Splinter
[#4] Of course, I brushed my teeth as soon as I woke up - because it's a moral duty, a sign of respect for the Social Contract I abominate, not because I wanted to. I just opened my mouth to put inside it the brush with the toothpaste, then I felt a crackle. It was my mouth's tuck: it was dry and chaped. I now feel like a old greek statue, pretty much Venus of Milo.
White teeth
[#3] It's a dirty talking, but I confess yesterday I didn't brush my teeth before sleeping. Water was too much icy and my bathroom sink hasn't a heating option. And besides, it was three o'clock and I wasn't up for sleeping with cold and wet hands. I must have woken up with a really bad waft, but I didn't find it out because I woke up mute and I didn't open my mouth neither to greet people. I wasn't in good cheers (the day is terrible), so my waft wasn't the exact motive for closing lips.
TRI*
[#2] Endless bureaucracy to make my bus pass card. The working papers went for one month kept I don't know where, then somebody just sent me an e-mail saying my bus card wasn't done because of ideological motives. Shit. I tried to do it again, many times, then I received a cell phone message saying my bus card was canceled because it was illegal. How come, illegal? My role is issuing personal documents to the others, and they should do what they're supposed to do. And do I PAY people to do bad job? Do you know what? Go to hell. To hell with all of you.
*TRI is the abbreviation of "Transporte Integrado" (Integrated Transport): if you're student, worker or elder, you don't pay the bus pass with money, but with a "credit card" you request - and pay - every year.
*TRI is the abbreviation of "Transporte Integrado" (Integrated Transport): if you're student, worker or elder, you don't pay the bus pass with money, but with a "credit card" you request - and pay - every year.
Turbulence
[#1] A relative flew from São Paulo to here, and when the plane was coming close to Capital of Hell, it started a turbulence. I also witnessed it when I flew back from São Paulo, a few weeks ago. I think everybody does. Terrible air in this city.
A motive a day
First of all, I want to explain why this blog exists. I'm Brazilian and I hate my hometown, so I decided to write a blog saying, in each post, a different reason why I hate my hometown. After more than a hundred posts, I'm not sad anymore: now I laugh at my own bane and I have fun when writting here. I don't care if it's gallows humor. My blog is originally written in Portuguese, and anyway it received accesses from USA, Canada, France, Russia and other coutries. But I don't think this foreign people understand my language, so this blog was created too. I'll translate all my posts, but I don't promise I'll do it every day, ok? My English is not perfect (this blog may be an opportunity to practice!), so sorry for some sins I may commit. Other reason I created a blog in English is... I want to make famous not the city I still live in, but my rage against this city. I suppose every city has at least one single person like me, so let's laugh together.
...
I believe people use to dislike the things they live together with for so long, due to a natural necessity of change and evolution. I was born in P***o A****e and I have lived in this city for over twenty years. For me, it's natural that presently I hate the "g****a" capital. It occurs most of all because this place freezes me and depresses me a little bit every day, and today I'm a well without bottom, full of rancor against the city.
Who knows me knows I'm terrified of cold and, even more, of its consequences (which I always try to avoid). I attribute to cold all misfortunes of the world, mainly mine ones. My friends from here chastise me for this, but I don't take offense neither get appalled, and I go thinking this is the worst city to live in.
So, why don't I move?
I already did. I lived in a beautiful city in Brazil Northeast and I felt as I was other person while I lived there. It seemed I had been born again, because everything was just the opposite of P***o A****e. But I've been there on account of an exchange, that is the kind of opportunity that lasts a bit. When I came back to the south of the country, I took a cultural shock so intense I wanted to abandon university and to live juggling in the traffic lights.
The trouble is that all the things which impede me of living in other city are basic in my life: home, food, clean clothes, free studies, a worth work, pets I treat as CHILDREN and I have something very hard to take in my state: half a dozen friends. All this things support me, and while I don't abolish them from my serene life, I won't move.
In an injustice situation, I'm inclined to feel rage of the aggressor, more than feel sorry for the attacked. So, I cannot pity myself, considering I'm angry with P***o A****e. Thankfully, it stops me before I fall into a deep and suicidal depression. Unlike what David Lynch recommends in his self-help book, I'm one of those artists who need a hard emotion to crate. My life is sewn thread of rage that, instead of inspiring me to explode bombs on the city streets, made me create this blog.
I'm going to write here, every day, a new motive to hate P***o A****e and its disgraceful cold. I've already used to do it mentally, repeating kind of a mantra as soon as I wake up, so I won't have trouble by sharing it on the web. I'm not planning to convince the readers that my opinion worths, and I don't mean to offend anyone with my rebel words.
As well as there are blogs of people who love France and Amèlie Poulain, of people who love chocolate, of people who love anything, I want to have the right of having a blog kind of "I hate". I hope to reach one million posts, then someday I can say "I have one million reasons to don't live here" - and I'm going to be literal, as it will be verified by anyone.
If somebody take offense with it, this one should be the city mayor, with a deportation edict and a one-way ticket to Caribbean, where I'll be the happiest exile all over the world. Hasta la vista, capital of hell.
...
I believe people use to dislike the things they live together with for so long, due to a natural necessity of change and evolution. I was born in P***o A****e and I have lived in this city for over twenty years. For me, it's natural that presently I hate the "g****a" capital. It occurs most of all because this place freezes me and depresses me a little bit every day, and today I'm a well without bottom, full of rancor against the city.
Who knows me knows I'm terrified of cold and, even more, of its consequences (which I always try to avoid). I attribute to cold all misfortunes of the world, mainly mine ones. My friends from here chastise me for this, but I don't take offense neither get appalled, and I go thinking this is the worst city to live in.
So, why don't I move?
I already did. I lived in a beautiful city in Brazil Northeast and I felt as I was other person while I lived there. It seemed I had been born again, because everything was just the opposite of P***o A****e. But I've been there on account of an exchange, that is the kind of opportunity that lasts a bit. When I came back to the south of the country, I took a cultural shock so intense I wanted to abandon university and to live juggling in the traffic lights.
The trouble is that all the things which impede me of living in other city are basic in my life: home, food, clean clothes, free studies, a worth work, pets I treat as CHILDREN and I have something very hard to take in my state: half a dozen friends. All this things support me, and while I don't abolish them from my serene life, I won't move.
In an injustice situation, I'm inclined to feel rage of the aggressor, more than feel sorry for the attacked. So, I cannot pity myself, considering I'm angry with P***o A****e. Thankfully, it stops me before I fall into a deep and suicidal depression. Unlike what David Lynch recommends in his self-help book, I'm one of those artists who need a hard emotion to crate. My life is sewn thread of rage that, instead of inspiring me to explode bombs on the city streets, made me create this blog.
I'm going to write here, every day, a new motive to hate P***o A****e and its disgraceful cold. I've already used to do it mentally, repeating kind of a mantra as soon as I wake up, so I won't have trouble by sharing it on the web. I'm not planning to convince the readers that my opinion worths, and I don't mean to offend anyone with my rebel words.
As well as there are blogs of people who love France and Amèlie Poulain, of people who love chocolate, of people who love anything, I want to have the right of having a blog kind of "I hate". I hope to reach one million posts, then someday I can say "I have one million reasons to don't live here" - and I'm going to be literal, as it will be verified by anyone.
If somebody take offense with it, this one should be the city mayor, with a deportation edict and a one-way ticket to Caribbean, where I'll be the happiest exile all over the world. Hasta la vista, capital of hell.
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