Johnny Ivory

Inside a book

2018-06-04T07:58:00.005-07:00

My Mom is the best person of the world. In addition to being a famous lawyer, she's a caring wife to my father, and a frequent spectator of my presentations of ballet since I was 6 years old. She provides us with a great family base. Her good humor is something unique and special. She always makes us laugh.
This morning, I was cleaning the shelf of her books. I accidentally dropped one of the old books on the floor. There was a different page marker on it: an old piece of newspaper.
On it was written: "I am 17 years old. I am an alcoholic, I am drugged, I have dropped out of school, I have been a victim of child abuse, and I have a criminal record for car theft. Next month, the title of adolescent mother will be added to my list. But I swear I'm going to make things different for my girl. I'll be the mother I never had."
And you did it, Mom.

The song of the bird without feathers

2018-06-04T07:43:00.004-07:00

It is dawning.
The first rays of the sun invade my room through the openings in the curtain. Automatically, I reach out my arm for you by my side. A second before saying "Good morning", I realize that you are no longer here.
You may have gone, but the feeling I have for you is here with me.
You cannot imagine how much I miss you…

Haunted Basement Diary by Grandma Lourdes’ bric-a-brac box

2018-05-17T12:24:00.003-07:00

The time when you realize that you're excited about price of pans in a store is the moment when you realize you're getting old.
Age creeps up, crawling on tiptoe, wanting to scare you off when you're off guard. I wonder if I would be less frightened if it were not wearing this terrifying albino gorilla costume, disguised as a murderous clown, disguised as a used-car salesman.
Adulthood is an uncontrolled car going downhill. Let me at least enjoy the trip.
I find it amusing to realize that we are a society with a feeling of nostalgia so latent. The past always looks better, and the neighbor's grass always looks greener. Is it even that someone else's husband is also always richer than yours, and the wife of someone else is always more beautiful than yours?
I think we are like that because nostalgia brings us back to times where things were simpler than nowadays. Usually to our childhood, when our biggest worry was getting good grades in school or win in a game that was being played against friends. Or when we thought the movie told the truth about how love and relationships work. Or when we thought that our parents' money grew in small trees hidden in the backyard of our homes.
Then you grow and the illusion falls apart.
Then you are disappointed with the real world.
Then you want to go back into the Matrix.
But then, asshole Morpheus will not let you do that.
Then you create your own virtual reality, trying to imitate your happy and smiling past. Even if the past has not been so happy and smiling like this. But in your mind it is, and I pity those who will try to disagree with you.
Welcome to the real world, Neo.
Seriously, Matrix is a very good movie, watch it if you have not seen it yet. But attention: I recommend only the first film; the others I leave at your own risk.
Speaking of old movies, I like the first Mortal Kombat movie and the science fiction movie Super Mario Bros. I know everyone hates them, and I know the movies are bad (especially the Mario movie), but I like them.
Well… I love South Park, Todd and the Book of Pure Evil, and the Kevin Smith movies. My taste for entertainment was never the wiser.
Back to the history of nostalgia. What gives so much power to it is a thing called Affective memory, a concept developed by Constantin Stanislavsky. He created a method of actor preparation that became known worldwide as the Stanislavski Method. This method revolutionized theater and, later, cinema. The concept of Affective Memory is part of this system and was also implemented in Psychology. This was mainly because it allowed the separation of the subjective aspects of our life experiences, and the objective aspects of our life experiences.
For example, if I say that Harry Potter is a millionaire franchise, that would be an objective fact; is something concrete and undeniable. Now, if I say that the Harry Potter saga shaped the imagination of an entire generation, that would be a subjective perception; was something that I noticed from a specific point of view, and that is not necessarily an absolute truth or a general consensus of people.
Emotional Memory is such a powerful thing that it can influence how we see the world. Imagine with me: we have the X-Band that has an X-Style of music, right? Now imagine that the X-Band has released a new album with a Y-Style of music, totally different from the traditional X-Style. If the person undergoing this test is an X-Style fan, it has a good chance of not liking the Y-Style. If the subject under test hates the X-Style, it has a good chance of liking the Y-Style. Note that at no time did I mention the quality of the song, for in this example both styles may or may not be well played, and may or may not be well performed.
I'm going to use my example with the movie Super Mario Bros: it's considered one of the worst movies of all time, and even the actors seem to feel ashamed of it. It is on all Top 10 lists of worst video game adaptations in the movies. And anyway, I think the movie is cool. Like the movie is my subjective perception. The film being a complete piece of junk is the objective fact.
Cool huh?
Well...
I was thinking about something about this column today. I think I'll also post it on Facebook and Wattpad. Maybe it viralizes in the deep web or in the pages of human rights defenders. Dream does not cost a thing. After all, every walk always starts with a first step.
Maybe one day I'll open a YouTube channel, or create a podcast with Haunted Basement Diary. This name is too dumb not to be used to exhaustion.

And if you do not follow me on social networks (which, honestly, quite likely) then I invite you to follow me. I'll leave the links below. Make size on them, please.
See you next time.

***
facebook.com/thejohnnyivory
twitter.com/johnny_ivory
instagram.com/thejohnnyivory
wattpad.com/user/johnnyivory
***
Oh yes, by the way...I sell books. Buy books.
johnnyivory.com/p/online-store.html

Haunted Basement Diary by Carry on my wayward son / For there'll be peace when you are done

2018-05-15T18:24:00.001-07:00

Carry on my wayward son
For there'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

I wanted to start this text in a happier way, but in the current deep emotional situation I find myself, it was very difficult to do that.
And, well, I think I'm a little depressed. I think this should explain why I've been sleeping so poorly in the past few weeks. Or is this, or is my mattress that needs to be changed.
I'm in that season where almost every aspiring artist one day goes by: Dreams versus Reality. Being unhappy at a job you do not like versus Insisting on something that is not paying you the most basic bills of adulthood. This all puts a lot of questions in my mind, and perhaps the most brutal is "Do I have any talent for writing?"
My mind goes into a spiral, resembling acrobatic planes in mid-flight.
And, well, as despair is pounding deep inside my chest, and no one lives by wind in this world that has water to damn, I've been wondering whether or not it's worth insisting on. Writing takes a long time, not only in typing the words, but also in the vast research of subjects and elaboration of concepts and plots.
And today, one more important person turned the back on me because I am a mere dreamer. One of several who have already done this...
Being a dreamer sucks.
It's funny how it always hurts inside us when other people abandon us because we are no longer useful to them. We always think that we have overcome this abandonment thing, but this is never true: being discarded always hurts.
I urgently need to improve my marketing.
Unfortunately I am at the stage of life where I cannot do something that demands so much time for pure pleasure. But I cannot beg people to buy my books either, because that would be too much of a son-of-a-bitch on my part to people who still have the patience to read the rubbish I publish on this humble blog/site/sanatorium. Which leads me to two conclusions: 1) I need to change the focus of the literary productions I have been doing, and 2) I need to improve my marketing.
Did I say that I think I need to improve my marketing?
Last night I finished reading Chuck Palahniuk's Survivor. What a fucking book! The guy is fucking great! I can not understand how Hollywood has not tried to come up with an adaptation of this book yet. I suppose it's for fear of repercussion, after all Chuck has a very cruel and acid humor to the current politically correct standard. Anyone who has read any of his books will probably agree to this.
Sometimes I think my texts are notes on a napkin on the table where Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk, Nicholas Sparks, Stephenie Meyer, and JK Rowling drank until they were almost in an alcoholic coma and decided to play "I write a sentence and you write the next". I think that's why my literary focus is not the most accurate. I'm like a tennis ball machine gun in the hands of a rebellious child inside a plaster statues shop.
Today is the day of asking yourself, "What the hell am I doing with my own life?!"
Oh yes: I decided to take part in some literary contests this year; pray for me, people. I am stubborn and I will insist a little more on trying to make this story of being a writer work.
And seriously: if you like what I do, I'd like to ask you to spread it to people you know. Post in groups, pray for me, I accept even gratuitous spells of financial prosperity or billboards to publicize my work; anything that helps me buy a basket full of chocolates... If you want, buy my books as well or submit them to that your cool friend who works in a nice publishing house. I swear I'll be grateful for the help.
I said I would not beg and, in a way, that's exactly what I did... Oh my... I'm sorry, world.
I'll try to bring things a little happier in the next Haunted Basement Diary, I promise.
Brush your teeth, sleep eight hours a day, and eat fruits and vegetables.
Hug to everyone.
See you next time!

Scarface

2018-05-10T16:04:00.001-07:00

#Miami
#Refugee
#Cuba
#Cuban
#DrugKingpin
#Drug
#Kingpin
#TonyMontana
#Tony
#Montana
#BrianDePalma
#Brian
#DePalma
#Palma
#AlPacino
#Al
#Pacino
#MichellePfeiffer
#Michelle
#Pfeiffer
#StevenBauer
#Steven
#Bauer
#johnnyivory

Game Of Thrones

2018-05-09T14:15:00.002-07:00

#TywinLannister
#Tywin
#Lannister
#GameOfThrones
#Game
#Thrones
#GOT
#ASongOfIceAndFire
#SongOfIceAndFire
#Song
#Ice
#Fire
#Jaime
#Cersei
#Tyrion
#CharlesDance
#Charles
#Dance
#Jason Momoa
#Jason
#Momoa
#JonSnow
#Jon
#Snow
#Targaryen
#KitHarington
#Kit
#Harington
#Daenerys
#EmiliaClarke
#Emilia
#Clarke
#johnnyivory

Blade Runner

2018-05-08T15:32:00.000-07:00

#2049
#2017
#2018
#1982
#Android
#Replicant
#Machine
#Human
#Man
#Woman
#Neo-Noir
#NeoNoir
#Neo
#Noir
#PhilipKDick
#PhilipKDick
#K
#Dick
#TyrellCorporation
#Tyrell
#Corporation
#RickDeckard
#Rick
#Deckard
#RidleyScott
#Ridley
#Scott
#RutgerHauer
#Rutger
#Hauer
#HarrisonFord
#Harrison
#Ford
#BladeRunner
#Blade
#Runner
#JaredLeto
#Jared
#Leto
#RyanGosling
#Ryan
#Gosling
#johnnyivory

Joker

2018-05-07T15:28:00.001-07:00

#2008
#Batman
#Knight
#Dark
#Darkness
#Joker
#Movie
#Theater
#Christopher
#Nolan
#ChristopherNolan
#ChristianBale
#Christian
#Bale
#MichaelCaine
#Michael
#Caine
#HeathLedger
#Heath
#Ledger
#GaryOldman
#Gary
#Oldman
#MorganFreeman
#Morgan
#Freeman
#Enemy
#Chaos
#johnnyivory

Haunted Basement Diary by Ponies Made of Sweet Cotton

2018-05-07T04:34:00.000-07:00

Well, folks, as you've noticed, I've been out of the air for about a year (Please say that you have noticed; Let me believe that you missed me).
I spent a year away from everything, because it was a very difficult year for me. I received betrayals from people whom I thought would never betray me, I received slander from people I valued a lot... But at least I was surprised to receive support from places I never imagined receiving.
For people who know Tarot, my year was the Major Arcana The Tower. Literally.
Yesterday, while I was in an ophthalmology clinic (I did the feat of hitting my left eye on a peach-tree twig), I wondered if I do or not do this 'journalistic column'. Once I decided to do this, the next step was to think of a name for my new real estate venture: Haunted Basement Diary was the worst (and only) name I could think of.
You might ask yourself: What the hell is 'Haunted Basement Diary?'
Well, neither do I know the answer to that question. I think I'm kind of clueless guy... Coherence has never been my strong point.
For this first text I decided to talk about myself, from the top of all my disturbed arrogance. (After all, I also did not think of anything interesting to start this adventure watered down to grotesque grammatical errors.)
All this here is made of impulse and improvisation. Please do not be surprised: you should know by now that this is the level of quality you can expect from me.
For some reason, I'm feeling just like Duke Nukem now. Hail to the king, baby.
Read on at your own risk.
Are you sure about that? Alright, after all, you've already been warned that this text sucks...

Enjoy the Ponies Made of Sweet Cotton.

Being an aspiring writer is a rather arduous task. On the one hand, we have the pressures of overdue bills. And on the other hand, we have the frightening anxiety that is the sum of the questions "What am I doing with my life?" and "Will it ever work out?". The truth is that I'm still a pretentious little piece of shit in this huge literary market.
One thing I see everyone recommend is focus on a single editorial line. If you write terror, then stay in terror; if you write comedy, then stay in the comedy. They say that this is critical to creating an engaged audience, and having an engaged audience is one of the most important things to work with entertainment. An artist needs to have an audience that supports him and propagates his work; otherwise he will never get anywhere.
The success of the movie 'Avengers Infinity War' shows us the truth of this idea about audience engagement.
In a way, I agree with the story of the creative focus. The problem is that my mind does not. The last four plots I've created are about adult terror, teen comedy, children's adventure, and supernatural romance. They have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but that's the way I produce it. My mind is taken by the primordial chaos, and is the goddess of discord that guides my narratives.
In other words, I'm trying to play the Writer's Life videogame on hard level. Good luck to me, and to everyone who does what I do. Believe me, we're idiots and we need a lot of luck.
But perhaps the most difficult part is the professional effort, the commitment to the craft of writing. At some point the world always falls upon us, and we are taken by the weight of our choices. We are to blame for both the failures and the successes we choose to have. Our life as a content creator is decided in the spinning of a coin tossed to the air. If you can’t handle this lack of control, from the bottom of my heart, I recommend that you follow a safer and guaranteed profession.
I must also say that the world constantly demands immediate, periodic, and perfect results. But a single book can take years to be written and rewritten. We need to know how to deal with this so we can move on this yellow brick road.
You know, I find those motivational videos beautiful. They are really inspiring. But the reality is that many have tried and fallen before anyone has reached that promised success podium. My biggest fear is failure, and this makes me a bit pessimistic and a bit melancholy within. Maybe that's why I make so many jests and idiotic jokes: maybe that's my way of facing my demons. In the end, I think it's like they say: "The clown, away from the ring, cries." But we can not know if we will succeed or fail: all we can do is try and cheer for the best. If at some point we choose to give up, then we will have an assured result. But if we choose to move on, everything will always be an uncharted mystery.
I realized now that I am getting nowhere with this text. It's a long pile of ideas thrown in the wind.
Fuck it, I'm going to publish it anyway. It's not so bad.
I still do not know the periodicity that Haunted Basement Diary will have (I don’t even know if I'll have a second H.B.D.!), but I intend to try to do something weekly.
Anyway... I hope you liked the idea.
I intend to try to vary a little in the published content, maybe let my inner child come out to do some shit.
After all, life is too short to allow yourself to be stuck in the chains of the past.

Rain

2018-05-06T13:42:00.005-07:00

#Rain
#Storm
#Loneliness
#Tears
#Thought
#Reflection
#Sadness
#Missing
#johnnyivory

Darth Vader

2018-05-05T06:10:00.005-07:00

#DarthVader
#Darth
#Vader
#StarWars
#Star
#Wars
#Space
#WaltDisney
#Walt
#Disney
#LucasArts
#Lucas
#Arts
#May4
#MayThe4th
#StarWarsDay
#johnnyivory

Fairy Tales

2018-05-04T13:23:00.002-07:00

#FairyTales
#Tale
#Fairy
#Fantasy
#Story
#Reality
#Reflection
#Contemplation
#Imagination
#Surreal
#johnnyivory

Scream

2018-05-03T10:01:00.002-07:00

#Scream
#Hear
#Suffocate
#Soul
#Tighten
#johnnyivory

We are travelers

2018-05-02T10:12:00.005-07:00

#WeAreTravelers
#Past
#Present
#Future
#Contemplation
#Reflection
#johnnyivory

A Shooting Star

2018-05-01T14:16:00.003-07:00

#ShootingStar
#Star
#Shooting
#Explosion
#War
#johnnyivory

Thanos (Avengers Infinity War)

2018-04-30T16:31:00.003-07:00

#AvengersInfinityWar
#Avengers
#InfinityWar
#Marvel
#Thanos
#johnnyivory

Bloody Eyes – 02 (Book Excerpt)

2017-03-01T03:52:00.000-08:00

1.
Friday.
A loud noise engine is heard, followed by a shadow that breaks the veil of night fog. An old red car moves through the streets of Cantuaria, with its round fog lights announcing its solemn presence.
On the side of this car is engraved Saber in stylized black letters.
The public lighting system of the city works relatively well, except, of course, for some routine failures, such as the two lamps burned on top of one of the poles near the corner that the coupe is coming.
The traffic light glows red.
With a sudden stop, the car stops in front of the crosswalk.
Coming from the left, some drunken people stumbling walk through crosswalk toward the sidewalk across the street. The small group is composed mainly of women – all wearing short skirts, tight dresses and the like – and a reduced amount of guys – probably college students, a hypothesis deduced because of their half-open dress shirts and their hipster hair greased with gel.
As they walked, the men exchanged kisses and caresses with some of the women, while the other women were did the same – but with each other women. The signal opens at the very moment that the lively group of friends reaches the edge on the opposite side from where they were.
The powerful ancient red vehicle shoots like an arrow on the asphalt, following for another five blocks before turning the corner and follow a narrow one-way street.
The night was cold and even then, the sidewalks were occupied by visibly changed young people who, if they were stained in red, quietly pass by zombies.
In a dark alley, a couple of strangers gasped and moved in a rhythmic way.
And amidst all the debauchery of the night, a car goes towards its destination – as a silent observer of the human decay.
After a few more minutes, moments where some streets and alleys were skillfully traveled, the car finally reaches its destination.
The scarlet vehicle is parked in front of a huge merchant townhouse, in whose sign reads:

Surreal World – Digital Productions
We organize, photograph, and film weddings, honeymoons, bachelor parties, paying taxes, admissions to the lunatic asylum, birthdays, funerals, etc.

The headlights are off. In the nightly penumbra, the two black twin stripes that run through the middle of the top of the car almost blend into the bright red of the rest of the bodywork.
The two side doors of the vehicle open at the same time. And, from inside it, emerge Dorian and Renato. After disembarking, they close the vehicle doors. Some other cars are parked nearby.
Renato look at the building.
“Are you sure it’s here?”
“Who knows?” Dorian responded with a sarcastic grin plastered on his face.

2.
Far away from there, in a refined restaurant in the city, a couple is approached by a polite waiter:
“Here is the menu of desserts, Mr. and Mrs. Jekyll.”
“Thank you, Pablo,” said Eduardo.
The man respectfully bows himself, and lets the couple enjoy their intimacy.
“I loved this place, honey. Here’s all perfect! Thanks.”
Eduardo touches Monica’s hand affectionately.
“You deserve the best, my love. Moreover, today is a special day for us, eh?” He smiles warmly.
“True. It’s not every day that someone completes two years of marriage.”
That setting is magnificent, with its enormous crystal chandeliers, its gilded ornaments on the walls, its imported statues distributed throughout the room, the paintings of great artists fixed in the lobby... All very delicate, and very cozy. A small group of musicians play some melodies of classical music.
The two young people are dressed in really elegant way: Eduardo in his black tuxedo, and Monica with her lilac evening dress – a great contrast to the usual worn dark clothes that both are so fond of using.
The couple exchanges a passionate kiss.
“I love you baby.”
“I love you too, my sweetie.”

3.
“Medications! Buy your medications here!” screamed a little oriental man, leaning against the wall, with a tray of items in front of him. His accent is characteristic. “We have hemostatic plasters, bandages, painkillers, guarana powder, adhesive plasters...”
Dorian and Renato passed by the seller without giving him much thought. A small crowd had gathered inside the place. The pair goes clearing the way through these people. A bustling electronic music animates the place. After crossing the sea of people in an uproar, they come to the opposite corner of this large room where was situated a makeshift booth on an information desk.
“Good evening,” said the man sitting behind the counter, with his beard to be done. “Who will fight?”
“Both of us,” said Dorian.
“Right. Here are your authorizations to enter the arena, and the terms of responsibility. Completely fill each sheet: full name, age, number of identity, and race to which it belongs. Sign here, here, and here, confirming that you take full responsibility if you die during the fight.”
“Okay,” agreed Renato.
They getting their respective record sheet and they filled, returning them soon after. The man at the counter looked at the form of Renato Hyde, scribbled an OK with a red ink pen, and save the document. After that, he took the Dorian form. He watched it for a moment, and looked up to find the man’s eyes.
“Are you sure you want to fight, Mr. Dorian Drake? Overall, here compete only mutants, shapeshifters, and other people of superhuman power. And you said do not belong to any power breed, being just a normal person... I must say that this is almost a suicide...”
“Don’t worry, buddy. Killing me is not so easy to do.” Dorian responded with a confident smile.
“It’s up to you. I hope that your skills are as big as your ego,” responded with a friendly feature, as noted an OK in the corresponding data sheet.
The man of the makeshift booth gave a coin to each of the two: a small silver disc with a skull on one side and a hawk on the other side. They keep the items, and follow again through the crowd.
They walk to the back of the establishment, following a narrow corridor until they reach the large hall of an amphitheater. The place is crammed with people. In the midst of the forest made of people there is a circular clearing, from which originate sounds of combat. Dorian and Renato approach, and in the middle of this arena two men fight in a fierce way. One of them had black straight long hair, whose his face is endowed with an indigenous appearance; he is shirtless and shoeless, with his muscular surface of his arms and his chest covered with a type of armor made of thick protruding scales, designed from some places beneath his skin. His opponent is a small thin oriental man with short black hair and neatly combed; also he is shirtless and shoeless; and from each forearm it’s protrudes a large sharp bone sword, about forty centimeters in length, from the fist to the end of the blade.
The man who has a natural armor is too slow compared to his small and nimble opponent, but his powerful defense balances the combat. In a fast attack, the man with long black hair throws his enemy on the ground, holding one of his laminated arms with both hands and immobilizes him with a knee bar.
In a dignified action of a contortionist, the small oriental man moves his free arm, twisting it, and plants his bone sword in the wrist of his attacker, taking advantage of a gap between the large scales of his arm.
He loses his concentration for a moment, giving space for a quick escape from his opponent. Before any chance to attack, the powerful bone blades pierced the existing cracks in the joints of the shoulders, pulling a cry of pain from the huge scaled man.
Looking at the referee, the man with long hair stands the palm of his right hand, signaling his defeat. Seeing the gesture, the referee exclaims aloud:
“End of the fight between Anthony the armored, and Jin, the butcher! Victory goes to Jin!”
A teenager rushes to the middle of the arena in order to help the injured man. By striking similarity between the two, no doubt they are brothers. Stanching the bleeding, the young man raises the warrior covered with scales and supports in his footsteps as congratulates him for the big fight.
Meanwhile, Jin received the referee’s payment for the victory in this duel.
Finally, the referee, inside the empty space used as ring, announces cheerfully:
“So, who will be the next fighters tonight?”
Someone enters in the battle space, by presenting a silver coin to the referee.
“I will fight now.” said a tall, muscular blond man wearing only sandals, a white shirt and a blue short.
“Identify yourself!” exclaimed the referee.
“I am Paul, a goulian cyclop.”
Returning to advertise on his wireless microphone, the referee continues to coordinate the show:
“Does anyone here dare to challenge Paul, the goulian cyclop?”
A black man, wearing an indigo blue suit very well aligned with his slender body, enters in the open space, by presenting a silver coin too.
“I challenge.”
“Identify yourself!” the referee repeated, with his characteristic and lively narrator’s voice.
“I’m Alessandro, a homunculus.”
“Both of you are in accordance with his respective opponent?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Right. As everyone knows, each round costs sixty silvers, and fifty for the prize, and ten to the organizing committee. The fight winner takes a hundred silvers!”
The two opponents pay the stipulated amount.
“Right, right. Now, the rules: the fights are always one on one, and both shirtless and shoeless; It is not allowed to use weapons, except those that are already part of your own body; is not allowed to kill the opponent; the fight ends when one of the opponents to surrender, or if I need to interfere for a serious reason; and combat has no time limit. Gentlemen, get ready to fight!”
Following the referee’s order, the two take the top of their clothes, revealing not possessing any weapon or armor hidden. Also remove their shoes. After this leveling the two begin a complete transformation of their bodies, with Paul taking the form of a goulian cyclop (a brownish hairy creature with one eye, whose head and body are only one thing), and Alessandro taking the form of a homunculus (a being purple and hairless, long-limbed and supple appearance, as if he were made of rubber).
The two beasts face each other.
Satisfied, the referee continues his narrative:
“Right, right. Now that everything is ready, the battle begins!”
With the order, the two monsters slug it out in a violent dispute, as the audience vibrates with the spectacle. The euphoric electronic music that spreads by the environment creates an intense and competitive climax.
“Today we have strong fighters, huh?” commented Dorian, at fairly low tone.
“Is true. Last month’s struggles had only weaklings, it was bland...” Renato responded with an excited smile. “But today it seems that it will be worth pour a little of my blood in the arena.”
Dorian smiles sarcastically.
“Just do not be playing with opponents this time; otherwise, I think you can get burned.”
“Look who’s talking...”
One after another, new duels followed.
Sometimes the fight champion was in open space to fight a few more rounds, according to the resistance that he still had. The fights did neither order, nor classification techniques rules: struggled those who wanted and the time they wanted.
All it in the name of fun...

...

"Bloody Eyes – 02" is available at the following stores:

United States:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/706518

United Kingdom:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Germany:

https://www.amazon.de/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

France:

https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Spain:

https://www.amazon.es/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Italy:

https://www.amazon.it/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Netherlands:

https://www.amazon.nl/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Japan:

https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Canada:

https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Mexico:

https://www.amazon.com.mx/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Australia:

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

India:

https://www.amazon.in/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Brazil:

https://www.amazon.com.br/dp/B06XB9ZW7F

Bloody Eyes – 02

2017-03-01T03:38:00.000-08:00

“We are forces of nature.”

Renato and Eduardo are business partners in a nightclub. But the challenges they encounter go far beyond stocking drinks and serving customers. Scars from a forgotten time hide in every dark alley in city. And in the midst of all this nocturnal chaos of a violent metropolis, some memories of their past come to the surface.

Bound for Nowhere (Book Excerpt)

2017-03-01T03:10:00.002-08:00

1.
Today you would complete two years if you were born, my beloved daughter. I hope that wherever you are, you are proud of the mother you have. There is not a day I don’t feel your lack, Natalia, my child. When no one is watching me, I still cry for miscarriage that happened to you. This my mission is over. My beloved Grifan is waiting for me. As soon as I go home, we will try again to bring you into this world, my little angel.
"Commander Bune? Commander? Selena?"
"Sorry, Thomas. I think I got distracted a bit. Okay. Coordinates posted in the system. Establishing a re-entry route. Let's go home, guys."
Six months of intensive training at the launch base.
Six months in space, where I led a team of five engineers.
I was a year away from home, and I rarely saw my husband at that time. He was always very understanding, always understood the importance of my work. Indirectly, I coordinate thirty large teams of researchers on Earth. The "Project T.R.I.A." is a giant breakthrough for mankind.
I love my work. I love helping people.
But I've been working too much.
I need a vacation with my honey. We will make that journey that we postponed since that tragedy happened.
The re-entry into the orbit of the planet makes the space shuttle become a fireball. But the combination of angle and heat shields protect us from burning.
Finally, we are in safe zone. My crew makes contact with the control tower at our airfield. We received confirmation of the liberation of the landing strip, and liberation of airspace to our destination.
While all celebrate, my mind flies.
Once we get to the station, we will do the routine tests before us to be free. Tomorrow I can go home. I will make a surprise to Grifan. Six months I don’t feel the warmth of his body. Six months without seeing that smile that makes my heart beat faster.
Cautiously, the space shuttle lands on solid ground.
Gravity, how I missed you!
Floating for six months is not as fun as it sounds.
The light of the sun as seen from Earth is so beautiful! I almost see in slow motion the sunbeams invading the interior the vehicle belongs as the hatch opens itself.
Finally, I breathe the natural air of the planet. It is not as pure as the oxygen stored in the space station, but transmits a fullness that those tanks will never have.
I look at the sky: some birds are flying.
Freedom: now I can also share this feeling.
A car was parked near the space shuttle, and it was waiting for us. We boarded it. The friendly driver makes us a compliment as he drives.
When we got to the main building, we are greeted as heroes. I am pleased to be part of something so great.
We make a brief meeting with the leaders of earthly mission.
After that, we went to medical examinations at our clinic.
How I missed real food! It's so yummy! They say that hunger is the best of all spices. I think it's true because this is the best meal I have eaten in a long time!
After all the formalities, we went to our accommodations. If I were not so tired, certainly the anxiety would not let me sleep.
But I can barely keep my eyes open...
My eyelids were never so heavy...

...

"Bound for Nowhere" is available at the following stores:

http://www.livrariacultura.com.br/p/bound-for-nowhere-107797381

Doll

2017-02-25T13:47:00.000-08:00

The little black-haired girl was celebrating her eight-year birthday when the phone rang. Her mother answered, and in a few moments she began to scream in euphoria that their daughter had left the coma. The little girl protests, saying she never got sick; and she was an only child: she had no sisters. The father looks at the girl, smiles, and says a long verbal code. The girl faints after hearing the code.
The trio goes to the hospital. The parents deliver the girl to the doctors, and then they go to a bed where there is a girl exactly like the girl they brought.
The fainting girl, who came with them, was sent to a laboratory inside the hospital. In that place, she had the artificial skin removed from the surface of her mechanical body. The robot's computer was reprogrammed, and a new artificial skin was placed on the metal frame. Now this artificial child is a blond-haired girl who will be sent to a family whose daughter is in critical condition in the ICU of the hospital.

Hero of the day

2017-01-25T15:00:00.000-08:00

The little boy wakes up startled by the sounds of wood crackling. The furniture in his bedroom is being consumed by the fire, and the room is filled with flames.
The bed is an island surrounded by blazes.
In the eyes of the child, those are furious dragons, burning their own anger. The boy just could not understand why they were angry with him; after all, he had done nothing wrong for them.
Or maybe these were just evil dragons.
The boy gets scared, and hides under his blanket. He decides to wait until the dragons leave.
But a loud noise made him watch the world outside the protection of his shelter: it was a knight!
With speed, the man in armor fights against the dragons, wraps the boy with the blanket, and leaves with the child in his arms.
Outside his bedroom, the boy sees other brave warriors. They are rescuing his family from the other evil dragons.
The boy smiles; he is happy because there are heroes in the world.

What remains in the memory

2017-01-21T10:03:00.000-08:00

One of my elderly patients suffers from Alzheimer's. The disease is far advanced, to the point where he rarely remembers his name or where he is or what he ended up saying.
However, he always remembers his wife and calls her by name every time she comes – with great difficulty because of old age – to spend some time with him in the hospital.

Reluctant Heroes

2017-01-20T13:50:00.002-08:00

The world has changed. Environmental disasters have changed the earth's surface. Nothing else exists as it was before. Only the dreams of a forgotten civilization remain.
Dreams that have been stained with blood.
The cracks in the tectonic plates released on the surface a race of giant carnivorous insects. Humanity was not able to protect itself from the murderous colossi; it was already vulnerable by the climatic events that preceded their arrival.
These insects were simply called Predators. No more elaborate definition was needed to describe them.
Gathering all the resources they possessed, cities erected walls for protection. Around the world there are few cities left, where the population lives in misery. From the beginning, walled cities were communicated by radio amateurs.
Every day, young explorers are sent to confront the gigantic battletanks. These valiant-hearted warriors use a special weapon developed to deal with such monsters. This weapon is called Fragmentation Device.
Many soldiers are sent to the battlefield. And with each passing day, fewer heroes return home. Those who fall into combat saw the meal of the Predators.
Hope seemed lost.
But a brilliant scientist discovered clues about a unique type of poison. Such a toxin would be harmless to humans, but lethal to the Predators.
The survey was scattered throughout all walled cities, and the study began to be done together. Since then, advances have been made. Everyone is hopeful that soon the supreme weapon of combat to the Predators will be finished.
Behind the walls there is hope for a better future.
And because of this hope, brave and reluctant soldiers go to the battlefield. They fight for their homes, for their families, for their lives. And not everyone returns to home.
Even so, they continue to fight in the name of a forgotten dream of peace.

Escape from Chivaldi

2017-01-20T13:17:00.001-08:00

I never thought that could happen. The feeling is terrible: leave behind everything you have built in your entire life, simply because your planet will be hit by a gigantic asteroid.
The spacecraft are taking the inhabitants of the planet Chivaldi to other homes. We will be separated into 23 distinct worlds, who accepted us as their guests.

Landing in Baalador

2017-01-20T13:00:00.000-08:00

I hate to fly on Scrum Spacelines' spacecraft. They're uncomfortable, flight attendants are not friendly, and launches always delayed. Unfortunately, due to the agreements made with the galactic federation, this quadrant is a monopoly of them.
After a long journey, I finally got to Baalador.
I like the tropical climate of this planet. The inhabitants of this world are very lively, and their exotic customs fit perfectly into the context.
I arrived in the main hall of the astroport and my Baaladorian friend was there waiting for me. We have not seen each other for years.
We greet each other according to local custom: each one offered one hand to help the other make a backflip – I remember how hard it was to learn how to do it.
My vacations on the planet were just beginning.