To the people around me.

I have so many things to do... and I do anything. I have never felt so down as I do today. Down is a nice way to put it. Everything I believed, everything I hoped and wished, everything I dreamed of is slowly fading away in front of me... and now I have no reference points, no goal, no direction, no reason. I have become a shell. I have let the current win. I have finally decided to give in and accept everyone was right: I cannot do whatever I want without having consequences. I am not any better, any smarter, not even a little bit more special than anyone else. I tried to make my own way in this world and I failed. Miserably. Now I have responsibilities I cannot meet, debts I will never be able to pay and faces I cannot look straight to. My reckless run without looking back has come to an end. My days of feeling invincible are behind me. Looking back now I only see disappointed stares, broken doors, broken friendships, broken hearts, broken promises... and I admit I am broken too. I have made more selfish, ungrateful, unpredictable, poorly thought decisions than any person I know and up until now I had gotten away with it. So there you have it. I hope you are all happy this day has come. I give up. I am sorry to have wasted your time with this nonsense. Please do go on with your lives.

Ark's Thinking Spot. The new ME.

Vixen (Part of "Error" novel)

There is something attractive in the voice of a robot. I don't know what it is about the un-accented perfectly, dictionary correct pronunciation, that kind of excites me. Nevertheless, I have to admit I currently am cheating my husband with one. It's year 2167, so moral now dictates that robots are for servitude and labor only. I don't know why, but people think orgasms should only be provoked by another human being. I have read some stories, true or fiction, that girls in the early 2000's and even before that used what they called "Vibrators". I'd love to live in that era... where morality and ethics were not law enforced and publicly voted on. My sexuality on poll. My intimacy under the microscope. I am a criminal on the hiding. Hiding from the law enforcers, hiding from my husband, hiding from the ever critiquing neighbors... those nosy bastards of the genetically planned intercourse. Hiding from a perfectly engineered society is hard... and very easy at the same time. My husband, whom I married for legal and social purposes of course, is always working, and also evidently "Gay", as my historical books would say. Male preferent, I'd be legally obliged to say in these times. He made the wrong decision on his 22nd birthday, immature as he was (just like a whole lot more), sexually, emotionally and mentally. It is my belief that the more liberties you give a growing human, the less it will mature per year. Anyway, I'm deviating. My husband, Ruedolff, is inclined to his same gender. Why doesn't he change his preference status? A lot of paperwork and relocation is a bitch. The government can't afford several ex-girlfriends to find out their companion was not aroused by them, that would mean trauma and emotional scaring. Bull I say. In a psychologically probed social interactive world mental ease is priceless for work performance. Why did I marry him? Did I know? Hell yeah I knew. Everyone who meets him for more than half a minute (network analyzed by the second)knows it. I married him because he was accused of it in fact. By one of my competitors. Him marrying meant her in prison for social "badmouthing", a very kind remuneration for the community network damages it caused on his reputation, and reinforcing his status for no other ex-girlfriend to question. Of course he now has to stay that way until the end of his days or he would loose everything he had. Me? I get a better desk and better projects. I work for the creative emporium, a design corporation with presence in 20 cell-cities around the world (Every corporation has exclusive rights per city to avoid competition). I design hybrid mechanisms. Metal and plastic is my specialty. You already know what's in my private work room at home, I assume.

Cuales son tus razones para ser Agnostico?

Nadie puede comprobar la existencia de ningun dios. Si sigues un patron de conducta con buenas bases eticas y morales, y una consciencia limpia es mas que suficiente.

What do you want to know about me?

El Gato III

Ambulancias. Policía. Seguros. Curiosos. Los vehículos pasantes que se detienen por el morbo. Tráfico. Eso era todo lo que recordaba el carpintero de esa noche. Días en coma con médicos maravillados del cuerpo teóricamente muerto. Pero vivo. La actividad cerebral nunca se detenía. Siempre consiente. El cuerpo no respondía, cada una de las cervicales deshechas, el corazón apenas palpitante y con arritmias constantes. Si separas las células del tejido muscular cardíaco, cada una palpita a su modo. Es cuando se juntan cuando coordinan el latido en dos etapas. Si partes el vital músculo en dos, se supone que mueres. Él seguía vivo.

En teoría, nadie puede soportar tanto dolor, o al menos eso se decían unos a otros. Tras unos días, el corazón volvió a latir consistentemente. Débil, pero ya era un sólo latido coherente. Los doctores procedieron a operar el corazón. Lo reconstituyeron lo mejor posible a donde cada pedazo debía estar, y se sentaron a ver como el corazón indestructible se sanaba como cualquier músculo humano. La operación fue descrita como armar un corazón de juguete, pues hicieran lo que hicieran, el corazón no podría estar peor. El cuerpo sin sangre no daba signos de menguar, descomponer o palidecer. Si no estuviera totalmente deformado por ser arrollado por una camioneta urbana, se podría decir que estaba dormido.

Poco a poco el cuerpo fue sanando sus heridas. Los miembros recobraron color con cada vena que se llenaba de sangre, inyectada por los doctores cada vez más lejos del corazón, hasta llegar a la común transfusión y canalización en en brazo. Asombrados veían los nervios acomodarse en su lugar, la piel cerrarse día a día, hasta quedar sólo cicatrices. Después de semanas los doctores estaban seguros de la recuperación del hombre, pero no de si podría recuperar la conciencia. Pensaban trasladar el cuerpo para experimentación, pero tras la difusión mediática los temas políticos, sociales, morales, éticos, legales y científicos no pudieron resolverlo antes de que la espina dorsal hiciera conexión completa y despertara de golpe, horrorizado, un carpintero espiritualmente deshecho y mentalmente desequilibrado por la larga tortura de la que no se puede culpar a nadie más que a la caprichosa muerte disfrazada de gato que observaba todo el alboroto alrededor del cuerpo mientras jugaba con el alma y recuerdos del carpintero cual bola de estambre.

El inmortal, aunque ni él mismo sabía que lo era. Saltó por la ventana, dislocándose una rodilla y rompiéndose otra. La alarma tardó en recorrer desde el décimo piso a todo el personal en guardia, pues eran las primeras horas de la madrugada. Suficiente tiempo para el carpintero, que puso la rodilla en su lugar. Los gritos lo hubieran delatado, pero las cuerdas bucales aún no sanaban. Suficiente tiempo para un gatuno ser del inframundo saltar y caer con gracia en sus cuatro patas. Tras un insonoro grito de dolor máximo, se alejó cojeando del hospital. Los detectives dedujeron un ataque planeado para robar el cuerpo, pues no había señales de impacto en el suelo ni sangre visible. No buscaron entre los matorrales el cráter ensangrentado de dos pies tamaño 11 americano.

Fay's Mischiefs. Topo Loco

Ark's Tips for Young Parents.

Ark's thinking spot. Inside my head.