Anatomy and physiology of life Business mind. Self-help life truths. Stories to ponder. The free mind of a human god!

Laugh a little.

For today I thought some funny photos or memes, something to ease the burden we might carry in life.  Because, I was thinking, life is better if seen through the eyes of laughter, for life is not a burden or crippling pain, and life is definitely not depressive; however, I know this still happens because the mind makes it appear so.  The mind then must be trained to see the positive in situations otherwise overwhelming, and through a smile, a joke, or through some laughter we may raise ourselves above all pointless frustration and all suffering.

So don’t think too much, just enjoy them without judging them.  Hope you like these…



Selfie of the day















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Anatomy and physiology of life Self-help life truths. Stories to ponder. The free mind of a human god!

A series of fun events.

Can’t you see that life is something to enjoy, fun, beautiful, whatever the situations are…??  Do you understand that you are experiencing this life to enjoy it…??
People tend to take things too seriously, don’t they…??  Of course, there is illness, economic problems, loss of loved ones, ignorant people around us, and more; however, if you can step away from those negative thoughts once in a while you might just like life, and you even may see the joke life is.  Your mind and its content is the screen through which you see life and the situations in your midst, and that is why you must clear your mind, wise up, elevate your consciousness, and see the beauty and love which is on the other side of your frustrations.

God, Creation, Life, Divine Essence, yes indeed, they are always giving you reasons to wake up and see the jokes behind every situation, behind every terrible illness, behind each burden you carry from the past.  Because all life is, all your moments, is a divine and fun series of events, like beautiful still photographs which you may see in your ignorance covered in filthy mud or in your very wisdom shining with warming light.

You build a world of love and happiness, of laughter and joy, when you bring those same things from yourself; and it is your responsibility to be able to bring this.  Not their responsibility.  But your responsibility…  Osho so eloquently said, “Learn to laugh.  Seriousness is a sin, and it is a disease.  Laughter has tremendous beauty, a lightness.  It will bring lightness to you and it will give you wings to fly.”…    So, can you see why laughter has tremendous beauty in it…??

“Lighten up, just enjoy life, smile more, laugh more, and don’t get so worked up about things.”  ~ Kenneth Branagh; Northern Irish actor, director, producer, and screenwriter.



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Business mind. Self-help life truths.

The bright one.

“Let us always meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love.”  ~ Mother Teresa.

“Lighten up, just enjoy life, smile more, laugh more, and don’t get so worked up about things.”  ~ Kenneth Branagh; Irish actor, director, producer, and screenwriter.

Scientists at the University of Cardiff in Wales say, “It would appear that the way we feel emotions isn’t just restricted to our brain–there are parts of our bodies that help and reinforce the feelings we’re having,” says Michael Lewis, a co-author of the study. “It’s like a feedback loop.”

When you smile then certain muscles trigger a chain reaction of other tiny muscles and chemicals throughout your body, they have great effect on the way you feel; thus, the way you feel makes you see life differently–i.e., if you feel sad, life is sad; if you feel happy, life is happy.

You create your own reality, you mold your perceptions, thus your behaviors, your opportunities.

Seems rather simple and unimportant sometimes, but the act of smiling is the most important expression of our soul.  See, the soul, or our spiritual essence, is always trying to free itself from the bondage of human negativity or from the stressful ego; so, the soul is always looking for positive intentions, thought, actions to be manifested by our humanity which can embrace the purity of the soul, which is love and inner beauty.

But, quite often, the soul gets buried and stifled by and under ignorant and misguided thoughts and actions.

A simple smile then lights up the world because it changes the way we feel and thus experience events in the world. An honest smile also communicates trust and connection to the ones around us.

Remind yourself that to experience happiness and success in what you desire and do in life, you must start by taking little steps, and you begin by smiling every day even if things do not go as planned.

Smiling will remind you that you need to be brave enough to remain positive even in the not so pleasant situations.



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Anatomy and physiology of life

Freedom of The Muse.

The position of the artist is humble.  He is essentially a channel.”  ~ Piet Mondrian; Dutch painter.


Many people who try writing creatively, even so-called “experts”, or any creative pursuit which involves great muse and motivation from the subconscious energies of the human being really, made the mistake of thinking more and using freely flowing imagination less.  And I suspect this is the main reason people have designed this “Writer’s Block” that is affecting most of the world’s creativity process.  Intelligence is a tool we have to criticize and analyze, to discern what is good and what is not; however, intelligence is just that, a tool, and shouldn’t get in the way of deep and great creativity, or in the way of the wonderful creative process which emerges from beyond our intelligence or intellect–i.e., which emerges from beyond the conscious, analytic mind of man.

See, the creative process involves forming wild and fantastical images, sensory, emotional and highly intuitive data in your mind’s eye; so, this must be richly loaded with free range of colors, ideas, textures, environments, situations perhaps outside of what is “normal”, etc., and therefore there is no room for the rigidity of analysis or critics–because analysis or critics may destroy the rich creativity.  Creativity must run free and inspirational, not be tied down to a certain way of society or to a rule of creation aspect.  See, using psychology and some ideas extracted from the world of thought and shape we all know is fine to give some structure to the creation itself, but this structure means limitation and rules, so the real creativity comes before all structure and rule take place, and it does not come to your mind forced by you.


The process is not something you force like you force a thought created by a desire, but it is crucial to understand that you have to sit down and free your mind from the imposed rules and expected shapes of a narrative and characters; so, do not worry about what is strategic and real when you create a story or a character, specially when writing a screenplay (because screenwriters are mostly tied down by structure and rules), because that can come later when doing the editing work.  First you have to lose yourself in imagination, lose all inhibition and fear of messing up, without the impositions of your mind criticizing and analyzing your every mental move.  Respect the uniqueness of your higher mind (the subconscious) by letting it create apart from the noise and constant chatter of your monkey mind (your conscious).

A highly creative story is about emotional connection, perhaps of fantastical themes depending on the genre, it is about designing a new paradigm and way of experiencing in people; so, if the writer created with impositions and rules, then, the “magic” for people reading the writer’s work is gone, the substance made out of your deeper imagination is gone, marred by the rules and impositions your analytical mind has created.

Have this mentioned thought in mind whenever you sit down to write anything creative, or whenever you paint, because if you do so it will save you a lot of mental energy being wasted and stress being pushed into the process.



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Stories to ponder.

Hell on Earth!

…The  morphing shapes  were  many as  they  trailed behind  the  ominous shadows  of  the  tunnel,  they squiggled  and  portended what  could  be held  for  them; and  they  maintained a  steady  pace, together  in  a line,  believing  in themselves  and  keeping to  their  wits.  And  as  they  kept  moving  forth, background  screams,  machine guns  and  explosions blasted  the  stagnant air  of  the underground;  but,  however, they  did  not waver  or  halt pace.

And they  encountered  voices and  echoes,  most of  them  making  no  sense  to them.  And  they  heard  cackles  and shuffles,  both  nigh and  distant.  And there  was  not  any  normalcy,  logic  or  sanity  in what  reached  their ears.  But  they knew.   They  knew something  was  coming and  they  had to  be  prepared for  the  worst!

The dilapidated  and  rusty handrail  attached  to the  tunnel’s  wall,  then  shook  abruptly and  wouldn’t  stop!  Something  was  definitely afoot.  The  air  rippled  around  them!  Pockets  bloated  the  space  among  them!  Blop–  Blop–  Blop– The  liquid  sludge  next  to them  carried  splashes  and  currents  like  someone  heavy  quickly approached!

And  so  it  happened  that  they  witnessed  a  fairly  distant  light,  and  this  light  was  bright  and  powerful,  and  it  emanated  a  subtle  yet magnetic  pull  that  rippled  the  air and  caused  the  tunnel  to  seem  smaller  and  daunting.  And  they  understood what  this  light  was,  even  though it  was  the  sole  meaning  that  ripped  the  very  core  of  their  fear.

It  was  obvious  this  was  their  main  way  out—as  in  the demon’s  route  out of  Hell!—and  that  is  why  they  were  here  searching  for  them.  They  had  to  seal  this  portal.  They  had  to  succeed.  Otherwise,  chances  were  grim.  Very  grim.  Final,  in  fact.  And  the  risk  was  high,  for  this  wasn’t  a  normal  scenario  by  any  means.  This  was  the  big  leagues.  And  the  time  to  act  was  now.  See,  for  centuries  this  threat  to  humans  had  been  averted,  not  given  any  thought  whatsoever;  oceans  were  calm,  earth  was  stable,  God  watched  over  us,  Satan  tempted  us,  man  reigned  his  own  territory  and  progressed  as  per  own  choice  and  own  will.  But  now  things  were  chaotic,  and  called  for  a  more  substantial/abrupt  approach.  The  Gates  of  Hell  had  been  opened,  and  they  had  to  be  shut.  They  had  to  be  locked.

So  as  this  went  on  with  might,  they  stopped  pace!—  Suspense  climbed  and  razor-sharp  fear  started  to  creep  up  their  spines.  The  core  of  the  mentioned  light  exploded  in  front  of  them!

“Umm.  Gu—Guys,  what  is  going on?”  Kristin  drawled  in  between  grinding  teeth.  “Who—??  Or what—??”

Raphael  and  Praopethuss  kept  vigil,  eyes  following  every  potential  subtleness  in  the  stagnant  air.

“Shhh,”  shushed  Jimmy.  “Gimme  your  hand.  They’re  coming.”

“Who’s  coming?”  She  was  gripping  his  hand  as  hard  as  she  could.


“Jimmy,  make it  visual  for us,”  Raphael  said.

Jimmy  struggled  to  loosen  the  grip  she  had  on  his  hand,  then  proceeded  forward.  “Okay.  I’ll  see  what  I  can do.”

STOMP!  Jimmy  stepped  in  front  of  the  group,  sensed  his  surroundings,  knelt,  and  began  physical  contact  with  the  eerie  tunnel.  STOMP!  His  mental  connection  quickly  surged  through  his  arm,  out  his  hand  and  into  the  ground—it  covered  a  large  patch  and  made  it  tremble  slightly,  then  it  interlaced  and  mixed  with  the  air,  it  cleared  simple  view  and  checked  for  any  constructs  in  it.  Ripples  exploded  in  small  gusts  of  air.  But  they  saw  nothing  alarming,  not  any  hidden  demons  or  constructs.  STOMP! STOMP!  But  something  kept  coming,  nonetheless.


“Sorry.  Nothing,”  he  added.


“Keep  your  guard!”  Praopethuss  shouted.

And  the  air  vibrated  slightly  and  the ripples  kept  surrounding them.  Thus,  it  grew  and  grew.  And  seconds  gripped the  nerves…

. . .

STOMP!  STOMP!  STOMP  STOMP!—  It  kept  coming  and  echoing  louder  and  louder,  stronger  and  stronger  until  they  saw  the  humongous  shapes  and  silhouettes  that  sent  chills  to  their  spines  and  electricity  to  the  back  of  their  necks.  They  were  humanoid-looking  beasts  of  fairly  large  size  each!  They  came  at  them  like  a  pack  of  wolves  at  the  very  sight  of  their  blocking  stance!  They  wouldn’t  budge—and  so  it  felt  like  the  clash  of  titans  right  in  the  putrid  tunnels  had  started!

They  carried  their  sharp  claws  and  agility,  superhuman  strength  and  concentrated  evil.  Taking  advantage  of  it,  two  of  them  quickly  had  leapt  and  were  now  ferociously  attached  to  the wall  like  slimy  slugs;  and  their growling-and-harsh  sounds  were  piercing and  intimidating,  but,  as  it  were,  they  would  not  cause  an emotional  determent  in Raphael  and  his  Sentients.


They  drooled  and  emanated  a  foul  stench  that  increased  sickness  and  terror,  their  physical  moves  were  calculated  and  unexpected,  and  they  came  up  the  liquid  sludge  as  well  as  directly  in  the  path  they  were  currently  on.  These  demons  and  Hell  creatures,  Raphael  and  the  rest  knew,  had  come  out  of  the  bright  light,  the  portal  connected  to  Earth  directly  in  the  sewers.

And  one  of  them  came  rushing  atop  Jimmy!  Sluussshhh-Sttaaack!!  Its  slime  was  overpowering  and  disgusting,  and  Jimmy  felt  bathed  by  it,  almost  swallowed  by  it.  “Get him off me!  Get him off me!”  He  tried  setting  himself  free,  writhing  and  punching  at  the  beast,  but  its  tentacles  were  too  strong,  fairly  sticky  and  full  of  mucosa.

Kristin  and  Raphael  fought  ferociously  to  disentangle  Jimmy  and  free  him  from  the  hideous-looking  creature,  but  to  avail  of  nothing.

“Guys,  look!”  Praopethuss  pointed  out  in  back  of  him.  “Over  there!—”

Through  the  darkness  of  the  smelly  tunnel,  in  between  the  splashing  of  beasts  and  the  measurement  of  the  chaos,  someone  came  running  and  jumping  from  the  tubing  attached  to  the  sewer’s  domed  ceiling—a  familiar  shape,  a  light  of  hope  at  that  exact  moment.   And  so  Johnny  came  dashing  and  leaping,  averting  demons,  and  monkey-bar-dangling  with  perfect  precision.  He  was  so  precise  and  fast  with  his  punches  and  dagger  thrusts  that  he  annihilated  the  mentioned  Hell  perpetrators  on  the  spot.


Johnny  landed  right  next  to  Jimmy  and  the  slimy  creature,  then  pierced  the  blade  firmly  into  it.  “That’s  my  brother,  you  Hell  Spawn!”  A  powerful  light  filled  the  creature  and  it  began  to  crack  like  porcelain!  Then  there  was  a  sudden  burst  of  juices  and  gelatin-like  flesh  and  innards  that  ejected  all  over them!


Jimmy  could  now  barely  see  through  the  light  but  heavy  skin  of  gelatin-like  substance.  “Damn.  Johnny,  that  was,  um,  that  was  quite  an  epic  entrance.”  His  hands  wiped  off  the crap  from  his  eyes.  “…And  thanks.”

“You’re  welcome, bro,”  he  said  behind  a  grin.  “Now,  let’s  give  them  the  kinda  hell  they  came  here  for.”

“Good  to  have  you  back,”  Raphael  stated.

The  monsters  were  now  attacking  from  everywhere  and  anywhere,  and  the  team  was  firmly  standing  their  ground;  loud  shrieking  and  overwhelming  screaming  were  now  tearing  up  the  air  around  them,  sending  pure  adrenaline  into  their  bloodstream.  And  so  these monsters  were  leaping  violently  atop  them.  They  averted  their  jumps  and  thrusts.  Johnny  managed  to  pierce  many  of  them  using  his  trusty  and  powerful  dagger—which  would  cause  its  victims  to  bleed  to  death  instantly!


And  there  were  blinding  explosions  and  light  that  shielded  the  beasts’  attacks,  for  Raphael  and  the  rest  used  great  power  and  strength  from  their  inner  auras;  and  Johnny  would  block  their  hell-raising  wrath  with  the  mighty  dagger,  which  continuously  would  pulse  and  emit  powerful  and sizzling  light…

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Business mind.

Creator of worlds.

“The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.”  ~ Pablo Picasso; Spanish painter, sculptor, ceramicist, printmaker, stage designer, poet and playwright.


Daily stress, as we all know and science proves, is a sure sign of the mind and body decaying, even though we might not notice it at first, and it shall become our very path to an early grave if we let it.  The bloodstream gets slushy or thick, exhaustion sets in, energy becomes drained easily and rapidly, sleep at night gets difficult, our immune system has problems, the mind gets foggy and overwhelmed and we cannot see a solution to our problems, etc. etc.; hence, we now feel depressed, moody, and our perception of ourselves, of others, and of life itself changes for the worse.

We fall on all sorts of vices because there is no clarity of mind and spirited emotion to sustain the energy which runs through us daily, so we are now polluted and living in darkness, perhaps without even noticing it, until is too late because we find ourselves at the nearest hospital under a serious condition.

That is why embracing your energies of creativity, which is who you really are (because you are not your limited intellect but unlimited imagination to create), is so important, and really the most important activity one should embody; consequently, shaping and directing those energies will get rid of all stress and give you that fresh mind to think clearly and see solutions and even find great ideas for your business and personal life.

I personally base my life on my creativity and the power of these energies living and flowing through me, and dwelling within my very cellular make-up, within my very consciousness; and, furthermore, I do this not only because I feel the desire to express these energies of imagination, but also because this activity of pure expression clears my mind and emotional body from all clutter.  I wanted to share a few forms of expression which help me see and understand myself and the world around me with clarity:

I love cooking. Creating in the kitchen for a healthy body and mind.




Titled: “Kate.” I love painting. It is a powerful way to be stress free and sharpen my mind for better ideas in general life.
Titled:  “Raw Rage.”

Besides that, I enjoy exercising and writing whatever can wake my emotions into a deeper understanding of myself and of life. 

Any form of artistic expression which involves your emotional content in a personal way will bring you great peace of mind and strength that you never knew you had before; and I attest to this because it is my direct communication with my subconscious, which is where the great energies of creativity come from.  Imagination and creativity is the process of creating value within yourself, distanced from your intellect and ego, and then bringing that value out into the world to create connections, as in ideas, partnerships, entrepreneurial and private undertakings, and, of course, the constant experience of freedom and real bliss within yourself.

And the great thing about expressing yourself through artistic forms is that you are not limited, but with knowledge from school or books only you are indeed limited; therefore, by creating any form of art on a daily basis, it does not matter if you are good at it or not, you are soaring beyond all limitations imposed by society and its rules.

By creating something, anything, you are not just another person following the trends set for you and the masses, but you are unique, truly unique, and highly expressive; and this will transform your life in many ways, for the art is not just a drawing, or a writing, or a painting, or a food dish, but it is the very process of recharging your whole body to grow in E.Q. (Emotional Quotient or Intelligence), which is the power you need to reach success in all aspects of your life.


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Stories to ponder.

The quiet interview.

At a police station interrogation room located somewhere in the U.S., typical police misuse of power happened…

“Ok, listen, White Face, you’re a direct suspect identified by many people on the street, so better start talking!”

“Not talking, eh…  Is hot under these lights, isn’t it?  It seems your girly make-up is melting away… like your funny expressions.”

… (But his girly make-up was not melting away, as the fat cops were certainly sweating like true pigs.)  He suddenly shrugs his shoulders and puckers his lips in some attempt to convey something no one understood what the hell it was.

The first cop says, “Well, what da hell is that?–”  The second cop frowns, rubs his own belly, and leans back in his chair; then he breaks the chair and lands flat on the ground, then he realizes he’s been smoking his cigarette backwards and burns his lips.  “Ouch!  Dammit–”  The heat soon swelters his mouth.  Mother******!!!”

…  He offers his made up glass of water to the second cop that was sending smoke signals from the inside of his mouth and that contorted his body like an effeminate  ballerina.

The first cop says, “Well, well, well, well…”  Then he snatches the invisible glass from his hand and hurls it to the floor in a fit of rage!  Pieces of glass shower the scene, and he continues more calm,  “…Well…  Well…  Well.  You’re not only accused of attempted murder on the street, with your little moves, but now you’ve assaulted my partner.  And under my acute eagle eyes which never miss a thing.  This will cost you, White Face!”

…  He adopts a confused facial expression and rolls his balloon eyes, then purses his lips and shakes his head in quick denial.  

The second cop sits his sore ass on a second chair and keeps smoking,  “It’s no use Captain.  He won’t talk.”

It's no use, Captain. He won't talk.

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Stories to ponder.

The beat down at the campus.

On a seemingly normal day, Michael Barnes, professor of Creative Writing at Utah State University, was taking a nice walk to his car right after class…

Hmmm, there lingered  a  concerned  ebb  and  tranquil  course  tightly  bound  by  the  structures  of  his  new  chosen  life.  He  was  quite  happy,  yet  there  was  something  missing…  Something,  indeed.  His  new  life  was  defined  by  his  oscillatory  students’  grades  and  by  his  published  novels’  many  successes.  The  profound  mouth  of  the  unforgiving  winter  that  had  begun  gave  bitter-way  to  a  most  hesitant  spring  and  wrecked  in  the  warmth  and  unassuming  nature  of  the  second  semester’s  final  week.

There  was  something,  though,  that  wanted  to  get  out,  that  wanted  to  come back;  part  of  him  fought  against  serenity,  even  though  he  had  chosen  to  erase  that  chapter  of  his  past  life  long  ago.  His  memory  would  not  let  him  forget  about  it.  A  very  strong  part  of  his  concealed  former  life,  long  ago  when  younger,  in  the  seemingly  clandestine  service  of  the  U.S.  government,  the  part  that  would  always  remind  him  that  he  had  deserted  and  vanished  under  his  new  name,  new  face,  new  life,  and  new  identity.


Six  years  had  been  since  then,  but  he  still  had  the  nightmares  once  in  a  while,  it  was  engraved  in  his  blood,  in  his  secluded  mind  and  tortured  soul.  The  stress  and  shocking  brutality  of  his  great  love’s  death  had  been  the  major  catalyst  of  his  mental  and  physical  metamorphosis.

Cloudy  afternoon  with  dark  shades  in  the  firmament.  He  was  out  near  the  empty  parking  lot  when  he  heard  raspy  and  harsh,  deep  voices  and  heated  conversations,  and  saw  large  and  massive  shadows  moving  along  the  far  building wall.

“You  betta  have  all  my  money,  bitch,  otherwise  we  gon’  slit  ya’  fucking  throat!”

“I—I’ll  have  it  next  week,  I—I  promise,”  the  voice  stuttered  scared.

Michael  dropped  the  stack  of  papers  and  books  he  had  been  carrying  and  sprinted  toward  the  voices.  He  stopped  before  nearing  them  and  saw  three  young  black  men,  about  twenty-five  to  thirty  years  old,  wearing  long  black  trench-coats  threatening  to  bring  a  world  of  pain,  or  even  death,  to  a  younger  white  male.  They  were  violently  trapping  him  against  the  wall.

They  had  a  particular  stance,  which  Michael  studied  carefully;  their  knees  slightly  bent,  their  strong  upper  limbs  loose  but  threatening,  and  one  of  them  holding  a  pocket  knife.  They  were  boldly  dominant  and  ready  to  slice  him  up!

“Muthafucka,”  snarled  one,  wiry  and  a  bit  twitchy.  His  face  defiant  and  of  strong  features.  “Give  us  our  money  or  we’ll  cut  ya.  You  been  told  and  your  time  is  gone,  you  hear  me?!”

“Man,  you  fuckin’  prick,  dunno  shit,  don’tcha.”  He  stepped  up  to  the  kid  and  readied  his  sharp  blade.

The  scared  young  victim-not  more  than  twenty  years  old-began  to  tremble  and  beg  for  his  life.  They  laughed  raucously  and  sinisterly,  making  mocking  gestures  and  clicking  their  pocket  knives  for  threatening  effect,  at  what  the  white  male  shrank  back  farther  away  against  the  wall  as  the  black  guys  closed  in.  The  one  closer  put  the  knife  closer  to  his  throat.

One  of  them,  thick-muscled,  heavyset,  drew  an  arms-length  metal  pipe  from  underneath  his  black  trench-coat,  looked  to  both  sides,  and  got  ready  to  bash  him.  “That  right,  bitch!  Lemme  break  his  punk-ass  fruity  hands,  Dar.”  He  gripped  the  pipe  tighter  in  his  hands  in  a  batter  stance.  “Just  tell  me  how  d’you  want  it,  baby.  I’ll  break  ya  fucking  skull.”

“Yo,  man,  put  that  away!”  the  boss  ordered,  while  nearing  the  blade  to  his  thin  throat.

As  the  wiry  kid  put  the  pipe  down  and  obeyed  cursing  under  his  breath,  Barnes  hurried  at  them.  So  quiet  was  his  attack,  so  targeted  were  they  on  their  malignant  and  gruesome  intentions  that  they  did  not  became  aware  of  the  pounding  they  were  about  to  suffer.

He  grabbed  the  wiry  kid’s  pipe  in  his  right  hand  as  it  was  resting  down,  left  elbowed  him  in  the  face,  then  the  kid  cursed  mightily  to  this  pain  and  fell  down  to  the  ground  unconscious.

One  knocked-the-hell unconscious on the floor. Two to go!

When  the  second  one  saw  this,  he  instantly  swung  his  balled-fist  at  a  very  alert  Michael,  knuckles  sweeping  through  the  air  with  sharp-edged  rings,  these  big-ass  rings  aimed  directly  to  his  ribs.

At  that  moment,  from  that  hidden  and  dark  place  in  his  brain,  synapses  exploded  and  memories  flowed  like  current,  and  the  Ex  persona  took  control.  The  now  active  Jay  Ex  deflected  the  steady-rushing  blow  with  his  left  arm  by  doing  a  circular  blocking  motion,  advanced  two  small  steps,  and  then  balled-fist  with  his  two  fists  at  the  same  time  into  the  thug’s  lower  rib cage  section.  He  went  down  like  a  sack  of  potatoes,  clawing  at  his  chest  and  squirming.

The  third  and  last  thug,  meaner  and  larger  than  the  other  two  (more  muscular  and  about  six  feet  tall  plus  in  height),  cursed  and  dropped  the  pocket  knife,  then  unveiled  an  almost  two  feet  butcher’s  knife  from  underneath  his  loosened  trench-coat.  He  lunged  psychotically  at  the  Ex  persona,  who  studied  in  less  than  a  second  the  fast  movement  of  the  huge  thug,  delivering  a  quick  and  clean  blow  to  the  side  of  the  hand  holding  the  knife;  the  weapon  was  thrown  clear  like  a  projectile,  the  hand  of  the  thug  was  left  dangling  sore  as  it  had  been  targeted  at  the  wrist  with  full  precision.

A  very  robotic,  very  movement-calculated  Ex  produced  a  swift  kick  to  the  back  of  his  right  knee  and  then  this  one  bent  like  paper,  then,  suddenly,  he  snaked  his  right  arm  around  the  large  thug’s  neck  (he  had  to  jump  a  bit  since  he  was  just  5’9”  and  the  thug  a  full  six  feet  4  inches).

“I  will  not  repeat  this  again…”  he  whispered  with  confidence  and  calmness  into  his  ear.  “In  five  seconds  I  will  let  go  and  all  of  you  will  disappear,  so  I  will  not  have  to  hurt  you  any  further.  This  is  final,  you  hear!”  He  slowly  let  go  of  him  while  making  sure  they  understood  this.  Then  they  hurried  away  swearing  and  gasping  for  air,  agitated  for  the  shocking  display.  The  one  that  had  been  unconscious  on  the  ground  was  woken  up  by  one  of  his  mates,  moaned  and  cursed  about  his  broken  tooth,  and  started  running  away  with  the  rest.

Stories to ponder.

Against the forces of evil (1-min. read)

This is my personal story:
      One rainy night my parents and I were coming back home, when a heavily drunk asshole hit our Peugeot (that’s a car, for you Americans who do not know) and sent us all to the near Mar Del Plata’s main hospital (Mar Del Plata, Argentina, where I was born and raised).  I had been injured pretty badly, and actually much more than my parents; the ambulance couldn’t revive me as I was in a deep unconscious state, losing blood and seizing every five minutes.  Once there, the hospital team did everything they could to bring me back to life, but it was too late, for I was dead, gone from this physical plane.
 Several minutes later, I don’t know how or why (I just know that nothing that happens is random, all has a purpose in life–even when we don’t understand what’s happening) but I returned to life, and greatly changed (not just in physical function but in other aspects as well).  Now, I won’t tell you that while dead or unconscious without pulse I saw some brilliant light or angels or pearly gates swung open or anything like that.  Let your imagination fly–there is not enough use of good imagination now-a-days.
     After that, to make it shorter, I acquired certain talents or “conscious endowments”.  And in the course of many months, I encountered great abilities head-on (granted they weren’t strong yet, but in firm transition or conscious evolution).  My parents, of course, weren’t told anything because they would not have understood (you know, religious parents, or “normal-by-this-society” parents).  And at the same time, I needed more time for myself and “to find me”.  Put it simply, I wanted a job where I could meet great experiences, develop great wisdom in those extraordinary lessons from life itself, so I went in search for one.  So, after months of search for the right one for me, Mr. Hernandez—a Psychic Investigator and a nice man—gave me the opportunity to earn some cash (some pesos), and I joined his ‘Mar Del Paranormal’ agency as an apprentice.
     Adapting was hard, specially having in mind the countless nights of sleep deprivation, sweating, and also the internal transfiguration that my physical body went through during the days and nights.  I felt wretched at times, and at times I felt wonderful; however, I see now that it was not just my inner transmutation that made me feel like that, going through various moods, pains and states of emotion, but also it was my adjusting to the “especial condition”of my job and its high levels of “spiritual” environment.  A lot of energy flowing inside me, I could experience my own consciousness dynamically changing and I was too becoming more in tune with the collective consciousness grid of humankind; all this knowledge and special talents, my intelligence (intellectual and emotional) was certainly growing and I possessed a different, deeper understanding of life, for I could see and sense things that the common individual couldn’t, angels but I could also see demons (and, believe me, they can be anywhere among us, and even now you may have one by your side).
     I was indeed becoming faster than I had ever been, jumped higher, with inwardly use of another sight into parallel dimensions, and, well, I was certainly sure I could do much more–just needed to figure out how.  Needed to be patient, too; but, as you can imagine, fifteen-year old kids are not too patient (almost sixteen though; big difference, right?).  But, I have to say, I always had a good relationship with my parents and was a good receptor to their examples of behavior; so, my strong character counted with profound insight based on my parents’ wealthy teachings, and I owned a rather resolute and cautious demeanor in my personal life endeavors, and, obviously, this helped to cope with further psychological and spiritual developments in my youth.
     The following weeks of recuperation were horrible, because I was plagued by nightmares of unknown people dying which seemed awfully real, and a plethora of natural catastrophes, and a super-odd premonition about my own father dying in some strange land I did not recognize–all signs of my own apocalypse coming to fruition, a renaissance or rebirth of my consciousness.
      I had slowly accepted my role as a higher-conscious entity in constant development and had also learned to make the best of it.  So, over the course of the next year, Mr. Hernandez aided me in understanding my transformation further–he was indeed a very emotionally intelligent psychic with many outstanding qualities, awards, and mystical experiences–and in how to embrace my evolving powers, and so make my multi-dimensional transition more natural for me.  How to hide my true persona when mixing with others in high school, how to control my powerful mind, how to manage my insatiable hunger for learning (since I was extremely curious and also always searching for wisdom in books)–all this was well taught to me under his watchful eye.  And in time I stopped being a kid and matured a lot, and became, too, a true higher entity to help those in real danger from the creatures of the night and the darkness.  All this training to prepare for the end of days as we know it:  ‘The presidency of one Mr. Donald Trump!’
Stories to ponder.

Doosh and the word ‘blue’… (2-min. read)

Once, our planet was just a thought in the mind of a novelist…



Billions over billions over billions of years ago, in a far galaxy, there existed an alien humanoid with a very odd, but highly creative, idea…

     At eight o’clock on Monday morning LaCoke Doosh did not feel particularly good.  He struggled to his feet, got up, wandered bleary-eyed ‘round his large room, opened his Roman-style arched  windows, stuck out his head to breathe in fresh air, saw a bulldog, and let out a most foul language when bird-droppings landed right on his head.  “MOTHER******!”

That was when one of his neighbors heard him, Mrs. Nagalot.  A sixty-three  lightyear old widow that LaCoke didn’t like that much–actually not at all.  She didn’t like him either, or people, period!  “Hey, put a damn sock in it, Doosh!  Some of us like mornings without your potty mouth!!” she yelled from her patio.

He reached for a towel on the chair which was next to the window.  “Sorry, Mrs. Nagalot!” he said with a big, teeth-filled smile, while also wiping the bird caca from his face.  “…You old  bag.”  He made sure that that last one was only for himself to hear.  Dropped the towel onto the floor and shot a look at his messy room.  “Ugh–  I’ll clean it up sometime.  Now I gotta whiz like a race horse!”  Found his slippers and stomped off to the bathroom to do his business.

After shower, toothpaste on the brush so—  Scrub.

After scrubbing, a few gargles to kill bad breath—  Shinny smile.  “Damn–”  He felt some pressure within the plumbing.  Then some silent and toxic gases left the building.

Shaving cream and Trimette razor spotted.  Crooked shaving mirror—he adjusted it just right.  A few funny  faces, while looking for wrinkles and adoring his new nose.  For a moment, the mirror reflected a second bulldog in his room—  Oh, how he hated that nasty bulldog Mrs. Nagalot had gotten as a gift on her sixty-first lightyear birthday!  It would make the little hairs on his ass stand up.  Properly  adjusted the mirror, it also reflected LaCoke Doosh’s awkward sideburns.  He shaved them off, washed, dried and went downstairs to get some breakfast.

Kitchen  scene—  Plug-in, coffeemaker, sugar, cup, spoon, Supernova’s coffee cakes.  Fridge—  Milk, cream, Coca Cola.  Yawn.

The image of his creation wandered throughout his wobbly mind in search of something to connect with or to focus on.  The sole word, he thought it was cool.  Maybe even his best creation yet.  “Readers  will  love  it.”

He stared at it.

BlueIt is a good color, isn’t it?  He took the last sip of coffee and stomped off back to his bedroom to get dressed.

Passing a large, squared mirror which was hanging from the circular wall next to his bedroom, he peered with more detail at his ugly reflection on it.  Mmmm–  Something was odd.  Definitely uglier this morning.  He then began to suspect that he was hangover. . .  Why am I hangover?  Didn’t drink that much last night.  Only twenty rocket beersThirty cherry ass-blasters.  And, umm, five pipe rusters.  But due to the late, slight pounding in his head and the bags around his eyes, he supposed he could be.  He then caught a glint in the mirror.  “Blue?…  Blue…,” he hissed, and kept on to the bedroom.

He paused in place and thought, Try harder, c’mon…  The pub!, he mused excitedly.  Oh flicksters, the pub!  He vaguely remembered being angry, defending something that meant a lot to him.  Something that seemed very important at the time.  He’d been telling people about it.  They had asked  him.  At his greatest visual recollection, that was of glazed looks on people’s faces, he saw them laughing at his idea until puking,  mocking  it terribly.  Mocking the new sci-fi novel he was writing.  I mean, it was a good idea.  The fact that the High Council hadn’t created a new planet in a hundred lightyears weighted, some people even had forgotten that they still did that.  What do they know?  They are just drunkies!  He championed the idea all the way, and he thought that a planet of mostly water wasn’t that ridiculous to begin with anyway.

God!–  What a terrible hangover it had earned him though.  Terrible because it was growing and sounding like a loud banging of drums.  He looked at himself in the wardrobe mirror.  He stuck out his hairy, purple tongue–  “Aaaaaahh!…”  Blue, he thought.

The word ‘blue’ wandered through his wobbly mind in search of something to connect with…