Get it?

Yo por eso no soy genio... todavia:

The last song

Defecto de fabrica

El ser humasno se puede enamorar casi de todo o minimo sentir una atracion a ciertas cosas.

Una de esas cosas con las que mas nos encariñamos son los defectos.
Cuantos no hemos tenido un compañero realmente fastidioso en la escuela? la mayoria de las veces quisieramos que estubiera en otro salon, pero el dia que falta sentimos, primero que nada, un alivio y despues una especia de vacio.

Una vida perfecta es realmente aburrida, por eso buscamos esos pequeños defectos para hacerla un poco mas interesante.

Muchas veces pasa con las fotos que mostramos a nuestros conocidos, esa que consideramos la peor es la que siempre vemos primero y siempre recibimos comentarios positivo, creo que por eso lo hacemos, buscando la condesendencia de los demas.





La primera vez que me mostraron estas imagenes me sorprendio ver la cara de la señora, tan triste y preocupada por Don Borracho.
La persona que me las mostro estaba totalmente muerta de risa, eso nunca lo entendi, ese mismo dia le mostre un video donde un motociclista intenta un salto mortal y... efectivament fue mortal, no le hizo la menor gracia... y todavia no se porque.



La mayoria de las veces que escogemos algo es por la cantidad de defectos que tiene, escogemos la menor cantidad de defectos en lugar de la mayor cantidad de capacidades.



Lo mismo pasa cuando escogemos a las personas, amistades, novios, compañeros de clase, amantes y por los mismos defectos nos deshacemos de ellos.



Toda la vida es defectuosa en algun sentido, siempre buscamos la perfeccion y cuando la encontramos buscamos pequeños defectos para hacerla mas tolerable.



Por lo tanto preocuparse por esos defectos es inutil y una perdida de tiempo total, intentamos quitarlos y creamos otros.



Ni modo tenemos que vivir con esos defectos, personas defectuosas... O podemos regresarlos al fabricante y pedir garantia?

Little things

So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you... I don't see an intelligent, confident man... I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right?

You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally... I don't give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can't learn anything from you, I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't want to do that do you sport? You're terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.

Realmente no sabemos nimadres

Hoy...

Hoy vi una señora con una playera de Jim Morrison... creo que era maestra de secundaria, espero que eso no sea un intento desesperado por llamar la atencion de los pubertos.

Sabian que...

Un dia me cosi un dedo al tratar de remendar un pantalon?

The Men in Black

Este es el real hombre de negro:




El wannabe: