The bald singer

Running to the theater is sometimes such a blessing. Sit in the front row and observe that conventional universe. Actors messing all around in an absurd notion .. in motion. I just realised how much i love Eugen Ionesco. While seeing his play “The bald singer” I had the grotesque feeling of slipping away. As if I was no longer there.. as if the unveiled theatrical mechanism, its absurdity, has taken over my emptiness too. I would have burst in a supreme laughter if I hadn’t remembered I wasn’t alone.. I would have walked up the stage, enraged, in a Saturnalic feeling of lust and desire. I would have stripped naked, strangled some blood from the universal vein, I would have felt alive as if my hunt had just begun. My hunt for sense.. Having lost everything, I would have had nothing else to do but to find a new beginning. And as in all beginnings, this would have made me a creator. But there was enough light for my scenarios not to flow. I did not applaud. I did not stand up. I did not blink. In that noiseless nonsense inside my head  I oculd see the bald singer using the same comb, over and over, plowing my brain, plowing my sighs.
And yes.. My name is Sherlock Holmes….

How to start blogging

I was told that in order to truly live your life, you have to do something you fear each day. Blogging is, for most, not really a big deal. But I fear it. I could find you entitled to mock me in the face. But then I’d be certain that you cannot understand the joy and pain that writing brings. Frankly, I fear technology as it steals us away from real life and makes us forget our real values; we dig ourselves deeper in this binary hole.. soon privacy settings start to enrage us and make us forget the real people tipping their toes in nearby rooms in wait for us to return to life.
Ironically, as in every initiation rite, while stealing some of my real life sanity.. this blog also enables me to see more details in life..just thinking about the possibilities of what i can write here makes me want to discover (or build up?) moresense into life.. more feeling.. more thoughts..
Nevertheless I shall not stop writing too soon. But i shall be aware of the manner in which it shall be done. I will try to morph my reality into this toy like world.. while remaining outside the thrilling shell of feelings.. This is not yet over..

The randomness of beauty

Sweet traveler, smell the foulness of everyday life. As every rose eventually shows its thorns (good ol’ Shakespeare was wise), such is the nature of beauty. Common sense has it that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  I’d rather say that beauty is everywhere. A thick explosion of perfection, right here under our eyes. Symmetry and perverse geometry. That’s what it all is. I’m not only talking about nature, but also about the Divine Comedy of the human being.

Mountains of womanly curves, sumptuous smiles, gracious moves that teem with broken promises. A rash of a freckle, an O in an orgasm, the illusion of peace altogether with the tired white dove, a twisted arm, a bent neck, hair blowing in the wind. Isolate the shy, distinct image from the ugly whole and you have symbol within symbol of love, of chaos ingesting the order. Give everyone a try, cause everyone is ready to carve apart that slice of love from their body.

Waste not, want not.

Two perspectives upon Facebook

Facebook is a pretty powerful application. What you probably don’t know is that there are more people that play Farmville through Facebook than there are Twitter accounts out there. Because it’s Saturday and my turn to rest, I’m offering below two wholly different perspectives upon the Facebook phenomenon.
The first is a quite tainted ironic cultural response, in the last episode of South Park. You can watch below as Kyle is being literally sucked into the world of Facebook.

The second perspective is that of the video game designer, that tries to analyze Facebook’s wide success with minigames. It’s a long watch, but it’s definitely worth it. If you feel lazy, here are some of the things discussed, in a nutshell:

- games are no longer all about fantasy, but are actually slipping into the real; not literally, as in the case of South Park, but to provide  authenticity to the human experience, that has kind of lost it’s veritable sense when the cut off from nature occurred; we need this autheniticty because we can no longer be self sufficient

- technology convergence is bullshit; with one exception, pocket gadgets like the iPhone which were designed to be modern Swiss Knives

- technology is slowly becoming disposable: one PC might have more technology than was necessary to send the man on the moon, but that will never keep us from throwing it away in favor for a better one

- a rather gloomy view upon a fully monitored future human life: sensors will record all our actions and turn life into a game with achievements to encourage or discourage our sense of awareness to some types of subjects; such games have already emerged, see GeoCaching.

The Hard part in Blogging

I sit and I stare. Wide as the monitor is, it seems today it can’t suck me into its deep universe.

Dreaming what has already been dreamed

No, not today. Electric light hits my face, and my pulsating eyes. Sound intertwines with my silence in the far corner of the room. “Today I introduced myself to my own feelings”. Good ol’ Anathema. I twist my head like a rickety contraption. To scratch my thoughts against the sound. Blogging isn’t easy. Everybody thinks that squashing some words against bits and bytes solves everything. That with their words and thoughts the world is suddenly better. And then the pain comes. The doubt that maybe you’re spamming not only the Internet, but the whole universe. The doubt that everything has been said before, and done. A glimpse of the fact that you’re probably just another one to round off the pattern in an array of feelings. That’s why I sometimes find it better to keep silent. Silence is confortable.

Remembering September 11

Today is a day that echoes how many people died once. People die all the time. But this time it was special.

Red velvet suffocating the Twin Towers

It was all over the news. But you know what hurt me most? I was so many kilometers away from the actual facts, from the actual happenings. That I couldn’t feel at all. I was reading the blog of a person who was there then, as she were today. And it shook me to read simple yet pure feelings for things she understood, for things she could fully embrace:

I MISSED…

my friend’s name being read.
Every year I listen for it.
I feel like I let him down.
2,555 days since my boss called me from a bus saying she saw a plane crash into the World Trade Center.
2,555 days since The New Yorker staff huddled in a conference room glued to the television before we were ordered to leave the office.
2,555 days since I walked over 100 blocks to Harlem to get a train home.
2,555 days since cars in the New Canaan train station parking lot sat abandoned, their drivers would never return.
2,555 days since I slept in my parents’ bedroom.
2,751 lives lost.
One second and our lives changed forever.
Seven years … is anything different?

And me? I had no friends there. The only thing that I missed, the only thing I could miss was the confrontation with myself. I wish I were there in the middle of the disaster, so I could fight my own demons between the flames.