tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180019932012-01-21T13:33:00.592Z"If I had known it was harmless, I would have killed it myself." - Philip K. Dick, A Scanner Darklyjohnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.comBlogger24151100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-35229158438105701892012-01-21T13:33:00.000Z2012-01-21T13:33:00.598Z

The trick, as always, is to read between the lines. Those words were like a flare in the night, a warning that something is amiss, a foreshadow of doom. Everyone's days are numbered, it seems. I merely got something of a headstart.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-5451632555188298972012-01-20T10:35:00.000Z2012-01-20T10:35:00.307Z

Sometimes I have the feeling that I speak a different language altogether.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-69212453123610584312012-01-19T11:39:00.000Z2012-01-19T11:39:00.156Z

I don't think that we should feel the pain of someone else's hurts. That's rather extreme, if you ask me: if we can't help living vicariously, then we should aim for joy instead of grief. Both are illusions, but at least one of them doesn't hurt while it lasts. Anyway, I digress. We shouldn't feel someone else's pain. That, however, doesn't mean we shouldn't watch it and even learn something out

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-80379097687521832172012-01-18T22:27:00.003Z2012-01-18T22:30:53.542Z

Richard Dawkins once wrote nature is not cruel, only pitiless indifferent. But nature evens it out by the "survival of the fittest" rule - the strongest, the most able, the most fit to survive do so, and those that cannot evolve don't. In society, the "survival of the fittest rule" also applies, but the concept of "fittest" has been corrupted over the years. Survival is no longer a matter of

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-59038385003609396572012-01-16T22:57:00.001Z2012-01-16T22:57:30.787Z

Do we ever truly know anyone? Sometimes I find myself wondering in disbelief about some people I once knew. About how much they've changed, who they've become. There are those who believe that life can bring the most extreme changes. I for one believe that the seeds have always been there, bidding their time to bloom.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-37375861547555611452012-01-12T13:41:00.000Z2012-01-12T13:41:00.310Z

In times of war, gravedigging might be an incredible business opportunity. Digging our own grave, however, might not be the best business idea - especially if chances are high that we'll tumble down into it.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-71465174184422775472012-01-08T13:12:00.001Z2012-01-08T13:22:01.458Z

Somethings cannot be put back together and become just as they were before the fall. We glued it back together carefully, the best we could. It is no longer a jar though, but a broken jar. Each imperfection added to its original shape holds the memory of the fall, of the fatal moment when it shattered into a thousand pieces. And despite our best efforts, it can never be the same.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-90957053835398122172012-01-07T14:24:00.001Z2012-01-07T14:26:50.236Z

Sometimes blades are unsheated even before anything is said. It doesn't necessarily end up into a knife fight, but it definitely adds a certain edge do every word.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-83249389075631191582012-01-05T23:58:00.000Z2012-01-05T23:59:03.227Z

You know that spot between two people, when one tells you something about the other that you cannot tell the other? That tight little spot from where you can barely speak to one or to the other? I hate such spot. Ironically enough, I find myself trapped right there rather often.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-37216891714813677162012-01-04T21:09:00.002Z2012-01-04T21:11:32.229Z

This time there was no end-of-year post. Nor there was any new-year post. As far as resolutions go, I'll make one this time, but I'll stick to the practical: 2012 will be the year when I start reading Terry Pratchett's Discworld.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-5153852722351939112011-12-24T23:44:00.001Z2011-12-24T23:44:59.199Z

this year I shall not be bitter towards the christmas here in the blog.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-79505221185623463702011-12-19T14:56:00.001Z2011-12-19T15:07:05.709Z

I fear the fountain way more than any other place. That secluded stone alley with its running water and its green canopy stands for what I didn't have thr guts to do. It stands for all my fears and broken dreams. Other places might have their meaning and their ghosts, but they haunt me no more. They are powerless and irrelevant, places of a nostalgia that has long since lost their meaning. They

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-37785448165798124392011-12-14T02:02:00.000Z2011-12-14T02:03:02.262Z

There is quite a difference between false modesty - which is indeed a form of boasting - and realism. Sometimes we're simply not good at doing something - if we happen to acknowledge that weakness, someone will inevitably say that we aren't, that we are quite good actually, that no one would ever think about complaining about it, etc. While it's nice to see so many people going for white lies for

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-74033417682035906702011-12-06T23:30:00.003Z2011-12-06T23:40:29.490Z

I suppose that, when asked, every writer without exception would tell a young wanna-be writer to read a lot. While such advice is true, almost a cliche, it is also a dangerous one. When it comes to my writing, the main difference between now and ten years ago is that I write way better than I did, but I also read a lot - really a lot - more than I used to (than I could, to be fair), which saps my

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-35540098802995122832011-12-03T13:12:00.001Z2011-12-03T13:12:00.325Z

So perhaps it was known all along, and all due to a small, stupid mistake that went unnoticed for an incredible ammount of time. If this ain't irony, then I truly don't know what irony is.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-36638569595351134062011-12-01T12:49:00.001Z2011-12-01T12:49:34.997Z

Sometimes I like to think the parallel universe theory true, with our lives unfolding differently as we chose other paths to walk. I like to think that in another unlikely life in another unlikely world we had never felt the fear.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-78281408741144944102011-11-27T14:16:00.002Z2011-11-27T14:19:08.938Z

Euphoria keeps us going until we settle in the new reality. But euphoria is momentary; it runs its course swiftly, and leaves little but ash in its wake.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-17284651856854399212011-11-24T20:54:00.000Z2011-11-24T20:55:16.387Z

Back in the dark days, someone's recklessness turned the tide and provided a breathing spell. But tides ebb and flow, and when we're bound to the sea floor without means of escape, it is always a matter of time before the waves catch up with us.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-72370839244199101472011-11-18T14:53:00.000Z2011-11-18T14:53:00.586Z

This is the equivalent to the old "it's not you, it's me" cliché, only applied to relationships other than love affairs. It also reeks of bullshit. When someone says that "it" ain't personal, you might be sure as hell that it couldn't possibly be more personal.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-5436501811295344932011-11-17T03:05:00.001Z2011-11-17T03:06:36.331Z

[for what it's worth, this blog is now optimized for mobile viewing]

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-70961023067877219002011-11-17T02:50:00.001Z2011-11-17T02:52:36.529Z

That was quite a nice outburst, although misdirected. You should know by now that contempt and resentment towards someone who criticizes you is useless: either the critic is off the mark and you can show it by logic, or the critic is spot on and in that case you have little choice but to swallow up your wounded pride and start again. Of course, sometimes it happens that the critic is too far

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-89902783843326306082011-11-14T22:44:00.004Z2011-11-14T22:49:02.643Z

I'm not a leader. Not a natural one, I mean - I can lead something when necessary, as I've unwillingly done many times already, in moments of little to no consequence. But a real leader - I simply couldn't handle the responsibility. But above all I don't think I could handle another thing: the necessity to be rough and stubborn and mean. In short, a scaled-down tyrant, as all leaders must be at

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-31757050849509914012011-11-10T23:54:00.002Z2011-11-11T00:05:48.504Z

It is bad enough that chances are thin that I'll ever have the chance of seeing Okkervil River live here in the country. It gets worse by the the fact that it is impossible to find on YouTube a decent video of them playing songs like White Shadow Waltz - which, for all intents and purposes is the best song of the year, period.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-39011473477197373612011-11-03T11:18:00.000Z2011-11-03T11:18:01.166Z

The person I see now is not the same person I've met many years ago. I know - everybody changes all the time. There is a difference, however, between changing by natural evolution and changing by sudden destruction - and you did not naturally evolve from what you were into what you are now. Or rather, you did naturally evolve into what you are now, but such evolution is so extraordinary and

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-57544551215382901332011-11-02T11:03:00.000Z2011-11-02T11:03:01.014Z

Now I'm being told to fly, regardless of the mess I've made of the previous attempts. Despite my own limitations. Despite my fear of heights. Despite my will - I never asked to fly, I never wanted it - I find the comforts of the cool safe ground good enough for me. But now I have to fly, and I cannot turn back. Whether I'll catch a breath of wind and fly high or crash into the hardened earth

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-87425024468393118742011-11-01T09:25:00.000Z2011-11-01T09:25:00.604Z

I wish you no harm. I would probably have grounds to do so, to loathe you deeply, and yet I don't. However, that doesn't mean that I am happy to see you succeed. It doesn't make me sad or angry, mind you - but it doesn't really cheer up my day either. In short: even though you ended up screwing me up, I'm not exactly thinking about payback or karmic justice; I simply don't care whether you

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-53580777050537365372011-10-31T21:22:00.002Z2011-10-31T21:25:03.412Z

Happy Halloween!

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-47797897972476674382011-10-31T14:02:00.000Z2011-10-31T14:02:01.181Z

Truth be told, one can argue that to fly is simply not to fall (yet), and that landing is nothing but falling under (relative) control.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-79120988542725538092011-10-30T16:04:00.002Z2011-10-30T16:07:16.579Z

So basically Lady Winter stepped in to kick old Summer's warm ass, so that we could have a proper Autumn. The seasons are not messed up. They just act as a sort of a dysfunctional family, that's all.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-32392904709558376002011-10-30T16:00:00.000Z2011-10-30T16:01:54.528Z

All flying lessons are, at first, falling lessons, as one must learn how to fall first. Gravity makes it logical, of course, and our first flight happens when we want to fall no more. The usefulness of the falling lessons, however, is not spent once we fly high for the first time. We can conquer the skies, but we must not forget the price of such conquest, of such folly: everyone falls from the

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-65523812879226238312011-10-23T13:02:00.000+01:002011-10-23T13:02:00.302+01:00

I know all too well what you're doing. I know it all for what it is: an excuse, and nothing more. I'll play along, as I too want to put and end to this charade.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-78823369942129672052011-10-22T21:01:00.000+01:002011-10-22T21:01:00.306+01:00

So this is the first glimpse of the inevitable shadow. I'm glad to know its shape. In due time I'll know its size, its behavior, its way of thinking, its power. Then I'll know if I'm a match for it when the struggle is upon us, or if I should yield and take the road again.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-78633441406706459722011-10-21T20:28:00.000+01:002011-10-21T20:29:03.750+01:00

This whole notion of "when in doubt, ask" will most likely get me killed one day.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-24002407955342669392011-10-20T20:49:00.001+01:002011-10-20T20:51:26.149+01:00

Over the course of this blog's six years, I've managed to post, in average, exactly one post per day. This is sheer coincidence, but a funny one at that.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-38081031509319410012011-10-20T20:44:00.000+01:002011-10-20T20:45:00.365+01:00

I remember the last time I was there: my presence still lingered, the memories preserved by the tokens of old. Were I to return and surely I'd find everything changed as to no longer know the place. Perhaps the memories were removed from sight and locked away into a box to be forgotten in some dusty attic. It won't come to pass though; I shall never return to that forsaken place, as I shall not

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-78602311329638248932011-10-18T22:31:00.001+01:002011-10-18T22:31:47.033+01:00

She liked to watch the ghost shadows. No one ever saw her when she did it - for them, she was just another stranger going on her way somewhere. They were right so far - they only didn't imagine that she saw through them as their dark reflections were trapped in the glass surface, ghost shadows without a body under the cold and pale electric light. She could see shadows half-asleep and shadows

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-35197108863030451662011-10-18T19:08:00.000+01:002011-10-18T19:08:00.863+01:00

This blog was created exactly six years ago, after I watched the movie Fight Club at my university's auditorium. I think I've mentioned this here before (I always repeat myself), and truth be told I'm not even sure that there is any connection between the (great) movie and this blog. Still, I've never watched it again. And tonight seems a good night to fix that.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-28827878828816429312011-10-13T14:47:00.000+01:002011-10-13T14:47:00.762+01:00

It is an old conversation that has come back to me. We were talking, and I told you that I'm usuallyfine as long as the line between being fair and unfair was not crossed. Words unspoken: let that line be our own Rubicon - you can go there, you can even wash your soiled feet on its running waters, but once you cross it there is no way back, alea iacta est and all that. I never told you that, any

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-27410613714966873992011-10-12T11:36:00.000+01:002011-10-12T11:36:00.669+01:00

"Magic wishes come from money, Prince Charming’s a shallow idiot with a bad haircut and overpriced clothes. And true love? Ha, true love is one-sided, Ace. You love her, she loves someone else. She loves you, you love someone else. Never quite works out does it? So you end up with some actor pretending to be your true love. Real considerate of someone to let you know reality was like that before

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-21551301877144441802011-10-11T16:04:00.000+01:002011-10-11T16:04:00.716+01:00

Of you, whom I once held in such high regard, nothing is left but a song. A good song, truth be told - I listen to it rather often. Not that I'm brooding over it - I really like it, in the most detached way possible. But it's curious to see how it is possible for someone to walk into our lives out of nowhere, leave considerable mark, and then vanish without a trace. You left a trace though, a

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-1589413516979554132011-10-10T14:08:00.000+01:002011-10-10T14:08:00.906+01:00

I could have found the appeal of a military career, only I never did. Nowadays it would probably be safer - in all ways - than any other, if what I hear from people I know who joined the army is true. But a military career could never be for me. True, my physical shape, or lack of it, would put me into some private hell, but that's not really the problem. Although most of the people I know who

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-21766361725473355752011-10-09T22:41:00.003+01:002011-10-09T22:45:52.271+01:00

It's funny - and a little sad, I admit - that I've been regularly blogging for over eight years, and some of the best things I've ever published in a blog cannot be tracked back to me. I was a deal I made with myself, and I intend to stay true to it, even if it means that I have to hold the dirty end of the stick. But sometimes I'd like to point it out and say: I did it, and I know it's brilliant

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-80400278190286652172011-10-09T22:26:00.001+01:002011-10-09T22:27:18.986+01:00

Today's movies cannot be compared to the movies of old. Indeed they can't.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-30340811427193962232011-10-08T19:43:00.003+01:002011-10-08T19:48:58.500+01:00

Political tags - such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth - are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire. The former are idealists acting from highest motives for the greatest good of the greatest number. The latter are surly curmudgeons, suspicious

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-4381583944755946212011-10-08T13:24:00.004+01:002011-10-08T13:27:17.049+01:00

We leave far too many questions unanswered as we make our way through the paths of life. It is often frustrating, but we should truly be thankful for it. We wouldn't survive long were we to possess all the answers.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-87657525744014652752011-10-05T21:12:00.001+01:002011-10-05T21:14:42.145+01:00

The states of grace always fade away. It is not a question whether it will happen - but of when will it happen. So sooner or later I'll tumble down and walk in the mud just like all the others before me, the good deeds of the past forgotten by the failures of the present in the endless cycle of repitition and trial-and-error.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-75568084226945785932011-10-04T01:34:00.003+01:002011-10-04T01:37:52.792+01:00

The fact that I cannot bring myself to say it, to name it out loud, to admit it to the sun and wind and rain, shows that some wounds do never truly heal. It's like a conditioned reflex, only the sound of the bells does not make me think of food. It makes me dread the lack of it.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-90324711688091689892011-10-02T18:26:00.002+01:002011-10-02T18:30:24.543+01:00

In many ways (and situations), the best way for us to get our small revenge is to give someone not what they deserve, but just what they don't deserve. If they were mean to us, we treat them kindly. If they were at fault with us, we do not fail them. It might seem silly at a glance, but it actually delivers in two different ways: by showing them (or everyone else) that we are not like them, and

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-38422987973541233392011-10-01T12:47:00.002+01:002011-10-01T12:48:46.815+01:00

If anything, that whole ordeal thaught me to think not once, not twice but thrice before speaking. It didn't give me more patience, only more caution.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-55880120798914122012011-09-28T00:53:00.003+01:002011-09-28T01:04:49.289+01:00

The reason why Radiohead are - for me, that is - the best band in the world is quite simple. I can spend weeks, months even, without listening to them. However, when I do pick up one of their songs again, it doesn't feel like a return - but like a beginning. As if I was listening to them for the first time, even when I already know the lyrics (happens a lot). Now this doesn't happen with any

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-2149465048490478742011-09-27T21:47:00.002+01:002011-09-27T21:49:30.248+01:00

When kings and lords fight each other, the price of the war is paid by the smallfolk. It's an old rule, yes, and although we live no longer in the age of kings and lords, it is no less true today.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-805149397145641002011-09-27T01:26:00.002+01:002011-09-27T01:27:30.075+01:00

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-43712596482306142692011-09-23T00:10:00.002+01:002011-09-23T00:15:35.722+01:00

Every time someone allows pride to win over reason, one pays the price of recklessness. But seldom alone. Most often than not, one screws oneself up along with many others. Intentions matter not; only the very cruel and the very fool cause harm to others willingly. But even if we do climb the foothills of life without leaving a trail of broken bodies in our asdending wake, we are seldom tossed

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-88145258765760083372011-09-20T22:02:00.003+01:002011-09-20T22:05:23.709+01:00

Human beings are not capable of producing something so neat that it is above reproach. If someone wants to find a flaw in something, one merely has to look carefully, and not to waste any opportunity to crack it down. Regardless of what we do, there is always an unwanted speck of dust, a minor spelling mistake, a word said one second too soon - or too late. Nothing human is truly flawless; such

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-27988207308038314812011-09-19T14:11:00.000+01:002011-09-19T14:11:00.159+01:00

"One can't talk with you", or something along this line, is usually what someone tells us when we're not telling them what they want to hear, isn't it?

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-45570865636973047592011-09-18T20:52:00.000+01:002011-09-18T20:52:00.182+01:00

There is no possible excuse of being mean and cruel just for the sake of it. The penalty should be a kick in the mouth right on the spot.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-39579531279011193242011-09-17T16:37:00.000+01:002011-09-17T16:37:00.280+01:00

I should have learned by now that it is pointless for me to work hard in order to do something right or to achieve something. Everything I got throughout my life was due to blind luck or fantastic improvisation. It is not intentional; it just never works out in any other way.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-45040256039527698162011-09-16T14:35:00.002+01:002011-09-17T23:44:34.840+01:00

To believe in coincidences doesn't imply the belief that everything that seems to be a coincidence is actually one. Two and two make four for a reason.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-5774352689765309422011-09-16T00:10:00.001+01:002011-09-16T00:25:57.752+01:00

Those who cannot tell the difference between rudeness and lack of manners will never be rude, and will always lack manners. A rude person is, by definition, an intelligent person, a fast thinker whose words can be as sharp and accurate as a surgical obsidian blade. Good manners, on the other hand, are a matter of education - we learn them rationally, and by reason we can keep them or not. Without

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-76560369499186571172011-09-15T10:33:00.000+01:002011-09-15T10:33:00.631+01:00

Someone once told me "kill them with kindness". It might work in the long run, but if one wants to make it fast, one has to make it rough, and the simultaneously blunt and sharp nature of rudeness makes it the ideal candidate for such job. Of course, rudeness require a considerable degree of brilliance, cynicism and even a touch of sarcasm. Without these attributes, one cannot even pretend to be

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-9664717416865003492011-09-14T13:28:00.001+01:002011-09-14T13:28:00.607+01:00

I know that the road to hell is paved with of good intentions - I've said so countless times myself - but sometimes I can't help wondering if good intentions are actually that meaningless. Of course they alone seldom fix anything, but still.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-64236047717343192512011-09-14T10:17:00.000+01:002011-09-14T10:17:00.122+01:00

Apart from the optimists, there's also another king of people that I loathe: those who take on innocent bystanders their frustration and despair. No one has to bear with it; as angry as we might feel sometimes, we have more than enough mental capabilities to keep us from lashing out at others for no reason. That might as well be one of the things that defines us as rational animals, and marks the

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-11418790465120360142011-09-13T11:25:00.000+01:002011-09-13T13:07:19.825+01:00

To make assumptions might well be the easiest thing in the world. They don't need to be right, they don't even need to stick to reality in any way. They just need enough leverage. To ignore someone's assumption makes us guilty. To deny it makes us struggle for an excuse. It's a tricky double-bind, and it's not easy (I'd say it is impossible) to get out of it unscathed.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-12916111500659231312011-09-12T15:11:00.000+01:002011-09-12T15:11:00.640+01:00

Some people fight just for the sake of it. I, for one, could never understand what drives them. It is pointless to start a battle when we know - for sure - that we cannot win. Most often than not, it is better to wait. All tides turn eventually.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-37805526553851595672011-09-11T01:14:00.001+01:002011-09-16T00:40:26.829+01:00

I suppose I could feed a blog for quite a long time by quoting Robert A. Heinlein only. The fact that so many people dislikes science fiction while they never read any baffles me, but it is truly their loss.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-56221201265561505252011-09-11T01:08:00.001+01:002011-09-11T01:08:29.434+01:00

I remember one of my university teachers explaining how silence is a form of communication. A powerful one, I might add, but so easily misunderstood. People insist on thinking - rather, in believing - that someone's long spells of silence mean that one doesn't care about them anymore. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't; when it comes to me, it usually doesn't, although I've intentionally

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-13679932661321091432011-09-10T09:10:00.000+01:002011-09-10T09:10:00.160+01:00

Sometimes the prey can be as vicious as the hunter. They just need the right opportunity.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-82107016918183094682011-09-09T15:13:00.000+01:002011-09-09T15:13:00.282+01:00

I can bear with stubborn people, arrogant people, mean people, petty people, cruel people, stupid people, silly people, naive people, even hysterical people (to a degree, I reckon). But don't ask me to bear with optimistic people. I can't stand them. I'm not yet sure if their delusional belief that everything will eventually turn out well makes me want to puke or to smack them.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-72192633640625085632011-09-08T21:29:00.002+01:002011-09-08T21:31:25.265+01:00

At any rate, there are paths that once abandoned cannot ever be walked again. And there is something simultaneously sad and reassuring on that though.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-76734937449358186802011-09-08T21:07:00.000+01:002011-09-08T21:08:41.195+01:00

Everyone is incoherent to a degree, but some people almost seem to take a sadistic pleasure in taking that to such an extreme that it becomes absurd.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-79371430793516255262011-09-05T17:11:00.000+01:002011-09-05T17:11:00.867+01:00

Sometimes I wonder if that old dream is really far-fetched, or if it actually included a hint of foreshadowing. Sometimes it just feels so right - sad, yes, but right. As if things couldn't be any other way. Not everyone is meant to carry on into the vicarious eternity called life. Some people are simply meant to be, and to stop being when the lifeline wears itself out and the spires of human

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-75731725807410899852011-09-04T15:05:00.002+01:002011-09-04T15:10:58.467+01:00

A person unafraid of being alone is a person immune to the social blackmail that inevitably comes whenever one decides to make a stand and not to compromise. Someone unafraid of loneliness is socially unbendable, and the great social threat - shunning - has little to no effect. How do you make a pariah out of someone who has already walled himself in?

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-73393399913587971732011-09-03T02:57:00.001+01:002011-09-03T02:57:57.372+01:00

There is nothing ever so perfect that cannot be destroyed by a whim.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-89978770873134308722011-08-31T22:12:00.001+01:002011-08-31T22:15:50.086+01:00

Not without irony, August sighs its last breath just as it did the first: under a curtain of cold rain. Winter is coming, it seems.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-52493353246496192662011-08-18T16:06:00.000+01:002011-08-18T16:06:00.385+01:00

Some people believe with all their hearts that it is possible to eat the cake and like the cake too. Even though I find such thinking delusional and idiotic, I can't help envying those people. They all hit the wall at some point, but for the most part they do seem genuinely happy on their way there.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-77091100336905424092011-08-17T19:17:00.001+01:002011-08-17T19:17:55.283+01:00

I've finished reading A Dance With Dragons. It is obviously an awesome reading - George Martin is still in good shape, and gave his readers one hell of a book. But, god damn it, when it comes to cliffhangers, it is even worse than A Feast for Crows. The next six years (assuming that he won't rush into the next one, and I guess he won't) will be a pain in the ass.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-24905645932325915582011-08-17T18:18:00.003+01:002011-08-17T18:21:38.712+01:00

They say that one should never return to the place where we were once happy. But sometimes, that is exactly the place where one can find solace. That's the thought that strikes me like a thunderclap when I walk aimlessly through these streets I know so well: I was happy here once, twice, several times. I could be happy here again, perhaps forever. It's good to know that. It's good to know that,

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-57254047496685261462011-07-20T17:10:00.000+01:002011-07-20T17:10:00.863+01:00

It took a rather drastic step to put an end to it, but I suppose it was done for good. In a way it is sad, but, as many (most) sad things in life, it was also necessary.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-62752483273057247802011-07-18T15:01:00.000+01:002011-07-18T15:01:01.129+01:00

I can't stand peer pressure. Not because I fall prey to it easily - I don't, I still know how and when to say "no" -, but because I find it so terribly annoying. As if we're supposed to do the same that everyone else in the group is doing regardless of our feelings, of our likes and of our disliikes. As if being with a group (of colleagues, of friends, take a pick) made our individual selves to

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-70752121094918481632011-07-17T18:47:00.001+01:002011-07-17T18:54:00.947+01:00

Beth Gibbons, of Portishead, playing two nights ago. If that wasn't beautiful then I don't know what beauty is all about, really.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-64067077908955387492011-07-17T18:24:00.002+01:002011-07-17T18:29:40.207+01:00

The summary of the last three days, by this order: Portishead, Arcade Fire, Elbow, The Strokes, Walkmen and Slash & his friends playing Guns' old classic Sweet Child o' Mine.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-40990540884593662032011-07-17T13:59:00.000+01:002011-07-17T13:59:00.510+01:00

We do never know what we'd be willing to do should things have gone differently. Our actions - our supposed actions - are always shrouded in mists. And it is so easy to talk to the past in the present about a future that has never come to pass.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-86056991168348078762011-07-16T15:55:00.003+01:002011-07-16T15:56:39.073+01:00

It doesn't matter whether you say the truth or a lie. It doesn't matter whether people believe you or not. All that matters is that they accept whatever you chose to say knowing that it is the only answer they're ever going to get.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-83202650042423246622011-07-12T16:08:00.000+01:002011-07-12T16:08:00.171+01:00

What you want is the best of both worlds. Is to eat the cake and have the cake too. You do know, though, that such is impossible outside the realm of magical thinking. We always have to make choices, and sooner or later, those choices force us to compromise - or else. We can deceive ourselves into thinking that such compromise will never arrive, that it will be possible after all (and despite

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-55029234491833885812011-07-10T23:20:00.000+01:002011-07-10T23:20:00.613+01:00

The context is different, so the word carries a different meaning, I was told. Well, a wrong is a wrong, if you ask me - and it's not because the Queen of England says it is right that it becomes right. Anyway. The context is what determines whether a word is right or wrong. Does that mean that, if I call someone a bitch or an asshole, will it be the context to determine whether it shall be

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-66362932876005631482011-07-10T23:10:00.003+01:002011-07-10T23:12:49.692+01:00

I don't know what's more silly and annoying: the "like" from facebook or the "+1" from Google+.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-47847642126201031972011-07-10T21:38:00.002+01:002011-07-10T21:44:12.062+01:00

The enthusiasm has slowly faded out into oblivion. Happens with everything, I suppose, even if I can't help being surprised every time it happens.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-4337571075490011012011-07-09T11:19:00.000+01:002011-07-09T11:20:06.598+01:00

Even though the boundaries are broken already, I have a feeling that things will become way worse later on. Right now there's still an army standing idle near the battlefield, completely neutral, without taking sides. But it might. Therefore, so far all I've had was a handful of raids across the border, without much consequence. The enemy fears that neutral army, shall it come to my side. However

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-57573928331553017862011-07-03T13:45:00.001+01:002011-07-04T14:44:23.045+01:00

I suppose that by now everyone has at least heard about some ideas and theories on how the Internet is making us dumb - in the sense that its unfocused, relentless hyperactivity and interactivity are changing our ways to connect and relate, our perception, our cognitive capacities, even our memory. You don't need to be familiar with Nicholas Carr's essays (although I strongly recommend them), nor

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-60759775518098333772011-07-02T18:55:00.001+01:002011-07-02T18:57:17.721+01:00

I remember a moment a long time ago. A moment that is likely forgotten by everyone present but me. I remember the contempt on one, the guilty silence on other, the passive, almost indifferent stare on another. I remember words lashing out like whips, furious and uncaring. I do remember the ugly truth that emerged from the silence - one that shall it had been summoned by me, it would have wrecked

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-42285316527645560932011-06-26T18:56:00.002+01:002011-06-26T21:43:01.903+01:00

There are many ways to show someone he or she is no longer welcome among us. The roughest, yet truest, is to show him or her the door and tell him or her to leave. The lowest is never to name the subject, never to say "I'd like you to leave", but to make our former guest uncomfortable in every possible way, to make him or her feel unwanted and uninvited without ever saying so, while doing

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-39023229515496708852011-06-13T20:17:00.001+01:002011-06-13T20:17:29.738+01:00

I really don't know how it can get more obvious than it already is.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-88818297519789315432011-06-12T19:20:00.001+01:002011-06-12T19:20:00.778+01:00

We might avert our eyes to cruelty and pretend it is not there. We chose to ignore it, wait for it to go away, and then move on as if it never happens. One day, though, we'll be the ones against the wall. One day we'll be the ones tasting the cruelty we tried so hard not to see before. On that day, we'll wish to have someone speaking for us. And when we see that no one is coming forth to stand

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-87322301941437326942011-06-05T11:34:00.000+01:002011-06-05T11:34:00.806+01:00

I stared into the skies and took the shape for a hawk, proud and beautiful and merciless, soaring the blue sky. It was up above, far away; and yet I could see the glimmer of its eyes, scouring the land below for helpless prey. For a moment I imagined it tracking it, and plunging from the clouds in a swift, and unstoppable stroke that would mean certain death above the ground. However, as the

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-17880743134246093802011-06-04T21:33:00.000+01:002011-06-04T21:33:00.837+01:00

It ain't no time for good deeds. They have lost their meaning, reduced to dust by the will of a stranger. Only the wrongs do matter now. The wrongs, the mistakes, the doubts. Only negativity matters when one's dealing with destruction instead of creation.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-86838384899994100362011-06-02T16:37:00.002+01:002011-06-02T16:37:00.110+01:00

Sometimes I wonder why so many people around me takes so much pleasure of proving me wrong. As if it was something hard to do! What most of that people cannot realize is, I totally suck at arguing. Seriously. I couldn't talk my way out of anything if my own skin were at stake. What I'm moderately good at is at baffling. You know the saying: if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-58121256019633053102011-06-01T23:30:00.001+01:002011-06-01T23:30:36.055+01:00

There is a difference between expectations and hope. I didn't really expected it to happen - it wouldn't be reasonable - but deep down I hoped it would. More often than not, when there's such a mismatch between expectations and hope, it will be hope losing it. This is not pessimism, mind you; the fact is, if one expects something that isn't even remotely likely, hope is nothing but the swiftest

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-59433273603859526372011-05-21T15:03:00.000+01:002011-05-21T15:03:00.549+01:00

When one displays nothing, one shows no interest - and one should display interest. But when one shows interest, true interest, one should not ask. Fucking brilliant, but it goes on: when one asks, one should not ask because one should know it by now. Maybe. But when does not ask and decides to follow knowledge or gut feeling (or something more or less between both), one should have asked instead

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-38718404894349977812011-05-19T13:43:00.000+01:002011-05-19T13:43:00.232+01:00

The unspoken is not necessarily unnoticed. Most often than not it is actually the other way around.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18001993.post-14697755311160968142011-05-19T06:18:00.000+01:002011-05-19T06:18:00.504+01:00

"Social intelligence", you once called it. It was (is) a nice thought, but it truly misses the mark. When talking about me, what you called "social intelligence" is not really "intelligence", let alone "social"; it is, above anything else, naiveness.

johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12795830062465171390noreply@blogger.com0