Happy birthday!

Congratulations to myself! I am currently completing my 34 years of life.

I don't feel anything more nor less for this, because it is a Monday and soon I'll be stamping notes as usual, but that's okay, on Saturday and Sunday I could enjoy a bit of this my new year. I bought my electronic trinkets, my electronic scale, my wireless phone, etc.., and all are working, including this keyboard I'm using now, with ergonomically and softly curved keys. And, of course, I ate my eighteen pieces of pizza in a buffet that I was to not waste the opportunity. There was a little girl sitting at the table next to mine, and she should have eaten more than eighteen pieces, but that's okay, I gladly accepted my defeat by this girl.

It's a new year. In hindsight, I think a birthday and pass a reveilon are  things very similar, because it mean a change of date. Of course it are artificial timeframes that are more sentimental and marketing goals which properly utilities. But these dates may be significant in terms that, if we are really conscious of them, we can make a kind of balance, and propose changes, etc.., but I already do this all the time. One thing is certain: 34 years is no small thing.

This blog is still going strong. I thought that a homepage is a good thing, but until I don't do a better job, go ahead with this blog. My question is: how to pronounce blog?

On the one hand, I see the populace, including the TV, just pronouce something like blog, as one who pronounces "block", but I prefer to pronounce something more americanized, something like beelog, or b-log, where the letter b means something that does not know, but the log is simply a log, a record as many others who have in our hds, made ​​by anti-virus programs, by Windows, etc.. and that is obtained before the log, whatever that means, perhaps business, maybe something else, but it should be pronounced as a  English letter b, or bee. Therefore, it is not blog (like block), but b-log (like beelog).

But this question is not really a question. There are other questions.
I took my handheld, a sort of manual agenda, but with almost the power of a PC 386, a gadget I bought, but I used only a few times, to re-use it. And by chance I saw there were reminders that I noted a few months ago and even not remember anymore. I read and saw that they were things I had noted to be made one day, and really deserve to be made​​. That is the question: if I want to do all the things I like to do ...

You know what? I'll save this blog ...

Being saved this blog, go ahead. I think that b on blog mean bersonal... personal ...

Funny like writing is different than speaking and acting. I know I'm a dull and I do not know if it would be a good actor, and I do not know if it would be a good speaker, or jokester, but I like to write, and writing, I can write funny things with ease. The humor by words is possible.

 

But not all are like that. A famous guy for his humor, Steve Martin, can be funny on tv, acting, can be a good joke-teller, as in the Oscar ceremonies, but writing he is a shame. I read an excerpt from an article from him long ago, but I was disappointed. What's more, there are national jerks who write books and publish in the newspaper strips, such as Millor, and others, who are guys personally without any grace. It is curious how humor can flow in different ways by different media.

but now we need to stop talking about it.
This blog is left to the flies. Where is the UOL' moderator to put a link to this bi-log on the main page of UOL? I need to get some page views like a gift in this my birthday! Come on, moderator, be a fellow guy and do this favor for this birthday boy and good paying customer here, which contemplate you with seven years of canine fidelity in a world where pop up free portal servers. Where's my gift once in a lifetime? Sure, I received an email sent by some artificial software that seeks birth dates on databases of UOL customers and sends a few  friendly words, but this was only it. Even the Submarino site also sent me another, and how good they are in business, know that a birthday client usually has a kind of ...

First, I need to save this blog again ... after, I speak about compulsion ...

Continuing,  they, from Submarino, know that birthday clients have a compulsion to indulge themselves in the days of their birthdays and buing things more impulsively, then, slyly, cleverly, unkindly, roughly, to summarize, they, from Submarino, sent me an email of congratulations and invite me through a link, to go shopping on that date so beautiful.

Speaking about these questions, UOL is a word in Portuguese language that requires an 'a' or an 'o' before, to identify the genre? UOL's, UOL website, the provider, the portal, or UOL is the page, the filth, the Leaf? This also does not deserve the importance ...

I tried, but I failed. This message exceeded the character limit allowed by UOL. So, this text follows in a another next message...

Oh, how it is hateful ...

Staying alive...

Still alive, dispite of all, and writing, and working as an asshole, fucking other people's lives, and mine too, but all within the expected and planned. It is to be like this, anyway.

Soon I will complete my 34 years. This is good and bad. Everything is a question of point of view. But I have not seen the good side of it. By the way, I've been buying a few trinkets to present me, because buying is good for the ego, increases the amount of dopamine in the brain and keeps me happy, except for the damn new keyboard plug PS2 that I bought, which has no place to fit. Otherwise, the wireless mouse is good and the expensive wireless phone, looks like, will be good too, if it come to work. I think everything is going well. All wireless ...

My brother walked in fabulous mental trips. I was exchanging some ideas with him and decided to myself, with or without consent, but definitely without his knowledge, he, from this hour ago, will be my virtual partner, for whatever comes ahead. I need a parallel mind that my self mind flows better.

I've been buying cool books. One about estereophotography and other about emerging synergy. It was all very crazy. I think within a few weeks after I put the damn Money in order, I will be able to begin to put my hands in my crazy projects. And there are so many!

Zappa keeps rolling: I'm listening to "you are waht you is"... this cd is perfect.

This, if I'm still alive ... meanwhile, stay everybody in "stand by" ...

 

I know that nobody reads this blog ...

... but nevertheless, I insist.

I've been working hard. I have not done anything useful for me, except I'm not spending a lot and my house is clean and the clothes, all washed and ironed, except a few. I slept a lot and taken medicine for dizziness, allergies, vitamins and ointment for bacteria. I tried to read, but I can not fix anything. Anything.

I have taken a look at some things on the web. I probed Looking Glass from Sun, and today I lost a lot of time downloading wallpapers of planes and textures to work in design softwares. I'll work on my wallpapers. I have heard Zappa, and Dirty Sleep is good, so jazz.

Moreover, all is more or less okay, but I'm working too hard. I stamp thousands of invoices, open boxes, count goods and take a bus to and fro. This accomplishes nothing, except that it makes me feel useful and productive. I think I may change my own reputation for myself, going to see me less as a vagabond and more like a serious man. I'm almost 34 years and not know if I'm still a man mature and responsible as I think men should be. I know I'm lazy and I think everyone at my work thinks I'm a "Sao Paulo's tramp." But what hurts most are my dark circles. If only it was like Benicio Del Toro, purple and flat ...

Ah, my damn dark circles which denounce me as a bum ...

Strange nostalgia

First of all, I mean I think horrible writing this blog. The way we edited the text is weird. I do not like to have a fixed time to save what I write or have a limit to my texts. In fact, if I only knew how many letters is the maximum size allowed, it would be a good thing, but do not know. This blog requires me to write fast, wrong and, worse, forces me to write so gross and ugly. This has to change. I do not want limits or deadlines. Otherwise, go ahead.

Today I was at Anápolis, a city in Brazil where I lived for eight long and bitter years. I hate seeing the word "Anápolis" printed in any place whatever.

I was there today. It was not so bad. I talked to a stranger woman who works at a company where I worked seven years ago, when it, the company, was still in its infancy. I felt a strange nostalgia for a time that I had any illusion, while it had no real hope. But fate is so interesting! Of my illusions, there's nothing left, and of the lack of real hope, a unexpectedly exit came out of that tomb in which I lived for five years. A tomb of five floors, cement and glass, in a forgotten corner at night, and full of amorphous and fleeting faces during the day. Fate took me out of my Anápolis' grave, and put me in another, where nowI live, in Goiânia, Brazil. It makes little difference. Simply I vegetate differently.

I'm listening to Creed, but I was listening to Linkin Park, Hybrid Theory, a CD that I bought almost a year ago, and it was still with the protective plastic from the store. I never cared to hear it before. I just felt a compulsion to buy it, the original, then I bought a version of it, pirate, and my friend stole it from me, still on the table from a bar, before I had time to hear it. I bought the pirate CD from a ambulant salesman who sold their crap from table to table, and went to the bathroom. When I returned, the CD was missing. My friend, who was half drunk, like CD and hid it, and I was pissed, cursed God and the world, and he, my friend, cursed together, but was quiet and kept the CD. Then I was at the mall and bought the original CD, I paid five times more expensive in the store and put together with my other CDs too, next to my computer, and he stood there, unheard yet. No, it was the only one who I bought and still have not heard. There's another Linkin Park, Meteora, this, yes, pirate, who has not yet been heard. But that's nothing.

I know that, in a sense, I am a compulsive buyer of certain things that please me. Not that I lose interest. It is something like: I'm going to buy now when I can and when I want I will really use it. It is actually a sort of poor man's pulse. Something like a squirrel, which gathers acorns to eat in winter. Basically, I do not think I will have another opportunity. My fear is not to find what I seek in the future, but do not have the money to buy what I want to come to. Not that I care about losing the product, because I know there will always be products to be purchased. Maybe in ten years I did not find the CD of Linkin Park, but there are other good bands with their CDs for purchase. The issue is not that. What I do not want is to lose the opportunity to spend my money so enjoyable now that I have something good in the hand. It's like a poor man who has to sell lunch to buy dinner. I like this example. I have to take the chance to spend my money right now because I do not know if I'll have money tomorrow. This means an obvious psychological problems.

It's hard to say this, but I think I have a good relationship with money, but this is subject for another story. The truth at the moment is that I was right to leave Anápolis, I was right to leave the small company where I liked to work, and that was the only illusion that I had. The only official who left from the time I worked there is the boss today. He, this big shot, my friend, is a nice guy, and I know that he, or I, we would, sooner or later, one of the two, but not both at the same time, the head of this company, because we gave the blood for it. In the end, I was right: he got there.

On the other hand, now I earn double what he earns. Who won? But fuck it, who won, who lost. Perhaps the fight has not even started for us.

One thing is certain: for the Mirages in Anápolis Air Force Base, the end arrived: an old unity of them, an old monster, pointy beak, gray and with delta wings, is now serving as a toilet for the pigeons in one of the main squares of the city . A sad end to one of those birds. And imagine that were the glory of the national aviation. To think that arrogant pilots felt like Top Guns when they climbed, playing war games and then descended from one of them! How much vanity!

Yes, I felt a strange nostalgia ...

I hate this blog

I hate ... I just hate this damn blog. No...

I hate Universo Online ... Blame it on UOL...

No. .. I hate all web designers, responsible for creating, configuring, and maintaining this blog. Dude, if you are responsible for this blog, if I put my hands on you, I butcher you!

I'm just angry!!

I spend twenty minutes writing a text for this shit, I put my heart in this shit, I think beautiful words and everything, and when you click on this button crap "save and publish", I lose everything.

Go to hell! I have already entered the fucking password. Why should I lose everything just because it's been ten minutes since I entered? Why chickenshit who created this blog will not let me write in peace? I lost everything: the story of the vicious circles, the story of the wonderful comments received, the story of my dogs and my cats, in other words, I lost everything.

But for the asshole of the UOL, which created it, no matter: the ten minutes passed, you must login again. Security. The world has a hacker on every corner nowadays. Paranoid asshole. And where is my lost texts? Fuck her hackers. I want my text back.

For these and others that one day I will have to change provider. No, I will not leave the UOL. He is going to abandon me. One day, without warning, everything will be closed. The bankruptcy awaits them,  incompetent! And will be fair!

 

Go to hell...