Microstory

He was different from any man that had ever been here. His black suit was clean and his shirt, ironed. Since the moment he opened the door, he acted like a real gentleman: he helped and old man with a cane to stand up. And when he asked for a beer he said please and thank you. Because of that, I found inopportune to mention his horrible stench. The smell of cemetery had impregnated in his clothes. Now he was at my bar, drinking a beer without brand, the connection was obvious.

The sunset

As I searched between the letters of my, before, loved one, I remembered those times, when together, we watched the sunset.

[We were young and we had plenty of time to expend, so we did not care wasting a few minutes holding hands, watching the sun setting below the horizon.
Everyday I took my bicycle and rode to her house, I knocked the door and when she opened I gave her the flowers I had picked on the way. Then she smiled, hugged me and kissed me, I told her to get on the back of my bike, and we left. We always went to the same spot, a perfect place we had found the day we met, it was next to the sea, and it had a great sight for when we wanted to watch the sunset.]

-Which one is it?- I asked myself while I read another letter that wasn't the one I was looking for.

[That day we went to the same spot as always. We knew it was going to be the last time we would be there, and so we stayed longer than ever. She was leaving, and didn't know when was coming back. I completely understood her, she needed to leave to fulfill her dreams of becoming an actress. The town wasn't big enough, and there was no theatre, so there were no hopes for her to succeed.
I was there when she left, she put her suitcases in the trunk of her dad's car, came to me, and kissed me in the lips as she had never kissed me before. She entered the car and left. When the car was not visible anymore, I started to cry, I took my bike and rode home. In my way I couldn't stop thinking about her and all the things that were not going to be the same: no more holding hands, no more kisses, no more sunsets, no more her.
I entered my house and went to sleep.
A few hours later I woke up feeling a little better, I took a paper and a pen, and began to write. That was going to be the first letter I would send to her, so I wanted not to show sadness, I didn't want her to feel guilty for leaving me, so it took me a couple of hours to know the letter was finished. I was going to send it the next day, so she wouldn't get the letter as soon as she'd enter her new house. I didn't want to look desperate.]

All those memories made me cry, although I couldn't remember exactly how it had ended

[The months passed and each week I had a new letter from her. She was so happy, she had entered a theatre school, and she was very enthusiastic. Her happiness, made me happy, but I still missed her.
I don't remember the exact date, but one day I met a girl from my school at my way home, and we started to talk. She was nice and pretty, I liked her. One day I asked her if she wanted to come with me to a special place. She accepted, and we left to the perfect spot. We watched the sunset and when we were going, she got close to me and kissed me. I hugged her and kissed her again. That was the first time.
I couldn't avoid the fact that I had kissed that girl. Somehow I felt guilty and in the next letter, I told her. ]

I still searched for her last letter, where she had told me I wasn't going to receive anymore letters from her. Even when I tried to remember the exact words she had used, the idea of her, saying goodbye, was clear in my mind.

[A few days after I got her response, she told me she was happy for me, and that it was the best thing it could had happened.
We continued sending letters to each other, she told me she was sad because she was not very good as an actress, but that she was going to try harder. I didn't told her what I though, but I knew it was because I had met another girl.
I met the girl almost every day, as I had done before with her. Almost the same routine as well, we watched the sunset, we laughed and kissed. It might had being monotonous, but it was great.
One night I wrote her a letter where I told her how much I missed her although I had a new girlfriend.]

-This is it- I though. -The letter I was looking for, was in my hand- I opened it and read it, but there was something wrong, the date was the same, but it wasn't as I remembered:

Dear Andrew:

I know you must fell odd, I hadn't met anyone here, but I can tell you, that those feelings you have are right. I had been with you for a long time, so it's hard to accept the truth.
I'm truly very happy for you ^^

Anna.

Not only she didn't seem very angry, as I remembered, but also she hadn't said goodbye. Something was wrong. I looked at the table where all the letters were scattered around and I realized: there was another one I hadn't seen. I took it and for my surprise, the envelope hadn't been opened. I turned it and read the only phrase that had been written by her "The last letter you will receive from me". When I read it, I remembered

[One day I received a letter from her, and when I was going to open it, I realized there was something else written in the envelope besides my address, her's, and all the other regulatory stuff from the post office. Just a phrase she had written, and when I read it, I knew it was over.]

Five years had passed since then, so I though it was time to know what she had written in the letter. I opened the envelope took the letter and read it:

Dear Andrew:

What is a really sad news for me, it might be of your linking. Do you remember I told you I wasn't good as an actress, but that I was going to try harder? Well it seems my professors though the same and so they told me I had to leave the school. Why are them good news for you then? well, somehow they are good for me as well, I believe. I'm going back! ^^
I can't wait to see you again, I know you have another girl now, but I will really like to meet you both, I wish she and I can be friends, wouldn't that be great?
I will be waiting for you (both of you, if possible) at our special spot, I hope you are not angry with me or anything, I want us to keep being friends.

Anna.

I couldn't believe what I read, I had been wrong, she came back and I didn't know.

[Her letter had broken my heart, she didn't want to write to me anymore. But I still loved her, I took the letter and saved them with the rest. I had been waiting for her answer, so I could write her back and tell her I was going to move a few blocks away from my house. To a bigger one, prettier and without my parents, but now, it was not possible.
Sofia came to my house, asked me why I hadn't gone to her's like I had always done. I explained the problem to her, and she seemed sad. -I knew you loved her, but now I realized how much- she told me. -We can't be together, is not right- she said and left.]

If I would have opened her letter nothing of that would have happened, I would have met her in our spot, she would have met Sofia and maybe they would have become friends.
And even without opening the letter, if I would have gone to Sofia's house and then to watch the sunset with her, I would have met Anna as well.
I went outside, took my bike and drove to her house, in the way I stopped to pick up some flowers, I hesitated and decided not to take any. When I got to Anna's house, I knocked the door I waited, she opened the door and stared at me for a while, then she invited me to came in. We went to the livingroom, she told me to sit in a chair, and went to the kitchen, she came back with a cup of coffee for me, and asked me how I had been. I explained her what had happened and asked her if we could be together again, as I hadn't stopped thinking about her. She told me she needed time to think,and went to her room.

And so now, I wait. I wait for her response, I watch the clock hanged in the wall: five minutes have passed. I drink more coffee and wait. I imagine all her possible answers, I try to prepare myself for her response. According to the clock: twenty-five minutes have passed. I drink my coffee and go to her room, it had been too long already. I knock the door and without getting any response, I open it, the room is empty. I look around and find an opened window, I take a look outside but there is no sign of her. I look at her bed and I find a letter, I take it, and start reading it:

Andrew

You made me a question and I promise you will get your so awaited response in five years.

Anna.

I leave her house, look around and don't find her. I take my bicycle and ride to the special spot, she's not there. I watch the sunset and leave, without knowing if I will see her again.

The landscape

Long ago lived a man who had made of painting his profession. He painted the most beautiful pieces of art of the whole village. Many men and women were in search of his wisdom, but every time they presented to him, he rejected them. He did not want any wards, as he knew, he was not a very good teacher.
Anyone who was able to afford one of his paintings could take it, he loved each one of his works, but he also thought that the art was something that had to be shared. It was unfair to keep all his beautiful paintings for himself and so he gave them away. But because he needed the money he had no other choice than to sell them.

One night he had a dream. He dreamt about an incredible landscape he had never seen. The colours had been perfectly chosen, everything was perfect. He was astonished.
He woke up and opened his eyes, he looked everywhere trying to see the landscape that had amazed him. It was useless, he was awake.
He took his paints and tried to emulate what he had seen in his dream. His hand did not move, he was not sure from where to start painting. In fact he tried hard to remember the place, but he could not. Disappointed, he went back to his bed, laid in the mattress and waited. He would soon fall sleep and would dream once again.
The colours again, gained his enthusiasm. In his dream everything was quiet. He searched for his paints and his canvas to paint the wonderful place where he was, but with no effect. He was still dreaming, how was he going to paint?
He opened his eyes an rushed to the table where he had left his paints, took his brush and stopped. The image of his dream had faded as soon as he had opened his eyes.

Many nights passed and in every one of them he dreamt about the landscape. He realized that trying to paint what he saw in his dreams was completely useless. And so he went to the library, between all those shelves had to be a book that mentioned the place he had been in his sleep. Or so he though, but he was wrong. The place did not exist, not away from his dreams at least.
He spent many hours trying to find a solution to his problem. He tried not to open his eyes after waking up, but he could not, it was a normal reaction for him. And he also tried covering his eyes at night but that way he could not sleep.
He was desperate, he wanted everyone to be able to know such marvellous indescribable landscape. And so he decided that the only way possible for him to paint what he saw in his dreams was not to be distracted with the colours of the real life. One night before going to bed, he took some of his paints and threw them in his eyes. He got blind, and went to sleep.
At the next morning he woke up, opened his eyes but saw nothing. And so the image of his dream did not fade. He walked towards his desk where he had left his paints and his canvas, and started to paint what he had dreamt. He spent many hours until he knew he had finished. He woke up his wife and showed her his work. In a rush he explained what he had done the other night. His wife cried without taking a look to his work and hugged him. She asked him how he could have done that, but he did not answered. Once again he showed the painting to his wife and she got speechless. She saw the colours, the peace of the landscape and how perfectly everything had been painted. She was amazed for a place she had never seen. She took the painting and carried it outside. The beauty of the painting amazed everyone in the village, no one could believe the greatness of the landscape or the painter.
The years passed and the painting was joined by many other. They were spread across the land so everyone could see them.

One night, after many decades, the painter died. His wife and all the men and women of the village cried his death. But they knew that the painter could not have died more perfectly. He was obviously dreaming with another marvellous place, and when he died and went to heaven he did not noticed. In his dreams he had seen the heaven and so he had painted it. So when he stopped dreaming about there and started being there he did not know.

The writer

Almost all my stories are not made by me, they are made for me. I don't create them, is not to fair to say otherwise, I'm just an interpreter. If a story is not written as it should it's only my fault, the ideas appear before me, is my job to explain them as best as I can. But sometimes, when I read what I write, the words feel empty, part of the meaning of them is lost, and again, Unconscious reminds me how the story should be, so I just erase part of my progress and try to make it again.
And even sometimes, Unconscious gets involved with my writing: -run- he says, and I write what he has whispered. It shouldn't be like that, he's stealing my job, he is trying to get rid of me. I just wonder how much long is going to take him to be able to write in his own, no hand, no writer, no ink, just words no where to be written, the stories intact and no one misspelling them.

The end

What am I going to do? Well I don't think it's very important in this situation. The thing you should care more of, is why we ended here, how this happened. Because as we both know this is just a consequence of a long list of causes.
Do you even remember how it started? Cause I do, I believe there was some kind of force that put us together. We didn't have anything in common, but your interest in me was huge from the beginning. So do you still think it's fair to call yourself a victim? You made this possible, you know? I was just an innocent boy without a care, but then you appeared, and everything turned upside down, you liked to play like a grown-up, you loved that feeling only adults must feel, you wanted to make things your way, and to restraint others to your will.
You though you could put me in that new order of yours, and you did, but with enough pressure anyone can become... well, this.
Now let's see, should we keep remembering? I think so, I want to leave perfectly explained why I'm going to do this, you need to know, I need you to know, otherwise, this would be a lot harder.

When we met I was a really good boy, I obeyed the orders my parents gave me. I can say I was smarter, even when now I'm more mature than before. You turned me into this, all you see in me, is the result of your acts. I wish you are pleased with what you have created.

Look, it's almost midnight, I should get home soon, my parents are going to worry... wait, do I care? I mean, after all, you taught me not to obey anyone. In your case, I won't make any exception.

Let's continue, do you remember when I told you I loved you? You laughed, you told me I wasn't making sense, that I didn't know the meaning of those words. I did, I felt it. But you know that wasn't the end. The fact you broke my heart has little to do with the current situation, I just wanted to remind it to you.
You started to lie, you were using me, and I was too immature to realize. All those times I though I was defending you for a good cause, were false. All the times I got injured to protect you, were in vain. You didn't care about me, I was just a toy, a tool, in fact. But not anymore, I know what you did, and you are still trying to do, by looking me with those eyes, that expression in your face, all done to control me. Sorry, but it's not going to work, you are not sad for this, you are angry cause you couldn't prevent it. At the end I found out what you were doing, so I'm not going to regret for this.
(I broke his neck using my two hands, she died fast, I didn't want her to suffer, I just wanted to end everything)




[Doctor: According to the autopsy, the girl suffered a very painful disease.
Woman: She never told be she was in pain, I didn't know.
Doctor: As I see it, she though it was the best for you not to know.
Woman: Why? I'm her mother, I needed to know!
Doctor: I know this must be shocking news for you, but we believe you girl wanted to put an end to this... situation.
Woman: You mean... she did this to herself?
Doctor: She died fast, she didn't suffer, maybe that's what she wanted.
Woman: The policemen said she was tied to the table!
Doctor: Yes, she was, but one officer, noticed that her wrists weren't tied tight, she could easily had tried to untie them, but she didn't.
Woman: But the person who did this to her...
Doctor: I can ensure you the one who did this was just following her will.]




I ran away from the scene, at last I had found something she couldn't control, her death.

Bizarre conversation 1

[A woman meets with an old friend]

Woman 1: Hi, long time no see!
Woman 2: Yes, I've been out of the city.
Woman 1: Really? Did you go to Somewhere?
Woman 2: No, I were in Another Place.
Woman 1: What a shame, Somewhere it's a great place to visit.
Woman 2: Maybe I will go next weekend.
Woman 1: You better not. You would appreciate the landscape more if you go Someday.
Woman 2: Do you think so? I thought maybe it was a better idea to go on a weekend.
Woman 1: Everybody likes Somedays.
Woman 2: Does he? I though No One did, and you know how much he hates Anyone.
Woman 1: And being Anyone such a good friend of Everybody, you thought No One couldn't agree with Everybody.
Woman 2: I like No One.
Woman 1: Do you? I really prefer Everybody before him.
Woman 2: But No One likes you.
Woman 1: Sometimes...
Woman 2: Don't even name her!
Woman 1: I meant sometimes, not Some Times.
Woman 2: Oh, I see, but who was the idiot that put such names to his children?
Woman 1: Yes, it was him, I hate Who and you know it. He is a moron without imagination.
Woman 2: Sadly Who named the city and changed our calendar...
Woman 1: ...was him.
Woman 2: It wasn't a question.
Woman 1: Screw Who and his lack of imagination.

The scenario

She stared me as she was disgusted for what had just happened, but I knew that deep inside, she was happy. She loved to have some many witnesses of our acts, everything was perfect: the man in the floor that made no sound, me with the gun in hand.
She knew that even when the situation looked bad, we still had the control.
After all she loved acting and she knew everything was gonna end when the curtain fall.

Not a rat

Since my arrive they had always called me a rat. They were jealous, I was modern and they were old, we were not compatible.
With me, almost everything was useless, so a change was needed. And how fast it came! A few days after my appearance all of them were replaced by others. And the time passed and everything went right, they never called me a rat again, I was a mouse and that was all.
But I'm still a little worried about the future, will I, and the keyboard get replaced by a tactile screen soon?

Finger breakdance

Sometimes a video amazes you so much you need to make a post for it. This is a very good example.

I tried to make this break dance and half of it went right, I broke 3 fingers of my right hand.

What we didn't know about the Pepsi logo

This photo was taken from here.

The reunion

It passed a long time since the last time we had reunited. That day we were all full of enthusiasm, our words mixed: we all wanted to tell how we had been. But this time, only I speak, I'm the only one who starts and ends a sentence, without interruption.
The last time, we were very happy to see each other, but this time was different. I had avoided any contact with them, because I knew this reunion was going to full me with sadness.

I led flowers for all of them. So, one by one, tomb by tomb I left a rose.

The soldier

[I don't open my eyes anymore, I don't want to see death. The pain of seeing this cruel human work is something I can not tolerate. I can still hear the screams of those unlucky ones who didn't lose their lifes. I didn't want to be here in the first place, they gave me the weapon without asking me if I wanted to end someone else's dreams.
I wait in the ground for one kindly soldier to finish my pain. I know I will not survive, so now I try to remember my family and I imagine myself with them.]

-This is dead, sir- [I hear his voice so close to me, they will find me and I will not suffer any longer]
-I believe that one moved... no, he's dead already. [Yes, a little bit closer.]
-Is there anyone alive!?- [Should I move? Should I make them know I'm not dead so they can kill me?]
-Sir, I think this soldier is not dead yet. [Are they talking about me!?]
-Sir, it's still breathing- [But not for longer, right?]
-What are you waiting soldier? Take him out of here- [What? they want to take me as a prisoner?]
-Put him on the truck- [Just kill me already!]
-Don't worry, everything is going to be all right.- [The pain is blurring my mind, can't think, can't talk...]


[...]
[The light, is so bright...]
[I feel... fine. Where am I?]
[It's hard to tell with my eyes closed. But I can't open them, not with that light.]
-He's awakening!- [A lady?]
-It's okay, don't try to move, you have suffered deep injuries-
[I have to open my eyes, I need to see..]
[...]
[A hospital.]
-Oh, hello, how do you feel?-
[In the beds next to me I can see the ones who had worse luck than me, their skins burned, their bones broke. But they don't scream, they are sleep, but I know they are still suffering, the drugs are not enough. Half of them will die for sure, and their last moments will be here, unable to talk, unable to see. So I feel like in the battlefield, horrible.]
-I'm ok-




"Anymore" is a misspelling but I'm so used to it and I think it really suit the storie.

Origami is old school, the new concept is here

Ennio Marchetto takes simple pieces of paper and uses them to entertain the audience. I have no better explanation for it, than showing the video itself:

Jhonen V. Some of his works.

Jhonen Vazquez was born in 1974. I found his comics very interesting. I was lucky I must admit: one night I remembered one of my favourite tv shows of my childhood: Invader Zim, and I though I could find them somewhere. I did, and I found the creator´s name. So I start searching until I got some of his comics. Here they are.

Beware! This is not for children at all, it narrates stories full of bloody scenes and dark thoughts. Yes, you must be very sick to like this.