Really?

Fui!

Sorry I have been unable to come visit more often and tell beautiful stories, but do you even know what has been going on?

Don’t you have a fucking clue what the bloody hell has been going on?!

Haven’t you ever heard Bohemian Rhapsody?!

Sorry. Just gotta get right outta here.

Actually

Hey, watch this:

Actually, you have no idea what I am capable of.

Did you know that, after all those years away, although there are many things I have forgotten, such as how to make love, there is one thing I have not, and this is how to fatally apply the unique five pointed palm exploding heart technique, bitch. Mess up with me.

I knife-hand struck a reporter’s throat, aka dei um karate no gogó da mídia

You may not know everything but, among other things, this is what I do, so you might as well had better beware of the possible consequences you could risk facing.

Cycletherapy

The Route (click to navigate)

One of the greatest weeks of my life took place just over a year ago when we set off on a cycling trip across Belgium and the Netherlands, a bit of France and then onto the ferry back to Dover and London. Catching the Eurostar from St. Pancras International to Bruxelles and then getting on our bikes from there to Antwerp, to Rotterdam, to Gouda, to Amsterdam, Noordwijk, Den Haag, Brugge and Dunkerque, passing through several other lovely towns and stunning villages in the countryside and in the seaside. The mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion we felt in identical measures on a daily basis gradually neutralised our souls into a state of nothingness that only Siddhartha and his friends could ever grasp.

Back in London, however, with almost immediate effect, the enlightening experience had paradoxically triggered a rather depressive phase in our individual lives as we battled to come to terms with the appalling state of the cycling infrastructure we had to face again. This state of affairs eventually led one of the members of the glorious power trio to never touch or even come close to his bike ever again, whilst the second chap went on to work night and day in order to be able to afford a motorcycle as soon as possible so that he would only have to use his formerly beloved bicycle just for the occasional trip to the Polski sklep around the corner when in need of some kabanos to accompany his piwo, or perhaps some pierogi for dinner. I, for myself, kept calm and carried on. Nevertheless, the truth of the matter is that things have never been the same ever since our traumatic return.

Of course that what none of us pedalling prodigies had realised was that such a long-lasting dark age could have been overcome quite simply and easily with a brief visit to my hometown, the good old city of São Paulo, paired with just a single attempt at a short little bike ride around town. Shock therapy, it is called. It does work for some, or does it…

There is indeed a name for this particular type of logical fallacy narrated above, which I fail to recall right now. It is normally used as a consolation device so to speak. It is often employed towards the others, but it is also used by ourselves upon ourselves when in search of the bright side, or the half-full glass as opposed to the half-empty one. It can always get better, but it could always be worse. Is the eye of the beholder to be blamed?

Perhaps another short example of this rhetorical construct, whose technical term continues to escape me, might help to clarify what I am talking about: Do you know when someone starts whingeing about the fact that the food they’re eating tastes like nothing, to which someone else replies that at least there’s food on the table? So, there you go. I remain hopeful that someone in the near future shall be able to assist me in order to remember the name of this gracious piece of trickery.

In the meantime, though, may I leave you with a nostalgic selection of shots taken whilst on the saddle during this memorable occasion. Never mind if it gets too tedious.

A view of the friendly border between Belgium and The Netherlands or the Flemish-Dutch border as some would certainly prefer it

As good as it gets: Dutch-style segregated cycling highway

Dedicated cycling path across the Rotterdam Suburbia

Check out this commonplace cycling roundabout + bin on the right

More segregated cycling highways in the outskirts of Rotterdam

A windmill of course, not long past the lovely town of Gouda

Past Rotterdam en route to Amsterdam, getting rural

The infamous LF2 which connects Brussels and Amsterdam

Nearing the end of another rather pleasant shift

A chubby hare crosses the path completely unaware that a speeding cyclist approaches to the concern of the onlooking Dutch mare

A customary set of dedicated traffic lights for bicycles in Haarlem just past Amsterdam on the way towards the dunes of Zandvoort

A charming little bridge for bicycles built over the marshes and canals nearly halfway towards Zandvoort and the seaside

Several different signs point to a variety of cycling routes

A seagull apparently accusing us of blatantly contributing to the increasingly worrying problem of fresh fish scarcity

A threatening Dutch fox stares at the defenceless cyclists riding in despair along the path which connects Zandvoort and Noordwijk through the sand dunes as the sun quickly goes down

The sun sets in spectacular fashion as we land in Noordwijk

The weather turns dramatically and the winds worsen but the seals remain unaffected and so do the unreal segregated cycling highways

The road is long and the winds are strong but at least it’s all flat

A strong and and determined group of three resilient cyclists crosses the infamous Pijerdam over extremely rough seas while the passing cars pose absolutely no threat whatsoever to everyone’s safety

Of course it would be madness to waste the power of this windy coast

While some of us struggle with the southerly winds others get conveniently pushed by them on their rather peculiar rowing bikes

A little detour towards Brugge sounded like a good idea

A sample of a lovely pendulum bridge back in Flemish territory

The tall bridges of Zeebrugge were trying to tell us something important but we simply wouldn’t acknowledge the fact that the ferry boats which departed from that port only took cargo to Dover

Stark difference in terms of the cycling infrastructure provided as we make our way into France but still incredibly considerate motorists

The last leg of this not so gruelling challenge departing from Dunkerque towards the ferry terminal some 20km ahead

The post-apocalyptic industrial landscape is a bit of a contrast

Perhaps one should not wait for the lights

And on board we go or should we turn around

A neutralised smile as thoroughly described and explained above

A fleeting glimpse of the nearing Albion

Safely landed in Dover on our way out of the ferry terminal

The cycling path along the seafront in Dover pointing towards London did look promising especially with the then upcoming 2012 Olympiads but unfortunately it has remained a promise to this day

So this is it, or rather, some of it. All in all, as the people on this side of the pond often say: one mustn’t grumble.

On Toasting*

caption

Please note:

Your toaster has no thermostat. It has got a timer instead. So, therefore, when you go for a second round of toasts immediately, it is most likely that they will be overdone to your taste. This is because the toaster is unable to measure how hot it is without a thermostat and thus it will burn your slice mercilessly, so you had better watch it. Closely. Not only with your eyes, but most importantly, with your sense of smell.

Now, it may be the case that you are one of the last remaining owners of a toaster with a thermostat. Yes, they do exist. Still. If you have owned a toaster for period of time which is longer than somewhere between two or three decades, depending on which country you inhabit, or alternatively, if you bought it second-hand and the appliance does look rather dated, then there is a small likelihood that you could be in possession of one of them. In order to confer whether this the actual case, proceed to toast two immediate rounds of slices in the same usual fashion as you would normally do. No, you would not. That is precisely correct, for a toaster with a thermostat would not allow you to proceed with a second round immediately. That is because it is too fucking hot and so your stupid bread would pop back up repeatedly until the bloody thing cools down, that bitch.

At this point, you might be asking yourself:

Well, what the hell do I do, then?

Just relax. In the next section we discuss a few hypothetical scenarios featuring several different hypothetical people, with whom you might identify yourself. Read the passages carefully and pay even closer attention to the questions that are being asked. Take your time to think about your answer before you choose from one of the options. Once you have made up your mind and selected one of them, refer to the key at the end of this chapter.

*From the long awaited manual Toasters for Dummies, by Eurásio Regis Filho, London, YMO4 Publishing House (forthcoming).

Fuck you!

…

Please note:

Multitasking is only the first step towards the next leap in evolution when humans will have fully developed their multidimensional thoughts.

Simultaneous lines of thought and operations, people talking and listening without the need to take turns, the word ‘concentration’ completely losing its relevance.

Exchanges in the form of a multidimensional language as opposed to the outdated linear languages we have these days.

No word after word in a sentence any longer, but rather, a semantic vomit with unequivocal meanings. Communication breakdowns brought down to a minimum.

Thoughts and ideas clearly expressed in ways which are rather similar to the ways in which we express our feelings, which, in turn, are similar to the way in which animals (and possibly even plants) communicate, you see?

Has anyone said this before? I think Carl Sagan might have said something along these lines… Oh well, ne’mind, for it will be at least between another five to forty thousand years until this transition completes itself and, of course, that is if we do not blow ourselves up before, which every now and then seems a pretty likely scenario, innit?

If we make it, though, the only truly sad thing will be irony becoming an archaic institution and children struggling to understand its concept in literature classes at school…

But wait! There will be no schools, so it’s all right then.

In the meantime, excuse my language, but fuck you for complaining that it is too hot in London today, mate. Seriously.

Arnold once said:

I’ll be back.

Fuck knows when, but I will.

bitch