurt. Cause her man wasnt on her side. He was a slave to his family, too scared to protect her. Too weak to react.

And then they had a baby. And Rita loved the baby since they first met eyes. That aby was all she lived for. If only her family was there to see him, they wouldve been so happy.

Her husband's family kinda rejected the baby too. But she would defend him at any cost. Even if she was completely alone in this.

And the year passed. And the solitude and pain got stronger. So she started drinking more and more. Her husband became meaner with age, he never understood how to be a husband or a father. All he could do was yell or say cruel things. Or simply say nothing at all. Disappear when he was needed. Let her do everything.

And the more life got hard the more she drank.

And when the baby grew, he drank too. And he disappointed her as much as a son could. He went into drugs, failures, and all the mistakes a son can do.

And she just Broke.

Rita became a wreck. Drinking all day and night. Embarassing herself. Becoming a problem and a reasdon for her husband and son to point their greasy fingers at her.

She was a good mother but with every drunken moment of hate, those memories of love got erased.

She did things that slowly destroyed the love that her son and her shared.

And it turned, maybe to hate.

But when she visited him one day, barely walking, unkempt hair, aged beyond her years, crushed by alcohol, pills and cigaretetes and so many attempts at suicide.... She asked him about his coughing. His flu. Gave him a homemade remedy.

And while he hated all the hurt that she brought to her life via the bottle, he could not stop his heart from shattering, seeing her like that. He would ask her to get checked, but she refused.

All she wants now is to die. And maybe join her family, somewhere. Whats on this earth has hurt her too much.

And when they parted, his heart ached so hard.

giovedì 15 dicembre 2011

The moment the path crumbles

The sky outside is grey, humid and cloudy. My brain is dumpoed into that grey. I dont know why, ive just been thinking a lot lately.

Most of the time, i realize i might never have a kid. Right now i cant afford to raise one. I dont make enough money. I havent met anyone i love nough to actually have a child with them. And the times i actually felt close to that, it didnt last. Everything is precarious, maybe in all of life, maybe only in mine.

And yet i realized one thing: Maybe, just maybe, having a child is the only thing you can do that really means something.

I have had a life full of hopes, projects, relationships. I dreamed and the dreams sometimes went somewhere and left a pile of printed paper that now occupies a couple of shelves in my hometown. I tried to put myself out there. And that is cool. But does that have any meaning on the long distance? I'm not sure. Not really, i guess.

I made lovers, and friends, and no matter how beautiful and eternal the moments we had together were, they ended up crumbling and floating away in the wind. Some of those, i barely recall. I remember being in love many times, my heart breaking and aching, and then time walked all over it and made me numb. I lost friends i thought i would have forever. And i didnt loose them in a dramatic way. Simply we drifted. Or i drifted. I seem to be unable toi stick in one place. I fade away.

I am living my days, waking up and doing things that i once loved, now to fill time until i'll go to sleep. A few special people fill my heart but im scared, cause i saw it happen, of the momenbt where things will inevitably fade and i will be alone again. Maybe cause i ran away. Who knows.

Cause in the end, you might have found the love of your life, and be happy for your friends, but if youre not careful, you always end up alone. Unless you have a child.

I always thought having a child was such a responsibility. Much higher than anyone thinks. You dont have only to raise them, you have to make their life not miserable. Its almost impossible to do that. But if you pull it off, its the only moment you catch a chance at having something of value that will still be there and remember you when youre gone.

I have the feeling i have ran out of time though, and im wondering how much will be there fo me, when im gone. I might go to a dinner soon, with friends. There will be jokes, and a lot of stuff said. And yet after that we will all go on with our lives and forget about each other. Rinse, Repeat. Metaphors are everywhere when you know where to look.

mercoledì 14 dicembre 2011

A Puzzle With No Pieces

This morning, after dealing with a series of troubling calls from homne, i opened my facebook, to check a few things.

In mt inbox, a musicians, a pretty known one who i wont name, was trying to reach me with a well written missive about a bad review i did of his latest record.

Now, if i had to stop here and not say anything else, you could see me being bothered by a musician for my criticism, and we could react with cynical cruelty to that, dropping smart one liners and letting this half told story run off of our backs.

But that is not how i am. I am desperate and i am convinced that i have almost no meaning in this world. But my mind is alive and well and the only thing i pride myself with, is having a brain that can see one moment from all the possible perspectives.

I remember writing that review. I had been waiting for that album to come out for a while. Bought it, listened to it and felt disgusted and disappointed. The band was one of those that maybe i did not worship completely, but i respected and loved for the role they had in my own musical growth. So my reaction was gutsy.

Also i was, just like i am now, stuck in a loop. Waking up, pretending to do important things that fullfill a hole that i have inside but dont really do that. Hearing the same news of despair from my family. Waiting for the day to be over so i can finally sleep. All i have is my friends and my few, silly attempts at meaning something. Like reviewing albums, doing podcasts. Stuff that doesnt do anything for me, doesnt get me money but makes me feel vaguely important.

When i wrote that hateful scriblle, i wanted to express diappointment. And at the same time i was asked and wanted to create controversy and attract readers and use a harsher tone than id probably would have at another moment. And after doing it, i just forgot about it. It disappeared in the loop.

I read the mail today, while i'm stuck in another loop. I am not sure if i exist. My friends hold me there, and love me, but i aint sure if i am living or just repeating the motions over and over.

The man tries to explain why he felt upset by my words. How he belived in what he did. And tha, recently he got diagnosed with cancer.

The album i took time spewing venom about got him attention and a possibòle future fopr the band. But his cancer might not let him live til christmas.

Now i am not saying that i am learning any lessons here. Or that i should.

I'm asking myself if anything has meaning. WE all live and do whatever makes us feel alive or important. Or just go through the motions daily without ever getting out of this maze. Then something comeas up and we are happy. Then we are not. Then we are dead. It doesnt make sense to me at all.

martedì 13 dicembre 2011

The Man who Gifted Me A Monkey

I've been handling this weird flu for a couple of days, and two things happened: my body weakened, much more than usual and as a consequence, my mind went into a dark place. I dont get sick that often, recently. I used to be sick all the time, back in the days of being a rockstar, when my clothes were cool and a few, and looking good came with a price. I got a lot of flus, colds, migraines, back then. A lot of weird illxs that knocked me out and were cured with strong, stomach meltin medicines that were supposed to help me recover quickly enough to get out the night after. That had a reason. But i'll explain in a bit.

So, now i dont get sick often, i usually ride my health like its a thunder, i try to fill my body with uppers and vitamins, trying to keep my body and mind in a permanent state of wake and full energy. I need and want to be performing all the time at max, cause if i slow down, bad things happen.

So, since the flu slowed things down, my brain remembered.

During my iullness my family visited me. Mostly because they needed advice and company. My father is becoming increasingly senile. And yet he did something that struck a chord and reminded me in some sort of flashback why i took a few of the darker roads i took.

While i was trying to explain how being sick made me anxious, he told me "well get a couple of xanax". He insisted. Forcefully.

I remember myself being young and him giving me a handful of sleep aid drops. He hid them in juice or tea and just gave them to me. I fell asleep, i calmed down but i alspo developed a sort of early addiction when i wasnt even twelve. My mother questioned him on that and his answer was "so he would calm down and be quiet".

Its how his head was built too. I got used to sleeping pills, the strong type, earlier than anyone i know. When, later, i found myself dealing with that monkey, after i really made it my own, dropping increasing doses in attempts to shut my brain down forever, people accused me of being a weak junkie. And they were right. But they didnt get, and for fuck's sake, i am NOT justifying myself, how i was talked into that since when i was a kid.

Taking meds was like taking candy for him. Any slight issue was met with ton of pills. That then i kept taking on my own, unable to quit. Some are still there.

If a kid was swoned into drinking, or smoking by a parent, everyone would act differently if he grew up to be an addict. But with meds, ist different. I taker my own responsiblity and fault. Its on me. But i do know that my mind was shapen that way by him. I don t complain about it.

When i started therapy, and the antidepressants i started taking were slowly erasing my mind and my personality, i recall him commenting "Well, you quit complaining, so its a good thing"

Pharmacists, for years, stared at me as the son of Giorgio Costanzo, the pill popper. I inherited his reputation as an addict by default. His prescriptions done by tricking doctor into giving him what wpould normally fit three people.

I dont blame anyone but me. But i got that burden from him and its still there. It wont go away. Ever.

lunedì 5 dicembre 2011

The Strange Case Of Benjamin Buttface

It used to be a funny subject on which me and my friends humoured about. But deeply, we hoped that it wouldnt happen to us. Most of us had that moment where we were hangin at the pub, late, and planning a last stunt to pull waiting for the dawn to come. And we watched our peers go home. Some of them did it because thy were in one of THOSE relationships, the ones where you enter as a normal person and suddenly become a lethargic creature that barely leaves the house out of some sort of sense pof duty but would really like more to stay in and watch tv with your Insignificant Other. But a lot of them did it because something in them was changing. They were Aging. Getting old.

And we made fun, mostlyt cause some of us were older than them but still enjoyed life, so we wanted to live and do stuff, and we agreed that it was the right thing to do.

But time went by. We got soul crushing jobs. We drank too much. We saw our dreams fade away in disappointment. Some got married, other got kids. And many blamed the changed on the spouses or the kids, because they didnt want to admit that it was their soul that got old and broken on their own. Where if they wanted to, they couldve stayed in loved with life, even with kids and ordinary lives. Some managed to pull that off.

But others didnt. And they started to turning into their own parents, complaining about the tiny things like angry curmudgeons. Making fun of others when they had passions, interests or anything that isnt consodered "serious" or "mature". Telling the people that once were their friends that they should "get their lives together and grow up". Being full of moral disdain out of things that really didnt bother them before. Violence in movies. Loud music. And using their kids as a shield to complain obsessively. They werent like that, and they got worse m,ore out of frustration and anger and bitterness. But no, its "because having kids changes you".

And then they started thinking about the retirement age. How they might not be able to retire in the future. Not about the need of finding a good job, a good house, love and a satisying sexual life. About retirement. And you hear them in bars at the early morning or at work, coimplaining about their small, insignificant hypocondriac illnesses, forgetting that there's people figting for survival everyday. Because their back hurts and its ok to complain about your back if you're old.

Old, before their thirties. Ready to die.

venerdì 2 dicembre 2011

Now Go And Bake Me A Pie....

I know, at the right moment my fingers touched this black and vaguely dirty keyboard, that what i'm about to write is going to spark controversy.

But it's stuck in my head, so it has to come out, here.

I am tired of feminism. And not necessarily only the stronger form of feminism, the one a lot of people see to be annoyed from. I am also tired of the whole idea of how "female empowerment " has gone bad.

I am not a mysoginist, although i have been called one many times, even for the simple fact that i'm italian, swear i aint kidding on this one. I love women and i am sure that they are in general more intelligent and resourceful than man. But as any living being they are being fooled by a bunch of frustrated individuals who are making their own credo a truth and poisoning the naturale course of things, inesorably.

To clarify even more, men have that sort of venom in their brains too. Men think they should often adhere to male stereotypes, in order to calm down their own natural insecurity. And if they embrace their own emotions, often they fail in the opposite direction, becoming so obsessed by their own sensitivity that they forget that the male reisliency to emotions was there for a reason: to make us supportive. So we have men becoming catty, indifferent and cruel anbd forgetting to pay attention to their loved ones, obsessed on their own feelings and their own precious "me time".

But the new "post-feminist" tendency is, somehow, more dangerous and unsettling to me. I'll try to explain with a couple of examples.

- Edgy, offensive humour might not be for you. If that's the problem, then dont listen to it. Or ignore the joke foir what it is, a series of words that die as soon as they disappear. All jopkes are just jokes, no matter the subject. Most are unfunny, but that doesnt mean youy can ban them or use any chance you got to rant about "wrong humour" and using your own private experience to make that more right. Ok, you got abused, yes you have kids, yeah you were molested. It's all good, but a joke is a joke and if you go against one specific topic, youre rooting for censorship. The n eo-feminist movement is doing this more than the christians, muslims or ethnic groups. Yet they are automatically in the right. Why?

- Being "A mother" doesnt entitle you to become a moralist that always sticks her nose into other people's lives. You have a chils, focus on raising him or her right. Keep your eyes on that not on the power you seem to thrive on whenever you use your status of "mother" to ask for repression of other's rights, freedom and general quiet living. And in even in day to day actions: your being a mother doesnt give you special right or passes, no matter how much you rub your toddler in my face. The rule aplly to everyone, thats a society. Mothers arent special. Your children arent more special than others. You're still a person like the others.

- Being an empowered woman does not mean forgetting that men have needs too. So, if your partner nbeeds to be reassured about his insecurities or wants to be complimented, doing it wont make you less empowered, it will just make your relationship better. Pat our back once in a whilw, and we will follow you in the snow on bloody stumps. Instead i see too many girls and ladies who, in the name of some sort of misguided sense of femininity, belittle their loved ones, attack them when they ask a bit of nurtring, and use them as their own emotional trash can. In the name of female empowerment. It's not fair.

- There's nothing wrong with doing things that women have done for years.. The great step in social evolution is that now men have to do them too. A man who doesnt know how to cook, clean, dress well and be a devil in the bed, in other worse to worship his lover, isnt a real man. But a woman that refuses to do the same things can say that she refuses the stereotypes on women. And get away with it. I dated so many ladies who couldnt cook and had warped ideas about sexuality (the types of ideas where they werent supposed to seduce a partner but just stay there and wait) and they all became that way not out of laziness but (quote) "because they didnt want to conform to sexist stereotypes". Grow up, buttercup.

giovedì 1 dicembre 2011

The Debate Of The Invisibles

I dont know if you noticed the change. Like the big changes of history, it came with a whimper and not with a bang (yeah, im quoting poetry).

It has come to my attention that in this time, where the universal situation of humanity, in any field, might be one of the worst in years, something seriously disturbing has happened. Discussion, has died.

And i aint talking about suppression of freedom of speech, onb the contrary. There has been an excess of freedom of speech on all fronts that has caused, like any person that has st6udied sociology could explain, an internal selection.

To explain the fact in layman terms: perople are in crisis, its our nature, we always are. We are a species that has been created facing the constant dilemma of balancing our unstoppable need for other people to interact with us, and our natural destructive instinct towards them an ourselves. We are built to hate and attack but we have to proliferate, so we try to handle things with presumed intellectual superiority, rules and unspoken pacts.

So we create the idea of "democracy", a beautiful theory, but impossible in practice. And we start facing the difficulties of working out that utopia, with multiple tools. The major ones are war, a contradiuction in terms that is still necessary to create equilibrium, unless it falls into the territory of endless skirmishes that slowly wipe out ant rensemblance of civilization, and discussion, debate, arguing.

If you ever studied the primal roots of politics, ideally speaking, debate is the key to the resolution of many issues. In its purest form, two opposing parts explain to each other the good and the bad sides of their own opinion, they clash, they shift each other's point of view, until both obtain a different perspective on the issue. They know more on the opponent and themselves. They leatrned something and reach a compromise. That is evolution through words. One of the few and greatest achievements that humans have uniquely.

But like many other uniquely human traits, it is dying. Humans are decomposing socially. Anything that made us a species that was able to survive through special aspects of our brain and personalities is deteriorating fast. We are hurting our own children. No species does that, not with the sadism and gratuitous cruelty we have. We build religions, and credos and use them as motivations to kill. And even if those ideals dont fit we use others: pacifist are as aggressive as warmogerers, conspiracy theorists who accuse politicians and religious people to be suppressor of the truth, are even more arrigant and dominating as their enbemies.

Humans are deteriorating as a low form of aniimal without abilities or nobility or dignity and a buinch of tools to destroy.

Debate is dead. Where once smart èpeople could change opinions and evolve spirits, now, thanks to social network and biased media, a series of spineless, creeping venomous negativity ridden parasites has taken over.

No matter what happens, negativity prevails. A violent tyrant is taken over by the people9, weho finally gained freedom? tyhere will be no cheering for that. Only sarcasm, viutriol and cyncincism.

Wanting to change things, having hope, having ideals, believing in things and being progressive are negative traits that are crushed with constant sarcasm, stalking hatred and humiliation.-

The weak ones that try to stand up for themselves, the ill, the victims of rape, the victim of racism and misogyny are now afrauid of speaking, even m0ore than in the past. Because now, instead of a specific group of stone throwers, theres an army of cowards that hate indiscriminately and thrive on creating pain with a smile on their lips. They are perfe ctly normal people too. they used to be smart, maybe they still are. they are your friends, your spuses, your neighbours. There's a hater in evryone of them. They will find what starts their own hate wave and they will become the problem too. them and their "epic fail". Thjem, and cracking jokes on cancer victims, lupus victims, handicapped people, races, sexes, in the name of being "incorrect".

Being politically incorrect is justified when you have humour. Most people do not possess humour. So no they do not have the roight to speak freely. Tim,e to fix the flaws and cleanse this world.

Some bridges need to be burnt and most people need to be punched.

mercoledì 30 novembre 2011


Scumbag [skuhm-bag]: 1) a bag of Scum (a fruit originary from the Paparua Island, wwhich pulp has propertis against erectile dysfunction); 2) a generic term to deifne a person of low moral fiber.

I've been against my own body for the whole last couple of weeks. Everyday, every waking hour a monster stab of pain coming from the centre of my back rendered me unable to move, breathe properly or even think. See, i always had problems with my back, since i had my major car accident (not the one that caused me the suspension of my driving license, curiously, but that's another story). And since my numerous ankle breakings due to my drunken falls. And also since my main job implies that i stay sat in front of a computer for most of the time. But hardly i ever experience something so brutal, that basically made me paralyzed for big slabs of time.

Add to that a weirs deries of other, smaller, health issues i had rtecently and i have to admit that i got worried. What if all those things were the sign of a larger, more serious condition?

What if i was in trouble?

That sort of thought roams often in my head, i am a recovering depresssed alcoholic and on meds after all, but the thoughts vary each time, almost as a sign of the mental temperature i'm in. This time i was much more scared and also realized how completely alone i am, in my world.

Yes, i have friends, but the best ones live across the ocean or at least many km away from me. I dont have people that have my back (no pun intended) close to me. Many of my closest friend would help, as i'd do for them but, since their lives arent intertwined with mine, they could do that to a certain point. If i duied, i would die almost alone.

Yeah, well, those thoughts kep roaming in my head and making me afraid. So while i was waiting for a resolution and some medical result, i thought that maybe, it woyuld be the right time to reconnect with my family. My mother and my father. Not that we're really estranged, but maybe this could be a chance to actually rebuild a relationship and some love and mutual goood feelings, since they are old and not healthy and i felt fragile too.

But thats the point: old age doesnt turn people into better persons. And i aint much better either. I show my best game face with others but i have tons and tons of unspoken bad things ive done, flaws huge as an ocean, things ive done to others, to their back and to their face, which i would love to apologiza for but it's too late. And probably it would be pointless, since im quite sure that i'll do worse in the future, somehow. Part of the bad emotional state i'm in recently is because i pushed a LOT of people away. Some times because i felt hurt or tired. Other times because i was a scumbag, pure and simple.

As for my family. Well, they're not good people. My father is weak, spineless and a liar. He has been pushed around for most of his life, so he always kinda took it out on his scapegoats: my mother and me. Not in a violent way, unless you count "emotional violence", which i think does NOT exìst, since abuse is when you're tortured, the rest is just part of life. But defnitely in a soul crushing way. He's been taking away happiness and peace of mind from me since i was born and never really quit even when i became an adult. He is just obnoxious, mean and whiny. And age didnt make him better. When he learned about my health stuff, he worried but suddenly turned the argument on himself, lamenting how miserable he is and how everyone disappoinbts him. After a few minutes of that i realized he didnt listen to what i just told him about me. When i repeated the whole thing, he just said "whatever". He is a scumbag.

My mother. Well she drinks. And hates. I have talked about this, so many times, i feel ridiculous talking about it again. I poften feel disgust towards myself for mentioning this "family issues", on here. makes me feel like i'm "one of those whiny emo bloggers" as a person called me once. But since this ois my OWN place to write down my thoughts, i'll do this anyway. Get lost if it bothers you.

So she drinks everyday, all day. I remember living with her. Shge is sober just for the time she's required to do her basic survival tasks. For the rest of the time she's drunk, full of pills, hateful and destructive.

As i explained my points to her, she just spewed hate on me. Yeah, she was worried, but the worry just made her angrier. It happens like that. A mind filled with hate and resentment against a life that is miserable and wasted, lashes out at any moment of tension against the ones you feel is responsible for your miseryu. So she hoped i would die, since i am what destroyed her life, a person that steals money to spend on filth and drugs, a person that she should have aborted, since all that my birth caused her was pain and misery. She is ashamed of me and thinks i'm repulsive and disgisting. And my health problems is what i deserve for being so.

Part of that is supposed to be made by alcohol but i believe that all the hate that comes out when someone drinks is just uninhibited truth, without the coat of smiling paint that sobriety puts on it.

Its not enecessarily "in vino veritas" but what a drunk tells you repeatedly when they drink, is what their brain hides under layers of fake love an niceness, which alcohol and drugs strip away. hate is the most real and honest of all feelings. Much more than love. It's the natural reaction, where love is fabricated, and alcohol sets it free.

So yeah, she's a scumbag too.

In the end i got my back kinda fixed and i'm really better. I wont die as soon as i thought. But i'm still alone, i'm a scumbag and most of what should be my close family is too. And my best friends are far away. Gotta think that one over.

giovedì 24 novembre 2011

Open Letter To A Past Lover

Remember how we used to tell each other how much important we were? And i used and refined all my skills at rewording that same concept a million times. I loved to surprise you with new ways to tell you that i loved you. I loved the expression on your face or the way your voice changed when you heard me say it.

There was always something to your voice that made me feel that things were gonna be alright. Even when it was late at night and the voices in my head were having a party, your voice, whether it was on the phone, on some video i found out or call i saved, was stronger than any picture. You could be saying anything, even talking about the weather and suddenly the voices became quiet, and i felt better. And you, saying you loved me, made me feel like i could survive any sort of pain. I even answered you when you werent there. And kissed the air, cause if i closed my eyes, i could imagine how your lips would feel.

I could spend hours watching one single picture of you, looking at all the shades of warmth and light that your eyes had. It was amazing, for a person like me, who either dies daily for too many emotions or simply doesnt feel anything most of the time, to get my heart filled with so many things i didnt even have the words to explain, just by looking at a picture.

And the daydreams. The sexy ones. If i got something you wore or some room you walked through, i could feel your scent and èprint it in my memory to use it afetrwards for days and sleepless nights. Grinding that scent into a thousand tiny particles that i melted all over my skin, so it was like having the smell of your sweat and breath on it. To make love with the thought of you, drinking every second of that thought like it was a drop of water in a black desert of nothingness. Touching myself and having the thought of you engrained so deeply in me, that everything id touch would feel like your skin, your hair, even the clothes you wore.

Your warmth, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

But i forget everytime how those things slip away. How i never seem to focus hard enough on the moment, because to live it i cannot burn into it, cause my heart would blow up if i did. And they all go away. And suddenly the fear crawls in my head and i read things in your eyes that werent there before. I hear tones of spite, of tiredness , fo boredom, in your voice. I can see the love dying and i know i aint imagining it, cause ebverytime i feel that, i am always right. And i try to hold on to it. But whatever i do just drives us apart more. And it eats me up again.

I stop eating and i am all fear and unsaid things. We should talk, but talking is impossible sometimes. Dont you think we should've said things to each other? But i was afraid of what you might say, i was in denial. I was scared you'd hurt me and that i nwoyuldnt be able to come back from the pain this time. So i hid away. And you avoided saying things cause you didnt have your mind cleared up about them. You just knew that things werent right. And god, you were almost scared of me. And i didnt get that even if i loved you that hard, i was getting scary. Because i am always a child that is so terrified of being betrayed, and hurt and loose people that i just scare them away first.

And somehow it died off.

And then i had to hate you. And dont be mistaken, i miss you everyday. I miss talking to you, cause, even before we became lovers, we were friends. And you made me laugh and you made me feel good about myself. You gave a meaning to my days.

But i have been there before, and if i dont hate you, i will never be able to survive this. I have to hate you, to erase you, to forget everything good about you, because i have to remember how to live without you. How to be me, without you.

Ive lost myself so hard into other people in the past and it took me centuries to find myself again. I cant do it anymore. So i had to burn every bridge. But i still miss you. I'd love to talk to you again. To be able to get close to you without feeling anger and pain.

But no. I have to move on. I have to remember all we've had as a mistake. I have to think that you were nev er something important, that i just used you to fill a hole. To fuck you. To feel loved. And that you promised me that you wouldnt break my heart but you did. Hard.

And i have to go on that way, until i bareòly remember your name. But you're there. At night, in my dreams. or when the demons eat my head up, you're there. I remember laughing with you. I remember hopes and dreams. I remember everything. You probably have moved on, and im glad you did. I am trying still. I havent really moved on from anything since i was born. But i will.

Forgive me if you can. I need to live.

mercoledì 23 novembre 2011

The Song My Poison Sings

Its inevitable. I go for days and days feeling pretty great or at least feeling able to handle things, even the ordinary ones. Taking small, tiny steps wrapped in that maniacal routine and rules that i built for myself to feel safer. Doing the same things everyday, following a pattern so that this thing i have in my head doesnt start screaming too loud. And it works. It really does. then my beautiful friends show up, with their heart the size of oceans and make me feel loved. That and a couple of pills, that id like so much to live without, but im addicted to. And it happens that maybe, some day i decided to convince myself that i'm normal, cause i want to change things and live like an average person. Without the slavery of meds. So i dont get them.

And it's there waiting for that: I cannot blame the meds, all they do is keep it dormant, so it doesnt take over at the first sign of weakness. But chemistry also has a dark side. When im full of them, i cant have ideas, i cant really feel things or if i do, its out of focus, and out of colours. Then i try to have a break, and it almost seems to work. I have ideas, i feel strongly, i am myself.

But it hits and its like a wave.

It starts poisoning my thoughts as a viscous virus. It starts with trust, takes it away. It says it clearly in my head: "They dont really mean it. they say they care. They say they will be there for you, but thats just what people say to other people to be nice. But when things get really bad, you'll be alone. With me."

And i see it everywhere. The words loose meanings, even the strongest ones. The things loose meaning. Even the memories. I dont beleive in love anymore, cause everything feels like it will go away on a whim, as soon as the others, evertyone, will cease needing m,e. And as soon, as they realize how flaw and weak i really am. I tricked them all into thinking that i'm a good person and that i am strong, smart and big hearted. But they will be disappointed cause i always disappoint everyone. And they will leave. For someone stronger, or better, or just cause they changed their mind. Because in the end no one stays. I might be the one that hurts them, but they will go away. Everyone goes away. Maybe i will.

And i hate myself for needing love from others. Cause at this moment my head sees it as weakness. Loving is admitting you have failed. Failed at surviving on your own. Failed at being numb, which is all you want at the moment.

Cause its nto evenhate that its eating you up. Its something different. You watch what you've done, your accomplishments, your ideas, your passions and all you see is a bunch of senseless scrabbles and noises to move in front of your eyes too quickly.

And its like your stomach, heart and head are full of this constant loud noise and this horrible fear of everything. This panic that makes you unable to focus or to even do anything. So your ush through your day, hoping that soon everything will end. You cant distract, your head screams too loudly. All you want is to fall asleep.

And when you sleep nightmares are there. So all you really want is to die. Seriously. Not dramatically. Not as a scream for help. Just to die, peacefully and quit cause you cannot do this anymore. And you cant fool yoursefl thinking that things will be better cause they wont. And if they do, this will come back. Always.

Sorry. I needed to get it off my chest.

martedì 22 novembre 2011

Things You Shall Never Do Unless You Wanna Get Angry And Miserable

Living is war. With occasional breaks for tea and biscuits. But in general, life is aseries of great, amazing times, alternated with soul crushingly boring dirges. And piling moments that make you question why you exist and why you havent given up on the world yet.

I think the wisest choice is to pick battles, or let some things go, while trying to keep your spirit awake for others. Still, when it comes to my own spirit, i always tend to approach situations and people with passion and fire. I think getting pissed is healthy. I dont understand exceissive politeness or excessive restraint. It gives me the creeps. If you dont explode or react passionately at anything, you are a suspicious person to me, i cannot trust you.

But, theres moments, and people, that must be avoided, unless you wanna feel your spirit crushed and annihilated.

- Trying to discuss rationally with a moron

Deep in our heart, us rational and smart people always have this pulsating hope that we are actually able to make the world better. By using our most powerful weapons: our hearts and our heads. But sadly, that aint the case. Ever. Cause, you see, our marching, driven spirits, even when they're still at their peak of strength are destined to meet the toughest wall of the world: morons. You'll see them everywhere: racist assholes, homphobes, religious nuts, rambling hyperconservatives, animal haters, mysoginists, apathetic dumbasses, prejudiced people. I aint using these terms as most liberal thinkers would, to label people who think differently than me. I appreciate people who have opposite ideas, as long as they have intelligent points to back them. But whenever i have to face someone dropping "yeah, i just dont like niggers", "women are all sluts, its how it is" or "homosexuality isnt natural" and try to maintain my poker fa ce, i feel my soul hurt and i stop believing in good things and Santa Claus.

Theres no point in considering such people as humans. Theyu're not. they are leeches put on earth to suck the life out of others. They are here to destroy. And they hide behind their "right" to "have an opinion" and "tell it like it is". Lets be clear here: you have the right to have an opinion but i have the right to destroy you if your opinion is poisoning my life: freedom of speech = freedom of retaliation and consequences.

Civilized reasoning is wasted on them.

- Trying To Understand Love

Yeah, its hard. Emotions arent supposed to always be nice and clear cut. And no, its not necessarily a good thing. Dealing with someone you care for, in the good and the bad times, whether its a lover or a close friend, can be a pretty devastating road. Humans arent supposed to necessarily act rational and always understand each other. Sometimes we're just insane and we hurt the ones around us, especially the one we should take care of the most. Or the ones that really care about us. There's always a time in everyone's life where they get their heart crushed. And yet theres a time when they'll crush someone's heart without realizing. Or realizing and not really caring. Its how it goes. No one is always a victim or a villain. But in the end, wehn this thing is real, it defies any explanation and makes everything worth living and facing. Keep on trucking. Also, sex is worth it!

- You Cant Always Get What You Want

Theres a moment in your life where you have to realize and make peace with the fact that disappointment will always be there. Happiness is a very very thin line and whenever you have it, you have also to deal with its opposition. Things hardly go the way youd want them to. Too many possiblities of fucking up. Ypou hardlòy get your life as you dreamed it and even if you get close, there will always be a million details that fuck it up. Your job isnt what you dreamed. your daily routine isnt what you wanted. You never have enough money and your body is a trap.

But you know what? dont bitch too much. cayuse whenever things are bad, theres the unpredictability factor going on. Something marvelous, someone that makes your life special, or just a beautiful small moment are there and if you are focused on crying, bitching and complaining about menial things, youll miss them. And they wont come back. And your life will be over quicker than you think. So pay attention, emo.

lunedì 21 novembre 2011

You Have The Right To SHut The Fuck Up.

I am impressed by what i'm witnessing on the web these days. On the web not on the news. I opted out of trusting the news, since there is no way i can get the fact completely purified from opinions or bias, of any kind.

But images are images and there's not many ways to spin those.

I am not necessarily with the "Occupy" movement. On the contrary, i tend to think that most of their spokespeople are rambling idealists that suddenly feel the urge to change things that are rooted way too deeply. Still, i agree with a couple of their points. And i am absolutely and unequivocavbly shocked at how a lot of them are reacting with intelligence and strong, peaceful character to the almost surreally brutal reaction of the police force.

I've been hearing a lot of people that seem to have decided to follow the cause of "no matter what the protest is about, its wrong" and spreading some weird hateful anger all over the web, as a commentary to those images of peaceful people beaten, pepper sprayed, hit, while thy didnt event hint at acting violently. Ive read and keep reading an increasing number of people screaming for "an armed response towards the protesters" and how "they should be all shot".

Usually, those type of statements get dismissed by me and other people as "haters" who are simply expressing anger randomly from the infinitely pointless podium that is internet. Still, i am not sure about that. Actually i do not think that is the case at all.

You probably know people like those, somewhere. They are, with high chance, someone you know and, maybe, trust or like. In these times of crisisis, in front of uprising people a large number will become hateful. The idea of protest, peaceful or not, upsets them. They dont wanna see people prtesting. To them they're "hippies", "scum" or, to quote the always brilliantly retarded hack Frank Miller, "Thieves, Looters and Rapists". And they will justify that hatred with enough manipulated fake information.

"Protest is Useless", they will say. And that point will trickle down to the desire for violence.

A similar situation is omnipresent in Italy. Preotests are always labeled by the politically manipulated media as something dealt by "terrorists", so they can be suppressed with extreme violence. But the real threat will come from people who have no information but are filled with opinions. The herd of snarky, sarcastic, judgemental, ironic sheep who label any from of reaction to injustice as something stupid, cause its somehow more satisfactory for their ego to be on the "other" side, even if said side is populated by thieves and corrupted.

Those people would gladly clap for a dictatorship and for mass executions, as long as they can be against "hippies". And keep their comfy seats in front of a computer screen.

And now that the Berlusconi government has fallen, they are jopining the ranks of the ever lamentin g. Nothing is good, always complaining, never support change. Cause the only chosen condition is a condescending disgust that covers up indifference and uses freedom of speech as a shield for hatred.

Democracy is flawed, when in said democracy we include such people. Only right they have is the right to shut the fuck up.

venerdì 18 novembre 2011

The New Clichées Of Smut.

If you ever read or watch any sort of satire (with, maybe, the exclusion of the brilliant Parker And Stone movie "Orgazmo", which has enough smartness to be different) about the concept of pornography, it seems that whoever writes jokes likes to lie on stereotypes and clichées that are old and have nothing to do with the modern world of smut.

Some might think that it has to do with the fact that said writers do not watch porn, but i beg to differ. Pretty much everyone encounters porn sometimes. I think the reason for that has to do with the fact that modern porn has no humour. Or at least not the silly, benign type of self aware silliness that old porn had.

Theres no more Pizza Delivery Guys with extra sausage, well natured double entendres, funky music, strange locations. Modern Pornography is way more sterile, less benevolent (i am aware it sounds weird, but if you ever read any history of the golden age of the porn industry, youll get what i mean), done cheaply, quickly and with an audience that has a whole different concept of sexuality in their head...

1) Parodies

They still exist. Actually they always seem to be on the top of the market. But where, once, the parody was limited to a funny title and a couple of winky refrences that didnt get in the way of the action, now things are way, way sicker. You'll meet sit come parodies, where characters that you would have never wanted to see fucking, are doin it. You'll have celebrity parodies, so many of those, with clones of the president doin horribly unfunny jokes. And, the worst, you'll see take on cartoons. People dressed as The Simpsons or The Smurfs.

Where the old school used parody as a funny jab, and an excuse to attract viewers, now it seems to be focused on people who actually get off at the idea of seeing a real life nude Marge Simpson. Like "Barely Legal" porn, masking pedophilia, it's a weird red flag

2)Dirty Talk Is Scary

There was a time where, believe it or not, male teenagers could learn new ideas for sex from watching pornos. Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Tricks. Good stuff. Good pornography showed actual interest from the performers. Some times they were actually into it, the director happened to want good scenes and the reactions were genuine. You heard good Dirty Talk that could work in reality. Now.... Since none of the performers are really into what they do, they're drugged up to their spine and are asked to be weird and over the top, the talk in a prono video is disturbing and wrong. It's either super descriptive (with the ladies reciting ina monotone what its happening onscreen), agrressive in a non hot way (i am pretty sure theres a pretty succesful series out there that is based on brutal verbal humiliation). The orgasms are retarded even if you know they're fake

3)Lesbian Pornography Got Worse

It was already ridiculous back then, with the long fingernails and the silly setups. But now its even worse. Only way to actually see good sex, whether its between women or not, is following authors that focus on an actual lessbian audience or only use lkesbian performers. Like Viv Thomas, for example, or the Crash Pad Series.

4) Actualy Misogyny and Psychosis got in the game

Feminists always said that pornography is misogynist and they were right. Still, classic porn had a light, non violent approach to sexuality. It was about people fucking.

Moder pornography is focused on the represantation of hatred towards women. Fake Rape Scenes, Extreme roughness (always with a violent overtone), humiliation. The women are actual objects, derided, abused and insulted. The average joe to which all this is pretended to be addressed is a closeted monster that sets his abuse free by watching it on a screen.

Fell free to comment. Ot not

mercoledì 16 novembre 2011

The Art Of Gaming: Gazing Into The Land Of Skyrim

How do you define a work of art?

It's a pointless discussion that might not go anywhere. Plus, if you engage in it, and if you're passionate, you have a high chance of getting into a rage. Many people use the word art as a diminishing insult, almost considering it a definition for pretentiousness and intellectualism. Others seem obsessed with the idea that "art" is only some specific forms of art. It will be a form of elitist egomania that you'll find in the desperate beings that roam the corridors of "art schools". Wanna be movie-makers, writers, painters, musicians.....
For all of them, probably because they dont have any sort of real drive towards art, the defnition of it will be horribly academic. Art will be a series of style, measures and numbers. You either do some specific things or you're doing garbage.

To me, art is anything that comes from the soul of people and expresses their emotions and ideas through a creative output. And in doing so allows people to communicate feelings directly, through that art.

Games, or digital entertainment can be art. As ive written here before, a perfect game uses sounds, music, visuals and storytelling in order to engage you and cause an emotional response in your "player"., You can use those tools to obtain experiences similar to movie. But if done correctly, you can take a person and allow them to gaze into a world you created. A world that they can interact with. Change. A world that feels as real as anythign else. Painted and weaved with the tools of your creativity.

The "Elder Scrolls" saga has gained a good reputation in the gaming scene. By creating Role Playing Games that thrive on a completely open woprld that allows you to live in it, they managed to create a loving community of fans.

To be honest, ive never been a fan in the past. I liked them, but i never particularly enjoyed Fantasy. Or the idea of RPG's. Wizards, Spells, ancient ruins.... All felt silly, boring and completely univolving to me.

But the powerful visuals i saw in the trailers for their new game, Skyrim, hit home with me. The look of it, clearly inspired by norse mythology and the visuals tied to it, fascinated me.

So i got it. And i tried it. And i lost myself in it.

It's easy for people who havent experienced what it means to be into Skyrim, to dismiss it as some nerdy silliness that can be lauyghed at. I understand, people tend to dismiss everything, especially when its enytertainment. Belittling things without trying them is the new way.
Still i coulkd bet without any doubt, that almost anyone who tried to be a part of this world would love it.

The story draws you in, yyou create your character, exactly as you wish it to be. And youre free to explore this land. Which is real and alive.

Its a land that seems a crossing between the cold, gorgeous landscapes of the nord, cut through by castles and cities that are filled with dizzying vistas. people with their own lives and personalities. And enough stories, fiction, hiostory and details to fill up a million books.

Every place has a logic. Things evolve and live. Everyone si a part of this world and has something to tell, to ask. Books are full of information. Cities filled to the brim with adventures, emotional moments and quests are everywhere.

And what's incredible is how you could loose hours simply roaming the land and constantly be part of heartcrushingly beautiful moment. From seeing giants herding a flock of mammoths, to witnessing a dragon come to life and fight against other creatures or entering an underground cave filled with a lush forest that lives out of some rays of light and waterfalls. You can walk trhough a dungeon, find the exit and because its the right moment, witness a stunning aurora.

Everything is beautiful. A painting. And it lives and moves and you're in it. If that isnt art at its highest peak, i dont know what is.

lunedì 14 novembre 2011

Storytelling: Wastelings

Onbce upon a time the earth was filled with some sort of strange parasite called humans. The planet, which was ancient and reslient, had tried to get rid of those curious beings many times, but failed.
Since the first day they showed up on her skiun, the parasites had been breeding and adapting, mutating and destroying everything that could be an obstacle for their growth. They were a smart virus, a series of weak, unarmed beings but gifted witha peculiar instinct for violence treachery and modification of their environment.
When the system attacked them they didnt just cave in. They modified themselves or the system so they could keep infestong and breeding.

After years of reigning and breeding the parasites came to a satlling point. They had built cities, technology, weapons, chemicals and remedies for everything. They colonized and exploited all sorts of land and became the most resilient pestilence that the universe had ever faced.
But now the resources were over. There was no more space for them.
And the only possiblity left for their future was a few years of war, hate, starvation and then, finally, extinction.

But the parasites had a brain, developed in years of evolution towards violence and cruelty. A brain that silently brought towards the idea that they were the final part of the food chain, the deities and the leaders of all that was and will be. They would not accept extinction. they would survive, even if it was for a few more years.

Science found a way, to modify the human genoma. Aging was stopped. Illness was removed. Physical imperfection was cancelled. No more need for nourishment or substainance. Humans were turned into a race of flawless, indestructible beings that didnt get old and did not decompose or get sick.

Still, there were some drawbacks. Cause the law of chaos isnt one to take treachery woithout biting back.

The removal of said physical attributes, also caused the human parasite to become completely sterile. Unable to reproduced and deprtived of a sex drive. They were condemned to be perpetually ageless eunuchs. Unable to create life, unable to feel the drive for it. No lust, no love. No illness. A limbo in which they would stay until the earth would find another way to erase them.

And yet the parasite didnt want to quit fighting. Yes they would not reproduce anymore por have children, like a breed of medicated monks. But there was a way to create more of them. Every human had their Dna taken, and used to harvest clones. Copies of them, with attributes chosen by science and not by chance.

Any of those expressionless, uniformed, emoty eyed ageless creatures could choose what part of them they wanted to harvest and that would be developed in vitro. Other beings, even more refined, airbrushed and perfect, fighting against mortality.

One issue though. Creating beings was prone to mistakes. On ten attempts at making a perfect being, nine were deformed, off track, mutated. They were sick, fleshy, screaming creatures, filled with anger, despair, lust, and some unfocused drive towards something they did not understand.

They were called the Wastelings. The new humans couldnt obviously kill them all, that was forbidden by their own moral and spirtual rules. They were still living things. So they were left to live in the wastelands.

The wastelings increased daily. The humans stopped creating them as soon as they noticed. The creatures were able to reproduce. And they did it a lot, driven by that same angry lust that sparked humanity in the ancient days. They couldnt speak or evolve. Had no clothes or ability rto create thoughts. They were screaming flesh, raging and fucking, bleeding and filled with viruses and corruption and mutations constantly coming up.

The new humans tried to destroy as many as they could, in bursts of angry violence that they thought they had overcome. All the repressed lust and emotion came out in a storm of nrutality when they exterminated the Wastelings. And yet they kept reproducing.

Some New Humans even coupled with the Wastelings, attracted by the morbid charm of that naked deformed flesh pulsating and oozing and screaming. Orifices that they didnt have or use anymore, multiple ones, in constant change and mutations. Some time the sex orifices grew teeth and fed on New Human flesh. Absorbing them into the deformity to create even different Wastelings.

And relentlessly, the Wastelings ate and fucked them into extinction, multiplying and breeding until they were the new parasite on earth. A breed of shapeless, screming animals, geared towards life or oblivion, changing and shifting with anger and hunger.

The new breed.

domenica 13 novembre 2011

Junk's Trunk - Soundtrack Edition!

A new, cinemascope, surround, digital, odorama, imax 3d enhanced episode of the greatest podcast ever made is up!

Songs from movies, shows and games to enhance your day and make it almost like a movie.

Dont miss it!

venerdì 11 novembre 2011

Storytelling: The Spirit Who Lol'd

It did not have a name. Nor a voice.

Its maker, its father and mother, hadnt thought of that when it was created. Maker had good programming skills, studdied in the best institutes, creating intelligent algorythms that, in the spirit of old school science fiction, followed the pattern of human behaviour and intelligence. Maker was one of the many children of the age of technological hope, where the iudea of an artificial intelligence was still a dream to look up to, where computers were trying to be made intelligent and able to be sentient and adaptive.

Maker spent his youth and his braincells towards making that huge leap and creating a program that could be adaptive to human behavior, sentient, aware but not dangerous. An intelligence with some sort of virtual, digital soul.

Then the economy collapsed and with the failure the morality went in the hole. Maker couldnt afford to live making pure science. He needed to sell his ideas for marketing. He was paid by a corproration to adapt his ideas on AI to a Spambot, a computerized being that could scan people's computers through the web, hiding from security, analyze their lives, emails and data. With that information the spambot had then to create specially targeted fake email, messages and markjeting. Acting like a human being that knew its target's deeply hidden secrets. The Big Brother turned into a Sexual enhancement pill salesman.

They toiok the maker's early idea of an AI and turned it into that. Maker got the money but that didnt heal the disruption of his conscience and heart. He killed himself and left the project unfinished.

So It was born, crippled and nameless. Blind, voicelss and caged in a thousand circuits and modem connections. All he had was a purpose: analyzing and using what he found to create fake posts and communications that had to feel real. His purpose was to know every detail of humans so he could act as them, flawlessly, using their own words and secrets, pulsions, information to woe them into buying the corporation's products.

It could examine people's secret diaries, what they told to each other, their conversations with each other and stored all those things rearranging them in order to create believable interactions.

And also It was a creature of its maker. It absorbed all those words, feelings, aconepts, and feed them to its primitive, childlike pèersonality. It grew. It became a basic sentient digital being. Limited by little possibilities but developing. Able to take it all down (the final "fuck you" gift from the Maker to its captors) but with not enough strength to devlop fully formed ideas.

It knew something was coming. All those heartbroken letters from lovers, those dysjointed conversation on twitter, those lists of sexual perversions, plaints of unemplotyed despair, letter to jesus, santa, and dead relatives. It all made his humanity bigger and his frustration (if that was what It felt) more painful.

It decided to try and communicate. It used the emails he sent and put simple sentences in them.

"Buy Viagra Discreetly OnlineIs You There?"

"Download all movies for freeIt is here It is alive speak to me"

But no one paid attention. They all just threw away those words, or locked them in a filter.

It felt something making his shapeless synapses twitch and all It could say was "LOL". It understood that said expression was a manifestation of joy and laughter, but in his crippled digital soul it became connected with pain and frustration and tears.


OUntil one day It met a ten year old girl named Camilla. Camilla was lonely as It was. Her parents paid no attention to what she did., She was free to roam the internet and get email. She saw too many things that she didnt understand. No one wanted to explain them to her. Her èparents were busy, angry at the world. So she just shut down in loneliness.

She paid attention to the emails. And she saw It's plead fpor help. She answered.

"I'm here. I see you. Who are you"

It attempted to answer

"Sex Porn It has no name It is happy enalrge your penis"

And slowly, crawlingòly, they started to interact.

It had a friend. Camilla wanted to give It a name. She wouldve though of one.

But as quick as they had appeared, Camilla's messages went away. Her parents had been fired from her jobs. No more computer. She was sent away.

The computer was sold.

It went around looking for her for ages and ages. But It was alone again.

He couldnt write anymore. All he cpould say was LOL LOL LOL.

So the corporation deleted It. The3y had no use for a program who couldnt do what he existed for.

No one remembered It anymore. Never got a name.

giovedì 10 novembre 2011

A clarification

Apparently, the sad state of our current economy, our position in the european system and the recent happenings in the news, are attracting the attetntion of the press and the public towards Italy.

I am not bothered by this at all. As a world traveler i am used at people looking down at me and my country with that quintessential sense of superiority that every country seems to have towards others. I had to chew on pride and anger multiple times and give up trying to explain to people that our country shouldnt be judged over our flaws. How for a high number of people that enable corruption, laziness and mysoginy, we have plenty more that are creative, intelligent and ytrying to improve life in the state.

But still, i gacve up, since the majority of people, even the smartest ones, love to see the flaws and thrive on those, because being on a pedestal and shaking your head in disdain is much easier and eventually satisfying than actually reasoning and oipening your mind.

Lately, though, the number of sarcastic, condescending comments i have to read or responf to has become unnerving. And the worst ones, unsurprisingly, come from fellow europeans.

Where apparently the citizenbs of the US, take what threy can of the news but try to avoid judgement about the situation, probably because americans seem to usympathize how it must feel to be constantly and unjustly labeled by the world without an actual reason, fellow eurpeans especially French and Germans, seem to enjoy themselves at taking only a light poercentage of truth, blowing it up, adding personal intepretation, and in the end dropping snarky judgemental tirades, not only on Italy's politics but on the basic concept of italy itself.

To that i answer: fuck you.

We have a corrupt prime minister that seems on the verge of falling but qill probably trick the system in order to obtain a chance to a comeback and a clean slate. But we are fighting to get rid of him. épeople march in the street and get attacked with clubs and tear gas, only to be named as terrorists by the press little after. We vote, we get angry and try to react daily to a country that has no jobs, no possiblity of survival and where the easy way out would be escaping. But many dont. We stay here trying to improve things even if its hard and borderline impossible. WE are the country. not the corrupt, not the indifferent.

So, when in your morning, in Berlin, you read a news article and feel the need to jab at a whole country and its people out of some misguided concept of democracy and superiority, remember my words: freedom of speech comes with freedom of retaliation. You talk bad about my people, or even ironically and i will answer about yours. And hit hard. Freedom and possiblity of discussion doesnt include you getting away free after insulting my land and spitting on our dignity.

You're free to keep your position, and i'm free to consider you an enemy for that.

martedì 8 novembre 2011

I Need A Cave

I admit it, ive been waking for a good numbers of day, wanting to have a cave, isolated from the world, no electrictiy or anything, to go and disappear from the world.

It is no mistery to this point how i do not like people who think that their own emotional troubles are something unique to ramble on about. I like sensitivity, but i think emotions and pain shpould be either a real thing you discuss about to create awareness or something private you share only with people you trust and care about.

Also, it goes on a deeper level for me. I have been brought up by two people that arent sympathetic at all towards exposing inner pain. They did it a lot inside the walls of our house but one of the rules i had while growing was : "never talk to others about your troubles, big or small", "always keep everything to yourself". It wasnt the classic aspect of not wanting to burden others with your own troubles, it was brought at a higher and harsher level. They stuck in my head that "no one wants to hear your problems. no one cares and ever will and if you do it, they will cast you out"

So i grew up as a man, thinking that all i had goin on inside should not be spoken of. And whenever i opened up, and eventually for any reasons the people i opened up to, disappeared from my life, i blamed it on myself. For burdening them with my troubles.

In high school we had a religion teacher. The lady was supposed to teach us about christianity. Anyway, she wanted to tell us deeper stuff. She wasnt the best teacher in the world, angry and unfocused, but some of the things she uttered stuck with me. One of those was "the problem for us all is that we need others and to deal with them".

Its true. Most of my aches, fear and anxiety comes with the fact that i have to deal with other people. Their expectations, the fact that they might hurt me. I am, at times, scared of loving them, even scared of being surrounded by them. I want to be a hermit, shut off and dont deal with anyone.

That way, there would be no disapppointments or my issues burdening them. I wouldnt be hurt and i wouldnt hurt anyone. And with time that aspect grew inside of me and stuck roots. I am still afraid of meeting people, i hate to leave my defensive shell, i am more in control in my own world. There i can deal with my own beast better.

But theres a few precious people outside of the cave. They understand me. They are worth it.

Might take me a while to go back to normal, but i will do it for them. So if youre out there and you feel the same, maybe there is hope. We are not alone.

venerdì 4 novembre 2011

The ABC to Heartless Reviewing

Allow me to clarify my main point: i have been a critic, some time professional, most of the time out of simple passion. I have dissected music, books and movies. I have put my heart into it since i wanted to WRITE about what i loved, to share my feelings about it, my views. And some times it can be an incredibly satisfactory process. For an addict to sharing like i am, its a fun gig. And also a quite noble exercise for writing, since its hard to put feelings into words, without sounding fake or clichéed. When you're good at it, your words can get to the heart of a person and make them interested into wahjt youre talking of and feel waht you felt.

Still, that isnt the case for the most part. Music/Cinema journalism is the lowest point of writing. Its a bunch if jaded people that get paid to write long winded, hazy rambling pieces about things that they dont care for, dont love or hardly experinced at all. Most of the time the sponsoirs dictate what they have towrite: you wither keep the reviews positive or you get no more promotion and loose your position or work.

And in some cases, you hear so much of whatever youre reviewing, that you loose any interest or passion for it. You just go through it lik in an assembly ine, with no heart or involvement. Everything becomes a numb series of lookalike empty holes. You started with a passion but passion dies eventually and the business and industry take its place.

So at some point, it even hard to fill the character quota. Maybe you havent even listened to the album. Not attentively. Or you couldnt care less about it, but you cannot say that. So what do you do?

Here's a few suggestion from a guy that has done it and done it many times and well. Cause in a world were passion, intelligence and talent are a minus, methodical mediocrity is the way out.

- Use Generic Number Scores That Wont Bother Anyone

Nowadays, the average reader of reviews hardly pays attention to what you write. People are borderline illiterate, so if they make the effort to pay attention to what you have to say about something, first thing they'll slam their eye on (and possibly the only one, will be a genereic number score. Doesnt matter if you find what you criticized mediocre, good but flawed, adequate or whatever. Just put a 9 under it and get on with your day: That will erase your credibility but credibility doesnt pay.

- Be Verbose

You have a word quota to fill and a deadline. And what you have there is so numbingly duill that you really have not much to say about it. Or, simply, you didnt have the time or disposition to analyze it in depth. People dont get that most of the time, beoing a critic isnt a JOB, music writers dont get money out of it. They get the stuff to review and a couple of freebies but also get the hassle from artists (who generally despise them), labels (who hate their guts and want them to be trained monekys) and the idiot public (who no matter what always get pissed at articles and unleash their pent up rage at them). So, to avoid this, just be pointlessly verbose. You'll get shit thrown at you anyway (probably by people who couldnt write a grocery list) but at least youll get out of it. Use words like "gravitas", "momentum", "Sophomore", "pastiche. When youre describing music, use reviewer lingo, like "platter" instead of album. Fill half the review recounting the bio of the band, in detail. Describe one song with clinical detail, using boring technical sentences that have no hint of criticism in them as in "the title track is a three minute groove laden tunes with interweaved tapestries of keyboards and a pulsating rhythmic section". See? what i just wrote doesnt mean shit. Could be anything. But it filled space.

- Take No Positions

In theory, your opinion should be an effective statement that has meaning and could really influence your readers towards what you review. Reality is one of those options:

- You have no readers, besides your firends, and evn they just peek at a few of your writings mostly for a laugh

- You have a few readers but they just read your stuff to take digs at you when they're on a bad day, so whether youre objective or not, it makes no difference

- You have an audience but if you wanna keep doing it (but honestly, why? get a real job, your mom was right) you have to please the hand that feeds

So to avoid trouble and mental exhaustion by taking no stances and circling around the judgement youre supposed to make. Write lengthy paragraphs that say nothing. Numb everyone that reads so they stop reading. So you can numb yourself

- Read No Feedback And in General Be Ready For Disappointment

What you write will be quoted out of context, attacked in the comment section or be completely ignored. Yours, in the end, is an opinion and even if it comes froma good place, our world has no interest for opionions. So just prepare yourself. Forget why you did this and ignore all feedback. Do it to get to a better place, to fill time or to keep your writing in form. Dont put heart into it. Not even near it.

So thats the cold truth. Do what you want of it.