Whatever It Is, That Girl Put A Spell On Me

We had flown from Ciudad de México to Tijuana and then walked to the border and took a train. It was almost ten o'clock, but it was sunny. It was so confusing. After we checked in at a Double Tree, we ate fish and chips at Old Town. We took a taxi to the San Diego Convention Center, to know how far was our hotel from it. We were just three PhD students, at the 40th Annual Meeting of the Society for Neurosciences. The meeting would start the next day. 

As we returned to the Double Tree, another lab partner, an undergraduate student, appeared out of nowhere. He was about to have a party at the hotel were he and some friends of him stayed. I wasn't sure to follow him, but the other two PhD students showed interest. I had to follow them. I didn't want to walk alone and to expose myself to be harassed by hobos.  

It was already dark. The hotel had a small pool and all the rooms were around it. It reminded me of the hotel were Earl, of My Name Is Earl, lived. Vicente guided us to the room. It was bigger than my room at the Double Tree, and it was full of undergraduate students. I recognized some of them from a psychology course I taught. Some of them recognized me, too. In particular, a girl named Minerva. I kinda had a crush on her. I think she knew it. It was silly, she was almost ten years younger than me. I wasn't about to flirt on her nor anything else.

Most of the undergraduate students were drunk, and Vicente told me that he was about to smoke Spice with Minerva. 

He asked me if I wanted to try. I did it. 

While the drug had an effect, Minerva told me how she and her friends had arrived to San Diego. Apparently, they just had travelled with half the money I had. It was amazing, they just had walked for hours. As she spoke, the drug made me feel so vulnerable and stupid. It was a potent drug, and I was getting paranoid. In the lab, we studied cannabinoids. At home, I used to smoke pot almost on a daily basis. I kinda knew that Spice' effects were heavier than pot and, to some extent, dangerous. 

All I wanted to do was to get to my room and take a nap, but Minerva looked really beautiful. I couldn't stop watching her. She continued speaking and I focused on her fleshy lips. Suddenly, her boyfriend appeared and took her away. I just felt ill and paranoid. He was a moron, and I think he was jealous. I would never have finished kissing his girlfriend. 

I walked to the Double Tree, sad and high. Fortunately, I wasn't harassed by any hobo.

In the room, I layed down in the bed and started to listening up Purple Haze. I couldn't stop imagine Minerva and her fleshy lips. I thought Jimi wrote that song inspired by a girl like she. At some point, I fall sleep.

For the next 24 hours, I felt stoned. As I walked thru the alleys of the San Diego Convention Center, I felt high. I couldn't focus on anything. I was only attracted to women, in a very sexual way. I desired Minerva like crazy and I looked for her all day long, but never saw her again. 

via GIPHY

I can't remember anything else. 

Purple Haze

I Wish I Could Eat Your Cancer When You Turn Black

I lost my mind, when I met you. All I wanted was to scream, and say "Is she really your sister?" 

Your brother played the drums and we wanted to make a band. I played the guitar. He liked Nirvana as much as I did, even though he didn't understand the lyrics 'cause he didn't speak english. We loved so much garage punk.

We started playing Aneurysm, and I yelled terribly. I was ashamed. Then we played Sliver and Sappy, and I just tried to whisper the lyrics. It was our first rehearsal. Despite my voice, the songs didn't sound bad at all. We even didn't have a name. The bass guitarist suggested "Chaos In Highschool", or something like that. He was your boyfriend, or I thought so. Maybe your brother told me so, to keep me away from you. Nevertheless, you looked at him all the time. I was kinda jealous. 

You were there, listening. Just you. Sometimes our gazes crossed thru the room. Maybe you laughed. I kinda wanted to tell you how much I liked you, for the very first moment I saw you. You were beautiful and your hair was painted in purple and pink sparkles. You dressed like a Babes In Toyland member.

"Are you really left-handed?", you asked me in a brief pause. Your boyfriend had gone to the bathroom. As we were drinking alcohol from the beginning of the rehearsal, at that point I was kinda drunk. 

via GIPHY

"Oh, yes... I am really left-handed... Do you know that Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix, were straight-handed? Do you know that Billy Corgan is left-handed even though he plays a straight-handed guitar?", I told you, desperately. 

I had an awful left-handed Ibañez guitar. It was pale blue. 

Your boyfriend came back, and we started to play Heart-shaped Box. He decided to sing, and he was amazing. You stared at him, with devotion.

I never returned to practise. I was afraid of getting in the middle of a fight for you, because it was obvious that I would fell in love with you, sooner or later.  Also, I was a bad guitarist and I never could compete with your boyfriend. 

I was an idiot. 

Heart-shaped Box

Music Is Like A Volatile Tiny Little Girl

This blog will be a writing experiment.

It will be inspired by music, literature, some pieces of science and women.

All these interests will somehow appear together on the posts.

They won't necessarily be coherent nor have rhythm. 

They will mainly be a confusing mix of reality and dreaming. 

They would mainly appear in the form of an unsatisfied desire.

Women are so important to me. 

My life would be hellish if they did not exist.  

At some point of my life, I fell in love with several women.

Most of the time, I wasn't what they were looking for. 

I hope none of the women I'm going to write about, feel offended in any way. (Obviously, I'm not going to reveal their real names. But if you know me a little bit, you easily will find who they really are.) 

Music is so important to me. 

I would be some sort of mentally ill guy if music did not exist. 

Music has been my most loyal companion. 

It's like a volatile tiny little girl.  

All the songs I'm going to write about are electrical transmitters of deep emotions. 

Dunno exactly why, but surely they will have been stored in my brain and they will come to the outside in some strange way. Some of them will eventually cut my throat. 

These songs I will write about, surely have made me (or will make me) feel extremely happy, angst, mad or sad. These songs will be my greatest hope at some apparently hopeless periods. 

I'll write about the way they provoke me and what kind of memories they remind me of. 

All the posts I'm going to publish will be based on dreaming. 

Reality sucks most of the time. 

Everything seems to be an appearance. 

Money seems to be the ultimate product of evolution. 

I hate that people be so simple and silly.  

They are the worst enemy of the world. 

Effortlessly, they seem to believe what do you do and what do you care about, only if you keep yourself telling them all the time what do you do and what do you care about. 

Even if you tell them all these things out of nowhere. 

It's exhausting. 

I don't find a reason to tell you every time that I like to write since I was born. 

I don't think you need to know if I play guitar since I was 14 years old. 

I don't believe you want to know if I'm caucasian or a neuroscientist fighting in the Third World, or just a guy with some sort of pathological attraction to loneliness. 

I don't consider important to speak you about the authors I love and what kind of novels I enjoy nor how many books I read each month. 

But it's pretty annoying when someone, that supposedly knows me, starts to assume that I don't even like music just because I don't speak of Mozart or Beethoven... or that I don't really like music 'cause I haven't experienced how it is to play an instrument... or that I'm not a scientist 'cause I never presume my academic achievements.  

Music, literature and science are my interests.

I know that I should be passionate about science in the first place, but sometimes it seems that technology is most important than research questions.  

It is common to read a paper of the top three scientific journals and to forget about the point, due to the exacerbated quantity of control experiments required by these journals and due to the sophisticated explanations that authors have to give on the sophisticated techniques they employ. 

Methodology is pretty important, but it should be a tool to shed some light on physiological phenomena. It shouldn't be the phenomenon.  

Also, it is devastating the way people in general think about science. 

They seem to believe in science exclusively when someone tells them that an apparently serious scientific study showed that laziness, grumpiness and egocentrism are related to intelligent and successful people.  

Or they simply confound science with technology. 

Or they simply employ Albert Einstein's quote ("I believe in God...") to argue that science and religion are not on different paths... even if they haven't read Baruch Spinoza and so they do not know what kind of God was the one Einstein spoke about. 

The worst of everything is that they lie and sin, and that they believe that we all are the same and that we all should be frightened, tempted and punished by the same demons and gods. 

They could quote Charles Bukowski to speak about psychoanalysis or Aristotle to speak about networking coaching. 

They're amazing, in a real bad way.  

In this period of my life I barely have the opportunity to enjoy music (I hope it eventually changes), 'cause I have too many papers to read and to write and too many things to do. 

I always wanted to be in a garage punk band -I suppose I have never tried to do it fiercely- and all the music I listen up its related to this genre.

Currently, I just listen up a few bands like Sonic Youth, Mudhoney, Melvins, Dinosaur Jr., Screaming Trees, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Butthole Surfers, Nirvana... 

From a few months until now, I have been listening to some bands I know I will eventually stop listening to.  

The Cure (Pornography and Wish are awesome records), Siouxsie & The Banshees (what kind of dark and beautiful post punk songs they played!), The Doors (despite they were more into the hippie 70's vibe, they have really awesome songs, lyrically and musically), Jimi Hendrix (I'm not sure if he was really the awesome guitarist people talk about, but definitely he was a rock n' roll artist ahead of his time) and The Rolling Stones (they're just as legendary as The Beatles!) 

I'm not gonna lie: I'm not a big fan of The Beatles nor of Bob Dylan; I prefer Neil Young, Mark Lanegan and Kurt Cobain.

(Did I mention that I'm left-handed and that I play guitar? 

Heart-shaped box is by far one of the funniest songs to play I have ever learned. She Loves You and I Want To Hold Your Hand are fun to play, too.

Nirvana is the band I hear almost all the time.

Despite he is one of the musicians I feel more attracted to, my goal it's not to play guitar like Kurt Cobain. 

I think his music was about to turn into blues and folk. He seemed to be bored of the Nirvana formula. I'm pretty sure he would have recorded albums like Mark Lanegan has done since he quit Screaming Trees.) 

I always wanted to have a job in which all I had to do was to read and to write.  

If I found a job like that, I would live in Paradise.

At the time I'm posting this, I'm a meaningless scientist and a meaningless writer. 

I hope it will change in a few years. I'm working on that. 

I would like to have enough guts to make a better life in another country, but I'm afraid I'm scared to make it.

I cannot stop thinking in all the pros and cons, especially in the cons. 

(Is it a disease? Am I too pessimistic?) 

By the way, English is not my native language -you can check it out my EGOTECA-, but I find it pretty fun to write on English... besides, I hate when people lie about their language' skills. 

Thus, METASTASIS OF SOUND is some sort of testimony of my English' language skills.

Maybe someday I will need to test that I'm really able to write on this astonishing rhythmic language.  

I invite you to read my posts while you listen to the song I will write about. 

Dear reader, this is the aim of this blog. 

I'm pretty sure you're gonna read it when I die.