lunes, 28 de febrero de 2005

Looking for the white tree

This morning I wrote about a white tree I saw from the train, on my way to work. Tonight, I looked for a tree covered with snow on the Getty Images database. I couldn't find any that matched the emotion I felt this morning. And I will never do, even though the emotion is vivid inside my head.

White landscape as seen from the train to the office

A white tree, covered with snow.

Nature masters the hardest skill: to create beauty through utmost simplicity.


Torjman told me today that I must sleep very few hours, according to the late hours of my posts. I said it's true, yes, I go to bed late because I love the night too much to sacrify it. And basically, this simple fact defines most of the story of my life during the week: I'm usually sleepy, tired, slow and lazy. But I don't care: I just love my nights too much.

Anyway, we watched this movie today, Birth, the spanish title being "Reincarnation" (hence the title of this post, I guess) The movie is very so so, but thanks to our unability to decide for a movie we ended up at room number 7 of the Icaria theatre to watch it, from now on the room of the bad movies.

After the movie, we headed off to Gracia and had a good deal of fried fish. It was cold, but thanks to -e I was able to find a car spot near the restaurant (I mean -e wanted me to park like 2 kilometers away from the restaurant, but Torjman showed for once a strong will and said "no way we are parking here"... and so we parked next to the fried fish place... well done, Torjman)

And so that was it. A simple weekend ending at the cinema like so many other weekends. I am writing and smoking, it's late, and tomorrow I'll be tired and lazy. Tomorrow I'll be wanting to stay warm and cozy in bed for ten more minutes, but the alarm clock and my conscience won't care. Bitches, real bitches. Reincarnation might be the only wise choice, but meanwhile I'll stay up late. Thinking of you, my love. Do you know who you are?

sábado, 26 de febrero de 2005

I'm listening to that, right now

[Norah Jones]
Here we go again
He's back in town again
I'll take him back again
One more time

[Ray Charles]
Here we go again
The phone will ring again
I'll be her fool again, I will
One more time

[Norah Jones]
I've been there before
And I will try it again
Any fool, any fool knows
That there's no, no way to win
Here we go again
She'll break my heart again, yeah
I'll play the part again
One more time
(Hi, Mr. President)
I've been there before, you know what?
I will try it again

[Norah Jones]
But any fool, any fool knows
That there's no, no way to win

Here we go again
She'll break my heart again, yeah
I'll play the part again
One more time
I'll take her back again
One more time

[Ray Charles]
I will

i wish i had

... 20 cigarettes to spare. Since I just have one, I doubt I can write much. And it's a pity, because I think I would be inspired.

Inspiration, that bitch. Inspiration, inspiration can't take you here with me, even if I imagine you and I touch my skin, it's not you.

and life goes on like that, and you'd better not ask cause you run the risk of thinking too many conclusions, and ending up alone at night with no tobacco to inspire.

lunes, 21 de febrero de 2005

Colocarse no es la respuesta

Pero ayuda, como el dinero. Ayuda a darte cuenta de que, una vez te colocas, el mundo sigue igual. Si tu vida es una mierda, seguirá siendo una mierda mañana. Si tu vida es genial, entonces es aún más genial. Y el objetivo de una vida debe ser este: poder colocarte, y sentirte todavía más feliz.

Getting high is not the answer. But it helps, like money. It helps you realise that, once you get high, the world remains the same. If your life is a shit, it is still a shit tomorrow. If your life is great, then it will be still greater. And the purpose of a life must be this one: to be able to get high, and feel even happier.

Light at the end of the tunnel

Again, I sit before the empty page.

The idea is simple: transaction cost economics + Lessig's version of the Chicago school of regulation + social constructivism.

The objective: still unknown.

I saw light at the end of the tunnel, but still don't know where the train is going.

domingo, 20 de febrero de 2005

Europe, Europe

Today we had the referendum in Spain to vote for or against the European Constitution (or just vote "blank") In Spain it was 76% YES and 17% NO. In Catalunya, it was 64% YES and 28% NO.

I guess it's quite a significant difference that those with a nationalistic spirit will like to stress. I'd rather think that my NO vote is not as socially marginal as I thought.

I don't really know whether I should feel satisfied. It's clear that, as usual, what I voted is not what finally won. I am getting used to that and, in a way, I am a bit fed up of loosing again. Because when over and over again your country votes different than what you thought was correct, you can't help thinking whether you do belong to that country.

Why is it that the most intellectually stimulating political option always looses? It would have been so much fun that the NO had won. Anyway, at least I realised something. I realised you can convince a lot of people to vote what you think is right.

For this referendum, I convinced my mom, her boyfriend and I guess maybe some of my friends and colleagues at work. At least I guess I helped them take a more informed decision.

Anyway, we said yes to the European Constitution. We said yes to a Europe where preventive war and death penalty are allowed under "special" circumstances. We are now free to demonstrate again when Bush decides to take over another country.

sábado, 19 de febrero de 2005


El significado de la vida es mirarte. Abrir la ventana y sentir el frío de la mañana. Y volver a la cama. Y cantarle al mundo que no te importa una mierda lo que pueda pasarle, y que no piensas trabajar nunca más en tu puta vida, y que vas a vivir sin molestar a nadie. ¿Te imaginas?

Buscar sólo la conversación a altas horas de la noche, junto a una botella de tequila Cazadores. O junto al azul o el marrón de tus ojos.

Sweet friday

Yes, Saturday was very sweet from 3pm. First, -m from work invited us to his place and offered us all kind of alcoholic delicatessen: a home-made bermout, then a 1984 Estola red wine, and to finish the right amount an 18 year-old Chivas on a glass with one ice cube -just one, it has to be like that, you know? I liked it when he said: "hey, you can have it with ice, i'll do, don't worry" Cause you know, some snobs claim good whisky has to be drank pure, ice is a crime because the water of the ice is so dirty.
Anyway, we spent more than four hours at -m's, filled with laughter, alcohol and even some guitar playing by... the fruitman! I was shy to play at the beggining, but ended up singing a bunch of songs (though I have to say my singing and playing ain't as goog as it used to be)

The night was a different story, a night in a bar with Landiman and Torjman and that blond (girl) friend of Landiman. I felt brilliant tonight, and said a bunch of witty sentences. Very witty and brilliant I was, yes I was. The blondie was shy, very shy, but (she rents a room at Landiman's) sure some weeks with Landiman will remove that veil from her soul.

Oh, and I got a job offer.

viernes, 18 de febrero de 2005

Very fast

Very fast, muy rápido, because my cigarrete is burning out and I have no more. I don't know what I was going to say anymore, but it was brilliant. Yes it was. Sorry, just think of it yourselves, you lazy readers!
I was re-reading The fruimtan chronicles (something I encourage you to do, that guy is good writer) and found a post about entropy: entropy, something which always increases and remains the same. As far as I am concerned, there's only one thing in my life which always remains the same or increases: the probability of dying.

jueves, 17 de febrero de 2005

Death of a Professor

This morning I learnt about the death of one of my Professors at LSE, Claudio Ciborra. Two years ago, Professor Ciborra taught us about an Institutional Economics perspective on Information Systems. He has a book, Teams, Markets and Systems, which I painfully read. It was one of the books that I've found harder to read in my life, even harder than Sakurai's Quantum Mechanics one. I guess it was then when I realised that social sciences can be far more complicated than "science".

I could spend hours with just three or four pages of the book, writing down schemas, underlining sentences and linking concepts in mind maps. I don't know if I ever got to understand anything, but his insights are still in my mind, somewhere, waiting to be re-thought and applied to some research I will have to write someday.

The first day of class, Professor Ciborra said he wouldn't use Power Point in his classes: he would do it the traditional way: voice and a piece of chalk and a blackboard. He taught us about the metaphore of the "Armani glasses", and urged us to read Ronald Coase's paper on The nature of the firm.

Really, that's not what I expected from an Information Systems class. But in the end, after months of work, it all made sense, and I understood what Professor Ciborra meant. And it makes me so sad to think that in the end, it all makes sense in life as well. Life is senseless.

miércoles, 16 de febrero de 2005


Listening to Brad Mehldau playing Moonriver I wonder once again what it must be like to be able to play the piano like that.

To know that you just need your hands and a piano to create a new piece of art each time you sit down to play. Like Moonriver. How many times have we heard it, and yet it seems a completely different story when Brad plays it.

What do people like Mr. Mehldau think when they play? Are they aware of the sounds going out of their hands? Or is it just an instinct, like breathing?

Sometimes, at my dad's, I look at my sister's piano and I can't help but pressing some keys, with the vane hope that maybe, I will be able to play a Chopin's Nocturne. Of course, it never happens, but maybe, who knows, someday... :)

martes, 15 de febrero de 2005

Six degrees

They say we're connected to anybody in this world by at most six degrees. 1 to 2, 2 to 3, 3 to 4, 4 to 5, 5 to 6, 6 to anybody. I already found a link between me and the mother queen of England (yes, you read well, the fucking mother queen of England) with only two connections. And now I forgot why I started all this six degrees shit.

Ok, this is it. Imagine you want to meet again that person you met once. You kissed, felt that thing called true love, and never saw each other again. Well, you start an email chain. If we are six steps from anybody, well sure it's faster in the digital world.

Soon, a girl will receive a chain email. And she will remember you. Or most probably, because by the time you start there will have been already tones of this sort of chain emails, your words will just go straight to the junk box. Spam detectors are fast and know no reasons.

Fuck, I really don't know why I wrote all this shit. Anyway, there it is. Sorry if you expected more inspiration from tonight.


Piotr once told me that he hates Chopin because it's so Polish. But then, Piotr is Polish himself.
After reading this post, I left this comment on it:
"fuck, really, this is the fucking novel. forget any other ideas: this is it. fuck, Nocturne op 23 by Chopin plays on my iTunes now... and it's so fucking beautiful."
I thought I will want to remember this later on. I thought I will want to drop by this post some months later, accidentally, and read it, and feel what I feel now. Because when you blog, your feelings are kept intactly at every post for you to grab them later on. That's the thing most people ignore about blogging.

I just hope I will never have to cry before the words of my blog someday, the way I cry now when I think of Berkeley. Or maybe I hope I will cry.

lunes, 14 de febrero de 2005

Evening with americans

When I lived in Berkeley, I once went to a concert by Brad Mehldau with Paul, an american from armenian descent, and Marisa, and american from cuban descent. Marisa drove us to the japanese restaurant/concert hall in Oakland, Yoshi's, where Brad was playing. It was an old Volkswagen Golf, one of those cars I thought didn't exist in America. Paul sat on the front, and spent all the way talking to Marisa in that very american way, I mean they don't know each other but soon they find something in common and talk like old friends, though never forgetting a sort of unpalpable distance.

I felt sort of out of the conversation, but after all I was being driven there, and the talk was very entertaining. It's curious how well I remember that when we got there Marisa had no money to buy the ticket (Paul and I had bought the ticket days before, but she joined the very same hour before the concert) and withdrew some from an ATM nearby. It's stupid, I know, but I remember it so clearly. And I can see her now, that beautiful long, curly, black hair, just washed an hour ago, matching her eyes so naturally and yet so perfectly. I thought Paul was in love with her.

The rest of the evening I do not remember so well Marisa. But I do know we ordered sushi, and ate it while listening to Brad. The concert hall was in a semi-circle, attached to what you would call the proper japanese restaurant, a long, squared espace. We were sitting on high chairs, high table by us, on a high plattform surrounding the first class area, stuffed with elegant and comfortable sofas and tables with candle lights.

We ate the sushi and I had to end up eating it with my hands. Brad played for quite a short time, hardly 45 minutes, though later I learnt that he rarely plays long concerts. Paul is more of a Keith Jarret type, but he approved of Brad. I do not remember what Marisa thought of the concert.

We came back, and probably I smoked a cigarrete before the residence hall, and then aimed myself at my room, laid on bed and smiled. I wonder what would I write about the evening if tomorrow, because of some strange but sweet magic, I found myself again in Berkeley, met Paul and Marisa down Bancroft and, without crossing a word of surprise, the three of us headed to Yoshi's to listen to Brad Mehldau. On an old Volkswagen Golf, one of those cars I thought didn't exist in America.

Brad Mehldau

I'm listening to Exit Music (for a film) by Brad Mehldau. Please, please... if you don't have it download it and listen to it right now. It's the best advice I can give you today.

Million Dollar Baby

I started writing some bullshit about the nature of the firm and Ronald Coase and its relationship to digital goods. Then I looked into myself and said: what the hell am I doing? And so I closed Microsoft Word and connected to Blogger.

Today I watched Million Dollar Baby, by Clint Eastwood. As usual (just look at this) I got out of the cinema pretty unsatisfied. As usual, I thought the movie was OK but that something was lacking. I talked to croissant and torjman, and little by little, through a converstation in which I said really stupid things (I admitted the stupidity instantly, that said) I started to appreciate more and more elements of the movie, and in the end I was convinced it was quite a great movie.

Million Dollar Baby is about believing in something and wanting to get it. Is it possible? Is it worth it? That's the problem of my life. Not whether I will be committed to getting what I want or not, but whether I know what I want to achieve at all. I do not, I talked about it here on other posts. But I should be able to frame the problem differently, for this is the only way knowledge increases. Same problem, different frames.

So here's the problem: the more I think, the older I get and the less I know. The older I get, the more problems I have, and so the less I am able to decide. I suppose that's the lesson my father tried to teach me once, but I didn't get it (probably he didn't insist too much, or thought I was too clever: quite a problem too, when people think you're smart and you sort of believe it)

It's obvious that I haven't overcome the power of my parents over me. Somehow, I have always thought they were the ones to blame... but to blame for what? I sure cannot blame them for not knowing what to do. I could blame them for not allowing me to do it... but did I ever know what I wanted?

When you read this self-help manuals they usually ask you to focus on what you are better at, just focus on that and forget every external pressure... just think of your dreamed life. But they never tell you how to decide which one is your dreamt life.

One of my relatives has gone literally insane (and I'm not joking here, he's been in hospital) simply because he has realised he doesn't like to work. It's not what job, it's that the guy just doesn't like working. And nowadays, man, if you don't like to work, you're fucked. That's why we start working ever since we are kids. We are trained toughly, but alas, tough ain't enough, as Clint says to Maggie. Like my relative, some people just can't stand the idea of a job, and thus they go crazy.

It's curious how our society is organised such that my relative will have to go crazy. And if you mix that with the thought that you're so snob think about these things when there are people who die cause they can't eat you have it. Nuts, absurd, a vegetable, a machine with a brain to torture it.

Maybe I am like my relative, just that I'm too coward to go crazy (or too smart:)
I suppose art or friendship or a good meal or the look of a girl can still make me thrive sometimes. Even if the thrill comes with more and more days of tedium in between, I still do believe there's something out there, somewhere, to fill me (not the kind of "filling" you might be thinking of, you dirty minds).

Fuck, the post is long. It's common when I use blogging as a threapy. Sometimes you need to empty your mind, and hope that of all the dirty water that goes out, you might be able to calm your thirst with some of it. You expect the answer to come out, and so you write and write because the answer doesn't show up, but you wanna let the answer take its time.

It doesn't show up, you see. You're left with words, your soul maybe a little less painful. But after all more words. Ronald Coase wrote The nature of the firm and 40 years later got his Nobel prize for it. Clint Eastwood made Unforgiven happen. My friend got his PhD. And so what? I blog, and wait. Eventually. Make it an eventually with whisky, waiter. Million Dollar Baby is the title of this post. Did you know what you were doing, Maggie?

domingo, 13 de febrero de 2005

Being high and writing

A girl friend told me the other day: "it's good that now you write without being high". To what I replied: "my dear, it's not that I don't write high anymore, but that you and me have gotten used to it".

And I was probably right, as usual :) Did you notice a substantial change in style? Have you little by little, seamlessly adapted to it with me? I don't even know if there's been a change. For I re-read my blog and I find essentially the same old stuff.
I don't write literature anymore, that's true, but I think I stopped that when I started to blog seriously. My only "literature" is now this blog that I write without much attention to quality or message or sense of wholeness, but one thing is sure: I never wrote as much as I do now, and never did more people read me.

So which one is better? I do know: both of them. For blogging can only be a complement, but a necessary one, one that has to be in every one of my possible lifes, including the life of a professional writer. Writing until 6pm, blogging from 11pm. What do you think?

Another curious thing through this months of blogging has been the movements around my reader base. At the begging, it was only joaquin and choche, then some more friends, and suddenly an unexpected growth of readers foreing to my vital circle. Some co-workers started reading, some friends abandoned, others came back, but little by little, I got my own, stable reader's base.

Curiously, I significantly stopped having new readers when I stopped looking for more blogs to read, because now I have my ten favourite blogs and I hardly look for new ones to read. Most of them read me too. They are part of my vital circle, my readers, my writers.

Reading around

"Everyone should have a pair of giant chopsticks, to forget their troubles and giggle endlessly" (by bent)

I'm getting them tomorrow.

sábado, 12 de febrero de 2005

Geekin' around

I spent my saturday evening installing a thing called "PHP Nuke". It's a content management system, in other words, a software that allows you to manage a lot of content in an easy way, such as blogger or livejournal for blogs, but a little more complex and thus with more options.
After dinner, I spent 30 minutes looking for a php nuke manual, without any success. And you know, 30 minutes (in internet time) to find a manual to anything is a lot of time. So I gave up, and started messing with php nuke all by myself. I sort of got how it works, though I lack the overall philosophy of the thing. I guess that's how many things (specially the geeky ones) work on the internet. This is something that my dad cannot understand, and I guess that as I grow old, it annoys me more and more... How the hell you develop something as great as php nuke, with millions and millios of users, and then you don't bother to create a manual that starts from the fundamentals? My god, it took me so long to figure out how to change the content of a php nuke generated homepage!
OK, enough of geeky stuff for the rest of the month.

Reading my blog

On the 8th of September, a comment was left bybonapster: ""I always use to think that all the decisions I make are the correct ones. Maybe it is not true, but it helps me so much!"
Bonapster is a practical man.

viernes, 11 de febrero de 2005

Xin nian kuai le, wan shi ru yi

"Happy new year, may you have your heart's desire."
That's how the chinese wish each other happy new year. It must be admitted that they're far more poetic than westerners.
(oo, I realise now than when I first read it, I understood "may you have my heart's desire"... maybe the chinese are not that poetic, but selfishly pragmatical, a good way to be realistic)
*thanks to Bent for describing this wonderful yu sheng (at least i can read about it)

Ktur writes nice sentences

A quote from Ktur:
"La alegría aquí, en el espacio del texto, no es más que una confusión de los sentidos."

"Happiness here, in the space of the text, is but a confusion of our senses"
Ktur is a wise man sometimes.

A Satisfied man, by Johnny Cash

I'm listening to A Satisfied Mind by Johnny Cash, from the OST of Kill Bill volume 2. Tarantino's taste is perfect for nights when you don't know what to listen to.

But that's not what I wanted to say: I wanted to say that the lyrics of that song are not particularly brilliant, but the way they're sung makes them brilliant. When Camaron de la Isla died, Paco de Lucía was asked by a random, stupid journalist why the songs of Camaron had little social connotations, given that he was a gipsy and lived quite a hard life. Paco de Lucía replied: "well, the social connotations are not to be found in the lyrics, but in the way Camaron sung them".

jueves, 10 de febrero de 2005

Emir Kusturika

I just watched his latest movie, Life is a miracle. It's a story about love, war, friendship and chaos. It's filled with impressive images and an endless soundtrack of violins and gipsies. And there's also this girl, Sabaha, who stole both my heart and Torjman's. We went out of the cinema and he was enthusiastic... as usual, I was rather inclined to think it was just an ok movie, and too long. But the true reason of my dissapointment was that I hated the movie not because it was not good, but because it put before my eyes a passionate relationship between a decadent man and the best of a woman in one woman: Sabaha... and I miss that kind of passion too much. And I smoke, and I write, and I try to forget that tonight I saw true love, and I couldn't like it.

martes, 8 de febrero de 2005

Randomly random

Humpty Dumpty sat on a tree...

1) I showed my mom how eMule works. She asked "where does the stuff you click on go?" It was a smart question, providing she has never download a file in her life. You search, you click, and what? Well mom, there's this thing called mp3 file and this other thing called iTunes... you can use it to play mp3 files and, eventually, burn a CD that you can use on the stereo in the living room. Ah, a CD. I see.

2) I read Diari d'un professor a New York (in Spanish) and was so touched by his words that I stopped playing Marlango on iTunes. Fuck stupid Leonor Walting! (well, actually I wish I fucked her :) )

And so that's about it... good night, my dears.

I love you 20q

I thought of this concept: "question mark". Then I played**, see if it could guess the concept i had thought of. At question 20, 20q guessed it was "zero". I said "no". Then 20q guessed it was "photon". I said no. After 5 more questions, 20q got it right: "question mark". Many things are remarkable here, but I do remark the following:
1) I declare that a new activity has been born: if google brought with it the verb "to google (something)", now 20q will institutionalize the verb "to 20q (something)"
2) if you start 20qing, then you will find marvellous connections between words and concepts, such as the one I just found: "zero" and "photon" have many things in common, so many that after asking 20 questions you are unable to decide for one or the other,... even more, you decide first for "zero" and then... only then you say "photon" .... which all together means that "photon" is too much of an unreliable concept... you die, you arrogant physicists, you belong to the past century!
3) five questions, yes 5, only five, are enough to go from "photon" to "question mark"... man, I was right, you physicist are gonna have a hard time... tough, I say, really tough.
** (ed. note: the author didn't link (or splink, as joaquin would rather have it) so that it wouldn't appear as a hypertext link on the screen. That way, the author, anthropocentric as he is, wanted to "personify", so that it would appear to the readers closer to a human will tears and laughs than to a webpage with titles and hyperlinks. bless you, 20q.

lunes, 7 de febrero de 2005

Rain bow

It's raining. Outside the window, I can see the rainbow while I solve some problems with the web I work for. I think that rainbow is such a poetic name. The bow of the rain. So simple, so beautiful.

Guess it!

Think of an object. Go to Start the game. In 20 questions, the computer will guess the object you were thinking of. Wonders of artificial intelligence (though I thought of Marilyn Monroe and the computer could only guess Superman...)

domingo, 6 de febrero de 2005

Deep house, downtempo, fuzed jazz

So here you have me, listening to deep house, downtempo, fuzed jazz. I know practically nothing about electronic music in general, but it's some time I feel a sort of curiosity about it. I started plainly refusing it, but over the years it seems I am getting to accept it better, specially since I smoke pot and I watch a lot of digital video stuff.
I think electronic music also attracts me because it's something that didn't really exist before I was born. If you think about it, everything we do or like sort of existed before we were born, it was born, it belongs, to a different era. Cinema, jazz, blues, Capote, Salinger or Schroedinger, they all existed before the day you saw light for the first time.
Fuck, my arm hurts again, and I write with difficulty. I thought the pot will help ease the pain, but somehow it makes me concentrate on it.

sábado, 5 de febrero de 2005


Friday night. Again, I decided to welcome Saturday awake. Again, I didn't want to end the day even though I was so sleepy.
And I downloaded some Manu Chao songs. Me gustás tú, qué voy a hacer, je suis perdu. I had to have quite a lot of grass to keep on doing nothing but enjoying, like a rabbit lost on the big green fields.

jueves, 3 de febrero de 2005

Win Win (not a Chinese name)

Last night I wrote this:
"As some of you already know, last friday I decided to jump off the train while it was leaving the station, and thus consequently suffered quite a dramatic fall. At the beggining, it seemed like I broke my left arm and leg, but finally I stood up and here you have me: no injuries left, except for a deep pain next to my balls and a hand that hurts when I type too fast. The Fruitman survived his own stupidity, a remarkable step in each big (fruit)man's life.
PS In case you're wondering: there was no attempt to suicide behind my jump: quite ordinarily, it was just that I missed my station, and so I jumped to avoid getting off the train as a sane man, but a hundred miles away from my original destination...
PS There's a lot of philosphy about life in between this inocent written lines of text... "

Landiman replied with this:
There is lots of philosophy in all your writings. So, I guess the lesson of today is that no matter if you choose the wrong way, you can always jump off the train and the worries of having injuries fade, being just littel pains. Or it could be: better to jump in the station you know than going to the unknown paradise. Or better to jump knowing that you are going to fall, than being betrayed by the conductor of the train, after chasing you smoking hiden in the laydies toilet. Ouh, I see, you wanted us to jump alltogether from your train to end alone, enjoying your cigarrete in the driver cabitet and to toot one's horn. Bad friend."

And I re-replied this:
"actually, i didn't mean to go so deep, i guess... i see two main philosophical attemps on my post:
1) to survive to one's own stupidity is an important step forward
2) sometimes the rational way does not lead to the originally wanted end: ok, i don't jump so i don't hurt myself, yes, it is all so rational, cause you don't wanna kill yourself jumping off a running train... but fuck! that was not the point: the point, the original one, was TO GET TO WHERE YOU WERE GOING .... so ok, you won't get where you wanted just cause you are afraid of getting hurted? you just didn't get there because you were afraid of jumping before you miss your GOAL? i think i prefer the one that is able to overcome his fears, and jump off to grab his originally wanted goal..."

Net result: I win, you win.

miércoles, 2 de febrero de 2005

The smole of life

I write this some hours after learning that, starting from tomorrow (well, today), it is not allowed to smoke at any parts of a train (including the cafereria) in Spain. For those of you who live in America, this might not seem very remarkable. But in Spain, the land of vice and happiness, it is a big thing.
The way I see it right now (the green smoke already feeding my brain) there are two ways of approaching life. On LIFE A, people don't smoke. On LIFE B, people do smoke. Which one is better? Well, this is harder than deciding between McDonald's or Burger King (you know what I mean, jojo).
Again, I feel too tired to reason for and against A and B, so I retire to bed. Good night, I wish I could hug you all a little bit (including you, choche) before falling asleep.
PS This post was constructed such that, at least, jojo and choche leave a comment.

martes, 1 de febrero de 2005


I am very proud of my last post. Just for that reason, it was well worth it jumping...

It wasn't all that bad

As some of you already know, last friday I decided to jump off the train while it was leaving the station, and thus consequently suffered quite a dramatic fall. At the beggining, it seemed like I broke my left arm and leg, but finally I stood up and here you have me: no injuries left, except for a deep pain next to my balls and a hand that hurts when I type too fast. The Fruitman survived his own stupidity, a remarkable step in each big (fruit)man's life.
PS In case you're wondering: there was no attempt to suicide behind my jump: quite ordinarily, it was just that I missed my station, and so I jumped to avoid getting off the train as a sane man, but a hundred miles away from my original destination...
PS There's a lot of philosphy about life in between this inocent written lines of text...