The Hemorrhoid Walker

Years ago, some friends and I went to a concert. Since the concert was far from where we lived and we had nowhere to stay, as soon as it was over, we had to hurry in order to catch the buses and the trains that would take us home. 

"Hurry Martin, hurry!" Martin wouldn't hurry. He was making this weird face like he had a cucumber  up his butt and he walked slowly. Painfully slow. We needed him to hurry, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. He had a problem that impeded him from hurrying. He didn't want to tell us what was wrong, but we knew exactly what the problem was. Martin should've had his fibers that week and left the little monsters at home, but instead, he brought them out for a walk and from his facial expressions, the nasty little fuckers had sharp teeth. We wouldn't leave our good friend behind, so instead, we slowed down… and made jokes. Yeah, evil was our middle name. Martin’s middle name was The Hemorrhoid Walker.

The Infinite Drunk

At Jack's last check-up, the doctor told him that his liver looked like something a hideous wart-riddled ogre would put in its soup. Jack smiled with pride. Jack is 28 and writes gut-wrenching poetry. He quit smoking two years ago, but he'll never quit drinking. Jack thinks of alcohol as a friend. "It may make me puke my guts out on occasion, but it also helps me keep my head above this horribly boring toilet world." No one can get in between such a strong friendship and nothing will ever make Jack change his mind. As long as he wants, he'll always have a drink in his hand. Sometimes, someone will ask Jack how long he plans on continuing this damaging relationship. His answer is always the same: 

"To infinity... and beyond!" 

Some will say that a long life is the best you can wish for a person. I just want him to be happy.

The Lost Anarchist

Many years ago, before the internet, I met an anarcho-activist called Felix. I don't remember how we met, but he had a store that sold old-school punk albums, thought-provoking t-shirts and books on political philosophy. The store was very far from where I lived, so we mostly spoke on the phone. Whenever I bought stuff from him, he would send it through snail mail, always accompanied by free pamphlets and booklets on current ideologies and movements. One day, Felix told me he was closing the store due to a lack of clients. This was sad news...
Over the years, I eventually lost his phone number and most of the stuff he gave me. The fucking internet came too late... With no last name, no email, and no social network page, all that's left are the memories of our talks. And with all the political turmoil going on in the world right now, I sure wish I still had access to his invaluable knowledge.
Maybe Felix has changed his ways, maybe he's accepted the world, maybe he's burned all his material and is now working at some boring office... I doubt it. I'm pretty sure the bastard's still out there with his fists in the air, shouting for what is right. We need people like Felix, protesting against what is wrong and inspiring new ways of making the world a better place.

The Empty Girl

You're thinking this is a story about some vain girl who only cares about celebrity gossip and designer clothing, right? Not this time. Hannah is actually an avid reader and volunteers at an animal shelter. She studies chemistry and is a big fan of philosophical debates. Hannah's also constipated. She spends hours sitting on the bathroom toilet trying to do stuff she just can't. While she's there, she thinks about her life and her place in the world. While she's there, she writes little poems on her smartphone and checks her social awareness websites. While she's there, on that unfriendly toilet seat from hell, she dreams of a happy and normal bowel movement. Existentialism can be painfully excruciating, but for Hannah, it doesn't come close to the empty soul wrecking feelings of congenital constipation.

Some pains are simpler than others, but they still hurt...

The Enlightened Mannequin

They say the world holds many subtle secrets. As many as the stars that fill the universe... Diego never cared for any of them. He also never cared about his brain, his heart or his soul. His looks got him all the modeling gigs, parties, weed and girls he ever wanted. He flew over problems and everything was simple. He was happy...

Then something happened. Diego got sick and he woke up from the empty, mannequin dream he was living in. Hanging over the abyss by a thread, he began to unlock a new world. As he bled, he also began to grow parts of himself that he didn't even know he had. After several months of chemotherapy, Diego's health stabilized, but the fear and the pain had changed the world around him forever. He doesn't smile as much, but believe me, Diego's eyes are much more open now. Friendlier, too.

The Farting Boyfriend

Once upon a time, Lewis accidently slipped a fart in front of his girlfriend. Two long hours of awkward silence followed. When he told me what had happened, he was so embarrassed that I tried to calm him down with something I had learned: "Slipping farts in front of a girlfriend is a sign of love. When you love someone and you feel comfortable around them, this sort of thing just happens. Slipping a fart is another way of saying 'I love you'. The next time it happens, just tell her that."

The problem was that Lewis exploited this piece of fail-safe wisdom. He was so happy with it, that he started farting in front of her on purpose, following each fart with a smile and a "I love you". At first, she thought it was cute, but after a few days, it got rotten old. Lewis eventually quit his heart farts and things went back to normal. I think his girlfriend should have let a few out on purpose. Just to see how he liked it.

Happy Valentine's Day, you crazy kidz!

The Demon Crusher

It doesn't matter how many times you go to church, we've all got a demon inside. And I don't mean the one who tells you to wear that tough looking leather jacket or the one who convinces you to put on those slutty high heel boots or even the one who suggests you go egg-bomb your neighbor's house; I'm talking about that hardcore motherfucker that'll make you act like a total asshole. 

Matt has a demon, too. His demon is anger. Any misinterpreted word or unintentional bump would be enough to make him go ballistic. People would get hurt. Ever since his mom died, Matt's changed. He's calmed himself down. Matt has crushed his inner demon and has had it trapped ever since. Matt told me that the thing about an inner demon is that you can't just wait for your mental walls to slowly do the job, you have to weaken the fucker's joints and crush it into a puddle of pulp. Quickly and ruthlessly.
Happy crushing!

The Scared Atheist

"In life, we've got friends, girlfriends, clothes, nature, art, pets, music, movies, the night, books, cigarettes, video games, food, cars, alcohol, jewelry...  All the things a girl needs to be happy."

"And in death? In death, we get nothing. Nothing at all. If that doesn't put the fear of god into you, then I don't know what will. Obviously, I'd rather believe in the hard truth than in some invisible bearded man who sits in a cloud rewarding the just and punishing the wicked, but that doesn't mean that the truth doesn't scare the shit out of me."

As an atheist, this is what Betty believes the after-life is: Nothing. She doesn't care about the unfairness of the most vicious murdering rapist sharing the same fate as the nicest person on earth, nor does she care that all her fears will vanish as soon as she's dead. All Betty cares about is that when her lights finally go out, all the amazing things she's lived for, will be no more. Nothingness might not affect the dead, but it can be one hell of a scary thought for the living. 

The Fighter

Kaori's story is a story of sadness...

Ever since she could remember, Kaori has lived buried underneath the weight of her soul-dead family and a ton of their small minded bullshit. They are petty fools who don't fully grasp the notion of love. Every chance they get, they make her feel like a failure, less than human; but under all that emotional ruble, Kaori still fights to achieve her dreams. Slowly but surely, she grows, willing the day when she will become bigger than the ton of rubble above her. A couple of months ago, she carved her name on her own arm so that everyone knows who the girl under the rubble is. She is Kaori and soon enough, she'll be kicking ass!

Kaori's story is also a story of hope.

The Irrelevant Voter

You can call him Phil, but names are meaningless among the meat puppets. With a pat on the back, they scooped away his identity as soon as he reached the legal voting age.

He doesn't have a face, just his number.

He doesn't have a voice, just a silent nod in acceptance.

He doesn't have a brain, just the purpose: Keep the status quo!

He is an irrelevant voter. Maybe we are too...

The Resolution Breaker

Resolutions...

We all make them, right? Monica does, and every year, she tells me that this is The Year. The year where everything changes. The year where she totally commits to her list and where her resolutions finally come true... They never do.
Besides the resolution making, Monica also gets drunk on every New Year's Eve. I mean totally fucking drunk. The kind of drunk that'll make you piss yourself because 'it seemed like the reasonable thing to do at the time' and that'll give you a two week hangover that makes you wish you were dead. Yeah, Monica loses her head. The willpower of a fresh start on the first of January drowns in a mix of cheese dip, jello shots, tequila, and champagne. The resolutions are lost. Sometimes, Monica manages to re-start some of them, but they quickly fade into failure. Whatever the reasons, we tend to break our resolutions...

Let this year be different. Let this year be The Year. 
Her year. Your year. My year.
Or not. No pressure.

The Kung fu Dancer

Despite his hardcore looks, Ginn is actually a nice guy. He's a gentle soul who loves music and never hurts anyone… intentionally. The thing about Ginn is that he loses it when he’s on the dance floor. In the darkness of a club, he lets the vibrating music take control of his body and he forgets that there are people around him. Kung fu classes and all the ketamin he swallows just makes things worse, but it’s hard to hate a guy who’s as polite as Ginn is. I once saw him break a girl’s nose. He didn't do it on purpose, it was an accident. Ginn immediately apologized and offered a round to the girl and her boyfriend, but apologies and free drinks don’t clean up the blood. So, as you can imagine, Ginn used to get into a lot of trouble because of his dancing skills. Lately, he's been much calmer; occasionally though, unknowing bystanders will still get their asses served by The Kung fu Dancer. 

The Christmas Inverter

A couple of days before Christmas, my mom and I visited her neighbor, Mrs. Fields. In her living room I saw an inverted Christmas tree. I'm relatively open minded, but to be totally honest, the first time I saw it, it looked like something the Devil would put up. Was Mrs. Fields a priestess in some Satan worshiping cult? Only after a google search did I realize how common these inverted trees have become. Despite my shock, it's just a normal Christmas tree turned on it's head. It doesn't necessarily change the true meanings of Christmas, but maybe it's a sign of the times...
Christmas is about peace, loved ones, homemade cooking, good will towards others... but many of us have inverted it's meaning. Instead of being nice to each other, we just want 'presents'. We lick our greedy little fingers as the world turns upside down. Mrs. Fields isn't like that. She's a sweet old lady who always has cookies and kind words to share. She inverts the selfish wanting and makes her Christmas about something better: sharing.

Hope you beautiful people had a beautiful Christmas.

The World Blazer

They say the world is going to end…

They've been saying it for thousands of years and yet, this beautiful blue marble continues to spin. They've said it so many times, people don’t believe it anymore. A few still linger in fear, but most of us don't even care. There's also Keegan...

Keegan wants the world to end. He's been a painter all his life and he still isn't famous. He knows that his works will be forgotten as soon as he's dead. This upsets him greatly. He thinks it's unfair that some shine in glorious immortality while he slips into oblivion. He wants the world to end so there'll be no one to remember the great works and no one to forget his. Keegan wants the world to end in a blaze.

My humble opinion on the matter: Fuck you, Keegan! We can't all be famous, but we can enjoy what we got. Man up and grow a pair. 

The Brother

Back when leather jackets were cool and punk rockers weren't all pussies, Tommy and I used to drink the cheapest beer we could find, we'd talk about the cute girls we wanted to bang, and sometimes, in the blurry streets of our youth, we would sing our hearts out. Horrible songs... we sang them loud and proud!

Getting drunk with a friend... we've all done it. I know this is a useless boring post, but it's as true as any other damn piece I've ever written. We lose many friends along the way, but of all the people I fucked over or who did the same to me, Tommy is the one I miss the most. He was my brother.

I think today's his birthday...

The Snowmen Murderer

"Look... The first snows of the year are falling. As usual, tomorrow morning, silly girls and pansy boys will run outside and make their stupidly generic little snowmen. It's customary. It's tradition. It's seven sades of boring! Something must be done!"
And with that, Erik stormed out into the darkness of the night. The next evening he got a can of blood red paint, an axe, and like the psychotic Ghost of Christmas Whenever, he brought mayhem to the neighborhood, 'murdering' all the snowmen he could find. The neighbors were not pleased. When I asked the mad bastard why he did it, Erik answered:

"Destruction can be a form of creation, I just wanted to bring something new to the holiday season!"  

The Weirdos

 "You've always gotten along with the weirdos."

The condescending tone with which this was said to me about a year ago was enough to make me sick to my stomach. 'The weirdos'… In high school, after a few brushes with popularity, I quickly realized that I felt more comfortable with the less popular, those outcasts who defied stereotypes, the weirdos... They had sweeter dreams, stronger convictions, an easier sense of humor, and nobler notions of friendship. 

So, yes, I have 'always gotten along with the weirdos'. Society doesn't advance based on brain dead clones and sheep. Just like in nature, society develops based on diversity, it evolves on the weird. If you've never felt the secret wisdom of being a weirdo, then what a horribly boring life you must lead.

The Blurry Hyperrealist

I once met a hyperrealist painter called Dennis...
A hyperrealist paints stuff in such detail that his or her paintings look like photographs. For the last 15 years, Dennis has been working on a side project where he paints in the utmost detail the view from his window. The difference from his other work is that Dennis factors in the influence of time, driving him to add, almost daily, every little change.
Over the years, family homes have turned into a single apartment building, a green horizon of trees has been cut down, the neighbor's cars have turned into eco-friendly plastic toys, the publicity monster has become more aggressive, wild life has practically gone extinct, kids have traded baseball for video-games...
...it's an exhausting, never ending task. With it, Dennis has learned that time changes everything. For better or worse, convictions, beliefs, dreams, and even the perception of what is real can all become nothing more than a messy blur of paint on a canvass. No matter how detailed your knowledge of the world is.

The Loving Blob

While watching the 1955 movie, The Blob, a buddy of mine told me about his Aunt Gertie: 

“She was one of those big ladies who expressed her love by smothering us to death with hugs and kisses. Clichéd, I know, but that was my Aunt Gertie. She hardly ever left the house and kept all her favorite things really close to her. I gave her a wind chime once for her birthday, but I guess she didn't really like it because the very next day she took it down. My sister and I were a different story, she really loved us. After feeding us pie until our bellies were about to burst, she would squeeze us with such joy that I thought she was going to eat us next. I’m pretty sure the reason why my sister is so retarded is because our aunt hugged her once too often. Lack of oxygen to the brain will do that to you… Even though going to my aunt's house was always a worrying thought when I was a kid, I actually miss the old girl.”

Weird how a horrible mass of alien goo would remind my friend of a loving family member and for the record, his sister is not mentally challenged. It might be sappy of me, but I miss those days when everyone had a crazy aunt who just wanted to squeeze you in her arms and cover your cheeks with drooling kisses. Hard love made the world a nicer place. 

The Headless Horseman

Tonight's Invizible Kid is known as The Headless Horseman…

As some might already know, I usually talk about people I've actually met and as odd as it may seem, this is no so different. I was born in Sleepy Hollow, New York and when I was in the third grade our teacher took us to visit the local cemetery for Halloween. There, I remember seeing the unmarked grave of The Legendary Headless Horseman. So, I met the guy… or rather, I met his remains.

For those who haven't read the Irvine Washington short tale or seen the movie with Johnny Depp, I’ll sum up the legend: There was this girl whose boyfriend went to war and got his head blown off by a canon ball. Years later, there was this other dude hitting on her. One evening, when the dude was going home, he was frightened by a headless horseman that chased him out of town. The legend also says that on the night of Halloween, the tortured soul of this headless horseman haunts the town streets looking for his lost head. The reason why his grave is unmarked lies in the fact that it's tombstone always gets stolen. Some people believe that if you place his tombstone on your lawn, the Horseman won’t behead you…
Happy Halloween and hold on to your head!