Absence

I have been a bit irresponsible with this blog lately, I am quite aware of that, since it is about to be almost a month since my last entry was written. To blame are my college studies, since I have been having final exams (which I finished yesterday) and work, since I have been more busy than ordinary this last month or so. Despite this, I know this not to be an excuse so I promise to update more often, especially now that vacations is starting.

In any case, if you would like to follow my writings and doings more closely, I have been quite active lately in the Juegos Online forums. Simply search for the user Elessar and you would have found my whereabouts. Be warned though that the forums are in Spanish and deal mostly (yet not solely) on videogames.

For now it is time for another farewell which, I promise, shall be shorter than the last one.

Farewell.

Bon Odori

This Saturday was the Bon Odori festival here in Asunción. As we have been doing for the past seven years (it has developed into quite the tradition) Sascha, Xime, Kitty and me went in order to eat great Japanese food and dance. All four of us are big Japan enthusiasts and really enjoy it every single year, though we are yet to buy kimonos in order to really blend in. The difference this year was that the festival was not held were it usually is (the Paraguayan Japanese Cultural Centre) and that I took my new camera and was able to take some pictures as well as record the dance.

This dance is called Tanko Bushi and it represents the movements of miners. This is a video of Xime dancing the Tanko Bushi.



And these are the pictures I took that night of the festival. Sorry I could not take pictures which showed a more varied scene, but I had to sit at the table in order to eat and enjoy my Karee Raisu, Sushi Moriawase, and the eternal and heavenly Takoyaki.

Flowery Entry

I took these pictures at my garden and my mom's. I just loved how these flowers looked.






Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. Luke 12:27-29

Through the Lens.

I have finally fulfilled one of my goals for this year, I bought a digital camera (better late than never). As an immediate after-effect I began taking pictures of anything I could focus through the lens of it. I have always been quite a photography enthusiast and a bit of an amateur. I could never really delve very deep into this field since I have never actually owned a camera of my own, much less a digital one, yet now that I have acquired one at long last I am able to embark on my photography quest.

I shall be posting the pictures I take which I deem worthy of becoming public (remember I'm still an amateur and a very inexperienced at that so don't expect too much just yet). I have also been developing some passion for image editing via software such as photoshop, though due to the lack of any, I have had to settle for MS paint so far. While it is hard to edit or even do something semi elaborate with it, I have been able to produce a couple of wallpapers and banners I actually feel proud of.

That said, let the picture frenzy begin. I will upload now a wallpaper, a banner, and a photograph I really feel proud of.

This is a wallpaper I made using Sascha's eye.

This is a banner I made using my wife's eye for my forum's signature.

This is my wife, Kitty.

The Drug Symptom

What drives young people into drugs? Most people say it is peer pressure, but, is it? In order to understand why people do drugs, what we first have to understand is what do drugs have to offer? What makes them so alluring? Most people will say it’s the pleasure experienced or the relief of pain; I say it’s the escape from reality. Let me first make a note in that we are not talking about a dependant addict, someone whose body needs drugs as to continue functioning, but rather the user who is starting, who is already “addicted” but not yet dependant on it. Why do these people do drugs, why did they persist on taking them even though we are heavily bombarded since childhood about how bad drugs are? The answer is quite simple; it is because it provides a route of escape from heir own painful lives. It’s the way in which a teenager can escape the fact that nobody loves him, that he is mistreated; the way a grown up can get over the failure that hangs over his or her shoulders, the memories that torment each night and accuse during the day. It is a way to relief spiritual and emotional pain.

Humans are all born with a terminal disease that consumes us from the inside out slowly but steadily; it’s called sin. Sin is having failed God and thus be separated form his presence, he same presence that should be in the midst of our own soul, yet since we are tainted by sin, God’s place in us is empty, and this emptiness becomes an all consuming void that deprives humans of joy, hope and merriness. Sure, we experience temporal happiness, but not a lasting one, since this void will consume it eventually. It is this void which demands more, it demands to be filled, yet nothing besides God can fill it, and so, it will continue to demand for more and more until it consumes us. Drugs are pain suppressors, and that is what they do, they suppress the pain caused by this void, the constant demanding that we experience due to the void and they shut it down completely, until the drug is washed form our systems. Then, we need more, because the pain returns stronger for we have felt what it is like not to experience, and to bear it once more is simply overwhelming. This is what drives million of junkies to look for another fix.

Most doctors speak about corporal dependence; I speak about a spiritual one. Our souls become dependant on them; corporal dependence is just a symptom, a consequence of our already dependant souls. Millions of teenagers and adults turn to drugs to find the soothing sensation they have craved for their entire life, to find the love of a parent; to find the warmth of a home; the forgiveness for past sins and even to silence their conscience which keeps telling hem that their life has gone array. Drugs are not physical issue, and until we start realising that we are fighting a losing battle. The battle of drugs is fought at home and won at home since a teenager who has had a good family life, even if he where to try out drugs, would never become addicted for he won’t find anything new in it, anything good. Drug addiction is not a disease, it’s a symptom, and we should start treating it as such.

Song of Glory

This is a short story I had to write as a Term Paper for college. It's six pages long and I wrote it in three hours and a half roughly. I hope you like it and I expect comments.

Enjoy.

“Five years. We have fought for five years, just to end up here on this hill. Five years which undid all we previously accomplished. All the dreams of my father and of his predecessor, simply gone. Gone and vanished in the midst of canon smoke,” Though his words showed defeat, his broken spirit still regained strength and fire. The same fire which had led him to the battlefront. His words might have shown weakness, but the truth was that beneath the rags which used to be his uniform and beneath his battered body a fervent soul as brave as any lay preparing for the tragic unavoidable end. “Five years.”

He beheld his companions, a mere twenty score of men, not soldiers but men. The soldiers were by now asleep in the everlasting sleep of death in the battlefields. They lay with a blank stare which defied fate and death; broken corpses which belied the fire that had driven them while alive to the lines of battle, eager to defend their nation, their birthright. Yet now, he, who commanded them all, whose figure would arouse many discussions in the future now prepared to make a grand finale, with nothing more than four hundred men. Broken promises, shattered dreams and dissipated hopes ran through his mind now. His hands were stained with the blood of a nation. A nation he had sworn to protect and guide to a new era. A nation he had forged to become a war machine. A nation he had led to its demise.

But it had not been his fault, had it? He knew this affair was a trap unto which he had blindly fallen. He had been set up by the neighbouring nations; by the jealous republic and monarchy which had watched the advances made by his people with jealousy, envy, and hatred. It had not been his fault, this as had not been his fault. It couldn’t be. Yet, he felt it so.

The deaths, the blood, the suffering and the despair overwhelmed him. News of every town and fort which had fallen had reached his ears. The hellish visions of men slaughtering children, raping women and murdering pregnant women with the sole purpose of stopping the unborn child to live had gotten to his ears, and they tormented him. Even though he had not seen them, they were there every dusk to torment his dreams. The hospital set aflame with all its patients still inside came to him every night, in every dream. The cries of unborn children, orphaned sons and daughters and widowed wives were around him, during wake times as well as in slumber. The death of a nation hung above his soul and clasped on to his conscience. A conscience he could not keep quiet any more. It had been his fault.

He could still hear those wise words said to him, that wise council which could have avoided all this; “Use the quill, not the sword”. Yet, could he have avoided it all? He knew about the oath made by the conquering armies against him; against his nation. It was no mistake, and nothing had been left to chance. All had been plotted; the overthrowing of his governing ally; the prohibition of his troops to pass by foreign lands. His death had been planned, his foolishness and rashness foreseen, this war, desired; a war which in truth was genocide. How else could this massacre be explained, the slaughtering of innocent children be seen as a necessary evil. He had heard the orders of not letting a single male a day older than twelve alive. That wasn’t justice, that wasn’t civilization. That wasn’t even human.

Humans, they were not humans. He had heard and read about such atrocities, but never seen them, never felt them this close, this real. There had to be something more behind this battle campaign. He felt it, he knew it. He wasn’t fighting humans, but demons; demons who above all sought his death and the undoing of his people. Demons from whom he could not hide for they were in his mind as in his surroundings. They whispered doom into his mind, advised folly and found merriment in the chaos he had caused. It was them who had caused this, it was them who had issued those orders and murdered those people. It was the demons, the creatures from the abyss who thought of nothing else but evil and death. It wasn’t his fault, it was the demons. This war was a mere reflection of something grander which took place in the spirits’ realm. This had been caused by them, but with his aid. He had been their puppet, and even maybe still was. Maybe it wasn’t his fault, but he caused it; and he could stop it. He could bring the war to an end.

Yet this war would only end with the death of his country-men, the death of his people; with his own death. That’s what they wanted, his death. His life had already cost the lives of so many people. Every breath he drew was a crime. He shouldn’t be alive, not at this cost. He had to be the one to die, not those school children who had done nothing yet gave everything to defend him. No, not him, but their country. Those children had painted beards and gone out to their slaughter with bottles and knives to defend their country from the empire of the west. He didn’t matter here, not even for the invaders. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I anything, the allies adored him for he was stupid enough to fall into their ploy, to help them fulfil their plans. It was, after all, his fault. He was nothing more than a puppet in a grander scheme; a means to an end.

And now he was here, at the end of all things. Here, on this hill with a handful of men, women, and children. The last resistance was assembled to make a last glorious stand against his forty five hundred pursuers. He had fought with all his might as long as he could muster, and though there were some glorious victories, it still had not been enough. It had never been enough. He should have foreseen this, all it took was a little common sense; yet he didn’t see it. Ha had been blinded by his pride, he had paid no heed to all numerical odds, all odds by that matter and declared war on two nations at the same time. He had doomed his country. He had killed his countrymen; he had killed those children and women. He had killed his nation.

If all it took to stop this madness was his death, then die he would. He would take his own life and offer it to the allies; he would take it and give it away. He would drive his own sabre through his chest and thus take away the pleasure of killing him away from his pursuers. He would do it, but that would also mean spitting on all the lives spent to save his. It meant disregarding the lives of the soldiers given up willingly as to ensure his, if for only a few more days. He couldn’t be that coward, he couldn’t be that despicable. His live had been afforded by blood. People had died to save him, for him and in his name. His live was now burdened by all those lives, and he owed them the same. He would die for them just as they had died for him. It was his fault, but that didn’t excuse him from his duties. He still had follower, he still had strength and still drew breath, and as long as he did, he would fight, fight to the bitter end!

“Troops!” he called, and saw how valiant men and children gathered around him with bold looks in their eyes, filled with despair, yet the fire still burned. He could still see, still feel in them he fire of their motto, the fire of love for their nation shining weakly, yet shining still. Victory or Death was their battle cry, their creed; the belief. Victory or Death was what drove them, even though they knew that for them only the latter option awaited in each new day, they would not cower. There was no other option for them; just Victory or Death!

He could not let them down. If he were to die, then die he would, but in a glorious blaze of glory, making a last stand worthy of the Greek legends he had heard and read about. He would make a last stand similar to Leonidas’ at the battle of Thermopylae. His last stand would be remembered and sung about in days to come; if any who could relate to it were left to sing it. He would write the lyrics of a new song using his blood as ink and this red earth as parchment.

“On this day, fate will be encountered head on! We will not falter in this 1^st of March. If death is to greet us at nightfall, then it shall be met with bare chests held high. You have no reason to cry or to be sad about, for we have done more than any for our land; we have suffered more than any and endured just as much, and for it we will receive our reward in this life or the other. If any is to feel ashamed it is the invading nations for their cowardice and evil. History will be on our side; history and time will be our advocates and their judges. We will be proven just, we will endure. This is not the end of our nation for we are a race of iron steeple. If we are to die, then die we should; yet not as losers, but as victors! We will not surrender since for us, surrender has never been an option. Victory or death waits, and both are equally glorious if the battle was fought with honour and strength. Victory or Death!”

The troops echoed the shout, and the fierce roar of their ancestors’ race was heard once more through out the forest. They had a warrior ancestry and the future of a nation depended on them. Not on them living or dying, but on them battling, for they were not fighting to save lives, but to save a spirit; their nation’s spirit. Generations to come would look back at them, at their commander and understand their sacrifice. Their descendants would draw bravery and inspiration from their sacrifice as to never surrender or bow their heads to adversity. They understood that their sacrifice, all they could achieve was not for them, for their fate had been sealed; but for their sons, their grandsons and all to come after this day. They understood that what they did during their time on this Earth, echoed for all eternity in the consequences of their actions. They understood what little do; that if they did not do it, no one would.

He issued the battle formations; after all, he was the Mariscal of the republics army. After all was ready he left the battlefront and joined his son. Though only 17, he had already been decorated as a Colonel. As they met, they retreated to a more strategically located place with a few personal guards. He left the battle, not on his own will to preserve his life, but on the plea of his knights.

They had scarcely walked for a couple of minutes when they heard the battle start. The Mariscal stopped and turned around, facing the battle sounds. He knew what he had to do; he knew that already too much blood had been spent on his account, spilled on him. The lives of hundreds of thousands cried for justices, a cry which would never allow him to sleep.

“Father, why do we stop?” asked his son as he approached him. The commander placed both his hands on his eldest son’s shoulders and gently answered.

“Protect your mother and your brothers. Go, do as I say.” Upon seeing hesitation and doubt in his son’s eyes, he cut the answer from his colonel’s throat “Colonel, obey your Mariscal. Protect the first lady and her son’s. That is an order!”

The young Colonel, tearful, at last understood, saluted and departed. He had barely run ten meters when he heard two single gun shots. He hadn’t noticed it, but the strife sounds had died a few seconds ago. He heard vaguely muttering in the direction he had come from. He felt paralysed. He had to go back, die with his father, and protect his commander.

“I DIE WITH MY HOMELAND!” reached his ears, clearly and distinctively. He understood. At last he fully understood and began running at the top of his lungs. A single shot pierced the air a couple of seconds later and froze his blood; yet, he did not stop. He understood now; at last he fully understood.

Inner Void

I recently -not to say yesterday- watched an interview with the man behind Asuncion Anti fashion and heard what he has to say for himself. he explained what this "movement" was. Of all the things he said, I agree up to a solid 100% with just one; teenagers (in general) have no personality but rather simply follow trends. They dress as the market tells them to dress, the speak and act as the market tells the to do so and we're left with people who have no real identity because they are nothing more than a mere reflection. Teenagers (again, stress on in general) care a lot about being accepted, and it is understandable since it is one of the stages of adolescence, and up to a point is normal. the problem resides on a teenager thinking that simply because he buys a 500.000 guaranies (translate to US$100) t-shirt he/she is better than the other kid who can't afford to spend such an amount of money, or who simply doesn't choose to because he/she has more brains. It is sad to see kids who measure how much their parents love them by whether the buy them what they want or not (which, ironically, it's always something they saw the latest prepubescent pop star wear/use, or their classmate who saw the pop star first).

Sascha mentioned to me an MTV (a channel which, all religious ideologies aside, I think is the spawn of the devil) show which deals on super pampered i-don't-even-breathe-the-same-air-as-you-do teenagers called sweet sixteen. It's a monument to materialism and it shows why we are where we are. Kids are raised with the mind set not to care about what happens to the people next door, and not to care about themselves either. After all, if you can pretend like you have money (who cares if you do or don't as long as other people think you do) and are a clone of some star (who by the way in case you didn't know are the earthly incarnation of the Greek pantheon and thus deserve our worship and admiration) you'll be fine.

It's time to wake up and realize that, I simply don't care how stupid this sounds, celebrities are humans, just like you, just like me and exactly just like the African child you died a second ago, the one that is dying now and the one that will die in a second from starvation.

You are who you are inside, that person who sobs alone in the dark before crying him/herself to sleep, the one that screams inside your head what you really think but never dares to repeat it out loud, the one who doesn't think that simply because everybody else does it it's OK, and the one who keeps daring to think of how would it be like to be different, to actually have a mind of your own.

I honestly cannot think of a good decent way of finishing this entry since it is already borderline (actually I think it crossed it crossed it already in the first paragraph) exactly what I said I didn't want this blog to be, Senseless Babbling. I honestly have nothing more to say.

Enjoy.

Senseless Babbling

Lately I have been feeling a bit irresponsible towards my blog. I do not post in it with the frequency I would like to, and when I want to post something I usually feel myself bereft of any ideas on what to write good enough as to actually make me sit down and type something. While I do feel that I am neglecting not only my blog but also you, my readers (if there's any besides Rachel and Sascha), from the day I created this Haven I knew that I wanted only to make worth while entries, and not make it another whining space. As a friend told me when I said I was thinking about making a blog; "Do you think you can do something not completely self-centred or an emo site? If you can, then go for it. If you can't, spare us the pain." I can say now, that I agree and here is why.

I was driving down Mcal. Lopez, one of the main avenues in my home city, when I saw a poster on a wall. It read "Es hora que digamos la verdad. Asuncion Anti-Fashion" (It's time for us to tell the truth. Asunción Anti-Fashion) and the url www.asuncionantifashion.com beneath that slogan. I have to say that I did feel rather intrigued so as soon as I could I visited the site, which resulted to be a blog. After reading quite an interesting intro, and going through two redirecting sites, I ended up in a blog right here in the blogger domain, and very disillusioned. What I actually had hopes of being something interesting ended up being exactly what I didn't want this blog to be, a whining site. It is basically people getting together and complaining about the country. What's worse, the blog's owner's name can't be seen anywhere in it; not as the author of the entries nor on one side of the screen. Who ever this person is he prefers to throw the rock and hide his (or her) hand in the warm comfort of anonymity. This is not bravery, it is not courage, and it is not the truth the so claim to seek; this is pure poison being instigated by a person (or people) who like to criticize and play revolutionaries when the truth is that the are afraid to back their comments with their names.

What I said is harsh, and I am sorry if it offended anyone, specially the site owner; but the fact is that it served as a wake up call and a reminder to myself of what this blog is. It is a Haven. A haven from the things out in the real world; a haven from the voices outside my head; a haven from the constant bickering and whining of the people around me; a haven where people are not told what to think, but to think.

I have read some entries in that blog and have my disagreements but I wonder what would happen if I actually post them; if I stir their world vision as I so enjoy doing. I don't know why, but I do think that a flame war will begin and, honestly, I don't feel like being hated by those people. You see, from the moment you stop accepting opinions or insights which differ from yours and those of your group, you have ceased being a debating group and have become a mob.

I am sorry if I do not post with the frequency you or even I would like, but as I said in my first entry; " what I can not promise in updating I can promise in content, so don't stop dropping by occasionally."

Enjoy.

Finding

A few days ago I began feeling the need of buying game t-shirts which had the images or something related to Zelda or any other game. As you have noticed I have finally fully accepted myself as a helpless game geek and Fanboy. As I was googling for images, I came upon a site called Error Macro, a blog. I came upon this specific article and I loved it. Bill (he appears to be the author) has a great insight into the video game world which I can feel related to up to a degree since it is almost the same as mine, and what's best, he says it with an amazing sense of humour; at least the sense of humour I enjoy that is.

If you have time, and know a bit or more about the gaming industry in general (or want to) I really recommend checking out this site once in a while.

Zelda again

Here they are, the two videos I mentioned in my previous entry. Hope you like them as I did.

OCARINA OF TIME



LINK vs GANONDORF

Dancing Link

Since I can recall, I have been a huge video game fan. This has earned me the dub of "Geek" by a friend of mine (who, ironically, is even a bigger geek than me) to which all I have to say is "proud of it". Now, this posts name is "old school" simply because I consider myself an old school gamer. I've been playing video games since 1984, in those days I played my cousin's Atari console tirelessly (I was 2), and have never stopped.

One of my favourite, if not THE favourite altogether, is The Legend of Zelda. I consider the game the best game in history (for all of you wondering which one, well, ALL of them) and a must for any person who even dares to call himself a console video gamer; not having played Zelda is like not having played Mario. That's simply not right.

I was looking recently for two Zelda ads, one is the first Ocarina of Time ad, which is one of the best video games ads in history (this is the fan boy in me talking); and the other is a short demonstration Nintendo produced for when the gamecube was still called the dolphin of Link and Ganondorf duelling with sword (I can still remember being awed for hour on that 30 second video). I have found the Ocarina one and am still looking for the duel one, as soon as I find it I will post both of them.

Anyhow, while looking for it, I stumbled upon this very interesting Japanese ad for A link to the Past, a video game which simply is a true master piece. I found it so funny and at the same time perturbing that I thought I should share it with you. I hope you like it.



Just remember, it's a Japanese ad from the early 90s.

Whispered comments...

This is an entry in Sascha's blog. Read the comment and comment yourselves.

Angel

The following short story is not mine, but of a dear friend of mine; Mauricio Alvarez. He showed it to me about a two months ago and I thought it was really good. All due credits go to him.

She kisses me.

I can barely feel her lips against mine, but I can see her face, feel her warmth spreading through my stiff face. A tear rolls off her cheek and falls on me, although I can't feel it. Slowly she moves apart from me, her brown eyes filled with tears. I want to tell her how much I love her, I want to hold her and tell her everything is going to be fine.

But that's no longer possible. How did I end up like this, body dead and senseless, doomed to lie still in this bed until my body gives up the fight?

Even now, I don't know. I've lost track of how long I've been here, although it can't be that long. I've seen nurses come and go, a doctor, some friends, but not many, and her. She's my angel, the one who kept me safe from my inner demons. The person who always seemed to warm the air around her. And the more I knew her, the closer we got, the more I loved her. I could drown in those brown eyes and feel a warm comfort grow inside me. It was a beautiful thing.

Her hand brushes the hair off my face, while she covers her mouth with the other to drown a sob. That's when something inside me wakes up. I can't lose this fight. I owe it to her, who has done so much for me. Her company kept me sane while I saw my father dying slowly from the cancer that ate away his lungs. She was the one who stood by me in the long days hunting for a job, helping me as much as she could with what little spare money she had. I must not give up. I must fight and live.

My mind is suddenly flooded with images. My mother teaching me how to swim in my uncle's pool. My dad playing basketball with me and my brothers in the backyard. My classmates and I, dancing drunk after our last day of class in high school. Myself, walking into my college campus for the first time. The first time I saw her, the moment as vivid as if I were there. My dad's funeral. The dark days afterwards. And finally the road...I can sense cold fear around me. The road. The flashlights heading towards me. The horn blowing, cutting the air with a deep scream. And suddenly I'm staring at her again, in my hospital bed, but this time she seems to be fading away.

And I realize my fight is over.

But she kisses me. And that's all I really need.

товарищ, прочность и почетность! День принадлежит к нам!

What This World Needs

Ever since my friend Guille gave me the first Casting Crowns cd for me to listen to it I have loved this band. They have been a true blessing in my life and every song in every CD ministers my spirit as I have found almost no other band does. It showed and confirmed something which I always thought to be true, that a christian band can not, under any circumstance just be that, a band. That a christian band is not christian because they profess faith in Jesus and mix his name in some verses. That for a christian band to truly be one, there has to be a message, an abandonment to the work of Christ and a desire to serve other. That christian can not be musicians just because they like it and they wish to perform on-stage, but because it is a true calling from God in their lives and because they will minister other not only through their songs, but through their life. I truly recommend them to you if you don't know them yet.

I post here below the lyrics of a sing from their third album "The altar and the Door". The song's title is "What this World needs". This song has been a confirmation in my life of something I have always believed but that the world in which we live, Christian or non-Christian, makes it difficult to see and accept. We are sometimes so involved in our own church that we forget that we are but a cell of the body of Christ; not even a member, but a cell.


- Casting Crowns Lyrics

Please do leave your comments and reflections on this subject and on the lyrics, and if you have the chance, get a Casting Crowns CD. Believe me, you won't regret it.

Riddles in the Net

I have always been quite a fan of puzzles, though I have a love-hate relationship with jigsaw puzzles), they keep me entertained for hours no matter my mood. Recently (about a week ago to be accurate) a friend of mine gave me a link to an online riddle called "Neutral Riddle". It consists basically of 70 levels, each level being a riddle on it's own. The objective is, of course, to finish all 70 riddles. I has kept me entertained for a week now (consider that I only have internet access during weekdays and only in the morning at that) and I am currently on level 43.

If you enjoy a good challenge and great brain exercise (which we all need in order to keep sharp) I highly recommend giving it a try. The only inconvenience to some of you may be that in order to advance you sometimes have to download files or even software. But don't worry, there no malicious software involved.

Never Dreamt

Again, here we have another small composition I wrote for college. Hope you all enjoy it.

Maybe I am not supposed to be a scribe. Although it has been my life long dream to be one, I have never possessed the required skill for it. I long to write, I crave epic stories, desire romance and drama, and cherish poems and sonnets; yet they all elude my mental grasp. Ever since I can recall, I have reached for the quill and ink, and failed.

My mind went blank, my palms and fingertips began sweating, and I ran out of breath. Every single time I reached for the ink and sat in front of a blank parchment, I experienced the same symptoms. Every time, but one. Not long ago I dreamt of a poem, a gorgeous epic poem which included all I ever wanted to write about. It was a gift from God, or so I thought; yet now I know it actually was a curse from the devils. If only I had never dreamt that dream.

Every time I think about time I despair, yet ever since my poem was made public by my benefactor, time is all I hear. After my ode was published, an editor was appointed to me. Supposedly to help; in truth, to torment. Every week he calls for me, and everyday he reminds me that my time is running short, that my patronage is at an end. If only I had never dreamt that dream.

My editor called me asking about my next writing again this morning. Threatened me with poverty and hunger and tried to force me to spew verses I had not written nor conceived. My editor called me to torment my soul. Never more would that happen, for I have no more soul. I have forgotten it, lost it in the days of yore; it has been eroded by the tortuous days I have lived since my poem was published. I too shall pass, as my dreamt poem already has. Farewell all. A sad unmemorable farewell for a sad unmemorable scribe.

If only I had never dreamt that dream.

Provide Feedback

As the title so aptly states, I do want some feedback. After all, the sole purpose of me posting my writings is to have the world read what I can produce and tell me if I am a good writer, an average one, or should go ahead and search for an aspiration in life other than writing a book. So, please do click on the "comments" link and leave one. Thanks.

This is a short short writing I had to do for college. As you may or may not know (most likely not) I am an English major. My "professor" placed four phrases on the blackboard and we had to write a story using all four phrases. This was the result and it has no real title, so feel free to dub it as you will.

Enjoy.

The cold southern wind was blowing mercilessly, chilling my face and immobilizing it. Nonetheless, I kept firm with a steady, unblinking stare into the horizon. They were coming, I knew it, I felt it. Though my eyes could not see them, the wind brought me tidings of that which went on beyond the horizon. The time had come, I best be prepared.

I was in no mood to talk to anyone, least of all the other men back at the camp. I had been sent up this hill as a scout, to keep watch and send warning of any danger. I knew their pursuer, I knew their allegiance, yet they knew not mine, my true alignment. Yes, they were coming, but that was not the only warning carried by the wind. The first was aimed at the fugitives at the camp at the foot of this hill, the latter, was aimed at me.

"Hell", I said, "can't I just feel for once the wind caress my cheek and bring peace with it rather than doom?" No one was around me as to hear that remark, yet it wasn't intended for any human ears, but the wind's. It had been uttered into an to that soft breeze which was gently turning into a gale. A gale which urged me to move.

The phone they had given me as to warn them faster of incoming forces started ringing now. No doubt it was them, wondering what had happened to me, worried, not for my well-being, but theirs. The dense foliage which covered this "watch post" kept them from seeing me, just as it kept them from seeing their captors who by now were surely closing in on the camp already.

A single shot breaks the still silence, giving way to the dreaded stillness of death. As a flock of birds take off from close by treetops, more gun bursts and shout are heard. The strife had started. Turning around I began walking and dropped the still ringing phone on the snow covered grass. I kept a steady pace away from the phone's call, the gun bursts, they screaming; from the guilt, just as I had so many times before. I picked up my own pace, the phone kept ringing and I could not afford being caught. My allegiances were neither with the fugitives nor their captors; they lie elsewhere.

They always do.

300 AMV

I enjoy watching AMVs. AMV stands for Anime Music Video and it is basically a "video clip" made from a soundtrack (be this or not a song) and images of an anime. This is one that I found yesterday and I fell in love with it. Sadly enough I can't download it. Watch it and post your reactions to it.



Full credits go to the maker of this wonderful "trailer". In youtube it shows "From: KruLx". I will take he made it so, cheers to him.

Writer's block

I have to apologize for the negligence I have been showing towards my blog. I know that it has been quite a while since I last posted anything and as so, I have decided to tackle the issue at hand. The reason for my sudden absence is nothing more than a mundane writer's block. I have sat in front of my screen for the past week and stared at this site trying to come up with something worth writing, and have always come up with the same result. A blank page and mind.

This is why now, as a means to unblock the creative part of my brain, I have decided to just sit and write. Tackle the issue at hand and bash it until it falls. I know this is not the best idea since what comes out may or may not be just senseless rant, but it is the only way I know of in which I can deal with this ailment which afflicts me. Just sit down, and type whatever comes to mind.

I have watched this past few days a couple of movies; 300 and Jet Li's Fearless. 300 is a movie that ever since I heard about it, I've longed to be able to watch it. I should inform you that I am a huge fan of anything that is epic and most fantasy books and concepts, so 300 was a no brainer for me. I was very disappointed when I found out that the studio making the movie was Warner Bros. This is not due to some issue I may have against such studio, but rather because Warner Bros. decided a couple of years ago to stop screening its movies here in Paraguay. In other words, I wouldn't get the chance to watch 300 in the theatres. I was heart broken and still am. Watching it, although it was a great movie and I watched it tow more times before returning the dvd, only made me a bit more sour about not being able to enjoy this two hour carnage in the big screen.

Fearless, is also another movie I have been anxiously waiting for, not only because it's a wushu film (and I'm a lover of those) but because it is Jet Li's last wushu film. The movie is loosely based on real life, on the story of Hou Yuanjia, a Chinese hero. I loved the movie, not only because of the fighting scenes which are breathtaking and masterfully done, but because it actually makes one feel. Most American martial art movies are plain and without any real depth. They deal about the main character seeking revenge from the bad guys, and hideously outnumbered makes his way through lines of thugs breaking every single bone he can until he comes face to face with the "boss" of the organization or terrorist cell and manages to kill him.
There is no real plot depth or any other motive beyond seeking revenge, not even justice, just plain revenge. In this sense Fearless in unlike any other in that the main character undergoes a transformation and by the end of the movie he is another person, so to speak. I highly recommend it since it is a movie that makes one feel and realize some truths about not only our world, but also about ourselves.

I believe I have written enough for today. I will be posting more often again and I will try to focus and redirect this blog towards what its original purpose was, a Haven.

From a humanists poit of view.

I will copy Sascha a bit here. This is a link I found in his blog redirecting to an article in another blog. I paste it here so all of you can read it as well. I won't make any big comments on it, just that I couldn't agree more. I leave your conclusions to be that, yours.

Enjoy.

http://musingsociety.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html

Antonio Jorge Luis Alberto Gaspar

So, this is the last friend I was missing in my previous entry. His name is Antonio Jorge Luis Alberto Gaspar Fuertes Arcondo, and he's Spaniard.

PS: The pic had to be taken at an angle so that his nose could fit in the same pic as his face.

Eternal Frustration

If I have to name a curse upon me the first to come up will surely be my incapacity to write. I know it may sound a bit incoherent, specially since I have a blog and tend to write long entries; but length is not the same a quality, and that is specially true in my case. No matter what I do or how much I work on any single writing, what ends up in paper is never but a shade of what hides within the dark recesses of my mind.

Any time that I want to write something that I thought of, it does not come out as it should. I believe that to be the reason of why I hate to have notes whenever I have to preach or give a speech, I simply prefer to research the topic and then go straight to the battlefront. This only changes whenever I have to preach. Then, under my pastor's advice, I do write down a speech/preaching, though what I end up saying from the culprit is rarely close to what I had prepared.

Anyhow, this senseless ranting comes from the fact that it has been my lifelong desire to write a book; be this a novel; Christian book; short story compendium; or simply any type of thing that would outlive me and thus be my heritage tot he generations to come. Believe this to be a bit narcissistic if you will, yet I do believe that all humans have something, be this thought or not, that must outlive us since we all have something to share and to teach. I want to have something to be remembered by; yet something positive. I know I have something to offer to all of our sons, just as I know you have something to share too.

Now, leaving all deliriums of grandeur behind, the fact that I can't write down anything worthwhile is quite infuriating. Being an English teacher, it is my job to know all techniques of how to write different types of papers just as it is encouraging my students to actually write, so I do know what to do and also know that if I were to follow my own advices, I would probably end up writing my precious and personal holy grail. Yet I am sorry to admit that I am too weak. As I told my class today, I, also, am an idiot; and a big one at that. Maybe it is time for me to heed my own advices, finally, and stop putting excuses and simply go into action. Maybe the first time will go awry, but sooner or later, if I persevere, one of my tries will hit the bullseye.

The Political Mirage

I watched the movie "Man of the Year" yesterday, and I must admit I did find it entertaining. though not as funny as I expected. It awoke in me, nonetheless, a bit of curiosity towards just how is it that the presidential elections are carried out in the United States. I was a bit surprised (I won't say shocked since I already had an idea of this) to find out that the people, the American people are not the ones that actually choose their president, but rather an electoral college does. In case you are wondering what an electoral college is you will find a more extensive definition here, yet let me provide a brief one. Basically, in the United States

"the election of the President and the Vice President is indirect. Presidential electors are selected on a state by state basis as determined by the laws of each state. Currently each state uses the popular vote on Election Day to elect electors. Although ballots list the names of the presidential candidates, voters within the 50 states and the District of Columbia are actually choosing Electors from their state when they vote for President and Vice President. These Presidential Electors in turn cast the official (electoral) votes for those two offices. Although the nationwide popular vote is calculated by official and media organizations, it does not determine the winner of the election." (-Wikipedia)

So, as you can see, the people doesn't choose the president. Sure, it can be argued that it does, but one is never truly sure since as we know, politics involve many personal interests, and politicians are known to lean towards the best bidder. I will stop here, but I have one last doubt nonetheless: Why is it that the US imposes on every country they can (Iraq is a good example) a "democratic" system that they don't believe in, at least not enough as to use it themselves?

Strike a pose!

The real Charlie's Angels.



We need a new one. This is the latest I have. Guille, come back we need a 2007 pic.

A quick Amend

Sascha said that he didn't like the pic I posted of him. I must admit, it is quite old (2 years) and thus out of date. In his words, he "still looked like a Barbie". So here it is, a newer pic he just sent me.



If you ask me, he traded the Barbie look for a Russian Mobster's look. It really suits him though ^^

Fellowship Companions.

I have decided that I will introduce my Friends to the world. Here they are, the very best of the best!

First of all, my very best friend in the world and companion in life, my wife, Kitty. May God continue to provide her with enough patience as to withstand me.

Here we have a group Pic. From left to right: Meli, Pati (my sister-in-law), Guille, Kitty and Me, Sascha and Xime (his Girlfriend), Ana (Mauri's former Classmate), and my Tovarish Mauri.

Mauri with his ex-girlfriend. Mauri is a very very very special person to me...special in the special meaning of the word ^^

Sascha and Me in a church event called "The night of Rock n' Roll". I was playing the guitar that night, hence the out fit and hairdo (had to simulate the 50s). People have told me that I look like the devil in this pic. Ironic, isn't it.

Guille at Pixar. Guille is the guy to your left of the blue monster. He is a genius and a real God sent in my life. For all of you who still haven't heard me mention it, he works at Dreamworks as a computer animator. He rocks!

Meli is the Lady in the middle. She is with some church friends here; Osvaldito to the left of the pic, Carlos above her (he is her boyfriend; Mancandy as I so tenderly dubbed him for her ^^), and Pablo, my Bible study group leader and a great companion. Almost too wise for his age.

Well, there they are, the people chosen by God to bear with the burden that is to know me. May God bless them forever!

Impatience

Since I can recall, I have always been very excitable. As soon as I new I could get something, be this buying it or through other methods, I have felt the urge to get it as soon as humanly possible. I know that this is quite an annoying quirk for the people around me since I do tend to get very pushy and even upset when I can not get that which I know I can in that exact moment. As my wife put it recently, I act like a pushy two year old.

Yet leaving this fact aside for a moment, let me argue my defence. The idea that drives me to behave in such an infantile way is that I hate people who procrastinate things that can be done in the moment. I admit that I do behave in such a way once in a while (procrastinate things), so it may make me sound as a hypocrite when I rant about how much procrastinators annoy me; yet I have an excuse (don't we all). You see, I procrastinate things that I know are not important or that I know that I still have quite some time to do it. I do this as to prioritize other things that I have to do and do them as soon as possible. Yet I too am human, so once in a while I will also over delay things of importance and thus get myself in problems once in a while, to say the least.

If you are wondering why I have this little pet peeve -procrastinators- all you have to do is take a look at the culture of the country I reside in to get your answer. Paraguay. Paraguayans have the "blessed" habit of over delaying every single thing they have to do, and when the time to actually do it comes, they tend to do it in the most mediocre way possible; the infamous "ya da ya" (it's OK). This is only one of the cultural issues that has Paraguay in the hole it currently is in. Paraguayans, as an American Uncle quite accurately put it not long ago, have no pride. I can hear some arising in anger at this statement, but it only takes a quick glance to see how true this is. We ( I include myself here since alienating myself from the problem will only make make me think it doesn't affect me and thus will stop me from trying to do something about it) have a tendency to just get things done, it the shortest time possible (once we actually start doing it) and not care about the actual end product rather than if it fulfils it's purpose or not. This is how we end with bad quality national products; producers only care that the couch they are selling will be good enough for you to sit on, and overlook completely its comfortableness or even aspect. Home owners just care about having furniture, and couldn't care less about actually decorating their homes with good taste or even harmony. It is a cancer that has been killing Paraguay for over a century and which, needless to say,should be eradicated once and for all if Paraguay is ever to climb out of the hole and make something out of its existence.

Well, enough ranting, and as I told a very good friend some time ago "If all you do is complain and not try to see how you can help, you are nothing more than an aggregate to the problem" (I know I took it from somewhere else, but I can't recall from where now) so instead of looking for the problem, it is time to look for a solution. I end this entry with a quote form one of the best video games in history (for me in any case), Final Fantasy VI.

"You want to live in the world as it is? No? Then do something about it!"
~ General Celes Chere, FF VI

Golgotha

This is, while not the exact same, a text in which I have been working on and off for the past 3 years; by on and off I mean that I write it every time I have to present a short short text for something. The truth is that, although very cliché if I may say so, the scene described is one that I simply love. The title I have finally given to it, while not the final one since I am not very fond of it, is the same title as this entry's name. Any sort of feedback will be very appreciated, yet let me say in my defence first that I wrote this specific one for college. I am an English mayor student (actually, undergrad still) and I had to present a descriptive essay for my composition class last year. This is what I managed to come up with in the hour and twenty minutes we had to write the essay.

Enjoy.

The crimson sky that hung above us, just a tone lighter than the blood that covered the earth beneath my feet, forebode the impending doom that lingered in the air. The earth, a dark crimson, was a bit moist under my footsteps, perhaps from all the blood that had been spilled on it through centuries of countless battles. Stones, in a pale white that clashed with the land around it, gave the whole landscape an eerie aspect, for in our minds they took the shape of human skulls. The air felt dense in the nose and bitter in the mouth, and a soft red mist lingered just knee high above the ground.

The men around me, all the bravest of the court and sworn Templar in service of our king, kept quiet, drawing fear in every inhale and letting go despair with every exhale. Silence took a ruling position amongst our ranks, with only the clatter of armor to defy it, for such was the anguish in the field that made three hundred of the toughest knights to shiver as flames on a windy night. Panic in their eyes and terror in their minds, these brave warriors prepared to die.

I too shared their terror, their anguish and their pain, for I too shared their fate. A fate cast upon us in the same fashion as a lord chooses his stallion; a lord that having lust for power in mind and greed in the eyes sees nothing more than a beast that will stand as a symbol. Not humans, but dispensable beasts we were, and as such we felt; equal to dogs that have no more value than the meal they ingest every day. I trembled, both in fear and from the cold, for despite it being mid-summer, death’s caress is one that chills even the marrow of the bravest and most seasoned gladiator.

Here they come. Their black ranks breaking the dark red horizon and their war horns blowing a challenge, making the atmosphere even more lugubrious than before, even worse than the ill-fated silence that had sliced our conscious. Here they come, ready to kill and die. A sword rises in defiance and as a signal from the hand of our general being followed by others. A horse gallops across our ranks, and as it passes by, our banners rise high and our own horns respond to theirs thus issuing the command to engage. Battle cries echoing from our mouths, now, we too march and run. March to kill, and run to die.

Book Worm

As you may, or most likely may not, know, I am a HUGE literary fan. Now, while this means that I simply love reading, it does not mean that I read just any single scrap of written paper I happen to stumble upon (although my wife would most definitively disagree with that statement). I am very picky with what I read since I do believe that since the publishing industry became such a money-making machine, people with zero talent have picked up pens and pretended to be great literary geniuses. This is why there are so many bad books out there and it makes me think about the 80s, when one band had success and then you would have other 5 bands copying the first one just to try to get some of the buzz; and more often than not, 4 out of these 5 copycat bands sucked big time.

Back on track with my original idea though, I will be discussing things I read as well as publishing some others, of my authorship or not. This does not mean that I will just go around copy-pasting Tolkien or Richard A. Knaak. The texts that I will post which were not written by me shall give proper credit to the real author, and I will ask for his or her permission to publish it of course.

Every time I post some text, I will be giving a short introduction to it first, of course, detailing who wrote it, when and why am I posting it. Again I will clarify that I am very picky with what I read even within the genres I love. A perfect example of this is Harry Potter. While being a HUGE fan of the fantasy genre in general, I simply do not find this series entertaining. While I do give credit to the author J. K Rowling for her work, I have to admit that I simply don't like the book. I have read the first four books of course as to have grounds and motif (and basically to give the books a chance) of what I don't like in the series (it really annoys me to death when a person says that he or she doesn't like something yet has never or is unwilling to try it), and all I have to say is; I simply don't like it. I can go on and on criticizing ridiculous details and things which I don't like, but simply, the reason is shortened in a phrase I can't recall were I heard:
"Even if you are the best strawberry ice cream in the world, reality is that some people simply don't like strawberry".

I do tend to rant on a lot, so I'll cut this entry "short" here. Have a great day all of you.

Welcome to the Freak Show!

This is just a standard welcome message were I will explain what my blog will be about as well as explain a bit about myself.

My name, as you can read to the left, is Victor Vasconsellos. I'm 25 years old and I am married. In fact, I just got married a month ago and my wife's name is Cristina Silguero, or Kitty. This blog is intended as exactly what the name suggests, a Haven for my thoughts. I will update this every time I either get a chance or feel like it, so don't expect a very active blog. Yet, what I can not promise in updating I can promise in content, so don't stop dropping by occasionally.

That is all I will say for the moment. I hate spoilers, so I will end this entry here and allow you, my reader, to get to know more about me as you read my thoughts and insights on life and thus delve deeper into my mind.

As a farewell I will leave a picture of my wife and me on our wedding day.




Enjoy.