Me Tarzan, You Jane.

The documentary festival started today. One of the morning sessions left me with a bit of a headache, well I'm not saying that it was bad, instead I liked it, just that my eyes are not adapted to the way it was presented on the big screen with all the flashing and blurring images, it was about someone going blind so this technique is quite understandable, though I don't fancy it at all.

Concha was in the neighbourhood around the same time so I sought her out to kill the gap between sessions, but in fact I was considering giving up and go home instead because the world was still spinning around and I could really use some serious lying down. Still, despite the nausea, I decided to stay because I was really looking forward to the afternoon and evening sessions.

So there I was, standing in line with the ticket in my hand when I saw this incredibly attractive female passing in front of me and "cute" slipped my lips. Now that was something because I normally don't do that, I would say "take a look at that" frivolously.

After I seated myself, I found the empty seat next to me taken by someone, a female, one with curly long hair, and... it was her! What are the chances, what are the chances, mate, right next to me, the incredibly attractive female moments ago!

When the credits started to roll more than 90 percent of the audiences disappeared while the director was open to questions on stage. She remained there, just the two of us in that comfy part of the room, so under the pretext of borrowing a pen I ah officially turned and talked to her, at the same time grooming for my next move. "Excuse me, mademoiselle, allow a burning soul to disturb your peace. The thing is, my lady, that the next one which is about to be shown is Svyato which I heard was worth the trouble. And I've been contemplating over the bold quest whether you would grace my existence by permitting me the privilege of accompanying you in the appreciation of this film, to determine for ourselves whether it was truely as good as I've been told", excited and gleefully I harboured the phrase which was repeated over and over during the whole session.

Then on the way out I finally gathered enough cojones to tap her lightly on the shoulder. She turned and ah, Svyato, Svyato, open air movie, I stammered. "Ah, yes, it's the one at 1930" and then she continued on with her intended course, seemingly undisturbed by nothing, nothing at all. Because nothing came out to change that course. So nothing changed, just one more difficult night and the subsequent torture in the following days till the next opportunity presents itself before my eyes. And round and round and the concentric ruin survives.

Breaking News

In response to the cellphone terrorists attacks that are currently on the rise and to protect the general public, the UN passed a new law enabling the regional authorities legitimate rights to ban cellphones and like devices in their territories once and for all.

"However, this doesn't mean the end for the telecommunication, nor does it mark the beginning of the era of excommunication" -said the spokesman-. "Instead, during the past few years, with the avid collaboration from the scientists from the ongoing Project Mindvision, we have successfully decoded the data flow and recoded it into human encephalon recognizable patterns so that the brain could be utilized as the direct receiver, therefore bypassing any needs of an external one."

"Moreover, Detecting Poles will be set up within the controlled areas to keep high vigilance and to destory any banned transmission devices if they should be discovered." -reiterated the spokesman, stating to the press their resolution to bring about world peace.

"The benefits of BrainCell-Phone, apart from the instant removal of possible terrorist cellphone attacks, are numerous" -he continued-. "All the existing functions of your cellphone are untouched and the actions of answering, dialing or sending an message are done on a whim. And the best of all is that there will be no delay because the datas will still get through even if the other end is practising reenergizing activities, such as sleeping, their central nervious system will reply without the need to wake up the person himself."

Regrettably, due to the humble size of the present blog, we're unable to present the press conference in its entirety here. But this will without doubt revolutionalize the way people think, the whole world of economics and, indeed, the whole world. Ladies and gentlemen, what we're witnessing here is one of the most important events in human history.

Bad News

Mao has problem with Nietzsche and he surely makes the most out of his position while on the surface giving him advices, but in fact trying to bend him to his will thus showing everyone that Nietzsche is his subject colleague. He has something to say about everything Nietzsche does: his tone, the color of his shirt, the language he speaks, etc., etc.

Met Mao, unfortunately, earlier this afternoon when Nietzsche was on his way to the library in his usual tomato shirt, and a shower of shells firing from Mao's mortar downed on Nietzsche inquiring him whether he belonged to a specific political party due to the color match. And then he continued with his crap, kindly "informing" him that some students deliberately spoke twanenish to him and he should refrain from speaking that language during the class because it's not the dominant language in Twanenland.

These words filled Nietzsche's chest with rage, all he wanted to do was to slap Mao square in the face and kick him off the bench, but of course, as an employee of the uni and educated decent young man he can't do that, unfortunately. So he just replied, well, I'm a poor guy who can't afford to buy more clothes than the one I was having on me, and I can't really and shouldn't prohibit the students from speaking my mother tongue with me if they wanted to. What would that make me if I don't allow them to speak their language? Besides, take note, if your memory fails to do so, I wasn't speaking twanenish, but wankerin, your so-called dominant language, in my classes, precisely because there're irresponsible parents not teaching it to their kids, not passing on the culture, but only outside of class, that is to say, in my goddamn free time. And don't get too political, the color of my shirt is none of your fucking business.

So Nietzsche argued with Mao, in a lighter tone of course, normally he doesn't argue, but just smile, but this time he had to because he doesn't allow anyone to tell him which language he shouldn't speak. Then he excused himself because he needed to go to the library, just some 20 meters away, but seemed so distant and far away, before it closed in half an hour. As Nietzsche walked away, he had a feeling that something ominous was gathering its force in the dark.

The Accidental Tourist (1988 )

It has been a fairly uneventful day. I cut short the vacation to prepare for my classes back in the uni, but I haven't really done much intended serious work yet. Woke up at 0900, received some cookies from sites with naked sheilas, and, like their awesome power that never ceased to surprise me, half of the day was gone.

Following my well-trained student habits, I checked the telly schedule and there's a seemingly interesting one on HBO at 2100 so I thought to myself, well, why not? Occassional reunion of the plug and the socket won't hurt that much anyway.

And so William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, Geena Davis and the rest, in a duration of 121 minutes, saw to it that it wouldn't. I would probably regret it if I hadn't seem it, a film that became the latest entry into my all-time favorites list. But, then again, of course, how could I regret something that never took place?