And so, I went to Calico's, like I had planned earlier in the week. There, I met with this girl I met almost a year ago. She had brought along a girlfriend; we left from there and went to another place, Iguana. New York, it is packed with strangers every single day of the week, but for a Friday Night, I think it was a bit slow. Nonetheless, we made the most of it. In the basement, a dark dance floor surrounding a bar at the center. I danced a little bit with one and then the other, and then the three of us, and I took the middle part. I grabbed by the belt, with half my hand down the crack of her ass like the most natural thing there is to pull her against me. Of course, no malice intended, I needed to grab her almost as if I was forcing myself unto her. Everyone else's looks were stunned, looking over, buying me drinks. I got so wasted. The girl's friend and me, we got along fine, but the other girl wanted to secure her investment. After all, she had met me almost a year ago. Who knows? I had held her in my arms, kissed her, slide my hand in between her legs, feel her cunt, draw the surface of her hips, grab her ass, go up her back, massage her neck, pull her hair, kiss her lips. But I'd cut off without a reason, dance with her friend, go over to the bar, pull her away from other suitors, and she'd love it. Of course, not out of jealousy, just pure fun. With one girl I got physical and the other I talked with, and, of course, eventually got physical too. It was fun, really.

Tension, it's only natural

You seem far more approachable than in the past; you let your guard down. Your skills as an effective communicator, therefore, have evolved; these newly adopted traits will open doors your airy and snubbing former self might have closed. Let go of that ego, you know you've never failed to surprise me. You were not just insistent, which is of essence; you were persistent, which lasts. It makes you stand out. Granted: you're gorgeous, but there are just so many gorgeous girls. I couldn't go beyond three pages in any of the pseudo-science fiction passing off as self-help. Like Cervantes wrote Don Quixote, in part to ridicule the trendiest novelty in literature of his time, Las Novelas de Caballeriza, fictional tales about brave knights who put their life on the line to save a princess trapped in the castle. Cervantes wanted to do away with such atrocity, just like I want to do away with the whole field of self-improvement. I start by the idea, exposed somewhere somehow previously, that we work on our imperfection. If we start with being already perfect, and that whatever mirage you follow in life, you're working towards the destruction of what already is. Not that you shouldn't prosper or that you should conform; except the notion that everyone will ultimately want this. That everyone wants it, that may be, but only a handful will go for it.
Gold is precious because it is scarce; we want to inspire those who really really really want it. And the only thing that makes us look good is that others have it so bad. There, I said it. Of course, I smile, and once in a while people ask, "Hey, why so serious?" You never went there. You know the rules: it is the guy who advances. You may tease him, and tease me you did. I'd, of course, second any motion and amplify it, make you nervous perhaps. Most of the time, I just go about my business. Of course, I see you. You still come down like someone who has an internal remote alarm, set me off, on, off, on and so, and I'm way beyond cool, like an iceberg. I am unmovable. Not so much like before, stone-faced, cold and emotionless, explosive. Nowadays, I put the same face but take it down a notch, just so I don't scare away the girl. And I tried ignoring you. I've tried, well, not try, but actually I thought I was trying so hard not to try. Not to give in, or surrender, but sometimes, in some indelible way I did throughout the course of this platonic affair. Lately only I've come to the realization that that approach was effective only as an appetizer. The real meal had to be gradually engaging her, blowing off some of the tension and eventually getting to know you. See, the theory is, that familiarity between the two of us will help us demystify the issue, maybe see each other like two mature individuals. No, wait; my mind would often wander around. The thing is, like a Rum, it goes smoother if there is some Cola. Anything that goes between the two of us, a simple greeting, a mirroring of postures or gestures; silence, it screams out louder than all the conversations around. Silence is something we love, and we give signals all the time; you may not come down as often as in the past, but you do manage to come down and let yourself be fashionably seen daily, and if you hide, I find you. I work late, just to get a glimpse of you. Of course, I check other girls out but they don't paralyze me like you. The world stands still.
Tension, is only natural.

Treat Yourself and Others aLike: GOOD

Go out and get yourself a brand new pair of shoes. While you're at it, get some cool ass jeans. Add a flawlessly fashionable shirt. Don't forget you need socks. Go out for a walk, alone or with a pet. Call a friend you haven't heard from in a long time. Meditate forty minutes daily at least, preferably in three sessions: one full-fetch lasting half an hour and another two mini sessions lasting each ten minutes or less. Wake up earlier tomorrow; if you're a morning bird, sleep late: upset your routine without getting yourself fired. Spice things up today... Go out for a run, stay in and watch the rain. It has rained so hard lately. Rain always sets a melancholic mood in those who enjoy it, the inconvenience of it, the pause on a city that never stops... There are many cultures that celebrate rain. I, for one, descend from a tropical main city in Colombia. You know, the same Shakira's from. Go buy yourself something nice. Go out for a drink in a pub you've never been before. Call that girl you never dared call. Busy people: take a day off. Lazy people: go get a job. Extremes are always exciting; no one likes someone who plays it safe all the time.
Get a hair-cut; go to a special event with a special someone. Give them gifts, for no reason. Just a little something every day. One day, a flower; another, a dinner; then, movies; something you know she likes doing and if you're bored, act slightly so, otherwise she'll smell your hypocrisy. Hey, no one likes a clown. You're not there to please her; do good for her and do so with the attitude of someone who isn't seeking any outcome or approval; expect, of course, the best from your partner. You have to constantly outdo one another, without competing, no context: everyone gives and no one comes out victorious. You have to take with one hand and give with the other; don't expect as much as you give, but only reward good behavior. You're a loser; she's a professional. You drive; she has a car. You take her to the movies; you choose the movie... something midway, sexy action. Don't be rude or inattentive; don't be selfish. Choose something that you think she'll enjoy as well. Treat yourself; only go for what you find most desirable, even if you have to put in the middle some. Why abide to these social norms of sedentary lives, do venture, go out, explore the horizons.
Call mom. Call sis. Make up with Paola, eventually. Count the minutes until Friday noon. It's already Friday.
Soon, I'll be off to bed.

Treat yourself good.

Attraction is irrational

There are things we rarely speak to anyone of, things we keep to ourselves. In fact, like Schopenhauer said, "The world is a masquerade," this German philosopher also pointed out body language in his special care of the eye. See, I speak as lightly as is considered socially prudent, and I boast through writings. People who get a kick out of it end up being the greatest of friends. And what if not friends are we, really? Friends do not demand, but they can give and receive. It is hard for us men to understand. We need to cultivate patience, establish trust, and never cross unto what is in it for us. Women recognize weakness, neediness; except, there is no independence, really. We always depend on something or someone; if not, we got denial to thank for. You may find yourself financially secure, but how emotionally secure do you feel? I think men differ from most women on this very critical issue. Choices are good, just as long as you're sticking to one. And it makes sense, it is logical. To depend a bit emotionally on one another is natural, beneficial even. No one is invincible. Monkeys kept on captivity, or raised in isolation, never dare and keep their faces covered. We are social animals. We need one another. We grow fond of familiar little pleasures. I asked this very question to coworker: "Why do you strike conversations with all the girls?" He said, "Well, it makes time go faster." And he's absolutely right. I'm not a stranger to awkward situations, except I don't make myself miserable about them. I think we are logically choosing it. At some level, we manage our impulses and yet, always find a way to communicate subtly, with eyes, movement, vanity, our truest desires are exposed in the open. It takes a different mind to see. I speak eyes, and engage others with light conversation, nothing too complex. I marvel at their stories, but also design my own twisted themes. Eyes, sudden shifts of movement, gestures, tonality, indifference... How insane can your curiosity drive you, when you never tell the ending to a story? Except, I do give something back. Like a good magician, I try not to reveal the trick, my act depends on it; others will tackle you with accusations of vagueness, tag you with ambiguity or try to carefully unwrap the gift to see what's inside; a boost to their vanity is what they mostly seek.
Attraction is irrational and no matter how much I try to evade the issue, it can sometimes become quite addictive. Rituals, temptation, they all have a place in us for as long as we carry a heart. The best things in life have gone unsung, and only a shadow out of the bright torrent of light is left on paper. Memory is not a safe haven; all things in time will be forgotten. Our kids will never love us the way we love them. This is madness, I say. To the mind, the more you try to resist it, the more you succumb. Therefore, I let it go, I give chase, I see a human connection and I follow it without an agenda in mind. Sometimes, though, my mind wanders... rarely a crush lasts longer than a few weeks, months, maybe more if the subjects are not exposed to one another daily. Nothing kills attraction faster than familiarity. As human beings, we constantly seek novelty; we descend from ancestors who left behind home and ventured into unknown lands. Show a baby the same face, and soon that baby will grow bored.
You get the rare opportunity at work to spend more time with them than friends. After all, people at work you see everyday. And yet, they don't see one another as friends; politenessm courtesy, are to be exerted but that rarely has the warmth of an embrace, the reassurance of touch, let alone any romantic agenda at work.
There, of course, is temptation, luring us in. It's only natural that our social duties forbid us of indulging ourselves in a sea of pleasure. Imagine oceans, supernovas of oceans, of pleasure... Feel guilty about it? Try it. (Along these very lines, I read somewhere it is the reaction that the brain takes in the aftermath of a pleasurable experience that causes pain, as if this primitive brain of ours could not possibly conceive of pleasure without the slightest degree of pain. It makes sense. After all, if we were to find ourselves happy, we would never bother to strive. Is misery a necessary evil? A cruel ally?)
Everywhere, there is pleasure to be found. In any direction, at any particular place, the possibility of love can keep us, sometimes, in chase mode. I remember a particular sketch, repeated constantly in Roberto Gomez Bolaños' Chavo del Ocho, in which Doña Florinda meets Don Ramon, and it is always the same thing. Of Course, Bolaños is mocking the notion of romantic love in its cheesiest and corniest form, as it never leads anywhere. Put her in a pub, or a nightclub, and I'd be making out with her in a matter of minutes. I never date again or even pursue girls I meet this way. No, silly, I'm not a moral moron. Nothing but great people have I met this way, most open and warmest of all. If you want something to grow, give it time, space and nourishment. Feed them patience, see their humanity, and do marvel at their inner beauty. Can't quite put into words something that a smile or a look will explain a thousand fold. A picture is worth a thousand words, yeah. The idea is to have this conversation with ourselves, keep others in suspense. Nothing was revealed in the end. What a sad spectacle! You should have been capable of breaking the spell you created. I was caught up in the process and I kept it cool, quiet, like I do under the circumstances. I wanted things to go unnoticed, except I was in front of a highly intuitive female. Attraction, to quote De Angelo, isn't a choice. It probably had something to do with my former shy self. See, I started this platonic affair so long ago, I was mutating into someone else. Some of the old program, the unnecessary drama, weighed in. And not that I not contemplate it rationally, its ramifications, in my mind, I would. I could. I probably should. But I won't.
Still though, those bursting glances, little undetected rituals, whenever we find one another, the energy is quite explosive. Places, planned circumstances, hope you're not holding a hot drink in your hand when you read this. No one should be crazy enough to read all of the entries in here. I read One Hundred Years of Solitude four times. But there are no books like that. I read Candide, at least twice. Unequivocally, when we find ourselves obsessing about something no one else knows or talks about, it usually bears a little insanity. Yes, we're insane. It's irrational. Given the circumstances, I'd personally have a collection of girls and they'd all be you. I think, quite honestly, there's a collection of you. A recollection, actually. No, I'm talking about A, B, C, D, E, F, or G. I'm right here and now, by myself. Nobody else exists here. It's me and this mindless, endless chat.
How boring can we choose sometimes to be.

Like I do

Take "Hero" by Mariah Carey, which now plays on my computer. Of course, these are no ordinary speakers: these are Yamaha, with enough sound to put to shame most portable or mini stereos, and since the issue can't be avoided, yes, I dig that song. It's fucking awesome, and I come from a different school. Friends could murder me if they knew this most shameful truth. I think Mariah does music for a different public, high quality stuff for love junkies.
I come from a different school, though. The plane that brought to New York for the first time on the day of my fifteenth birthday, when my half bro/half cousin (his mother is my mother's sister, and we share the same father) Robert, those closest know him as Bobbie, took out the tape of Appetite For Destruction by Guns and Roses.
It wasn't love at first sight, unlike most disasters rock music is not made to be liked... Like a liquor, is a taste you develop for. It was appalling, quite frankly, my first impression. I lived to make fun of the pretentious videos which MTV ran nonstop just like nowadays runs crap without mercy. Rock is not for the body, it is intended for the mind. Of course, it can be reversed, and I often am open minded enough to listen without discrimination to anything that sounds good. Even if its lyrics suck, or if its melody is two shades sweeter, I listen. It has something to do with good communications. I have to speak both languages: body and mind. I still appreciate arty bands like Radiohead, but long ago I made the switch to anything that is somewhat raw, has a beat, and well... it's visceral, instinctive, somewhat primal. Gross lyrics like those from music genres like rap, hip hop, reggaeton, or something with a sweet, angelical tune and some dynamite-incendiary lyrics to back it up and it's sugarcoated, ready to be swallowed, as if it were a pill. Well, diversity, originality, could be debatable. No one has the same taste, and that might be boring. I can do without the "needy", "rosy", "self-pity", spineless ballads for a while. But one bachata or ballad here and there, it doesn't hurt no one. A good DJ knows what the crowd likes, but then goes home and listens to shit that move him or shock him one way or another. Musically, then, and without a doubt, I constantly incorporate new songs, easily carry around close to six thousand songs in my packet and I have a closet full of compact disks most probably I would never listen/hear again in that CD format. I still watch and sometimes collect DVD's, mostly documentaries and porn, but I can't remember the last time I sat and watched a movie from beginning to end. I flip through the channels, and watch mostly TLC, Thirteen, CNN, Comedy Central, Fox 5's cartoons, HBO On Demand, I find myself changing the channel quite often. My attention isn't fixated, and rarely watch anything that lasts more than an hour. Loved the last sequel to Spider Man, but can't remember the number. Is it the third or the fourth installment? Well, I can remember why I liked it. I thought the Bad Boy persona that Peter Parker adopts briefly was pure genius. "He was better off as a bad ass" I told my teenage stepson, and he agreed wholeheartedly, despite his usual alienated self. He disagrees with silence and a vague look, politely nodding, just like I taught him. And if I push it, he fires: "If you say so." Just like I taught. Like I do.

George Saint Pierre

Love, it reassures us of our vulnerabilities, that deep down inside we're all naked. We never left the womb, and, of course, we may downplay our insecurities, or rather work on our imperfection. The better we get at it, the easier we recognize that ultimately, there will always be so much more that you just don't know. Undoubtedly, if we look back often, so long as we are moving forward, isn't such a bad thing. Like while driving a car, we simultaneously read the road ahead, check our rear view mirror, behind the wheel of life multiple universes full of unconquered terrain await us. If only we are curious enough, life can become such a fascinating creature. Like a pet, you must nourish it, provide shelter, feed it, etc. You've got to have both though: the appetite and the stomach. It's not just the determination and the aggression you deploy whenever you follow through; it's patience, a mental pause, the will to withstand the pressure mistakes will add. How well you deal with defeat will ultimately determine the level of success enjoyed. Because we give up at the slightest obstacle, often we miss out of so much in life. The risk has to be calculated, but if the price is right, dare jump in cold water and truly test exactly what you are made of. Daring, challenging ourselves and others alike, emboldens us. Pick the fights worth having; do not be so greedy so as to make enemies with people who are not worth the time. Like you would junk mail, you simply toss it. Just look the other way, filter those who stand in front of you and recognize what it is that their clothes, hygiene, eye-contact, courtesy, body language, will reveal far more than their words will. George Saint Pierre will win tonight. I am a bit vague, that's the reason why. "I got Matt Serra to thank" he said. "I will solve the problem of Jon Fitch". I believe so. And I don't think that's aside from the point. The truth is, George was knocked out by a lesser opponent and lost his belt at the hands of Matt Serra. The only man who has defeated him, aside from Matt Hugues. Every single opponent he's faced, he has destroyed.

It Will Be Kept Secret

Pleasure, it has been censured, cut off like the sixth finger on a hand. Except those who are missing a limb will attest to feeling it itch from time to time. How is that for an analogy? However early has our domestication began, the truth is we can't help but equate pleasure with pain. Not that we're masochists, of course. Pain is there, regardless, and the surest way to experience the worst kind is by not engaging pain that makes us grow. Otherwise, you'll know pain. Sure, it bothers us not being able to light up a cigarette but it is far more painful to endure chemotherapy, the removal of a lung or living the remaining miserable years hooked to a respirator. (Do not resuscitate me, please; pull the plug, if I just wake up one day and can't decide for myself. ) So, quitting is the logical choice, if only one accepts to endure the pain quitting signifies. It makes sense to go through planned suffering and come out of such experience wiser, adapt to the wild outdoors. It's kind of painful to gain muscular definition, to maintain an active lifestyle; but more painful and quite pathetic too, to eat too much and do nothing all day long. No one is really saying that everyone should exercise; everyone, I hope, knows that. Knowledge nowadays is of common property, you should have to know where to look. Look, you don't have to know too much to know that there are others who know it better than you. You don't have to be smart; just curious. Plus, naiveness is valued in this idiotic society. American life tends to idolize the idiot; in High School, dumb kids ranked high in coolness. Us, we were classified as "nerds". Revenge must be swift.
Of course, I'm not that much of a nerd. Not nowadays, anyway. (Presence matters, in more than one respect). In fact, I do believe that there are three dead brujos (witchdoctors) that live through me. You may find it laughable, but one of them actually writes for me. Rarely do I come off as witty in a conversation except if I'm in the presence of a very intelligent woman: and there are oh so many hot intelligent women out there. I keep my mouth shut, I crack the trademark half-ass smile, and I lay back. I welcome others with an open and unbounded energy, I recognize their spirit. Not in esoteric terms, but instead in real life measures; let's supposed that human beings were quantifiable properties and hence comparable: we'll match others' movements, mirror them, experience them without thinking too much of what they actually say. Before someone opens their mouth, their heart has been spilled.
O.K., I know you want to hear about the three brujos. You want to hear about ghosts. Superstition..? I think not. That is what some who obstruct the light and want others to stumble in darkness. Think of yourself as a source of light. The question is, what would you be? A candle? A lamp? A city? The stars? The sun, perhaps? O.K, let's go for the sun. Let's not be too greedy. A cool sun, at that. The first brujo writes for me. Another follows me at work and keeps me unmoved around the torrent of gorgeous women that work there and focus on the job at hand. It looks unnatural and hypocritical but they pay me for it. Until my writing career launches (look for my books at lulu.com, by my name as an author, Boris Amar. Go ahead, Google me. You know you want to, just for literary curiosity, of course.
(Or, just click on the promotional buttons on the main page, located right under the category of Damian's Interests.)
Do not fear I'll bore you with maxims and lectures, instead I go to the most gorgeous topics directly. Lots of violence, romance, and sex. Basically, my experiences, in excruciating detail. No nastiness, and these are characters, don't forget. What can I possibly say about you that is interesting? Stay tuned.
0k, I'll come clean: you're in it. If ever you crossed my path, chances are you ended up in one of my books.
Here's the idea: I plan to add writings to these two already published books, like a rock band. Have the same name, make different albums. Though there are only two titles, they contain things that have gone on in my life as early as six months ago. Don't worry: I don't use real names and we have the impunity of calling fiction. But, quite frankly, you can call it whatever the fuck you want. (Such blog does exist, www.whateverthefuckyouwant.blogspot.com. In it, you'll find a copy of this very blog entry, and many other things I couldn't possibly have written. Could have I?
Well, whatever the case. I plan to delete this writing as soon as possible. Luckily, you read it. It's okay if you skipped some. Or if you chose not read it. And even if you read it constantly. I am only amusing myself.