Stream of consciousness.

It is hard to take back the reins of your conscience when the road it’s taking isn’t even similar in the slightest to the one you had planned. The words come out on their own, flowing from mind and fingers, and plastered on something as real as it is unreal, as solid as it is nonexistent, indelible and undying. However, much worse is the sensation that remains when the storm of feelings and confessions eases off, and the dust settles after the fact, when you realize that the nakedness of the soul is much more shaming and humilliating than any lack of physical clothes.

There’s a million things I want to do right at this moment, and the tears fight amongst themselves trying to reach beyond the borders of my eyelids, but I’m not letting them — I’m in the middle of my goddamn office, supposed to be working. Nevertheless, sheer sadness and the feeling of despair for no apparent reason or motive becomes almost too tough to restrain. As much as it’s been hours of attempting to prevent this, I can feel them, one after the other, the droplets of rage against myself streaming barely down to my nose, as I’m not intending to give them the chance to reach any further, for it puts me at risk of someone in my cubicle noticing that I’m not entirely in control of myself today.

Venting and relieving the weight of accumulated feelings in a heart chock full of inferiority complexes, powerlessness against my own incompetence and pain and rage towards myself is an experience that idealists would probably call liberating, but for me it’s nothing but devastating and depressing. Maybe it’s a necessary evil, maybe it’s not. I don’t regret doing it, however. But the sheer internal destruction this entails is a deep and very painful wound, one that will not scar easily, and that when it does scar, it is one more mark, permanent, eternal, in an already heavily pockmarked surface barely capable of holding one more.

Damn loneliness. Damn destroyed heart. But most of all, damn myself and my own damn weakness.

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The Street Fighter Footsies Handbook, mobile edition

With proper permission from Maj from, I’ve taken the time to figure out how to use and abuse an easily available, overcomplicated, annoying-as-fuck, overly graphically cute software to create ebooks called Calibre (not even gonna bother linking it here), in order to build and publish a mobile ebook version of his world-famous Street Fighter Footsies Handbook. I took the time to create this as, believe it or not, there’s some of us (like myself) in third-world countries that do play Street Fighter frequently and seriously and don’t have mobile data services on our phones in order to be able to freely browse Maj’s site for the handbook.

This mobile ebook version is intended to make it easier to carry the handbook with you, readable in either PDF or EPUB format (both well-known, well-used and extremely portable formats) so you can peruse it whenever you feel like it on your tablet, phone or any other smart device.

You can download the zip with both EPUB and PDF versions of the ebook here.

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Five things that WILL piss off a programmer

I’ve seen a bunch of compilations like these on various places in the web, but I’m listing these from personal experience. In no particular order:

  1. Getting asked by everyone and their bloody mother to fix their computers. This is by far, I think, the absolute worst of them all. Just the mere fact that I have a degree in ANYTHING related to computers doesn’t make me the family technician, assholes. Even more so considering that my degree is in SOFTWARE ENGINEERING (aka knowing how to program efficiently and effectively), not computer repair. (This is, more often than not, not just limited to hardware, but also virus-cleaning, installing updates, and ridding the computer of all the fucking porn you unwittingly stuck in the system because you didn’t heed our fucking warning NOT to use Internet Explorer.) To add insult to injury, it usually has to be done for free, quickly, efficiently and with extremely detailed explanations, because if there’s one thing these pricks do well, it’s being fussy and overly demanding.
  2. Incomplete error reports. For fucking Zeus’s sake, telling me that you found an error and telling me nothing is the exact same bleeding thing at all if you don’t tell me WHAT THE ERROR MESSAGE WAS. Apparently, the fact that I know how to program also makes me somehow capable of divining absolutely any and all errors, the exact cause, the circumstances of when it was triggered, and everything related to it just by you telling me that you got an error. Never fucking mind that a single software can crash in a myriad of ways with sometimes TENS OF THOUSANDS of error messages, or that due to hardware/software configuration it might be an error that only happens to you, or any of that shit. “I got an error, you have to solve it!” “But what kind of error did you get?” “I don’t know, I just know I got an error!” is way too common a conversation for my personal tastes.
  3. Users ignoring app documentation. Apparently, for the users, the Instruction Manual and Help documents are just there to occupy space and look pretty. And hence, the gods saw fit to grant unto us developers and unto sysadmins as well one of the most useful acronyms for when a (l)user asks a stupid question that’s already answered clearly in the documentation: RTFM. (Which translates to Read The FUCKING Manual — and yes, that fucking goes to YOU as well.)
  4. Deadlines (especially ones NOT set by us). Once I’ve agreed to develop an application or any other piece of software for you, it’s understandable that you may want to know when you can get your finished product. But when you hire me to develop something for you which YOU will be delivering to a third party, setting deadlines arbitrarily without consulting ME is a surefire way to get me pissed and look for ANY way to use the legal system against you so I can fuck you sideways with your project and GTFO. In case you didn’t notice, I don’t fucking give a flying rat’s ass about who you or the actual clients are, or what your relationship is with them, or anything of the sort. I want to do my fucking job, get paid, and go home. But when you start telling the client that the product will be ready by a given date where I am 100% sure that it will NOT be, that’s when I start actually getting morose and actively attempt to make YOU look bad in front of your client. Preferably, in ideal cases, also having side conversations with said client explaining the ACTUAL situation and circumstances of the product.
  5. Unexpected bugs and errors after code freeze and when porting code to production. This one pisses me off to no end. You make sure your code is as clean as you can, you make an actual inhuman effort to make sure everything is working, you document all possible exceptions and error situations, and write code to make sure your software fails gracefully if an error comes up; you build your error library with error codes, descriptive messages, and make absolutely freaking 100% SURE everything works… And the moment you move your stuff to the production environment, EVERYTHING starts to blow up here or there. Cue an insatiable, irresistible desire to rip your hair out of your scalp with your bare hands.

Sigh. Such is the life of a code monkey.

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That horrible, disgusting, sinking feeling…

…when you get a fucking accolade at work and everybody’s looking at you, and all you want is for the earth to split open and swallow you because you can’t stand the attention and you feel ashamed, embarrassed and disgusted at yourself instead of cheered up.

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As far as the man can run from us we’re following the trail of blood…

…So hunt, my young ones — the pack they have always feared is back!

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I do NOT answer to YOU of all people.

I have a life. I have duties, rights and obligations. That much is clear to everyone.

I have a professional life. I have a career and a degree, I have a job, I have someone to report to, I have things to do required by the aforementioned job.

I have a social life! I have friends (not many, but I do), I have workmates, and I have a whole host of acquaintances with whom I can create social connections of people contemporary to me.

I also happen to have an internet life. One in which I also have acquaintances and friends (some of whom I’d actually LOVE to meet in person, just so I could give them, or let them give me, a much needed hug). I have communities I’m part of, groups of “anonymous” people who have fun with each other by sharing our interests and tastes.

In short, I have everything you yourself had when you were young, in an evolved level.

So why in the motherfucking ninth circle of fucking HELL do YOU give a flying fuck if I like to do or watch stuff your shitty, hypocritical, self-entitled asshole attitude has deemed “childish” or “immature”? Do I fucking look like a fucking kid to you? Do I fucking look like I’m fucking five? Do you see me not taking care of my obligations and responsibilities (and even some that AREN’T FUCKING MINE, by the way) because of my hobbies?

Furthermore, do you REALLY think I’m gonna buy your bullshit that you, in your time, didn’t like so-called “kid’s stuff” despite your age? You’re SERIOUSLY gonna try to make me swallow the supposed “fact” that you were never ostracized because of what you liked?

If my games, my hobbies and my preferences aren’t to your tastes, guess who’s fucking problem that is.

No clue?

Okay, here’s a hint: it starts with Y, ends with U, and has an O in the middle.

That’s right. It is nobody but YOUR fucking problem. Why? Mainly because I don’t fucking see ANYONE FROM MY GODDAMN GENERATION FUCKING AGREEING WITH YOUR PIECE OF SHIT OPINIONS. Do you wanna know why that is? Why, that’s a very easy to answer question: Because they’re too fucking busy not giving a fuck about what I do and like, and instead EMBRACE AND ENJOY IT.

Bottom line: You are out of fucking touch with fucking REALITY, despite your constant claims to the contrary. So how about you, for once in your miserable, shitty life, stay the fuck out of mine and let me live it the way I want?

As hard as you might find to believe this, I actually do appreciate the education and opportunities you gave me through all my life. I actually really do. But now that I’m pretty much on a path completely different to yours, what in the fuck makes you think I give a flying shit about what you consider “appropriate” or not for “someone my age”?

Please do us all a favor, and SHUT THE BLOODY MOTHERFUCKING FUCK UP.


A smothered young adult.

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At the end of tomorrow

And sometimes my heart I wish was of stone black,
of rock dead and cold and that feelings it lacked,
and then I can’t help but sense its strings tug
and the tears as they roll down my pathetic mug,
and I can’t help but wonder what’s the point of my life
being surrounded by shadows and engulfed in strife…

And I ask myself, “what have you done that is worth?”
There’s no answer in sight,
And in pain and in blight,
Without something worth saving
Or an end to this destructive road I am paving,
I just keep walking forth — no direction, no north,
dragging behind me my sins and my sorrow,
in the hopes that one day
a kind soul will just say
“look at me, take my hand, stand up, hold your way,
for a smile waits for you at the end of tomorrow”.

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She is all I ever dreamed…

…but now my skies are turning gray.

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Back to job hunting. Got fired today.

Not telling specifics. Suffice it to say that it was due to a paranoia-induced, completely unnecessary “scandal” involving a massive fatass SOB with a personal vendetta and an overly inflated ego, an entirely harmless Harlem Shake video, and an astounding number of assholes with delusions of grandeur.


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For those who care: No, I’m not dead yet. Even if I almost did die a few days ago.

Plowing through an asthma crisis for the past two weeks. Five days ago almost asphyxiated myself. (Dumb luck I didn’t.) Been getting plugged to oxygen all night every night ever since then.

This is also the second time in three months I get mugged and lose my salary of two weeks. It’s… annoying, to say the least.

Whoever wants to get in touch, drop me an email. I still don’t have full internet at the office, but I do get limited access to Gmail for work purposes. I’ll try to get in touch ASAP.

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