Ese moods

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Hopefully it will not be long from now that I can retake my writing.

It has been a long time since I really wrote.

It’s not until this morning that my preoccupation with writing was what was being a hurdle of sorts in my writing. I worried about being a writer and that sucked loads of energy which is badly needed elsewhere. Like in writing. I worry too much. My stupid dream of becoming a writer has been a sort of hindrance to this date. I will not nourish that stupid dream again. I want to pound the keyword with my thoughts. I want to write no matter what crap comes nor who cares whether it is worth saving or not, I just want to write and create.

Easier said than done of course.

Supposedly carved into the Delphi temple were three phrases: γνωθι σεαυτόν (gnothi seauton = “know thyself”) and μηδέν άγαν (meden agan = “nothing in excess”), and Εγγύα πάρα δ’ατη (eggua para d’atē = “make a pledge and mischief is nigh”)

Am afraid that my smoking years are done. I don’t smoke on a regular basis, just occasionally and emphasis ought to weigh heavy on the occasional. This year I might of have smoked less than 7 cigarettes. Last night I took several puffs of a cigar I bought under the crazy influences of delusional thinking brought upon heavy consumption of wheat and hops. See kids, don’t drink and surf the web! And if you haven’t picked up the thread yet then I can tell you that on occasions when inebriated I tend to indulge on forbidden pleasures. This, for a catholic raised Xicano like me, means that I am usually safely away from the radar of my family, that is, my woman and two kids would no doubt be aghast at my behavior but not entirely surprised. Catholics do enjoy pleasure most when done in hiding. So am done smoking, though I think I will transgress this decision for lack of better judment, am known for having done so before. I tend to work that way but also tend to plan my pleasure trove for the long haul.

For example, this decision of mine to face the fact that I need to stop indulging in the occasional peace pipe runs of madness during the ethylene rush whence said above mentioned behavior finds its source of utmost powerful influence is due to the fact that I feel am fairing ill. I just don’t recuperate from said tissue damage brought forth through mundane abuse of legal substances such as tobacco and alcohol. I feel in me that I need to slow down to a grinding hault.

The logic is quite simple, I derive pleasure from these activities, smoking and drinking. But overdue consumption of said substances tend to tear and ware the apparatus holding what good Christians like to call the temple of God. I figure, and you go figure, that I will inevitably end up kicking the bucket one beautiful day. Whether by accident, perpetration by own hand or that of other or of natural causes. Since I do want to partake of the pleasure of alcohol and maybe tobacco, say, from when am in the age of 70 or so then I need to allow for my body to recuperate properly in order to withstand the onslaught of the tearing and maleficent effects of said substances in my body, hence the planning.

**** Warning, Catholic page following, worst yet, in Spanish, read with diligence and care: Nada Con Exceso, Todo Con Medida.

The curious thing about dying is not that you are dying but the agony of knowing you are going to die. Even more so when one considers how random death is, for God’s sake, I could die writing, as we speak, as I write this last sentence. Off course, then it would be up to someone else to push the publish button, but either way, I just can’t see myself taking my last breath desperately trying to move the mouse over the publish button. But death does strike randomly. One can wait forever or one can just meet the darn equalizer in just about any other possible position. Not that I don’t appreciate life, for all intents and purposes I cherish every living moment but lately death has been brooding in every possible way near my vicinity. Why has the reaper decided to house itself in my neighborhood is really worrying but heck. I suppose everyone has to feel mortality somehow so old bella mort cuts the lawn giving me the creeps. Who knows what this guy, or gal for that matter, wants right? Of all vicinities and it decided on mine, hello Joe Black.

Though it creeps me I believe am not scared. Yes, you read right, I believe, which constitutes a feasible lie. But what is one to do when The Grim Reaper poisons the environment with his presence? Lord knows. Being more conscious of the darn doom cast its shadow everywhere. And no, am not depressed, a little bit down yes, but certainly not gloomy. I suppose everyone ought to have discussions like this with themselves though I recommend highly not to regurgitate this too much. Too much would mean extending the idea far beyond the healthy benefits of brooding over death. One benefit is that one can appreciate life more, taking life for granted doesn’t prepare no one for death. And besides you spend more time dead than alive so what the heck, get that brain ready for the kick of your life.

For all intents and purposes am a shit little fraidy cat when it comes to religion. Last night I dreamt I saw the universe riddled with letters and numbers. This would on other occasions be a rich source of inspiration but not this time nor when I was dreaming my dream. I remember seeing the number, 68. I saw the number several times before, in particular on a little book of poetry by Robert Burns. It is a miniature volume that was purchased in Scotland, in Robert Burns’ cottage. I know this because I obtained the information from the little book, the previous owner had inscribed the date and place of purchase onto it. It was bought in 1968. I myself did not go to any great lengths to acquire the volume, I did buy it though, in the Swedish Highlands, at the local Red Cross store for the amount of 5 Swedish crowns. Either way, the dream was not nice. I felt fear at the sight of seeing signs scribbled across the great vault of the universe. In other words I felt it was a bad portent. This sort of thing tends to bring out my worst fears, really. It’s all too apocalyptic.

This is also rather strange because I personally don’t give two rats about religion anymore, specially the judeo/christian based sort. I frankly disdain it as much as I can though I don’t shy away from reading or studying said religion.

It was a bad dream.

Every since I started my English studies my white professors usually tend to lash their structure whip at my writing. Here in Sweden, both at Stockholm University and Karlstad University I have come across the critique that my writing is erratic. I lack focus, there is no structure and they generally nag once they finally approve my writing that they do it out of some sort of mercy. I don’t like it one bit and I don’t understand why university professors in these universities have resort to humiliating students so they can learn.

I have always wondered why isn’t there more pedagogy in the language courses at the university level here in Sweden. Or maybe its just my luck that my professors are dirt cheap professional assholes. No really, I could name a few names here to lay out the sort of assholes they are. I am so tired of their bullshit and I know am not alone in this complaint. They claim to be professionals and they might just be good at what they do but when it comes to dish this out to the common student they guard themselves in the power vested upon them. It is all silly really. You know it is a misuse of power and I really don’t don’t care that the university professors are overworked. At least in Sweden they seem to be so.

A piece of work should not be left to the whims of the professor. And I know I am supposed to do the job. But fuck, can’t they just tell me wtf I did wrong? And I know they are terrible assessors when they bitch and complain about how this or that is done in a terrible way. They actually manage to bring several notches down the self esteem. It is as if my self esteem was the target. Because that is what they actually bull’s eye every time.

Pricks, I really don’t like the methods my professors use to inculcate knowledge, it sucks and its denigrating to the students:


I believe I just shook the living lights and faith foundations out of a European or Scandinavian as they prefer themselves to be known. I don’t normally like to engage in this sort of intellectual bouts with any human being beside the blank pages that the Internet offer at the disposal of those who are in the know to use said device to churn out intellectual waste such as mine. I say so because I don’t consider my intellectual output to be of the most pristine sort, indeed, I deem it pretty much low carb if you will as it is very light in many respects and albeit with as little substance as possible though its appearances might at times indicate otherwise or right out deceit the eye though I intended not to do so.

I confessed to a person who is being tested on its friendship. Said person seems to be friend material both intellectually and spiritually as well. The outpour tested his beliefs as I pitted my beliefs against his. I flatly renounced all judeo-christian faith right in his face. This rendered asunder all faith platform said friend material stood upon. One might very well wonder what sort of being would test a friend on an intellectual basis and I would readily answer, I. However, this is a point of contention that we shall quibble further on as I proceed forward on. The gist of my spiritual platform resides on the idea that Christianity is an alien form of spirituality to Native Americans. The voices of my ancestors are still to be heard inasmuch as their voice still lingers on both in the flesh as well as in the past because it hasn’t been more than 500 years since the Christian alien force invaded our shores. This very much baffled our guest at hand. Even moreso as I called his faith a malignant virus. Though the malignant adjective was left out in the conversation but was rather implied as being such.

In retrospect I am glad I came clean about my religious beliefs to this honest to God earth man. I wish not him to believe me a man of the Church though I may convey so in our conversations. Hopelly I managed to come across as a man with not much to hide. After all, I did spoke of my spiritual convulsions during my puberty. This I speak not lightly off to anyone, in fact, not too many people in my life know of my spiritual crisis as a young pre-puberty years. Yet said person now knows of this. A gift I was willing to hand to a person I deem highly in spiritual terms. I hope he understood that.

Uterus fighting the bean stalk Wonder Bra Part 1 whilst the Easter Bunny seeketh ancient ritual to pen a trite old fashion. A seahorse is thus seen a far … yeah.

I am a spiritual being as much as the next José. I have read many words and thoughts which spring forth out of this fountain of faith. Both current thought to early greek notions of the Great Beyond. By far and not least the one that has impacted me the most and thereby influenced me since I read them has been Plotinus‘ 6 enneads. I am no stranger to Martin Buber or the hyper optimistic culture laden rethoric of Joel Osteen nor am I a Christian buff since I have read bits and pieces of other religions such as Confucius, learnt about Shinto through Yukio Mishima.  Let’s not speak of our American homegrown religions such as voodoo or ancient tribal American tradition which are more nature bound.

Yet it creeps me out to read American blogs that are heavely impregnated by their religion. And it sure astounds me to read people being driven by their faith which is reminiscent of the impulse of predestination. What surprises me the most is that they lead a life impulsed by what they believe God tells them to do. Oh, and I hate it when they say they will pray for good will.

I pray the Lord saves them from themselves and their little bubbles filled not with the love for humanity but a destructive drive that revolves around ignorance.

Ready made blogs seem to make it easier for a lot of bloggers. Gone are the days when the blog masses seemed to spend as much on the blog as they spent writing on their blog. I suppose there was a collective short circuit and many just couldn’t deal with the symbiosis of both being a sort of techi and a writer. I should know what am talking about. I still deal with strange blog phenomena.


Scheweden is receiving nice like sirocco winds of a sort. Ja! For this corner of the world anything above the freezing level is a hot summer day. So everything is falling in place like any other season, that is if we are not suddenly attacked by martians for being such the sneaky voyeurs always spying on them or a terrible dislocation of the earth’s poles sending day and night to different dimensions of sorts. Flowers bloomed, are blooming, the neighbor smiles more often and I fight the lawn and a pile of guilt about time pressure to finish a 7000 hour ago project today rattles menacingly by the second. Either way, I expect that the normal june rains will make their entrance any day now.


Have kept most to myself these days.

I like to be organized yet when it comes to music I fail to find any pleasure in this otherwise mundane chore.

I feel bothered by t hings that are not straight. This is part of this little knack in my personality. Though I can live with chaos around me I inevitably fail to do so for long periods of times. I will pick up the mess sooner than later.

So I find myself spending huge amounts of time looking for songs to my hearts delight on the net and then pile them up in some folder with no particular order in itself.

I organize them only to then discover that such order bothers the living daylight out of me because the chaos that provided the exalting delightful surprises is not there no longer.

There is a crux in this that I fail to yet appreciate. I wonder if I will ever do.

My God. I think that I have been more consistent in my efforts to diary here more than previous failed attempts. I spent nearly a whole year without doing any effort to write and here I am.

I believe that I can safely return to the posting thang more often now.

I was musing about the state of poverty, yeah, that’s me, the muser. But in all earnest, I am troubled by it. Though I think that it will never change, no Star Trek fantasies here. Money? Right.

Christianity is the culprit. I blame the cristian faith for more things in this world so I’ll pile it up on that piece of crap.

I betcha some people with get offended by that. Who the fuck cares about these christian taliban anyways. I do, apparently. Either way, they annoy me. I hate the faith but at least I have spent the time reading it. I know most of my bible and not just the stupid King James one. I know the catholic one too.

Anyhows, I worry that poverty can never be eradicated. I mean, look at governments around the world. I was watching I can’t fucking remember what some stupid middle class sport event and I watched intently at the facilities for said monkey show. Wads of bucks spent to make the place spic and span. If only people had the same drive to try and help people there wouldn’t be so much fucking discrimination. Which brought to my attention the fact that government does actually engage in discriminatory acts that favor, constantly, proyects for the middle class and only for the middle class.

Fucking politicians, they never care about the people, they only care about their stupid wallets, am telling you.

In the age of the blog, Stream of consciousness will revolutionize neurosis in ways only television can understand …

Yesterday, my closest friend ever said the unthinkable, he said, I hate Hitler.

I couldn’t believe my ears. He said, upon me asking why, that it was because of him, a state of Israel exists today.

I said, politically speaking, Israel lives in a perpetual state of doubt in the now.

I fail to understand his new gained insight in world affairs but a small inkling tracked me down all the way here.

I nearly got on my knees, I begged, for him to expound.

Had ony Hitler let be, Israelis would never had accepted a state for their physical selves.

Befuddled I implored for more.

Jews suffered their extermination in ways we fail to understand.

But had Hitler just let be, he insisted, maybe jews, the elite, would never ever had agreed to religious zealots dreams.

Instead, zealots, rule Israel.

with that he failed to utter more.


Drropy eyes
burped the last gas

had more time

Though the clock
’tis struck

Reading this sent revulsions of all sorts down my spine.

The most famous record of slave life, Frederick Douglass’s “Narrative,” rendered vividly the vile mix of lust and domination practiced by slave owners.

This is a bunch of poo in the loo in my eyes. The most famous is by far Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl.

It just turns out that the aforementioned article writer chose to elevate the one mentioned for the purpose of highlighting a sucession of possibilities for the benefit of present company.

Slavery is not something that ought to be awakened so easily for the purposes of gaining favor in some. Slavery is a gross crime from the past that is yet to be addressed or resolved.

Republicans and their cronies ought to feel embarrased for allowing this kind of crap to crop in an era like ours.

Hope the article writer gets chastised by a few or more.

A poem I wrote on the subject at hand not long ago.

The weird and odd thinker at Daily Kos [too asimilado for my taste] had nothing to add to the immmigration issue and the mass protests that ensued thereby. So much for crashing the gates. There is a thing that assimilated to the core Xicanos loath most and that is Raza being raza. For these kind of Xicanos these raza aren’t gringo enough. Oh, but they’ll go on and on about the US Constitution this and that.

Zúñiga, who hates it when his last name is mispronounced by the general media, no, not Zúñiga but that other funny sounding name, Moulitsas, states that “My heroes are Archbishop Oscar Arnulfo Romero, Cesar Chavez“.

I think that this hip young raza man, whose blue-red blood runs deep enough to ignore the raza sediment in his veins, is beyond gente.

Am I being evil? No. I think that he is using his origins and color amén de su nombre to gain political gain. Is that bad? No, but it ain’t honest either.

Yes, I know he is busy being the good Democrat. Oh, am sorry, am not an American? That am a Mexican Xicano, should I have not opined?

PS: the Kos gang zoomed on my post like a rabbit out of the blue, erhm, that doesn’t make sense does it? I wonder what they thought? Sure’nuff and item on the protest appeared on the matter [though, we must admit, that we do not know if our blog had anything to do with that decision, that is, to mention, the protest], jíjole, even on a bullet! Wait till I tell the folks back home about it *insert a jethro from Beverly Hillbillies laugh here* I made a difference.

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