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 SonicHurricane.com, 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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