Alice: Madness Returns

So…I’m in chapter 2. I don’t care about the flaws, I don’t care about…well…anything really, this game is awesome. Go get it.

P.S. DLC dresses & weps make it waaaay to easy, so i’d recommend not using them.

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And so…it begins.

Haha. This…is bullshit. Woman are random. And so i am too. Nyaaa.

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Fuck the fucking fuckers!

We have a new president. That is, Latvia has a new president. This idiot, is NOT my president.

Basically, out parliament votes AGAINST on allowing one of the most corrupt politicians (and the local Oligarch) Ainārs Šlesers house to be searched for evidence against him. Then, our old president decides that it’s time to do something, so he dissolves the parliament. (There’s going to be a referendum after a while. I’m voting FOR this idea.) Then, the parliament (as today was our presidental elecition, and out parliament elects the president) elects Andris Bērziņš, and obvious placeholder who’s involved in a LOT of dirty deals with the local oligarchy, including the aforementioned Šlesers as our new president.

Fuck this shit, i’m moving to China. But only after a small, personal revolution. Time to raise the flags, men! I’m pissed….

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Sleeeeeeeep….

I’m so sleepy, i could kill a cow.

9.th of may passed peacefully in Latvia, except that i didn’t understand why the people at the WW2 memorial, the so-called victory monument, waved the flags of modern russia + tzarist symbols.

Haven’t posted here for a while, because i’ve been dead busy writing a) my coursework + b) the part 2 of Madame Kurz. And, of course, i haven’t slept too much.

But…i have a question: anyone of you play World of Tanks? We’re trying to make a clan in the European server, and more people would be veeery awesome.

But…yeah, off to bed now. -_-

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Looks can kill

I bought a nice pair of shoes. Not because  i needed a pair of nice-looking shoes, but because i have 47th shoe size. (Internet tells me it’s 12th for UK people and 13th for American people. Japanese have no such shoe size per se.) And i can’t walk with my combat boots in summer.

So, as i have nice shoes now, i’m even more inclined to walk around in a suit, with my beautiful & awesome fedora hat.

And it sucks, because now every bum on the street asks me for money/cigarettes. I went to buy some patches for my hurting feet – hard leather shoes do that, while they haven’t been worn comfortable yet. And while i went the two blocks from my home to the store, three people managed to ask me for something. And…ehh, with my kind heart, i just cannot say no. But it IS damn irritating.

At the very least, they consider me to be a bad-ass gentleman, and all call me “sir” which is unusual. And…nice, in a way.

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Madame Kurz Sells Time

This just popped in my head. More or less is a prequel for my Offlock – which is a series that will be continued, if you’ll enjoy the para-psychological idea and the real it’s-in-your-head horror.

There are some things in this world that make even a weird person like me smile. Sometimes, it is enough to add: “Enough of this self-pity!” to a sentence to make it awesome. Sometimes, you want to come out of your corner, and just stop crying about how much of a bitch the life is for a second.
Most of the times, the things and the times like that are women and when you meet them. Being happy in a relationship is fucking important. Other times, it’s more like the feeling you have, when you wake up in the morning, and the first thing you do after waking up is having a cup of coffee and lighting up your morning cigarette. Feels so good. Feels almost godlike. These moments are the wonderful, excellent, beautiful little things that make you feel invincible; it’s when the whole world spins around you, and you are on top of it, giving the orders and organizing your own life.

But that doesn’t happen often.

And they won’t let you build upon it.

And otherwise, everything sucks.

But i live for those moments, and crave nothing else, but to feel them now and then again. This must read terribly like something written by Chuck…with the weird surname, which i cannot pronounce. Too bad it’s just ugly little me.

And i’m in your head too.

It all started when i decided to visit that little store. It was a strange advertisement: “Madame Kurz Sells Time!” it said. Nothing like the other things i’ve seen. Sure, there were some interesting cases about selling the land on Moon and Venus and whatnot, but…time. Wow. It must make a great and funny birthday gift, i thought.
So i went to the location which the paper informed me about. It changed things. Changed me. Changed you too. Except that you’ll find out about it later.

Yes, this is a fucking diary. Fuck you. Fuck you and your cynicism. Fuck you and your idealism. Just…Fuck You! Written in all-caps this can be seen on every wall, every fence…everywhere. But then again, fuck me too.

The woman opened the door. She looked quite old, yet elegant for her age. About sixty, maybe sixty five, she wore a long dress, blue like the midnight and awe inspiring like the old Russian nobility. I could recognize her from somewhere, yet i did not know from exactly where – and not that it mattered. I told her the reason of my arrival, and that one was important. At that time.
There was a beautiful young woman, who would celebrate her 24th birthday soon enough, and i had to buy her a gift. I fancied her, and wanted to seem more awesome to her than I actually was.

So, what the hell, I though. Maybe someting fancy, but that would make her think i’m a stalker – and not like in the video game – or something. It had to be original, and yet, polite. So, i needed some time. For her. For me. For me and her, hell, i didn’t need time, i needed a gift, and Madame Kurz warned me about it. She told me that in my face: “You don’t seek time, you seek a gift. I don’t sell gifts, so, please, i can offer you some Tea, but don’t expect to receive what you haven’t come here for.”

Of course, i thought she was joking. She wasn’t. Not that it mattered – i thought she’d sell me a card or something of that sort…the rather-pointless-gift shops are full with crap nobody needs, nor wants, yet people buy those things like the mindless drones they are. I asked for tea. A black one. With two spoons of sugar and some milk. We sat in her comfortable living room, she taking the comfy purple velvet-covered chair next to the cofee table, while i sat on the sofa – it seemed that all of this furniture was old. Really old. Ancient, yet, well preserved. I didn’t know what to say, so i kept my mouth shut, and waited for an offer of some sort. Maybe three euros, maybe four – i don’t know how much fancy greeting cards cost these days.
But she said nothing; she was just sitting there and silently looking at a painting of a beautiful blonde lady on the wall. Almost like a photograph, the painting was fascinating beyond all doubt. I’ve yet to see such a beautiful woman in my life, her blonde hair slightly covering her pale face and, of course, sapphirre blue eyes. Madame Kurz looked at me, and decided to speak. “What do you like the most about the picture?” An unexpected question indeed, yet, i’ve been through all kinds of trouble, and this seemed like a nice adventure to tell to your pals in a smoky, poorly lit bar over a pint of beer. So, i honestly answered, and waited what would happen next: “It’s the eyes, i suppose – they seem so lifelike. And it’s true that men are drawn to beautiful women, and by my standards, this one is extraordinarily charming one.”
She smiled, and replied with almost no sound coming from her lips, the answer was more silent than a whisper, i could barely hear it, yet i understood everything completely: “It’s my grandmother. Good old days when the artists were more precise, and didn’t draw such incomprehensible things. You’ll meet her in due time, and I assure you, nothing of that beauty is lost.”
That was weird, and made me feel terribly uneasy – like in the horror movies, when you’ve no idea what will happen next, because you know that the movie you are watching is not a random slashterpiece, but instead a quality film, probably from Spain, probably directed by Guillermo Del Toro.

Chose to ignore the remark.

Asked for some time instead; I had to give that girl something she’d remember, something awesome.

And i got some time. All the time in the world, even. No gifts. Like she promised. And it wasn’t that nice either.

Time feels like when you’re taking a shower, but then the hot water gets turned off and the soap gets in your eyes, but at the same time you’re getting the most genius idea ever.
She sold me that feeling, packaged in a small, brightly orange cube. I bought the cube for about 20 euros, but at that point, money started to lose all value. The small cube seemed to be made out of plastic, i wasn’t scrathcable, and was extremely lightweight. Madame Kurz smiled like it was her birthday when she gave that to me. She also said that people who are not allowed to, don’t see the advertisement – or, more precisley, they don’t see the advertisement when it’s not their time to see it. And it made sense, as…she literally sold me some time.
Not that surrealistic, if you ask me. You buy the mass of meat and vegetables, the lenght of a movie, the experience of a thrilling ride in the fair…why can’t people just buy a little time for themselves?
It’s the time that the soldier who received that bullet could’ve lived. It’s the time that the person in the bed next to yours in the hospital could’ve had, before the cancer got him. Time doesn’t care, and it doesn’t flow either. It is. And it can be lost, found and obviously sold. And i bought some.

I promise, i’ll never do that again.

And she’s better off with someone else anyway.

It’s hard to explain this to you, as you read this sentence by sentence, letter by letter, but i’ve made it as a complete text, as a monument to whatever made me understand how things are and whatever will happen next – or before.
Basically, i just took the small cube, said thanks, paid the money and left the Madame’s apartment. The picture of her grandmother still somehow remained in my head, and although it was a shame that i didn’t get a neat card to enhance my awesome gift, the thought was original, and now i had a story to tell.

But to whom?
It was dark, when i left the old lady’s place. I went to the closest bus stop, i needed to get on the 31st one to get back home. Walked to the stop in a hasty pace, because i wanted to play some games before going to sleep. The stop was empty, and i didn’t know what time it is….was. I must have spent more time looking at the picture and drinking tea than i should, but the last bus leaves at 23.45, and i was pretty sure that it wasn’t as late, because the store where i bought cigarettes while coming here was still open.
When the bus arrived, it was empty. I was too lazy to buy a ticket, so i decided to cheat some money out of our beloved government, and ride without one. Not that the driver cared, he surely has more troubles than caring about a single passenger in one of the last buses.
The drive home usually takes about 40 minutes from the university, and this was a bit further. So, i had some time to read – buses are ideal locatons for your studies, because then your annoying roommates aren’t disturbing you, and while your mp3 player is working, you’re immune to most outside effects. I took my book on the history of warfare and started studying it again.
But the bus crash soon after made me forget the original intent…the driver was dead, and everything around me was blue as a midnight and awe inspiring as old style Russian nobility. We had crashed into a tree. And the orange cube began glowing. It would do so every time it stole someone’s time – but the first time was horrid. My phone was dead, i couldn’t call the police – so, i decided just to wait here, until they arrive themselves – because running from a crime scene is never a good idea.
Except the times when it is.

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Adventuring day!

Today, i got pulled out of the house to participate in the shooting of mass scenes of a music video. That’s going to be in a movie.  And those two hours were damn good fun – and i also happened to be useful, because my chainmail armband reflects light and is visible – ergo, was used as a spot marker for the lead female.

And as if that wasn’t it, i got my first experience with an automatic firearm today. It’s an Ak – 4, which is basically the Swedish version of H&K G3A3. And…it’s crappy. You see, you stop loving firearms so much, after you’ve cleaned one. Got a nice facebook/frype pic from it though. So, without further ado, here’s the beast, and here’s me:

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Too much of a good thing…

Well, i’ve found a person who hasn’t seen The Lord of The Rings. Funny, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem possible, and yet, is so true.

Skipped my Spanish class yesterday – instead, i went to our European Union house, and watched Vete de mi. It’s a nice movie, except no one with a slightest hint of sanity understands wtf that movie is about.

In other news…there are no other news. I have no life, goddamnit, and that makes me sad. Oh well. Beer, anyone? Or, better yet, a date?

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Scrap. (or Crowbar. Two meanings, you see)

This is an awesome text by Dmitriy Gorchev. I, as a post-soviet person, born in the largest, now nonexistant country in the world, enjoyed it a lot, and decided to translate it to English for you, not-harsh-enough foreign people. (Kidding, i love you guys!)  I had to add some notes, tho. Russian, unlike English, is a complicated language with lots and lots of awesome names and hidden meanings, so yeah. The notes are in italic.

btw: here’s the original in Russian, if you can read that, do so!
http://gorchev.lib.ru/txt/by1/lom.shtml

Scrap

Since the Communists left us, our lives lack order and causality.

When the Communists, for example, cut off the heating, then they cut off the electricity right afterwards, so nobody would turn their electric heaters on – and disabled the gas. Because it is understandable that, while they haven’t announced communism on the radio, somewhere out there are some irresponsible bastards, who’ll start to warm their asses by turning on the oven, instead of sending this gas, for example, to orderly Finnish bourgeois or buying our beloved ladies Finnish boots, so that our beloved ladies’s legs wouldn’t freeze, and so that our beloved ladies’s genitals wouldn’t freeze, so that our beloved ladies would give birth (literally – spawn births, as in – en masse) to healthy children, and lots of them, otherwise all of USSR would be overrun by Uzbeks – but i have to add that i don’t have anything against Uzbeks,  they grow great cotton for our soldier’s clothing, and for sargeant’s coats and officer’s suits.

These days, nobody knows how to think this globally.

And if someone had frozen deeply, he just could’ve taken a crowbar and crushed the ice on and around his porch (remember that we’re speaking about apartment buildings here, no private houses) : then he wouldn’t break his arm over there, the next day, neighbors will be happy as well – and just think how warm you’ll feel, while doing this. And afterwards, you’d come home, light a candle, pull the self-made sauerkraut (what sort of a stupid name this is? I mean, they are just…err…acidified cabbage) – possibly with added cranberries - out of the green enamelled bucket that’s on your balcony to eat while you’re drinking ice-cold vodka, and afterwards you could sing and dance, and afterwards you could fuck you wife under а quilt blanket, and still go to work on the next day. And it’s great in the workplace: there’s both light and warmth, and you’ll get a glass of whipped cream in the buffet, just pull your cog, grind your teeth more, and draw your design plan make it huge, clean and awesome, like the Flying Island of Sun! And they’ll make a generalized plate out of it, like the one on the front of the pedagogue institute, with a sledgehammer and a divider.

But nobody uses a crowbar anymore, utterly no one.

But earlier, millions of people were walking around with a crowbar, a pick (and two other tools, which i seriously don’t know how to translate in russian, so i hope someone will help me out.)

By the way, can anyone of you break the ice around your porch properly? Fuck. No one. But in earlier days, everyone could do that, and everyone sung and went to the parades, and gave birth to healthy children. And lots of them.

And we were born healthy as well.

When we were born, we screamed in bass, sucked thick fingers and ground tree branches with our teeth. And then we stooped, wrinkled, put glasses on our noses, our hair got grizzled and we became frustrated neurotics and latent schizophrenics.  How’s life? – they ask us. Wel, all’s well, we answer.

 

This…is mostly understandable, if you at least have soviet-born parents. My dad used to tell me stories about the live in USSR. And the movies are quite nice too. We like it here.

Hope you enjoyed this mumbling. Thank you, Ieva, for letting me stay at your place for these two early pre-work hours, for my dad is a bastard, and i was freezing on the street otherwise.

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El Orfanato

It’s a bad idea to watch Spanish horror movies in the middle of the night.  At least, i had some wine. But hey, this movie…was one of the really, really rare horror movies that actually startled me.

And afterwards, i sent an sms to all of my friends. I had to, because a ) wine b ) wow….movie made Torq think. Hehe.

Anyways, here’s a comic by Nim. About Dali. Is awesome.

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