:: the death of cool people I know is banned from now on ::

Monday morning, I call to see how are the upgrades to my car going, and the fix of the AC.

I'll try to seem busy and exasperated so they hurry up a bit.

Only one ring and an answer... weird, it takes until the 7th ring of the 3rd call to get from under the car, wash hands and answer...

And a voice I know but didn't expect answers: the watchman.

-'Sir, we're closed today. The workshop will not open today nor tomorrow'

-'What do you mean? It's monday!! Where's Geovanny?

-'Everyone is at the cemetary, Mr. Geovanny passed away yesterday in a traffic accident, sir'

-'WTF'

It's weird to make a call, ask for someone and to get such reply.

There goes one of the few other Mercedes enthusiasts I know. A guy who actually lived from his favorite cars. And likely died on his favorite car.

Well, our favorite car of my possession is torn like a puzzle in his closed workshop. Hope his apprentices can handle tomorrow when they open.

He might have just been my mechanic. But sure he was a nice dude. People that I like don't die often. And it's the first tragical and seemingly premature death of someone I like. Before that, only my parents' grandparents and one grandfather, but in their cases seemed natural and peaceful.

Update: Just found the news about it. I didn't have any details. It was painful and slow. It's disturbing. I've shaken that hand. I've sat in the passenger seat of that car. I have got many ideas from that car to upgrade mine. Mutilation in front of people who loves you and bleeding to death for some hours; really not the way you want to go. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.

:: The cult of personality ::

A coworker, of the same hierarchy level in the company as me, just told me something I liked on IM:

I know why you like to hang out alone,
that way you look at the rest of us
the people
without being seen as one of us
and plotting strategies.
You have something
I don't know what
that makes you look
superior;
I haven't determined what it is.
You have to exploit that characteristic.

Then you wonder why I'm cocky...




(I'm done of flexing my ego muscles in front of you, you can leave).

:: Dread and the fugitive mind ::

I'm a piece of another puzzle.

But I have felt human touch. Wishing to heal a wounded soul, wishing to sit and have fun, watching tv, playing with cats, I had many good times.

But I have felt human touch. Maybe in need to feed sporadic hungers. Hungers like cold, lovelessness, even boredom I admit.

My intentions are never wicked. My goals will not make anyone cry. At least if it all works as intended.

But I'm a piece of another puzzle. And I won't make anyone happy for long. No one will understand why I disappear, no one will understand what I'm talk about. Only one person.

Only one wicked person, this woman I met when we were both almost kids. Only one.

And Gloria is sad, and I wish to comfort her. But will it last? Will she appreciate what I give? Won't she feel I mistreat her with my coldness? Or is it better to let her heal herself? I have been proven a major failure as a spirit healer.

Is she too a piece of this worldly puzzle of average goals such as marriage and kids? homes and cars? Is she as normal as all the men that held her? Is she as normal as the man that holds her?

I don't think she is. I know she thinks she is not.

What do this means? I don't know