one-hit wonders

a short list of writers who vanished into the shadows after their first successful novel. in the times online.

and pushing us into self-destruction

somehow i've realised that all that concept of "twin souls" when it comes to love is not for me. i won't explain why yet. i'll just tell you this: a girl that had everything i like about a girl wouldn't have me falling for her. i suppose i'm more into the "cold-hearted bitch" stereotype. i suppose i can easily fall for someone who could scorn at romance, who would kill any sweetness, any "romantic" thing. someone who could turn love, real love, into what it must be: a destructive force. someone who would force me to battle every day not to let her overtake me and destroy me on a whim. this would be my perfect love: a force that would have me near death every day, one that pushed me and her so far that we would be inevitably drawn together.

this is just a theory, of course; one that is most likely flawed by assuming i can fall in love again. but flawed or not, it helps explaining a lot of things.

*slap*

she had it all right: that was life slapping me in the face. the funny thing is, i never expected do laugh so hard out of it. 

tsunamis and tidal waves

still on the weird dreams. this time, me and her were together in a town by the sea. the place seemed familiar, but it was different somehow - it was a town that i know, over a rocky cliff, but shaped differently by the dream. that was not the weirdest thing on that dream though. i remember houses being build by the edge of the cliff, and a raging sea under a fierce storm, waves crashing violently on the shore. and then a particular wave rose from the ocean, one bigger and more powerful than any other. it smashed itself against the town with great violence, nearly destroying the unfinished buildings by the edge, and quicky flowing through the town in a wake of destruction. we ran into a house, and hastily climbed the steps to its first floor, where we were safe. time elapsed like in a movie, and we were out again in the streets, contemplating the destruction around us. reporters were arriving to cover the disaster, and were reporting it as a tsunami that washed away the shore. i corrected the reporters by saying that couldn't really be a tsunami, since there was no earthquake before, and the unusual high tide before the wave had no relation with earthquakes anyway. so it had to be a tidal wave, i argued, or eventually a rogue wave rising uncannily close to the shore. but they insisted on the tsunami theory; i suppose that was because they couldn't tell the difference between a tsunami and a tidal wave. which means that journalists in my dreams are as ignorant as they are in reality. go figure.

on coincidences and timing

i have yet to decide whether i do believe in coincidences or not. but while i don't decide that by flipping a coin (it's the way i handle every dilemma in my life), let's assume that i do, that i find coincidences something absolutely common. be mindful, though, and do not mistake chance with coincidences. if i met someone in the street that i hadn't seen or heard of for quite a long time, that is not a coincidence, but something that just happens. if that person is actually living in my building, then it would qualify as a coincidence, even though any other random encounter would become trivial. anyway, for all intents and purposes concerning this post, i do believe in coincidences, like being thinking about someone and meeting that someone in a random street. but i do not your believe in your coincidence. i'm aware that coincidences require a precise timing, all right, but your timing was way too perfect: a little late, not to be obvious, and yet late enough not to present any alternative. forgive me if i am wrong - happens often - but that coincidence was full of intentions. and thus it could never be a coincidence, for they allow no intentions whatsoever.

absolutely right:

*taken from here.

but

oracle: [looks him over to determine if he is the one] this is where i say "oh, hmm, that's interesting... but..."
neo: ... "but..."?
oracle: "but" you already know what i'm going to say.
neo: ...i'm not the one.
oracle: sorry, kid. you've got the gift, but it looks like you're waiting for something.
neo: what?
oracle: your next life maybe. who knows? that's the way these things go. (...)

the matrix

tidal force

the problem is, what drives me is not only beyond my control: it is also beyond my understanding. as such, i do not move - i drift instead, pushed by some force that never reveals itself while never letting go, unrelenting, inexorable. it can only be seen when it forces me to derail and crash. and then, alas, comes the understanding, as i hit reality's walls. and then comes the shame, the shame of failure, even if i wasn't truly responsible for it all.

have a nice weekend

radiohead, like spinning plates [amnesiac, 2001]

aveiro

let's see if the city is as nice as one of my best friends claims it to be. and lets see how many chapters of the fountainhead will i read during the train trip.

digging the past (II)

i've been through my old e-mail box today. out of curiosity, that e-mail service is so shitty that the inbox has long since become a spam's nest. anyway. lost in the middle of all the junk, i found old messages that are far from being junk. correspondence with an old teacher, the best teacher i've ever had in my life. talks with an english girl friend of whom i've not heard a word in years. a message from a friend asking where the hell was i, that she had not heard again from me - i never replied, by the way, so she still doesn't know. and an e-mail of a former girlfriend, a sweet one, straight from the heart. my heart froze for a moment when i read it. i could not remember that message anymore. my memory had somehow blocked it, as it blocks many other things, regardless of their importance. i couldn't remember her saying things like that. it was written so long ago, in a moment when nothing was perfect, but when life was definitely sweeter. how sad is to see, now from a great distance, how all that sweetness and love were lost in the storm.

now pushing that surge of nostalgia away...

fail better?

probably.

fail

i can't resist: i know ignorance is a bliss sometimes, but let's not exagerate:

taken from failblog.org, of course. my favourite daily laugh. now i'm wondering, why on earth haven't i linked it yet? shame on me, shame on me.

insomnia

i couldn't remember the last time i had felt restless in bed, but lately it has become rather common. last night it was terrible. ended up getting up at half past three, my body hurting from the head to the toes. it wanted no bed. it wanted no sleep.

i had no choice but to obey, of course.

the balcony for a late-night cigarrette is always a good idea. people wonder why do i smoke. they ask me if i don't know that smoking is bad for my health - as if i was blind and couldn't read the huge black-and-white warnings printed on every pack. here's the answer: i smoke because of the loneliness. because of moments like that one, when i can get no sleep, no rest, no company. so i can go out, sit in the balcony and stare at the night, at the full moon, at the bridge over the city and the river. i've noticed recently that there are always cars and trucks crossing the bridge. it doesn't rest for a minute. it stays awake the whole night, so others who stay awake as well can speed through it. the cigarrette is over, i toss its tip over the balcony, to the backyards below. they belong to someone else, of course. i'm waiting for the day when one neighbour - any of them - will yell at me for tossing the cigarrette tips.

sitting in front of the computer is also a good idea. staring at the screen, after all, wears the eyes and makes me sleepy. but what to do in front of the computer? there is no one to chat on instant messaging. w.o.w. mates are all sleeping, and those who aren't are certainly doing something better. i've read all the blogs i read everyday, and posted some comments already. feel too tired and too blank to write anything of my own. i hate insomnia not because i can's sleep - couldn't care less about sleep - but because it also drains any idea or inspiration i might have for writing. you might ask, but i'm writing. yes, but right now i should be working, and i feel so sleepy that i feel i could sleep until tomorrow morning without much of a trouble. so i'm delaying what i would like to do - to sleep - because of what i must do - work. some people say this is what adulthood is all about. i say this is a complete pain in the ass. for once, i miss my life as a student - could skip classes in moments like this one. those days are never coming back though. i don't miss my school years. don't miss the school mates, don't miss the girlfriends, don't miss the classes, don't miss the bar, the hallways, the schoolworks, the climbing uphill every morning. i do miss some friends that are still my friends despite of the university - those that life hasn't send so far away. should spend more time with them, now that i think of it. miss how easy it was to pull out a girl, without much of a fuss - being a student is to be always knowing new people, after all; after that, your social life becomes a living hell. at least mine did. i'm sorry that some of the classes (and teachers) i had took place in my first year. were they in the last and i would have learned so much more. i hated that bar, always noisy, always too full of cigarrette smoke - and nowadays, still noisy but without any smoke, any particular smell. schoolworks were lousy, and one of them in particular ended up opening a wound that will never really heal. the school building was terrible. it was modern architecture, but would made howard roark slash his wrists. it had a silly concept and no soul whatsoever. and it stood on the top of a damned hill. can't miss it in any way, except for the fact that when i was studying there, i could skip classes if i wanted to sleep. or if i wanted to see a friend. or if i wanted to skip them just for the sake of it. so basically i miss my school because i could chose not to go there. funny.

enough. this ain't making any sense anyway. going to smoke a cigarrette and have a coffee before i fall asleep over the keyboard.

wasting time (not)

i've just decided that it isn't worth it. not anymore. i can fight opinions with words and arguments, but when we step into matters of (blind) faith my skills become useless. laughable, even. if you want to believe on that theory, if it makes it simple for you, then carry on. i won't try to change your mind, i won't try to argue against your insanity, i won't show you any evidence that you are wrong. believers are never wrong, after all, and i'm really not up to waste my time anymore.

i can get out of the village, but the village never gets out of me.

several friends have asked me about my new house. it's nice - not really a palace mind you, although it almost as old as one. my room is still chaotic: i'm so going to burn in hell for the deadly sin of sloth. but what i really like is the neighbourhood. it's small, everyone knows everyone. there is this café on the ground floor of my building, for example, with a very nice space outside. i've just found out how great it feels to get home, sit there with a beer, a cigarrette and a book. i believe the café's owner already knows what i want everytime i go there by the evening. he also knows by now the exact brand of cigarrettes i usually smoke. just as if i had lived there and gone there my entire life. just as if it was in my little village. in a way, the neighbourhood feels just like that: a small village stuck in the middle of the city. i like that quite a lot.

i know it's fiction

but despite my cold appearance i'm quite romantic, and can't help it. i remember the movie control (anton corbjin's biopic of ian curtis), when ian and deborah see each other for the first time. they struggle against each other, their personalities clashing with a quiet violence; but they stared at each other, and in that very moment they knew their lives were bound together, that they could not escape each other, regardless of what could happen. no words were spoken; they would have been useless. i remember as well the first time howard roark and dominique francon saw each other in the fountainhead, ayn rand's masterpiece. they stared at each other in the quarry, she looking at him from above, safe, while he was below, breaking the rock. their eyes met, their gazes struggled against each other, they both fought the most intense battle of wits - and they both surrendered. without a word. they simply knew it (i still don't know how the story ends, as i haven't finished the book yet). but that's what love is all about: not needless words, not silly errands, not happy endings - live itself is a tragedy, the greatest tragedy of mankind perhaps. just a quiet, violent struggle that means no victory or defeat, but a complete surrender of both contendents.

i wish it was just like that in real life.

i didn't see that coming

and that was a pain. i was already preparing my little speech, but you've cornered me. smart move. you know me better than i thought.

letters

e-mail killed letters, and that was a shame. it's been years since i've got mail - real mail, not electricity bills or silly advertising. i remember two girls to who i wrote some letters in the past (or they were the ones writing to me, can't remember who started it). i never met them in person. the first one was studying in a school not that far away, and my class and hers were exchanging letters. a rendez-vous was planned, but when the day came, i couldn't be present. the second one, a girl named l., i'm not even sure how we started writing to each other, but i believe we met in some random internet chat - back then i could only access the internet on my school, since i had no computer at home. we've written to each other for several years, but she lived in the north and we never had a chance to meet each other. i can't remember exactly why we stopped writing to each other, but at some point we did, and i've never heard form her since then.

nowadays no one writes letters anymore. writing in a piece of pacer, walk to the post office and send it is too much trouble when we can click all the way through our e-mail accounts. pity. for the sake of velocity and instant communication, something has been lost. we don't know anymore the feeling of waiting days for a letter, of checking the mailbox every morning, of following the postman's movement from behind the window. we have no idea how good it is to grab a piece of paper handwritten by someone and read it, for those words were meant to us, and to us alone. we lost all that, exchanged it by the zeros and ones of digital communication.

and we've also lost the love letters... who writes them nowadays? no one. today we propose ourselves through e-mail, msn messenger or sms. wow. how romantic, hum?

going to my homeland for the weekend...

... so my mom doesn't forget that she has a son. it's been a while, and the last time we talked was one week ago, at half past eight in the morning, about social security bureaucracy. now tell me that isn't your perfect wake up: to have a phone ringing early in the morning, and on the other side of the line - so to speak - there is someone eager to talk about bureaucracy.

of course, it ruined my mood for the day.

so after two months i'm finally returning there. kinda miss them. kinda miss decent food, cheap whisky. don't miss hiding to smoke a cigarrette, though, but i suppose i could use a haircut already. anyway, see you sunday or monday.

the truth always comes to the surface

and sometimes it is rather disappointing. i was expecting something denser, thicker, with knots tied so thightly that it would be a hell to untie them. and it turned out to be a complete bullshit.

in case you need something to read during the weekend

allow me to suggest this article from the new york times, about turtles. it's interesting, never boring and very well written. science topics do not have to be transcended and unreadable by non-scientist people: it just takes an interested and professional journalist. gods, how i wish portuguese newspapers could do something like that now and then.

injustice and ingratitude (II)

i might be thinner by the next year. who knows? i'm thin by nature, it seems, and regardless of what i eat (or how many...), i'm thin. tall and thin, without much of a build and with more agility than i can tap for my own good. 

you, on the other hand, might well be better fed next year. not that you've been starving lately. far from that. but i don't care: starving or bursting out of your pants, you're gonna be the same shitty person that you've always been. to think that i've admired you one day makes me sick. you're intelligent, all right; your natural stupidity, however, seems to be the only thing that matches your brains. you've proven to me again what an ungrateful bastard you are, one that is unable to see how much i gave of myself in exchange of so little. that was not your problem, though. as you cleverly said once, my problems were of no concern to you. in a way, i regret that i took so long to leave. but a second thought makes me feel glad that i hesitated so much, and let so many time pass. at least when i left, i left with the true picture of yourself. and learned a good lesson. that is priceless, i'd say.

injustice and ingratitude

there are two things that i despise more than anything else: injustice and ingratitude. twisted irony: they ofter walk side by side, hand in hand, wearing a smile on their lips. the fuckers. 

liberals? hah, cut the crap.

writing the last post made me thing about all the people i know that claim to be liberal. for them, of course, being liberal means supporting stuff like abortion, euthanasia, drug liberalization, and so on. some of them - i was reading a social networking profile last night that made me laugh hard in that part - say things like "be yourself", "express yourself, your creativity, your freedom" and crap alike when they cheer any measure of the state that reduces individual liberty. like the smoking bans, the reduction of salt in bread, the centralized id card, the dna database, the cameras on the streets recording our every step. things done for public health's and security's sake. they cheer, those things are for the common good of everyone. and they call themselves liberal. hah.

you, writing a book? god save us.

mind you, i've nothing against it. i mean, if one wants to write something - a book - and finds a way to publish it, then go for it, feed the dream and the market will take care of it: if it's good and there is in fact a hidden talent behind the words, then sooner or later (sometimes too late, okay) it will be acknowleddged; if it's sheer and stinky crap, then the market will send it back to the toilet where it came from.

okay, i know this thought fails due to wishful thinking. it only works like that in theory. because in the real world, everyone writes and publishes books nowadays. as i said above, i've nothing against it - i'm quite liberal, economically speaking*. but what we see today is people who have nothing to say publishing... a bunch of pages saying nothing. or people who could actually have something remotely (or really) interesting to say, but fail completely at writing. you definitely fall into the second category, and perhaps even in the first one. save yourself while you can, either by learning something or by dismissing the idea entirely.

and no, i'm no fucking authority when it comes to writing. i'm not even nowhere near it, and the reason why i never tried to finish any of my so-called "literary projects" is the fact that i know i'm not good enough for it. i might be a lazy bum, but i still have standards. anyway, i do know that on that regard, you're way behind me, so take this as a honest advice. if not, well, don't count on me to say that something awfully written is actually good.

*and i mean liberal in the original sense of the word, not liberal as most people around my age, or younger, understand the concept and advertise it as a self-definition on social networking sites. most of the people i know claiming to be "liberal" are proto-comunists at heart and mind. go figure.

knowing better

you really thought i'd go on and ask you that? small chance. i know you were dying to tell it all - especially after my little, improvised display of vengeance - but if anything, i've learned something in the recent past. it's not that i wouldn't like to know it, or that i couldn't handle it. i'm sure i could. but i know better now. there are things i prefer not to know. at this point, it's irrelevant to me to know the reasons you faked to justify what shall never have any justification. 

it's the first time that happens:

i wake up with an idea in my mind. a sentence. mind you, it is the best title i've ever created. but that was it: one hell of a title. by itself, it provided a decent introduction and a name - or rather, a nickname - for the main character. but who is she? okay, i do know the character is a she. a girl. i also know she likes astronomy, just like me. but what else? how old is she? where does she live? what are her hobbies? who the hell is she?

i knew that my characters were more alive than they probably should be. i mean, they have this tendency to take over my stories and decide for me the way the story goes. they are very demanding: they ask for a background, an origin. sometimes they don't like the name i give them and force me to change it. i swear it. this time it's different: she came to me, whispered the words to my ears, and told me that whatever was supposed to happen, was up to me. in other words, she put me in one hell of a trouble.

at least she told me her name before she said goodbye: andrea. it is nowhere near enough for a start, but it's all i have. let's see what i'll get. 

my newfound zen moment:

sitting on the balcony, cigarrette in one hand, glass of whisky in the other, watching the cars in the bridge above. it feels so fucking good.

between brackets

so what has happened is like whatever is written between brackets: it is there, and we can see it, but it's not important for the text as a whole. if removed, nothing of importance would be lost. all right. that sounds fair enough. 

to backfire

more than having anyone who cares about me, i really feel i need someone who can make shut the fuck up. i don't know why i keep doing it, but it has always backfired. always. god damn it. see, one can never be sure about someone's reactions. you go on thinking that you know everything, that you know exactly what to expect; but you're wrong, oh you are so wrong. sometimes people surprise you.

so right now i have to deal with the fact that i'll be creating more memories, when what i should be doing was to erase all that could be erased. i'm creating expectations when i should just be here on my own, quiet and alone. and i'm getting into free trouble, as if i didn't have enough of that already. heh. someone wish me good luck, please. i'm so going to need it. 

digging the past

found this in my files. it was probably the funniest thing - so to speak - a girl has ever told me: it's not that i don't like you, because i do; but i don't know how much i like you, and i don't think it is good for me to know that right now. that was brilliant, really. and in the meanwhile, time went by, and the world has never stopped spinning around. five years have passed. gods, i'm getting old. 

i forgot my mp3 player at home today

and the day just sounds so dull.

i'm having the weirdest dreams ever

the world was ending. i don't know why, if it was a nuclear holocaust, an asteroid colliding with the earth (where is bruce willis when we need him?), a biohazard outbreak, or simply the wrath of god unleashed upon mankind. whatever. all i remember is, everything was burning, ashes falling everywhere. skyscrappers were broken, just like in one of those apocalyptic movies, you know. anyway. i was inside one of them when he came up. i was preparing to leave, to flee the incoming destruction. and he came. i didn't recognize him, but his intention was clear: he wanted to stop me, to keep me from leaving, from saving myself. he had a gun in his hand, a sort of air gun that shot small metal spikes. and the bastard fired at me, had one of those bloody spikes piercing my leg. it was a dream, all right, but i do remember the image of the metal nail in my flesh. anyway. he came over, and only then i recognized him. of course. he was here for here. to avenge her, like some knight-on-shiny-armour. how sweet. i asked him why, he said he was there to make me pay for everything i did to her. christ. he didn't even know half the story. he went on, babbling about how much i made her suffer, and how sad she was because of me. and that i should pay. god, my leg hurt. i was down in the dusty ground, near the bed. i could see wildfires consuming the city outside, and a blood-red dawn in a sky where the sun would shine no more. had to do something, and under the bed i found my key to freedom: a gun. a real gun. so i kept chewing the fat with the bastard, and he went on telling me he was there to make me pay. as if i had any debt to him or to her, or as if he was really willing to die for that bitch. eventually i got the gun and he didn't notice it - the bad guys always talk too much, after all. and i told him to fuck off as i shot him right in the chest. and i kept pulling the trigger until all his life was drained out of him and the floor was blood-red like the dawn outside. avenged at last, i thought. can't remember whether i could leave the room and flee to safety - if there was any safety on that dream. but, god, to snuff him out felt so wrongly right.

i don't need another mother, but thanks for the offer.

i know you don't understand me, or my world. you can't; as open-minded as you might be, my way of life is completely different than anything you had ever seen. my detachment, my somewhat cold-hearted attitude seems odd to you, when your relationships are based in proximity and in a warmth that i would find unbearable. i know you watch me, i know you find me weird, even though you might lack the words to describe that or the gut to tell it as it should be told - if it should be told at all. in the meanwhile, if it ain't asking too much, could you cut the crap? god, sometimes you can be annoying as hell. just shut the hell up for a while, okay?

readers' blog: inner sadness

Something happened. She never knew it could. She was so vulnerable then, she had lost herself to this spiralling hole. So dark and it made her feel so dizzy. She had wanted it but then she hadn’t. It was the temptation. You wouldn’t want it if it wasn’t there but seeing as it was you thought nothing was going to happen but it did…

If only life were so easy, she wouldn’t be using metaphors to describe her life; there wasn’t anything left back there. What was, had gone, and was never going to be. Forgetting them was hard and it should have been worth it but somehow it never was.

Not being able to find it had been the hardest thing in her life. Questioning God, was it even there? But she still convinced herself that it was and that she would find it one day. The worrying and the fearing: the dreaded feeling of being so unprotected and lonely. Was anyone even there, to begin with?

She felt so unprotected amongst them, it was a feeling she hated. No one being there for her. Why wasn't anyone there? Wondering made her yearn but for what? She had never yearned for anything, ever. But this was something much more. That empty feeling in her heart she knew she shouldn't be feeling, why was it there? She had matured too quickly and that wasn't right for such a young age. Being mature meant knowing lots of things, and she did know lots of things but it was all too much. One day she was going to give into this temptation that was as black as the devil himself...if only they had yes, would it have been anymore different than now?
Life was precious and so was her heart that felt all the pain of the world. She considered herself as Jesus, but was she really? Or was she a sucker for sadness? Only time would tell the secrets that would reveal themselves in front of her like a flower in blooming. The only difference was that with flowers no matter what, they were always beautiful. But with secrets it was hard, they were so unpredictable...

special guest star: delerium14

your text was the first pulished here, i believe, that has capital words. not because i was too lazy to edit that, but because somehow i felt such a wonderful text should not be changed in any possible way. again, dear, thank you so much for accepting the challenge - and so quickly!

just to inform the readers that soon a post written from one of my readers will be published. i'm trying to reactivate the "readers' blog" concept. thanks in advance, both for those who have written here already, and for those who eventually will accept my challenge.

right questions, wrong questions

it seems that i'm finally learning how to avoid asking the wrong questions. might not know how to ask the right ones, but still, it's a step forward.

And now for something completely different,

... allow me to introduce you my turtle: eustáquio (who else?). 

just look at his smile! isn't it the cutest thing? 

photo taken by my sister

dream denial

oh well. one more proto-dream straight to the trash bin. as expected. it's that time of the year, you know? dreams are made winding, they sang once. and meant to the abyss, i might add.

the next one shall come by the end of the month, i believe, and will be a rerun. meanwhile, i'll trust my skills to dodge in order to survive, and a little luck to have some fun. or, eventually, something interesting. we never know.

who watches the watchmen? - review

okay, i've seen it. but for the first time of my life, i left the theatre without knowing whether i liked watchmen or not. will explain below, but be forewarned: there will be spoilers.

watchmen: the good

the soundtrack.  christ, the soundtrack is one of the best i've ever seen  (heard) in a movie. the first scene,  when the comedian is murdered,  gets even more intense when its ruthlessness and violence contrast with the melancholic song that can be heard. just as the funeral, with simon and garfunkel's sound of silence playing. and so many others. 

the acting. globally speaking, all of them are very good - the cast had actors, not pop stars, and that worked out pretty well. have to say this though: among all the actors, the oscars would go to jeffrey dean morgan as comedian and jackie earle haley as rorschach.

the visual effects. obviously.

the little details. those that are there,  just as they are in the comic. like laurie's snowball over the telly, when she remembers her childhood. or hollis' repair shop poster. 

the adaptation itself, the way how the movie shown the main scenes of the graphic novel and stepped away from the unnecessary parts - like the tales of the black freighter, as i suspected, or  the shrink's family drama. 

rorschach's analysis. i feared that rorschach's interrogation after he was arrested would be removed, when it's one of the story's best moments. but it wasn't; snyder understood its importance, and filmed. again, he was pretty clever: if i remember correctly, in the book rorschach kills the little girl's murderer by shackling him to a pipe. then he hands the guy a saw, smears gasoline all over the place and tells him, before setting the place on fire, that the saw won't cut through the metal pipe. to film it like this - it's the way it is in the book - would be odd, because as far as i know one of the "saw" movies has a scene just like this one (guess where the director got the idea...). watchmen's audience might have not read the graphic novel; as such, people could think that snyder was copying the other movie. good option. 

the changed climax. well, it is different from the book, even though in the end it has the same practical results. good choice: following the graphic novel would make the movie longer, and as it is... it is already long enough. besides, blaming dr. manhattan does not has no significant consequence on the plot, and shows the unmatched intelligence of adrian veidt. 

the beginning's credits. works as an excellent introduction to the story. 

watchmen: the bad

the plot's rhythm is not billiant, especially in the movie's first half. some scenes do not fit together as they should. all those flashbacks are necessary, of course, but somehow they shatter the movie's sequence. 

rorschach's analysis. it is there, but should have been better developed. namely, the origin of his mask should have been mentioned, the kitty genovese affair and how it affected him. and, of course, the irony of rorschach being analysed with... a rorschach inkblot test. 

the big hole in the plot: how on earth did the comedian know about veidt's conspiracy? government asked him to investigate? i don't buy that; despite the conflict with the oil lobby, veidt was above any suspicion. 

jon and laurie's return to a devastated new york should have included a little more blood and gore. hell: the movie has blood and broken bodies all over; some more would make little difference.

bubastis appearance in the end. her origin is not explained - she is just there, in the antartica. odd. 

adrian veidt: it would have been important to show more of veidt's past in order to give him more depht. in the end, he is almost a flat character, and that's simply wrong. 

the movie ends exactly as the graphic novel, but... for those who are not familiar with the book, the new frontiersman is just another newspaper. okay: the movie wouldn't have time to include the newspapers' political wars, but without that background, the ending is not as good as it should be. 

watchmen: not the ugly, but a little summary. 

the movie was not made for fanboys only. it follows the original plot, but something is amiss. okay, considering how dense and complex is the plot, i do believe this was the best adaptation possible. zack snyder deserves all the credit. however... quoting the movie critic jorge mourinha, "we are left half-way between amazement for his ability to film a masterpiece novel and frustration because the film is nothing more than that. all right, that's already a lot. but considering what watchmen is on the paper, it might not be enough." what is missing is the director's personal mark printed on the movie. in the end, that was one of the things that made peter jackson's the lord of the rings a great, great movie. 

the bystander effect

and that drunken guy suddenly became a new kitty genovese, (hopefully) without the rape and the backstabs. his ordeal has most likely ended with a flu and his back hurting for sleeping in the street. besides the hang over and the robbery, of course. it's funny - and sad - to think about it. there were dozens of people out in the street, chatting to each other, sharing drinks and joints. more were passing up and down, looking for a way out or just for the next beer before the early end of the night. the owner of the house in which doorstep the guy was laying arrived, opened the door, got in and closed the door. he was probably the only soul who cared about the guy though, considering how carefully he closed the door, trying not to hit the other's head. no one else cared - and everyone saw him half-alive, half-dead, completely wasted on the floor. no one cared to check if he needed help, to call the cops or the emergency teams. the only one who has shown any interested in him was a rotten scumbag who took the opportunity to search for the guy's wallet and cellphone - not to see his identification or to call some friend, but to steal them. everyone saw it - the scumbag searching the other's pockets and keeping the items - and no one stopped it. there was more than enough people to tear the fucking thief apart, or at least to knock him down, and no one did a damned thing. bystander effect, they would say. diffusion of responsability. "it's not with me", each one of the souls on that street thought. "sooner or later someone's gonna help". perhaps someone did. perhaps no one did it. who knows? no one, for no one cared.

colours

i thought about an answer good enough to shut your mouth, but a second thought made me realise that you weren't worth it. prejudice is a blindfold, you know? and you're full of it, too full of it. so everything you see does not display its true colours, but the colours you believe it to have. whatever. it's your loss, not mine. in the meanwhile, i'll simply laugh at your little mind, at your lack of originality (i wonder what someone would think if that little truth was to be known...), and at the lies i'll go on feeding you. i also know your colours.

on trust

one day i would like to understand what makes people trust me. but trust me blindly, without knowing me as well as caution would advice. i can't see what might explain that, really. but i'm not one to betray anyone's trust, so i suppose that feeling honored for that is the only thing i can do about it.

who watches the watchmen?

i will. at nine tonight.

so today we'll finally get to see one of the most awaited movies of the year, and also one of the most controversial hollywood projects of the last years: watchmen, based in the extraordinary graphic novel by alan moore and dave gibbons. (my) expectations are high, of course, and that means that if the movie does not match those expectations, i'll be sorely disappointed. the graphic novel is quite complex, and as such, turning it into a successful movie is definitely not a job for every director. let's see if zack snyder - the director of 300 - fails or proves that he is indeed a great director.

the good news: the original movie script was intended for 120 minutes and was meant to be more "political". okay, watchmen itself is a political story, but what the studio really wanted was to adapt it to the present moment, by mentioning for example the war on iraq - most likely instead of including the vietman war. snyder, thankfully, could avoid that disaster. the movie has 168 minutes and, considering the trailers and some stuff i've read on the internet and on the press, seems to be rather faithfull the original plot. concerning visual effects, it might well be as good or even better than 300 - anyway, visual effects' fans won't be disappointed for sure. it remains to be seen how the director handled some parts of the plot that, albeit secondary, are extremely important for we to understand the dephts of some characters - namely, rorschach. obviously, the tales of the black freighter won't make an appearance. and that won't necessarily be a bad thing - just as the lord of the rings movie was awesome even if tom bombadil was not included.

there is still a doubt: will the movie be fanboy stuff or can it be seen by a wider audience? okay, that is an important question, but we must keep in mind that watchmen is not like other super-hero comics. so if someone is expecting something like spiderman, fantastic four or even batman - so far, the only comic super-hero who had great films. watchmen is a dense story, perhaps too dense; its characters are not shallow at all and where super-heroes are as human as the ordinary citizen. except dr. manhattan, of course, but even for someone who is ultimately unable to show or feel any emotions, dr. manhattan is incredibly complex. well, i suppose the time magazine has placed watchmen among the one-hundred best books of the twentieth for a reason.

will write a review after i watch the movie. but so far, i'm expecting something at least as good as peter jackson's masterpiece, the lord of the rings.

(by the way, the soundtrack seems to be pretty good was well: the end is the beginning is the end, by the smashing pumpkins, and take a bow, by muse? awesome.)

venting out

i don't get it. i swear i don't get it. why all the insistence on that subject? do i need to know that crap? what's the point? fuck, what a pain in the ass.

/anger off

the truth always comes to the surface

and the truth lies with a friend, who defined it all as "a hell of a jungle, one so tangled that it's ways are beyond understanding". that's so true.

like a turtle

to answer your question, as promised: i'm preparing to move to a new home again - it will be the fifth time i'm moving in the six years i've been living in lisbon. long story, that hopefully won't become a huge wall of text. when i first came to lisbon, i went to a students' residence, i.e., a whole building occupied by students (this might have a specific name in english, but i do not know it). the residence was owned and managed by a catholic order, even though no religion was imposed to the students - they could be muslims, atheists, pastafarians or even aliens; the manager didn't care, as long as they paid the rent. i've lived there for two years, and the second was probably my best year here in lisbon. i had fun, made some very good friends, did my pranks, and stuff like that. but i lacked privacy - shared a room with a friend that was never there anyway, had a minibar next to my bed, could hijack a wireless connection from a lawyers' office nearby, but i longed for a place where i could be with my friends, bring girlfriends and give no explanations whatsoever. besides, the manager - a catholic priest - had a peculiar way of dealing with any problems there. he merely said, time after time. "if you don't like it, then find another place. i don't care". eventually i got fed up with this not-so-religious speech and left.

went to share a flat with my former and absent room mate - a childhood friend - and his girlfriend. we've been into that flat for one year, but the landlord asked us to leave because he needed the house for a niece - or so he said. then we moved to another place, a huge appartment. by that time though, my relationship with them was starting to become too troubled. well, more with him than with her, to be honest. it's funny to see that she cares most about me than he does, despite the fact that he is my childhood friend and she was just her girlfriend (now she is a good friend of mine). anyway, this is another story, one that i might well leave for another day. i believe that living with them was becoming unbearable for everyone and so, before more damage was done, i decided to leave. and a friend of mine who had just returned from spain asked me if i wanted to share his own flat with him. he was (and is) a good friend, the rent was relatively low, so i accepted, and moved as soon as it was possible. the thing is, my friend's brother is coming to study here next year, and as such, he'll need the flat for him. so i have to leave until the summer; and since right now i have the chance of sharing a flat with a friend, i'm moving.

so basically this is the story. what i'd like to was to have a place only for myself, a small flat or something like that where i could live alone with little concern about smoking or how loud the music is playing. the thing is, houses here in lisbon (and nearby) are pretty expensive for someone on his own, and as a journalist, i'm not exactly royally paid (unfortunately). perhaps one of these days i'll find the right place (i'll keep trying, that's for sure), but in the meanwhile i'll go on moving, it seems.

forewarning

i might walk again the same path i've walked so many times before. i don't mind, i know the way rather well by now. but be forewarned: if i do it, it will be the last time. and after that, you might whine as much as you like, for i won't care. hell, why should i anyway?

merciful lies (II)

merciful lies are a matter of sheer survival. social survival. we need to use them so we don't hurt someone's feelings. truth is like a sledgehammer: it's hard and heavy; must be handled with care, and only by someone who knows how to do it. if we lack that skill, then speaking the truth is like taking an elephant to a walk into a crystal shop - it whacks everything on its wake, regardless of the "good intentions" behind. hell is full of good intentions, we all know that. for example, i could have been completely honest with you, and tell you exactly what i was thinking - you were asking for my opinion, after all. and my opinion is, you absolutely suck at it. but telling you this would shatter you, and you - as pretty much everyone i know - wouldn't be able to deal with it. so you would turn at me, with something like "and who the hell do you think you are, you asshole? do you think you are too damned good, isn't it? well guess what, you aren't". something like that. been there, done that. i would still be right, you would still be wrong - and keep sucking at it - and our relationship would be as shattered as you. so i left the truth out, and told you a merciful lie. so you suck at it, and you don't know it - that's your problem, anyway. and i avoided problems to my side. was this selfish? definitely. but survival is a matter of selfishness. 

easier to lie.

i wonder what would happen if we were to switch places, i.e., if i was the one in your situation. and the answer is, nothing would happen. i wouldn't tell you anything. not to you, and probably not to many people (even some people from my inner circles would be left out). no reason for that. i just feel tired of talking, you know? tired of exposing myself for people who care not to listen. it has been a long while since the last time i've felt truly allright, truly in peace (won't even mention when was the last time i've felt happiness, or just a shadow of it); and since then i've tried to talk with several people about it, most of times to no avail. some attempts were simply diverted, and i ended up listening to someone else's dramas when i was in need of talking about my own dramas. in other situations it was even stranger: i've felt suddenly - and oddly - ashamed of talking about myself and, when asked, merely lied. "yes, i'm alright", i said, as i could feel every piece of myself being shattered with a sledgehammer. it's becoming pointless, you know? why should i try to open up and let it all go when it's so much easier to drop out a convincing lie and move forward? they don't care, so why should i? and those that care, those that really care, they know when i'm lying. sometimes even better than i do.