One Minute Story: Just a Regular Day

The man woke up at 7.40 in the morning. Just like any other morning. He washed his face with peeling gel, brushed his teeth thoroughly and gargled some mouthwash. He peed long and moaned while doing it. He then took a shower and stayed naked to dry. He contemplated his aging face in the huge bathroom mirror. Counted the wrinkles and covered them with revitalizing cream. Threw a look at his abdomen and sighed. It was never going to look like he wanted. Just as his cock will never grow bigger than it was. Not that any of it mattered.

He then prepared himself a big strong black coffee and a gluten-, lactose- free breakfast. Squashed some oranges and drank their fresh juice for energy. While eating he watched one of his favorite daily tv-shows. Afterwards he attended his physical needs, enhanced by the coffee. Picked some cloths, threw some books in the backpack and left for work.

The metro ride was the same as always. Same people not paying attention to anything else but their books, phones or tablets. Here and there some in-love girl kissing and caressing her lucky boyfriend. At least he thought they were lucky. No one seemed to look or treat or love him like that. He wasn't sad or envious though. Not anymore. In the past he used to indulge the idea of having someone in his life, maybe a thin girl like that on his right, or a blue eyed one with beautiful smile like the one sitting in front of him, or the cheerful one gazing at her boyfriend standing on the isle... But he had spent so much time alone that he wasn't even sure if he was still able to put up or appreciate such behavior if it was to happen to him. Now he was just observing, quick mental notes, before he returned to the music in his earphones and wandering thoughts.

At work his attention and interest varied with the topic of his research or the daily task. As for anyone else some of his working days were good, some were better, some just were. Usually after lunch he was already counting the remaining time before he could leave. At 5 he was always ready to go. Not home but to the nearby gym for a light training or a short, 4-5 k run. He enjoyed the void in his head while engaged in some physical activity. And the fact that he kept a reasonable shape compared to the one he used to have some years ago. It was after all his greatest physical achievement. Something he was ridiculously proud of for years now.

At 6.30, as any other day, he was going for a fresh salad with chicken or turkey. Low fat protein. Evenings he enjoyed easy meals although they weren't always possible. On the way home he was already making a mental plan for the tv show and the daily 1-2 h read. When he arrived he decided to do some push ups before taking a shower. And after the push ups, as he saw his naked, sweaty body, he felt something similar to an erection coming. There were more than three weeks since he last had an orgasm so masturbation seemed like a good idea. He jerked off quickly in the shower. After all he wasn't enjoying the activity, just releasing tension, so the sooner, the better. Washed him-self and returned in front of the screen. As the shows were loading, he checked the emails, answered one or two, read the sports headlines and felt a bit down.

At 10 the show was done and he started reading, a bit absent minded. At 12 he put down the book, went to pee and brush his teeth, drank some water, switched off the lights and went to bed. Two hours later his heart stopped. He died with a sigh, releasing a final breath as if he regretted leaving so soon and living such a pointless life. When they found him, 2 days later, his body was already decomposing. The same rush that characterized his life seemed to follow up in death too. They buried him with a small ceremony since he didn't have many friends and most of them didn't even know he died. Nobody bothered to check his laptop in due course to notice his written wish to be cremated. When they did, they were shocked only by the large number of digital comics and the weird porn flick they've found.

Few months later he was already forgotten. 

Scattered thoughts (2)

The greatest sin in life is to be poor.

Broken heart? Your heart is not broken. Because you don't have any.

Me? What do i have yo offer to the world?! Nothing. Who am i to the world? No one. Life just is, just happens, it's beautiful because you get to have it. Enjoying it is just a side dish. A bonus. 

Women are all murderers. By givin us life they've sentenced all of us to death.

That moment you realize who you are and what the mirror spits back at you have nothing in common. Despite growing up in the presence of mirrors and pictures and videos, what is depicted shocks us. We are not really used, not really aware of the way we are perceived by others. Our own voice deceives us. Otherwise how do you explain the shock of hearing it on a recording device: is THAT how i sound? We are built with denial. The denial of ourselves.

Life does not have a meaning or a purpose unless given one by each of us. There is no masterplan nor is there an afterplan or plan B. This is the only true lesson i would teach my son: life just is! Being young and free is all that matters. Take as much as you can from these years, commit to no one, experience everything and make sure that at my age you don't end up with as many regrets and frustrations as your old man. Travel, read, know people. That way you'll be enjoying your memories instead of being tormented by your failures. Not too much to pass on I'm afraid. 

It's better to regret the things you did, than those you didn't.

- I am awful today. Stressed, nervous. U don't need me.

- Actually, i just need you, not your perfect self. Having a bad day is ok, it's human. If you'd only allow me to be there for you.

No reply.

Love (3)

I was raised with love. Raised, educated and formed to seek it as the ultimate purpose of being. All books, all movies, all music seemed to transmit this one idea: that love is out-there. For everybody. "Liebe ist fur alle da." "They say the world was built for two." For a very, very long time i've given in to such illusion. Then, after turning 30, i've finally grown up.

I used to believe that love resides in a look. That one can say if someone is in love from the way they look at the other person. And of course, something is definitely shown there, in the eyes (mirror of the soul, isn't that what they say?). But  it has nothing to do with love. Lust, desire, admiration, maybe simply wonder, but love?! 

Let me take a step back now and clarify one thing. When i talk about love i don't talk about the love of parents for their half dna's, for the expulsions of their penises and vaginas, for the byproduct of their unprotected coital activities. That is not love unless we agree that love is also an animal feeling. No, real love is the one you have for someone with whom you do not share any prior connection or dna. Real love is the one you have for a completely alien being. Why? Because you are not bound by any rules or laws or moral constraints to do so or to feel anything for that person. You don't owe it to it. Yet you give it. That's real love. And here's where everybody told me that real love, in the sense defined above, is just a dream, a nice one, but just a dream. 

Obviously allowing a total alien in poses a big danger. Shields down, total vulnerability. A huge amount of trust and reciprocity is needed. You anihilate your inner being to create room for that alien. You fill yourself with the other person, while the other person fills itself with you. You create and share yourselves not your inner fluids. You create a third being which has little if not nothing to do with procreation. You become eachother's world. That's real love. And you won't find any trace of it in the world.

The real revelation though was not the above, but the fact that while creating room for that alien, i've totally eliminated space for myself, that I've spent so much time preparing to love an other that in the end i've ended up not loving...me. 

As i said i am now fully aware of my naivety. That i've been a detective looking for a clue that doesn't exist, to unravel a crime that was never committed. A failed Sherlock for more than half of my life, that's what i've been. A don Quijote seeking some windmills to fight in vain, a Sisif rolling a stone in search of a hill. The search for love waisted years of my life, drained me on the inside, turned me into a misfit human being, with unreasonable expectations. Instead of becoming one with the void of normality, i've became one with the void of loneliness, where only the same old printed pages, the same musical clichés manage to shake me and give me the feelin that i am still alive. 

The search became nostalgia. The epiphany turned into regret. The absence turned into frustration. Each failure turned into anger. Each joke turned into bitterness. I'm like an alchemist who's finally aware that making gold is impossible but misses the thrill of the try. However, any further attempt becomes as ridiculous as it is futile. 

Real love's not dead because real love never existed. But there'll always be Coldplay or Lana del Rey songs.

Letting Go

(Post written at 3.30 in the morning under that influence that makes everything seem clearer...)

In the beginning i kept the void. The hope. Then just the memory...

To give someone your whole heart and have it returned because it's too big. Because allegedly it didn't fit...

To call your entire love life "a short history of abandonment"...

To have someone to help you sleep. Embrace and regular breathing being the only two requirements...

To go from green lights everywhere to red lights or no lights at all. To feel all roads closed...

To be always an option never a priority. To be expandable...

Sole/Best Facebook advice: never allow yourself to become the above...

To hang not on others love for you but on your love for others. To never cease being disappointed...

3 years ago i was surrounded by 30 people at my b-day. 2 showed up 1 year ago. None this year. Still they're the ones who got upset for removing them from my life...

To have a loved one sending you an invitation to an iPhone app which allows them to store your birth day. To have that person's birth day engraved on your heart...

The only search that should never stop is not for friends or soul mates but for ourselves... I finally know i was conducting the wrong search...

The hardest thing in life is acceptance. Of failure, of circumstances, of yourself...

To keep a memory of someone who sleeps happily in the arms of another. To keep a memory of someone for whom you're not even a memory...

Letting go is not about letting go to an absent other. Letting go is about letting go to yourself. Erasure of who you were. Not of your memories but of the meaning you gave to those memories...

Acceptance. Moving on. Finally getting free...

Freedom

Freedom starts when and where you take love out of the equation...

It's the moment where physical relations becomes 'just sex', free of any kind of pressure. An activity or a need that gets satisfied. No guilt. Fun. Normal.

It's the moment when all expectations in a relationship disappear. No expectation, no suffering. And though absence of suffering does not necessarily mean pleasure it is still much better the the torment caused by 'love'. You start behaving like a person, not a madman...

Just imagine. No jealousy. No frustration. No false hopes. You just get what you get and you're more than happy with that because there were no plans, no feelings involved. When they decide to go there's no wallowing. And you might even be able to remain friends and keep in touch instead of avoiding each other for the rest of your lives. None of you will feel let down, tricked or disappointed. Fair trade.

And last but not least is good for yourself. We're raised with this stupid idea that we need love. That we need to love and, most especially, that we need to be loved. Thus we suffer in its absence, we develop phobias and all sorts of disorders which only keep the shrinks happy. Or we seek it permanently, make a big fuzz when we realize that we weren't or aren't loved. The same or as much or at all. And that fucks up our world. We end up thinking we're not good enough or unlucky to meet only creeps and/or bitches. We end up feeling betrayed by others and displeased with ourselves. But that's a false problem... With a simple solution.

In order to prove how ridicule football is someone suggested to remove the ball from the picture. You'll end up having 22 idiots running around, chaotically, on a green field. Our love centered lives, this constant 'search' is that football game.

Remove 'love' from your mind, vocabulary and actions and you shall be free! Not only free, but happy! Enjoying any opportunity, developing real relationships which have a chance to survive the test of time. Take a step out of this socially constructed border, better said limitation, and you shall finally experience life...

I'm doing it and i'm finally able to look forward to the future, liberated... I'm finally starting to find peace of mind.

Women

We're born between piss and shit said an ancient saint. And we come out covered in blood and slime. Shouting to cover our mother's shouting. Results of a sticky sour substance meant to survive in the wet darkness of a female interior, released with a grunt and a scream. This time a manly, animal one. All the above is true but takes all the miracle and the pleasure out if it, doesn't it? Well, that's the whole purpose.

In order to prevent themselves from nasty thoughts medieval monks were encouraged to see the woman for what she was: a bag of skin filled with slimy organs, blood and filth. "Is this what you would like to lose your soul and eternal life for?" was the general question asked. No, of course not. They were hoping for much more. As we all do. Thus the question is more whether women can really satisfy those expectations that are worth risking a man's soul.

In " The Name of the Rose" a young monk loses his virginity to a woman who was satisfying monks for food. A prostitute. She doesn't charge him anything cause he's young, innocent and good looking, unlike the old fat perverts she was used to. The monk's master clearly states these reasons for which he was gratified with free service. It is implied here that a woman is providing either for her interests, either for physical attraction. There is no mention of love or any other feeling than self-preservation and animal instinct. This might not be so flattery to women, but it's most likely true...

In a world where men used to carry the weapons and handle the money women learned to survive, adapt and manipulate them. In the world of gender equality, women have learned to control and humiliate men. When the scale of the balance will turn to the female side, what will happen to men? 

I read once a joke which said that if men would be able one day to understand women they wouldn't be able to believe it anyway. I'm not laughing anymore...

I come from a world of ideals. Probably spent too much time with books instead of people, thus reality proved to be more shocking and too different from what i've expected. But the fact remains that i got served enough disappointments to question the female honesty, feelings and reasons. Enough to shake any a priori trust or expectations. I look now at women with the same concern and susceptibility that the medieval man had. They were scared of the fact that they couldn't understand her anatomy and sexuality. Things are more complicated now when we do understand these issues. The result is all the same.

The saddest thing of all is that the majority of men and women are brought together by mere sexual need, reproduction or economic reasons. It's an opportunistic pact which leaves out a higher degree of loyalty than the one required by a modern time contract. The good faith principle is resumed in a simple rule: don't get caught! Should one be surprised that the fashion of pre-nup contracts has reached Europe and found way in modern Civil Codes?! Legislators and civil institutions tell us clearly, by law, that if we are to expect anything good from a marriage then we should get a God damn good lawyer!

The Roman world was very different than ours. Had rules, hierarchy. And also no false impressions. Free women - matronas - had one single purpose: make sure that the offspring belonged to the husband. That was their duty given the fact that Roman lawyers came quick to realize that mater certa, pater incertus. They had no illusions though. Beside this loyalty was not to be expected. One famous matrona actually expressed publicly the way she did it so that she was enjoying her life while still in line with her duty: "i only take passengers on board when the ship is already full". Got to admit that metaphor says it all...

5 days in London

Might be the damn weather, the crowds you encounter daily, the fact that you're on an island, the fact that not even two persona have the same ethnicity but this city doesn't look or feel like Europe. Not anymore at least.

It's the perfect city to get lost. The perfect city for one like me. There are so many people and so big distances from one place to another that you feel as you really are in this life:anonymous, insignificant, utterly alone. Luckily this feeling suits me perfectly and i enjoy it. 

My mother has been trying to find me other Romanians to talk to an get in touch to but i don't need it. I enjoy my silence, my non-existence to others. I am and i am not in the same time.

I live in a Jewish neighborhood. But inhabited by blacks, Turks, and plenty of Punjabis. But the Jews are really fascinating. All wear those black orthodox uniforms and those black hats, have long beards and curled whiskers. Even a sort of religious white apron. It's like in a movie just that now it's real. I see their children coming to the private school in chauffeur driven cars. They speak an unintelligible language. And they seem happy.

A Jewish cemetery, 400 years old, lies in the middle of the university's main campus. Kinda of a sinister view from the library's window. Even more sinister is to know that the library itself together with 3 other buildings and the students park were actually build on the cemetery itself. 30 years ago, according to the plates, the university purchased the cemetery to expand. What is left was left as a courtesy to the Portuguese Jewish community. All those buried in the preserved part have Portuguese names...

Gravestones are granite or marble, clear letters, pure English writing. Amazing that the language was already completed so ling ago. 

Students pass by undisturbed, unafraid of all the troubled spirits unable to retrace their old bones or named stones (how are they to remember who they were without that last, engraved, ID?). I wonder what happened to them when they dug for the foundations...

Without a care the sun rests a ray or two on the remaining graves in this late summer day. He's in no hurry. Neither am i... A squirrel jumps from one grave to another on its way to another tree.

What is really noticeable is the oriental look of this city. Zounds of Muslim female Nas'Ghuls wonder the streets with their brown skinned kids. Sikhs with Turbans appear at any corner. Terrorist like Arabs, in white robes and long beards spit their words everywhere. Out of the people you meet 90% at least are immigrants. Non-europeans, non christian. Makes you feel like home - you can't be a foreigner among foreigners - but also makes you realize that something got lost. This is not an English city anymore. 

And some of them, even manage to speak good English, not the one massacred with Indian accent. No. While waiting for my registration i've heard the sweetest voice explaining stuff in the clearest British accent. When turning towards the employ to whom it belonged i saw a woman with her head covered in a black veil. The awareness came as a sentence: Muslim Arab Woman. A bitter smile crossed my face...

For those of you wanting to take a walk on the Thames river bank please avoid the weekend. Tourists and most likely thieves are crawling over the place. You can't even take a step without being bumped into or pushed around or interrupted from your own thoughts...

On the stairs of the National Gallery, with a coffee and a book, admiring the column of Trafalgar, the big blue cock and the big ben. Ignoring the crowd. Enjoying life.

Today, after a very long time i took an hour to sit on a bench and read over a take away coffee. In Russell Square Park.  There were people on all benches. Youngsters on the grass. Most of them were reading, like me. I felt i belonged. I didn't feel alone anymore. I felt home...

Exiting the Institute for Advanced Legal Studies, a 4 store legal library, huge and nice and quiet i had a sort of epiphany that i would like to do this: travel, study, research, write, share, teach. If only i had the money, the time, the job and the resources for that... 

Bits and pieces:

That false politeness...

Where are the Britons?...

Today in the park that accent spoke  English made me think it was French...

Rush hour at the metro...

The metro-station 175 stairs bellow, the equivalent of a 13 stores building... 

Everything goes for women here: broken dirty shoes or blouses, unshaved armpits...

The smart phone obsessed nation....

People in their 50's playing videogames on their phones. Everyone walking with them in their hands. Buttoning, buttoning, buttoning... 

London, baby!