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Every third day, he encountered the stick in the mud
13 Apr, 2016 08:45
shambal
Shambal grunted and turned onto his side from a torpid, supine night. He reached over to nastily clutch his she-goat’s porous flesh, but grasped only the rough, tangled blankets. The she-goat wasn’t there. Had he dreamed her all along? But the morning spring in his brain began to wind and he remembered the night before. His niggard had assured him that the she-goat’d be taken to Dunkirk for repairs. Damn biological failings! he screeched silently to himself. First thing in ...
Shattering an opponent's testicles is as a decisive move as belching at the next sorority reunion
27 Mar, 2016 21:20
film, nostaliga
Who was that Gina Hammond, actually? Was she named after the organ that defined a certain sound of the seventies? I suggest that, were the timelines different, she’d have been named by the progeny of Keith, who is dead. Yes, Christián reminded me that Keith is dead another time today. No, not Keith Teal, but Keith Emerson. You know - the keyboard dude. Gina Hammond was a Bond fan. I know personally because she loaned me six or seven Bond ...
Misogynist rant
27 Mar, 2016 10:22
relationships, age, literature, futility, prostitution
Another one from The Buried Giant: Those weathered women with their flapping rags were once innocent maidens, some possessing beauty and grace, or at least the freshness that will often serve as well in a man’s eye. Desperate men lower their standards. That one is a well-worn platitude to be sure. At his current point, Christián will take most any creature with a cunt to compensate his enforced chastity. Hah! Enforced! The purpose of the quote is not to berate ...
Her cleft caterwauls from her postured reticence
26 Mar, 2016 12:13
shambal, futility, age, dislocation
Go round and round the wagon, because you’re the mule tethered to the big wheel. Shambal does as the crone asks. He always does what the crone asks. She’d be dead soon, anyhow, so what did it really matter? And, besides, her cleft is all that tangibly remains of nostalgia that engulfs him hourly. In an extended adolescence, or a dream, he cannot recall which, he imagined himself at his current age. The term that bounced around in his mind ...
I snigger at your severed appendage
25 Mar, 2016 11:42
relationships, fresneda, conformity, family
One of the slipping points of a relationship, methinks, is the point a couple reaches at which they simply accept each others’ gush of erroneous data. I see now, in magnificent hindsight, plenty of places in past shindigs I stopped attempting to, as the trollops say, put my mates in their places intellectually. In part, I knew they resented me taking the role of the teacher. EVERY girlfriend / boyfriend / wife / husband / stoat does. Managing the vast, ...
Horizontal forms crane to imbibe illusions
24 Mar, 2016 16:14
fresneda, routine, drudgery, fuckups
I sat at this table last year writing. I believe also the year before. It is long and wooden. It can seat twenty or more humans. It those cases, I wonder about those crowded out and their feelings of exclusion. I, for one, am crowded out even when six or seven sit at the table. I’m only on the inside when I am the only one. Like now. Repeating conversations about the drudgery of working life fill my ears. Not ...
Her hoofbeats always get lost in tomorrow's dusty day
17 Mar, 2016 22:18
music, creativity, shambal, food, relationships
Sergio sent a simple, mostly repeating electric piano motif to the Whatsapp group GOLD GUNNERS. I am a part of this group because I have been helping (I use this term very loosely) Dani on a film project to be submitted to somesuch contest later this year. I am an actor and a proofreader so far. A chance that some of my music will be included in the final product is also possible. Sergio sent a simple, mostly repeating electric ...
She rammed that thing right into his tug-boat!
15 Mar, 2016 22:04
memory, psychology, learning
But then again I wonder if what we feel in our hearts today isn’t like these raindrops still falling on us from the soaked leaves above, even though the sky itself long stopped raining. I’m wondering if without our memories, there’s nothing for it but for our love to fade and die. I am in the midst of reading The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro. I delight in, apart from the story itself, his diction and syntax. I usually read ...
It's too early in the morning to put my penis inside of a goat
11 Mar, 2016 08:39
sexism, stupidity, genericalness, equality
I began reading an article on gynocentrism and was inspired to cough out a few paragraphs. I am yet to complete the article, but shall soon after typing a bit. I have often faced White Knight syndrome during my life and hold it in high contempt. The kind of sexism it brandishes is usually beyond reproach, especially in the repellent nation in which I was raised. Still, I have always found traces in myself. I was, after all, raised in ...
That Croat Chick Has Plans to Saw Off Your Libido, Dick-Boy
8 Mar, 2016 11:12
blog
Since the world worships at my feet, and among the masses of said word is the lowly Christián Newman, I’m creating this entry to let him enjoy the easy benefits of Hexo and get his BLOG back online for easy access by the remains of the steaming pile of masses. Christián is currently using Windows, so here we go. (Hexo) Install Git for Windows, ya doof. Even a less intellegent rodent than Christián can accomplish this feat by clicking on ...
Is that a crustacean in your pocket or are you just an asshole?
5 Mar, 2016 12:09
relationships, humanity, stagnation, film, situational
I watched The Lobster last night whilst lying in bed with Marisa. I’m fairly certain that I enjoyed the film much more than she did, though one is never to know exactly the thoughts, fears, delights and scandals of a woman, exactly. Regardless, I did watch The Lobster last night. In fact, our taste in film is very divergent, as it was with Jana. I tire of endless realism in the same way I tired of Renaissance paining and its ...