I have been reviewing my copy of Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut and,
It turns out that microessay applies to the definition of those “Trafalmadorian Novels.”
Hm.
Extraterrestrial
Home
PSA: Site Updated
I am leaving “Born Every Minute” as default displaying page.
You can navigate entries through “Home” page or Search Box.
Logical Inference
According to The Buddha:
“Life is suffering.”
And Nietzsche states:
“If it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger.”
Therefor:
I am:
1. 900 fkn years old.
2. Virtually inmortal.
Eureka!
Falling asleep over a midnight thought
And that’s why. That’s why.
Eureka! The secret of life.
Because today you went out,
Now as the clock is about to strike twelve,
For you to fall asleep.
And you’ve realized, all by yourself,
That it could’ve been anyone.
That gal who winked you an eye,
The other who was walking with her boyfriend,
Holding hands…
And as each one of you turned around,
You realized you were looking at eachother’s butts.
Not to mention all of your exes,
Or why the hell not,
That sassy guy who puckered up as you walked by.
Now, as the clock strikes twelve,
You realize, you’re somebody’s reason to masturbate.
Astral Voyage
A Planetride.
I just was thinking, this is a Planetride.
If only I could make people see from my eyes.
This is but a Planetride.
We are on Earth.
Earth rotates.
Earth revolts around the Sun.
The whole of the Solar Systen revolts within the Milky Way.
Which… Well…
Just a Music. Just like celestial Music Time,
Which cannot be heard, for it has always sounded.
Just does Space. Velocity…
It depends on the observant.
As a whole.
From my eyes. Just from my eyes.
I always wanted to study Science.
Mentors would guide me:
“Are you sure you don’t want to write?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to draw, to take pics?”
“In all seriousness, why aren’t you already writing?”
I would choose Science.
Deep inside. Perhaps. I always knew it to be an inspiration.
I am traveling… All within myself.
Just an experiment. I am writing.
That witch. That witch. She would talk to Angels;
By automatic writing.
I was 14. I am, still 14. Only writing this at age 28.
I was 14. I am, 14. Reckless, I said:
“I must see by myself”.
Grabbed the pen, the sheet of paper…
A reference for voyaging, for me;
A mere observer.
Yet another photograph
PSA: Share, share, share
More and more Spaniards are adding up to my statistics page of today.
It is 8.13 am here.
There are only 2 visitors who accessed through a referent.
I had been leaving the URL of this site on the footer of my documents.
This being said,
Thanks for reading;
Thanks for sharing.
OK
According to This ⤵️⤵️⤵️
84 visitors from Spain have visited this site from midnight til now (7.23 am).
I want to be clear that I am keeping on writing in English on this.
Torture’s Man
Torture’s Man.
He isn’t afraid of words’ double-meaning either.
Alone in a sea of people, polluted as the real part of the metaphore.
Just fed up. Word he’s fed up.
And thus Torture’s Man, goes out on the street.
A hag is being robbed by a youth, and she shouts out for help.
“Oh, a robbing, oh là là” were the words to come out of his mouth.
The robber takes it as a defiance, and places his knife in Torture’s Man’s neck, exactly opposing his jugular.
“Oh, a cutting thing. Oh là là”, he skewers, just before leaving the youth badly wounded from a forbidden strike.
He just keeps on walking.
Four officers stop him.
“Oh, fire guns. Oh, là là”.
The tallest points to his police badge.
“Oh, the Authority. Oh, là là”.
He cracks his head open with his club. Call it a silly day.
“Hum, I am bleeding out. Oh, là là”.
Finally in Hell:
“Ow, ow, ow, Satan’s gonna hurt me.”
“Know what? Forget me”.
He sees the face of God Himself:
“Man, you… I mean, you!?”
“Hey, hey, hey, God is not O. K. Oh, là, LÀ”
Being
