planet UNcool

dylan dog 2.0

2009-01-08T02:40:00.005+01:00

diabolus in omnia res

2009-01-08T02:40:00.002+01:00

2009-01-08T02:37:00.002+01:00

the unknown brigade

2009-01-08T02:36:00.002+01:00

blanc on noir

2009-01-08T02:35:00.002+01:00

black london.

2009-01-08T02:33:00.002+01:00

revolution is fashion

2009-01-08T02:32:00.002+01:00

2009-01-08T02:30:00.003+01:00

BOOM!

2009-01-08T02:29:00.002+01:00

bang!

2009-01-08T02:28:00.001+01:00

freedom?

2009-01-08T02:27:00.001+01:00

madison st.george, monster hunter on hire (2)

2009-01-08T02:25:00.001+01:00

madison st.george, monster hunter on hire

2009-01-08T02:23:00.002+01:00

if only ALL women were like this...

2009-01-08T02:22:00.002+01:00

2-page unfinished comic book

2009-01-08T02:20:00.002+01:00

el hondo!!!

2009-01-08T02:04:00.002+01:00

john constantine - hellblazer

2009-01-08T02:02:00.002+01:00

superhero frenzy!

2009-01-08T01:59:00.002+01:00

monkeys.

2009-01-08T01:58:00.002+01:00

fuck sociability

2008-12-24T00:37:00.000+01:00

old school

2008-12-24T00:36:00.002+01:00

madame hollywood

2008-12-24T00:36:00.001+01:00

suicide is for pussies, but it takes a REAL man to slowly kill yourself through years and years of silent choking

2008-12-24T00:33:00.002+01:00

2008-12-24T00:32:00.000+01:00

war is sexy

2008-12-19T16:32:00.000+01:00

2008-12-19T16:31:00.005+01:00

"you should see the other one"

2008-12-19T16:31:00.004+01:00

2008-12-19T16:30:00.004+01:00

acapulco

2008-12-19T16:30:00.003+01:00

cO.cK.y

2008-12-18T19:08:00.001+01:00

[proportions are quite accurate, though]

2008-12-18T19:07:00.002+01:00

it would be easier, but also duller

2008-12-18T19:05:00.001+01:00

nicotine bloodstains all over the counter

2008-12-18T19:03:00.001+01:00

"nobody ever expects the Inquisition!"

2008-12-18T19:02:00.001+01:00

2008-12-18T18:58:00.001+01:00

"TO DO" list for a very undetermined future

2008-11-28T10:15:00.007+01:00

Write a tv show called "Funny Weather"based on personal experiences in London and all the characters are people I actually met and I keep all of their names in the show and if they sue me who gives a shit and they appear in the opening credits as soon as I meet them in the show and the plot is basically me living and studying there and trying to do stuff but it always rains and rain is the main villain of the series and it all takes a span of time going from September to August so maybe in the last episode it won't rain and the characters can truly do something out. Cool.
DEFINITELY learn how to play guitar just so that I can form a band and call it "Secret Handshake" (which, if you think about it , it's probably the best name EVER for a band).
Cut my hair. Or maybe not.
Fall in love.
Get my hands on a MacBook for X-mas and install Adobe Creative Suite and design tees for Threadless.com and make millions out of it. Yeah, 2000 dollars at a time.

2008-11-26T23:20:00.002+01:00

Heartbreaker

2008-11-17T17:48:00.004+01:00

2008-11-15T21:25:00.001+01:00

wishlist II

2008-09-26T12:40:00.002+02:00

I'd like to get a call, the one that never seems to come.

I'd like to know.

*UPDATE* Just got it. Well, whatever. I'd like to be able to close my eyes and let go.

Musical Fascists - I

2008-09-23T12:03:00.078+02:00

The corridors of Aleph were empty and almost deaf, except for the distant noise of disciplined steps rushing towards the end of the hall. The neon orange sirens were flashing silently, calling all staff to the briefing room.

Aleph, headquarters to the glorious phalanx of the Musical Fascists, seemed to exist in an isolated prism of time and space that reflected any external influence from physics and reality, giving the impression of having always been there, for a purpose we had been taught to embrace completely without discussing.

Spiralling over the ominous walls, the fluorescent lights composed a simple, straight path that subliminally made the marching even more automatic and submissive.

Into the deepest core of nine concentric steel circles, Sarge was waiting for us. The team entered the room with a reverence that slowed down their motions and sat down around the table, eager to begin the next ret-con.

Ret-cons was how the High Office referred to our missions. It stood for retroactive corrections, which basically summed up pretty well what we did.

Sarge threw a paper folder on the table for us to look and started his sermon.

"There's no other way to put it, this guy here's a joke. His own presence shames our Paradigm and justifies our intents".

Istantly, the words spoken by Sarge started to resonate with me, merging with memories of the teachings at the Academy: the Superior System we pledged to is based on semplicity, the Holy Trinity of power chords professed by the Church of Ramones. The roughness of a sound, the authentic urge of a shouted refrain can aim to the heart with a cruelty that's often sublime. For this reason, they just can't be for anyone. Young cadets, we swore to defend that special Truth.

"First," - Sarge kept talking with such a solemn tone that everything he was saying just had to be right - "there's his pompous, bloated ego. What the sacred Pioneers have accomplished isn't enough anymore for him. He turned our beloved music into self-parody, a vulgar stadium attraction passed off as art because of lame operatic warbles. His last couple of tunes sound like fucking Mozart high on ritalin".

"Opera. In a fucking rock band? Shit, Sarge..." - many of the team seemed geniunely shocked, while the papers passed from hand to hand - "What about guitar-bass-drums?" - another voice from the back of the room, another grunt of disapproval.

"Another problem is the absolute negation of coherence displayed by this moustached fag in pink leather tights. He's been going around raving madly about the joys of free love and life, and yet he has a talent for costantly hiding or downplaying his indian origins and homosexuality in public".

The files arrived in the hands of Kowalski, who flipped distractly through them while smiling numbly for his own ultimate remark: "Them bloody wogs".

"And queers" - added someone. Racism at its finest.

"The situation is not only just ridicolous," - concluded Sarge - "our Silent Advisors identified him as a major threat to the future of Rock: they predict a significant wave of followers and impersonators that will corrupt our Sacred music with an orgy of falsetto singings and effeminate, flamboyant outfits. I chose Kowalski and Requiem to undergo the usual procedure to terminate the subject. We're done sirs, good luck".

The rest of the team lazily walked out of the room in disappoint for missing the opportunity of taking part in yet another noble cause, while me and Kowalski were handed the module with the termination details.

Ret-cons are truly all about reading carefully the profile of the subject: anyone in the biz we operate in, behind the illusions and lies of glamorous, perfect, stainless existences, hides a lifestyle full of excesses, endless addictions and dirty secrets. The trick is using them to make the job look like a sad, inevitable accident ordered by a cruel twist of fate, without messing with space-time continuity. And frankly, when you're plotting the demise of a very gay man with a penchant for free, unprotected intercourses with strangers of dubious origins, the answer is way too easy.

With a grin of shared satisfaction, we headed for the destination room.

Everything was ready. The control desk behing the solid glass was swarming with the serious frenzy of the tech employees; machines were humming and droning, charging the reactor until it finally got in synch with the correct temporal and spatial fluxes. Specific coordinates were set: LONDON, 1984. Kowalski and me looked at each other for a moment, then solemnly walked the metal steps up to a huge stage and entered into the portal of electric-blue light.

Feeling the light and warmth on our faces abruptly vanishing away, we opened our eyes. The contrast with the military dignity of Aleph couldn't be greater: we were standing on a sidewalk in what seemed to be a middle-class suburban street, just in front of a cleverly anonymous-looking brown building. The innocuous sign on its opaque windows read "Grange Road Bathhouse". Just exactly where and when we were supposed to be, God bless the tech staff.

We got inside, paid for a 30 minutes stay under false names and got right to the locker room, where we undressed and started scoping around for our target, with Kowalski unable to refrain his deep bother about having to get in a openly gay public steambath with such a small towel to cover his fierce masculinity.

Every room we checked was crammed of semi-naked men in ambiguous behaviour surrounded by disgusting paintings and prints of homoerotic scenes. After painful rounds that seemed to last more than they actually did, we stopped outside a private sauna guarded by two muscular henchmen in towels at the sides of the open door: I leaned over just enough to get a glimpse of our man. It was him, right there, bathing in a jacuzzi with other hairy patrons. Beside him, a plate with several coke lines and empty champagne bottles.

Getting inside was impossible and pointless: direct violence is strongly forbidden in the Musical Fascists Code. We walked back the corridor and caught a poorly-clothed waiter heading for the private sauna with another newly-opened champagne bottle. Kowalski promptly stopped him and took the plate from his hands: "Only his personal staff is admitted in the sauna. We'll take care of this, alright?".

The waiter decided not to reply, partially obscured by Kowalski's huge, menacing figure and ran away. Kowalski took out of his minuscule towel a vial tagged "Danger - HIV Virus - Highly Contagious" and emptied it inside the bottle. I took the plate, assumed an indifferent look and walked right into the private room, unnoticed by the guards. At the border of the hottub, I retrieved the empty plate and replaced it with the new, sabotaged one. Before going away I couldn't resist and looked briefly at the subject: his impish grin revealed a quite unpleasant denture, an ungraceful effeminate posture that wanted so hard to appear elegant and aristocratic. I had just seen him in person for the first time and I already hated him.

Back in the locker room, Kowalski was happy about the success of the mission and even happier to put his clothes back on. We sped out in the cold street, waiting for the staff in Aleph to re-open the portal in the same place we had appeared.

Finally, we entered in the blue shade with hearts full of pride, knowing we had saved Rock Music once again.

Messing with Photoshop

2008-09-23T03:49:00.002+02:00

wishlist

2008-09-17T19:17:00.004+02:00

I'd like to play guitar, or at least to have the patience to start learning.

I'd like to wake up excited to start a new day, sure that my contribution will make this world a better place for me and a living hell for the people I hate.

I'd like to be smart enough to actually know when to SHUT UP. But I've never been good at keeping stuff inside.

I'd like to have anything I need under my nose and be wise enough to realize it while it's still there.

I'd like to have a miracolous machine able to nullify distances, turning thousands of miles into inches.

I'd like to be proud and brave enough to speak my mind when things are taking my sleep away without being afraid of repercussions.

I'd like to be somewhere else, with someone else, but not now. I'd like to come back to 10 months ago.

I'd like to have someone cooking for me. And I'd like to eat more.

Right now, I'd like NOT to have a sore throat.

I'd like to make comics for a living, and to live like a comic character.

I'd like a hug.

I'd like to hear what I need to hear from time to time.

I'd like NOT to need to write such a list, coz it would mean everything was OK.

I'd like that everything was OK.

I'd like to have the chance to finish my studies, and get again that unforgettable sparkle you get when you work hard for smthing with good results.

I'd like the rush of coming back home by bus, late at night, watching Charing Cross Road passing by through the windows of the bus, with my favourite album ringing in my ears.

I'd like sushi every single night, but not in just ANY random place. I'd like sushi in THAT place.

I'd like more clothes and shoes. Clothes and shoes are NEVER enough.

I'd like to feel special.

I'd like to just erase this last year from my life, together with 2005, and just forget it ever existed.

I'd like to stop getting ALWAYS ready at the last minute and be chronically late.

I'd like to be fitter, healthier, happier.

I'd like to be asked to turn on the webcam.

I'd like to hear a voice instead of seeing chat lines.

I'd like to see a wishlist like mine.