screenplay: family unfair

A short story showing three errors by one probably unsuspectful on being a bigot bigot father as they are percepted by his daughter Milla.

Link (pdf): family unfair (try #1) – a short film by Coiote Flores and The Godnapper Fooleries Cot

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there is love

So love being this or love being such, those assumptions, conclusions, arbitrary statements could never work. But yes, there is love in such and those.

There is love in feeling your arm numb and not caring at all with the tactless of your fingers on the plate because you’re happy that you’re making her breakfast and that it was under her that your arm stopped receiving blood.

There is love is not caring about not using the heavy drugs the substance you cared so much you almost gave your life for. There is love in loving pot because you did pot with her but still not growing fond of pot because you’re all fond of her.

There is love in that smile that sends your lonely beat up self away and pulls the real you inner on the in that is the company of her.

There is love in her body pressuring yours and pulling yours under her; there’s love when she rests her head on your face or move her legs through yours and you feel such grace while thinking “this body is with my body and she cares for me” and you’re so amazed that happens because it happens with that person so perfect that a couple of weeks before you thought the idea of such happening was nonsense daydreaming.

There is love in all that and much more and love is finding love in such.

too late

I shall not die unartistically; my body is to perish the abandoned shell of unquiet soul.

You couldn’t kill me when I bore no treat. You can’t kill me as of now for I ain’t to be harmed.

This is a construct. The soul is long spread.

Too late, too late; this treat walks live with the dead.

american gods: 1st episode review

The first episode was quite an introduction, I should say. 25 minutes into the episode and I had my mind set that they got the adaptation right, even though, no matter how much is invested in series in these days and putting aside my unbalanceable faith in Neil Gaiman, we always have doubts at first.

If you’re not familiar with the literary, you should read it as soon as possible. You will get much more of the TV show. Trust me on that.

Ian MacShane is just perfect in the role of Mr. Wednesday.

As for the Leprechaun? It took me a while to know who the character in the book was, but in the show I could see the Leprechaun right there, in his noticeable and righteous 6 feet in height.

What else should I say? Emily Browning, an actress I admire and whose presence in the series gave me great joy, makes but a small appearance in the first episode, but I’m sure we are to see much more of her: the show is not taking away the occasional (and used only as necessary in the books) dreams and flashbacks of our main character Shadow.

As for those who have read the book, be not afraid. Just watch and indulge yourselves.

requiescat in pace

It’s been a daily struggle to shake off that feeling of a constant collapsing surrounding us, which is not a constant but rather just something increasingly more frequent. One perishes and that feeling comes strong and you have to remind yourself that while that one tired off and led themself out of this apparently collapsing world we must struggle forth. And it really is not as hard as it seems: there is so much growth around those collapsing pillars — we just have to lean on that instead of leaning on the dying.

As for the sadness cast upon us on this day, on the passing of a largely admired artist, a human being, someone who I don’t remember touching me in a personal level as much as has done to others, I can only understand it through the words of a preacher: if a part of Europe gets watered off in the sea, Europe changes, for that stranded land was part of what made Europe itself. The same way, the death of another man diminishes me, for I am part of human kind. (ask not for whom the bells toll — the bells toll for you)

bring me a dream

Mister Sandman, bring me the sand. Lots and lots of sand A whole two hundred square miles of sand. Also some water to wash off on it. And palm trees and little turtles and the seagulls.

Well, I didn’t know that was an island but if that’s what I need to get some sleep then I’ll take it.

#sandman #sleep #shortstories

ORdinarY aNTI-imperaliSt REvolutionary

This song was written by my good friend Fefel. It’s about what we in Brazil call “esquerdomacho”, which is something like the oh-so-libertarian-and-left-thinking-guy who is actually a misogynyst like any other self indulging male. I thought I should share with the world since her music and her lyrics are both wonderful and have a very important message to send.

ORdinarY aNTI-imperaliSt REvolutionary
by Fefel

he told me everything about
the right prnciples of social justice and the fight for minorities, basic sociology
he wore a black shirt with white circles flags and anti-sayings on it
man-explained what should I know
how should i feel
what should I think

test me, test me
do I Worth it
test me test me
am I enough ?

tell me when
should I consent
do you want me to pretend
Im sooo dumm

(oh my god you’re my hero)

then we’re in bed
you make it dark
light a candle
your eyes they spark

I trust you, fool me
your ideals are now under trial, sir !

you hold me hard
then press my head
against your skin
metallic taste
against my will
you turn my FACE

test me, test me
do I Worth it
test me test me
am I enough ?

tell me when
should I consent
do you want me to pretend
Im sooo dumm

Anti-imperialism
revolutionary
just another sexist
you’re so ordinary !

acoustic isolation

There’s a song that sings
what I want to hear
But my mind is deaf
it shuttles off and scream

Alarm, bell, calling, pitch,
warning buzz, adverting whistle,
a shout, a conunseling tone:

My mind screams to alert
for trouble, whether is none
or one’s to come.

And I can’t hear that song.
It sounds, I collect, yet no
signal get to where it’s at:
dopamine stays still, soundproof deaf.