I’m a Sh*tty friend & Prob I’ll Die Alone… But I’m OK With This (Pt.1/3)

I’m a Sh*tty friend & Prob I’ll Die Alone… But I’m OK With This (Pt.1/3)

Before I went to sleep last night, I saw one of those FB notifications from a contact that shows how long two people on the social media platform have been friends for. I knew them both, but one of them, I used to call a best friend. I haven’t talked to him for YEARS.

What happened?

But first… let me be clear out some things before you get the wrong idea:

Do I care much? No. Do I miss him? Neither. Wanna start talking to him again? Not really. Am I a sh+tty person and gonna die alone? Most problably.

IMG_20190114_185605618 (2).jpg

And before you start putting me in your douchebag list let me explain. Hopefully I will clean my name.

Look, I KNOW I am a terrible, terrible friend to have… Not because I do bad things to you, drain your energy, insult you or by any means take advantage of you. No. I don’t do that… In fact, if you do that, you’re an *sshole. Thank you, next.

I am a horrible friend because I really suck at maintaining contact and interest. I will not call you to have a small talk, I won’t chat with you through FB messenger, I will not text you (maybe just in your birthday and xmas). But if you call me or write to me, I would definetely take it where we left off. Could be years ago, but I’d answer as we just met yesterday. I’d be really happy to hear from you.

Call it a social disability that I have.


What happened to my friends?

I used to have a nice squad, you know, we attended school togeteher until highscool, we even started going to the same University! But now I am fairly likable 30 years old lady who has read a few books and watched a shit ton of weird movies enough to maintain an interesting conversation… who happens to have an only friend.

The dilemma relapses in this simple premise: If I don’t even care to have more friends rigth now why do I started to ask myself what happened to all those people I used to love so much?

Shocking. Let’s take a trip back in time.

On my first class of my first semester of University, a teacher told us something I’d never forget. He said: In the next five years you’ll know your best friends for life, you could be sitting next to your bestman or bride of honor”.

Bitch, where?

Now I am looking around and the only friend I could trust my life with… well… I do hope so… is this chubby mess I got stuck with since we were six years old. 24 years later, we’re still togeteher hanging from time to time to do absolutely nothing… but together.

Good old friendship y’know. Call me provincial.

But seriously, I couldn’t sleep thinking why all this people I cared about, are now gone from my life… for good? Here are the stories of how I lost the people I used to call friends (maybe I’d find some mystical answers after all this. Keep ypur fingers crossed):

Lux wrote me a letter in this diary I used to keep back in 2003 when I changed schools

1.- Let’s start back around 1998 when this new girl got into our school. My friend and I took care of her immediataly even when she was very different from us both, tho. Why? because we were pure-heart children, that’s why.

Let’s call her “Lux”.

By the time we were 12 or 13yo, my bestie and I were into music like Garbage (meaning the band, not actual garbage), The Cranberries, Tv shows like Daria, movies like The Crow, rock & semi grunge attire. All those “edgy” things that impresionable pre pubescent kids would love to do to angry their parents. But Lux was more like the blonde-piggy-tails-SpiceGirls-lover she would definitely become later on.

Still given the differences in style, we hung together a lot, we had chemestry, we loved Buffy: The Vampire Slayer big time, she spent a lot of time at my place and she even joined me to a family trip, he had lot’s of fun… and all of the sudden, BOOM! puberty hit us way hard; and she spend more time with her Spice Girls dopplegangers squad (literally they started to impersonate them on daily basis). It was a slow and progressive goodbye…

Long story short, we grew very different from each other and when I left that school at 14… I really never spoke to her again.

I think from Lux I learned that you can find a friend anywhere, it doesn’t really matter how different they are from you. She was a nice kid, grew up to be kinda wild tho.

Last thing I heard about her was at my last “normal human” job: my boss once mentioned her name and proceeded to tell the sad story. They used to work with her as a freelancer… It didn’t go well. She even recomended a woman that was completelly out of her mind to work with us full time. All ended up with cops, let’s leave it at that.

This is one of Tris doodles I keep in an old diary

2.- Rigth when BFF and I where about 13, one of the outsider girls in our class started to hang with us a lot more… I don’t even remember the reason but, hey! Jump in!

She was TOTALLY different from us from the start, but the fact that we all made drawings anime style (I know, don’t judge me) really got us togeteher. Let’s call her “Tris”.

Tris was the quintessence of a good girl: all pink outfit -head to toe-, mini skirts, glitery handbags, heels and supper glossy makeup. I mean, gloss was HER THING, ok?… And I only mention this because at the time I was at my Limp Bizkit phase: wearing sneakers, cargo pants, band shirts and a red cap all the time, you can figure how different we looked from eachother.

Triss was very sweet and nice girl so we used to hung a lot at my bestie’s… to be honest, I don’t even remember what we used to do when we were togeteher. I mean, what do we had in common that kept us as friends through those years? Beats me.

I mean… I knew her parents, I knew her brother (who happened to be this candy eye), she knew my family… we were pretty close.

Another of Tris’ doodles on my diary

Ages of fun a happiness passed by and one day, we witnessed a terrible view: Out of nowhere she started making out with one of our guy pals… why is that terrible you migth ask?

Well, this dude was SO NOT for her (he was kinda a dick head, but that’s another story for the chronicles), they were very, very… VERY unlike: he was one of those metalhead idiots (not that is too important but he was like 6′, 300 pounds and had a crater face) and she was well… this Barbie doll.

Obviously that relationship ended up quickly and messy (I do not know the details; BUT I could give my rigth arm that it was about sexual preferences. He was a creep, ok? Nevertheless… cannot be sure. I don’t really know if I want to be sure… ever).

The problem with Tris seemed to be that we didn’t quit talking and hanging with her stupid ex, so… that was a farewell for us, I guess. I mean, he was our friend too, what should have we done?

Years later I ran into her at her brother’s graduation (he attended classes with another of my case study friends: Number 10). Now made of plastic and wearing a large load of hair extenssions -not that is a bad thing if you like that sorta things, by all means- I remember she told me that I looked “SO DIFFERENT” at the time… which it was funny because she was the one that had gone under the blade quite a lot. I just had my hair straightened.

Never heard from her again.

From Tris I learned that we need to be very communivcative and open with other people through the hard road.

Elza and me maybe in 2005

3.- Wow, a lot happened in freshman year! Back to 2002: A “problem girl” got changed to our class. She didn’t know anybody that much… and she was kinda (very) weird, so we took her in as well. We were already the weirdos so… it made sense. We’ll cal her “Elza”.

What was good about Elza it was that she was really funny and liked to party, she was loud, unapologetic, and always said what was on her mind with a big smile on her face. My mom loved her. She thaught me a bunch of cool things… things that only cool kids would know… not this nerd, of course. We talked about what her other friends were into like boys, booze, sex… but my mom didn’t loved her for that, of course not.

I do admit I was a big d*ckhead about her friends, I didn’t like them and I made fun of them a lot (somehow I don’t think this was the reason for our “break up”, tho). But just with time… we stopped talking. Just like that. We just took separate paths, I guess. Last I heard from her she was a mamma.

Elza thaught me that EVERY person is valuable, you just have to give it a chance they migth surprise you.

Beth, other girls and me at a school event

4.- When I was 15, I left my school. I wanted to study art, philosphy, latin and literature, so I ended up in an all girls school ran by nuns. Spooky, rigth?

It was hard to leave the people I knew since we where kids, but I just had to do it, and as a matter of fact it ended up being really good 2 years of my life. In there I got accepted real quick by a lot of cool girls… that I never have spoken to after we graduate… yeah, them too.

But I became a good friend specially of one of those girls for those two years. Let’s call her “Beth”.

Beth was kinda different from the others. You see, most of the girls there wanted to be all grown up women already (and looked so much like grown ass women). They partied hard a lot, had lots of boyfriends, where rich daddy’s girls, and well, they were quite gorgeous and popular.

Me?… I was an akward huge potato… and Beth was too… only smaller.

All girl class of 2005

Sadly Beth had some family and self steem issues so we talked about a lot of depp sh*t quite often, still she was always smiling and was very energetic. Her best quality was her innocence and how much she was willing to live her girly childhood without shame, even if the other girls where in the fast track. We took our time, play it cool, had our own speed.

**As usual, a boy ruined our further friendship… but not in the way you think. **

One day, we went to the movies to see Constantine (yes, I’m that old!). I brougth my brother along and he dragged his best friend with him. Beth got all head over heels for my brother’s bestie… The problem? He was a jerk.

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A letter Beth left in one of my diaries

Knowing what was going to happen before it even happened, I told her I really didin’t wanted to know anything about their relationship since, well… he was a total idiot with girls. I don’t think she liked my lack of support, but I really wasn’t interested in all the upcoming drama. Some years later I found out that things went bad with those two… mostly it was sad and weird but still everything went straigth to hell.

Because of Beath I learned to be true to myslef, always be proud of me, of what I do and like because it makes me who I am.

We graduated and never, ever, ever got in touch again. A more mature me would have stayed at her side to give her some piece of advice. Sorry, Beth.

Four friends done… six to go… what do y’all say. Am I that bad?

Saint Divas: Mainstream Catholic Imagery Vs. The Metal Legacy

Saint Divas: Mainstream Catholic Imagery Vs. The Metal Legacy

I do know that I’m way overdue with this matter but still I can’t help to love the past Met Gala innauguration party last May “Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination”.

I am not catholic, but I’ve always been exposed to it since primary shool and I do gotta say there are a few things of the catholic assemble worth saving: like gothic churches and Renaissance papal commisions… everything else is expendable.

In the other hand I’m a huge mtealhead and this is why, although I loved the celebrities display at the event, I already have seen all the looks before. And the place where I have seen it before, was on stage, wore by metal and rock bands.

Who said that everything’s is a copy of a copy… of a copy? (It was in Fight Club, BTW).

Let’s start this ranking, folks! Who wore it better… or better yet: who was already making catholics angry waaaay back in the day.

It’s on!

1- Rihanna or Pope Emeritus

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Source: InStyle, Horror Fuel

Now, I’m a fan of Rihanna, for real, no joke here. Truthfully haven’t listened to Ghost BC, but they have been in the scene for a while… and by while I mean since 2008. So definetly the band Ghost wore it first and in my opinion WAY better than the Barbados born hip-hop singer.

Sorry Riri.

2- Rihanna or Marilyn Manson

rihanna MM.jpg
Source: InStyle, Metal Addicts

Rihanna has a another round! BUT 18 Years ago a slimmer and more energetic Marilyn Manson was dressed as a white pope for his music video “Disposable Teens”. The Reverend got a lot of people pissed while Rihanna sexualized the papal attire wich… got a lot of people pissed.

What do you say?, I still find Manson more appealing tho.

3- Eiza González or Nina Hagen

Nina hagen eiza gonzalez.jpg
Source: Francis Apesteguy, Harper’s Bazaar

Someone dared and took the “naughty nun” disguise to a whole haute couture level without being cheap… and that someone was mexican actress Eiza González. Still, the german singer Nina Hagen was already alienizing the nun rope back in 1982 in this Francis Apesteguy shoot.

Forgive us all, mother Hagen, but this thime the winner is Eiza… there’s just too much going on… on your face. As usual.

4- Olivia Munn or Dolores O’Riordan

olivia mun dolores oriordan.jpg
Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Youtube

Gorgeous actress Olivia Munn wore a H&M golden dress with a coat of mail over her head that immediatly got me to the 1994 The Cranberries music video “Zombie”. Frontwoman Dolores O’Riordan was painted in gold, head to toe, with a similar beaded wig… Even if O’Riordan might have looked more like an ancient egiptian goddess you gotta admit it’s a memory popping.

I give my vote to Olivia, but, forever will remember Dolores’ golden voice.

5- Lily Collins or Siouxsie Sioux

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Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Youtube

My Batman-fan knowledge was tingling with this one. Actress and daugther of musician Phil Collins, Lily, was wearing a Givenchy piece as a little nun/saint with a tull skirt, BUT I knew I have seen that red tear before.

And then it hit me: It was in the 1992 music video “Face to Face” of classic goth band Siouxsie and The Banshees were we saw a very sexy Siouxsie Sioux in a rubber black dress with face gems.

That song also happens to be Burton’s Batman Returns soundtrack, so there it is, in case you were wondering what all the Batman fuss was about.

Lily, you are a dear, but Siouxsie is EVERYTHING.

6- Amber Heard or María Brinks

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Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Metal Hammer

This is a tought one, guys. Although I’m not a big fan of Amber Heard, you gotta be blind not to admit she’s just gorgeous in this Carolina Herrera dress, but the thing that really got my attention was the head piece.

EVERYBODY was wearing headpieces, halos, and crowns… I just knew I have seen THIS ONE before, and it wasn’t hard to remember where: The band In This Moment and its voice, María Brink0s head. She’s a combination of Lady Gaga fashionista, a metalcore Beyonce and a Rob Zombie’s witch.

I leave the winner up to y’all because I can’t make up my mind.

7- Lana del Rey or Sharon den Andel

sharon den adel lana del rey.jpg
Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Only Sharon den Andel Tumblr

There was a Holy Trinity in the Met Gala: Alessandro Michele, Lana del Rey and Jared Leto were a terrifying cool gang; but, if I ever have to think of an overdose of wings, feathers and corsets, Sharon den Andel of Within Temptation comes to mind. Always.

Sharon is the quintessence steriotype of a goth girl since 1996. Nevertheless, I have to give the bay to Lana because she killed it. Truth be told.

8- Madonna or Anne Nurmi

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Source: Harper’s Bazaar, angst-im-wald

Speaking of feathers, headpieces, veils and over-the-top style in general is sad to say that Madonna has failed, deeply. You can totally do that in a Jean Paul Gaultier apparently. The queen of pop’s look just makes you say WHAT THE HELL?! when it really it’s supossed to invoque heavenly creatures.

Listen, kids: When you wanna give a goth vibe to the party, all you must do is take a look at the finish singer and tecladist Anne Nurmi from Lacrimosa. She’s been rocking every goth trend from fish nets to leather skirts since 1991 and is with no regrets the queen of pale aristocrat-spook style in cathedral-metal music, if there is such thing.

9- Kate Moss or Till Lindeman

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Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Fanpop, Youtube

“Go big or go home” is the premise that Kate Moss decided to ignore when going to the Met Gala. Instead she opted for a simple little black dress from Saint Lauren house wih a little bit un feather fun (meaning boOoRING).

Never dissapointing the metal guys have been wearing feathers more stylishly that the top model for a time now. First, Marilyn Manson did it in 1998 Rock is Dead music video (The Matrix OST) with his see-trough jump suit. Then around 2010, Till Lindeman, a huge german hairy muscle man, decided to tour with his band Rammstein wearing a red feather choker around his neck. How delicate.

Guys, you rocked this one!

10. Mindy Kaling or Freddie Mercury

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Source: El Comercio, KPFA

Not even the queen of England could wear a massive crown over her head without me comparing and excelling Freddie Mercury in every possible way. Sorry, Mindy, that’s all I have to say about that. It’s definitive: You just can’t.

Source: Harper’s Bazaar

Honorary Mention

She deserves her own mention because there is absolutely no comparison. You just have to check out Blake Lively (you know, Deadpool’s wife) at the Met Gala: Diva, divine, sublime, stunning, majestic, magnificent, insurmountable, masterly perfect… doesn’t sum up to the definition of what this woman really is.

Just wow.

Foto Quién.jpg
Source: Quién

What do you say? Agree with my results? Who else rings a bell?

Even though I loved the gala, wasn’t much surprised because I have already seen it (it has taken me a lifetime of metal band fangirling, but knowledge is knowledge); excep for Blake, she’s a new saint virgin indeed and must be phraised.

Can I get an Amen to that?!

Reality shock: Why I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral (Spoiler: I’m not evil, I swear)

Reality shock: Why I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral (Spoiler: I’m not evil, I swear)

Before you feel offended! I loved my mother more than my life. She was my best friend and as I grew up I always wanted to be like her.

Paradoxically, I didn’t cry because all the love. Or that’s what I believe.

Yes, like all mothers she used to get into my nerves but all because she would, also, give her life for me and wanted me to be the best version of a human being I could possibly developt into. I owe her everything.

I was happy. My big latino family was happy; until one day almost five years ago a phone call would change my little nebula, and everybody’s around it.

I was alone at work, and someone call me saying my mom was in some sort of “accident” and I needed to get to the airport. She was working in another city at the time. I called my aunts, they were also on their way, so instead I headed home first to get a suitcase with the basics and then I’d get a cab to the airport.

On the way home I was serene, I wasn’t worried, all could repeat in my head was “It’s going to be ok”, all over again and again. I didn’t care if she got burned, or all her bones broken, or had her legs apuntaded… as long as she was alive we would most definetly get our lives back. Happy and peachy again dead sure.

But when I got home my uncle phoned me, he was at the airport where some representative of my mom’s job was waiting for us. He just said in tears: My love, your mother is dead.

I hung up and breathe violently in. I got paralyzed… even today I can’t really describe a feeling I never had before. The rest of all my family were watching me expectantly in silence. My grandma cut the sage of doubt: She’s dead, isn’t she?

I just noded.

Everyone shouted.

Now that I recall all of it: **The death of my mother, as a momentum, is like a dark room inside my mind. A pitch black chamber only accesible through a single door, and any time I’d feel conquered by the past, I open the door and find myself screaming non-stop at the top of my lungs inside of it, forever. I take a deep breath and close the door again. **

This thought makes me feel better.

After the most dreafull reality check that could ever exist on anybody’s life I found myself eyes wide open, both hands extended on the table palms down… just sitted there, looking to the floor. I could’t cry. I wanted to; but I couldn’t.

I have never written about this before. It’s about time. Yes?

She’s never told me, but I know my grandmother never forgave me for not crying. As odd as I migth be, still that’s pretty damn f*cked up for a person, right? No?

Don’t get me wrong, I sttill feel deeply sadden about my mother’s death. I can’t watch any loving-family-realted movies without crying my guts out… and that never happened to me before (years of horror movies watching practice had me pretty numbed).

Sad and still pissed… that’s what I feel today; but stragely, at peace.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about why I couldn’t weep that day five years ago. I don’t know if I was in a state of shock, because I didn’t lock myself in, I didn’t mute for long, nor went away (mentally or physically). Reality call me back right away and I responded.

After I delivered (kind of) the gruesome news, my other uncle, who had a severe heart attack barely three months prior, shut his face in pain and grabbed his chest.

“Sh*t, son!”, I thought. I couldn’t alienate, it wasn’t the time. I had a sense of responsability that binded me to take care of my family.

So I ran to the cabinet, grabbed an aspirine and shoved it down his throath, againts his will. No one’s else was diying that day. I had to be strong. I still have to be strong, it doesn’t come hard for me. It’s in my nature, and it’s fine. I am satisfied with it… in fact I wouldn’t want it to be any differently.

In retrospective, I am very glad my mother was a woman on her own. She did what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it… better said when she felt it was right, and most of the time she was right. My mom didn’t missed out of the glorious perks of life: she travelled, loved her work and was great at it, helped others, was a mother by choice, loved, lost and survived.

Most in accordance everybody loved her back. She was a hard woman with a giant heart. I like to think I inherit that very same peculiarity.

The hours passed and we were at the funeral service. It was AMAZING for me to meet all those people who knew my mother, it was astonishing, I was overwhelmed: all the friends, all the tears tied with laugther, all the memories. I had the tremendous joy of listening to those good things about my mom from all those different people; I was actually smiling through the piteous act of the funeral honors.

It was a bittersweet experience (cliché non-untended, but what the heck), my mother had to leave this realm for me to fully understand the backspin of her actions into other people’s lives. I was happy and sad at the same time… I was the one hearten strangers.

I like to think death is a part of life, we can’t scape from it and somehow that’s not necessarily a bad thing. For the first time in my existence I couldn’t do anyhting about the dreaful issue we were stepping in. There was nothing I could do to bring my mother back, to turn time back, to make things up.

I just settle and reluctantly accepted that my life was never gonna be the same. I just had to arrange everything over a tragedy… and move on. It sounds terrible, but from day one I had to move on. I don’t know why, I just had to. I still have to.

Everyday I remember my mom, so many knowledge she left, so much inspiration.

I got to cry camly a few nights after… even every now and then I get o cry camly, missing her. Somehow I think she prepared me for that moment, I was ready to not be paralyzed by violent fear and sudden sorrow. I didn’t feel alone, I had to be the one doing heardest thing: Accepting the unchangeable.

I got to yearn her company progressively, gently little by little; and not madly raging about the injustice of life.

That’s all.

Am I wicked?

Originally posted on Steemit.

Collage nostalgia: Why my “Dear Diary” wasn’t like the other girls’

Collage nostalgia: Why my “Dear Diary” wasn’t like the other girls’

Recently I was very inspired by @fab.iana posts (go pay a visit, kids! It’d be worth it!) into sharing some corelational content.

Her entries got me thinking retrospectively… because when I was a kid I used to do pieces like that… hardly wanting to compare to art compositions or anything such (!), I did enjoy making analogue collages.

In fact I have several notebooks filled with magazines cuts, shapes, words and pictures.


Suddenly I realized something: Those notebooks were my diaries… not like the “dear diary” pre-pubescent kid shennaningans of how my day was. But they were part of my thoughts and feelings of that trascendental mutation from child to gronw up.

I’ve always like to make collages, I found them not only conforting, but they keep me focused and calm. It’s the mind connected to mechanical bodily processes: as in “using my hands”.

I just like to use my hands to make things “cool” things if possible. Because after all, everything I do ends in a simple mantra: Creation. Construction to add… to improve.


Now, after all those years, I’d like to tell that weirdo of a girl self: “Hey, dumbass! write the freaking date at least!” Because now that I overhaul them I have no fucking clue what they mean.


At the time I had to be thinking about SOMETHING while making them… right? Even a “nothing” is something.


Did I just wanted to frenetically fill the blank pages with pictures?


Although I’d sometimes leave most of the page empty. (Gotta be honest: I do really have a huge intrigue about what was I into at the time to have a Salma Hayek next to a symbol (?) in the middle of two spaces. It itches.)


Or simply payed tribute to my once obsession with crosses?… I do remember that phase, tho.


Sometimes I’d make WEIRD looking doodles… now what the hell is that (freaking out)

Second looking at it I think it has something to do with Marilyn Manson… The singer, never the murder cult leader.


And other times I would build deep images as this… I could find a couple of mindful meanings to that one, actually. How deep, no?

Mind me for a minute, I’m just frowning thinking here.


As years passed by I can clearly notice the collages where a lot more “meaningful” or clearer at least. The hungry pages were running out and I was getting older.


(This is an obvious tribute to Brandon Lee, who was my childhood hero…because of all of the The Crow misterious halo… I know, silly me. Hard to avow.)


Impromptu, changed of diary, change of style: I started to draw, fuzing techniques and making the piece simpler and straightforward.


But still, I can’t tell accurately what this compositions are all about. I’m clueless.


I’m sure it was a confusing time… as all adolescent trials are. Gladly those moments were over without aftermath, and even I don’t know what they were about I did got to overcome them thanks to self expression trough collages.

So, thumbs up for the little artsy me of the time!


Then, Uni came by… and as surprinsingly as it might sound, my mind was less clouded. It’s funny how I found a certain order in all this chaos. It’s peacefull somehow.


Chaos is order, mess is orderly, ramdon shapes become “one”… neat, arrange, shipshape. Wow… now THIS is really the brain of a collage stundent. No wonder we lost our minds over there weekly.


It’s funny how I constantly feel something it’s terribly missing when watching an empty wall. As a matter of fact, places without personality give me anxiety… and the creeps. Only crazy people are minimalist. Patrick Bateman coming to mind.


I know, when I’m an old woman I’d regret to have stop making collages… it’s an effort that other daily trivial task drain off my body. I can’t afford the time (and glue) investment because I have become a blue average adult of the flock.

Sad sigh.


Lastly, as if the spaces in my notebooks were not enough, I found a old, also analog, photo of how my bedroom wall used to like… and I’m beggining to think the American Psycho is in fact sitting on this side of the sreen.


It’s hideous I know. But by the time I thought it was cool. Gladly my mother was the chillest kind there ever was. And to be fair, the collage making save her lots of load in child therapists.

Do you do any art, guys? Let me hear about it!

Hope you ejoy it, ta-da!

Originally posted on Steemit.

Hello there, folks

Hello there, folks

This is my presentation post on my other blog… in case you want to check it out: it’s about me!

Apparently I have failed in making an important step in the Steemit community: Introducing myself. Mistake that I’m ready to overcome right now.

Of course, as half of the world population I do love to talk about myself; in fact I tend to have long conversations inside my mind and, obviously, I have practice my Oscar speech for best script … A LOT of times. But the truths about talking and writing about one self are quite different. Somehow, writing is much more compromising, more deep and more personal.

What to say? What to write not to look like a complete shallow human being? Oh, gawd… I heven’t done anything specially important for the world even that I’d love to co-write my autorized biography alongside Bret Easton Ellis or Elizabeth Wurtzel.

Nevertheless, I’ll be straight and keep it simple by just saying 7 facts about me… seven stuff top of my mind that, important or vain, are the little pieces that make me who I am. So, hello there, folks. My name is Andrea, and this is me:

1- I am a journalist. I started working when I was 18 (now I’m 29) writing about culture, art, showbiss on magazines. From there I move on into politics, presidential elections, political parties, interviewing, producing for TV, reporting, to the other extreme of the spectre of working with clients as  part of a communications analysis agency.
Now I am a freelancer writer so, yes: I rarely leave my house and I’m always in front of the computer. Not that I’m complaining.
IG @andrurebolledo

2- I am Venezuelan. My birth language is spanish. If some of you like to read international news: yes, I do live in a heavily corrupted country were people are dying from hunger, there are no medicines in hospitals or drugstores, the youth is departing their homeland, and even if you’re not malnourished or sick, you still don’t know if you’re gonna get home safe from your daily job due to our high rate of delicuency.
And because I consider myself a decent human been I, this is important for me to say, never were and never will be supporter of this thief government. Just for you to be in context, guys.
IG @andrurebolledo

3- I have a thing for make-up. And by thing I mean I LOVE MAKEUP. Not a pro but I have a few skills. What can I say, can’t leave home withut a full face and stiletto nails. Agree?

4- I do a lot of crafting. No joke, I make a lot of things: I like painting, drawing, scrapbooking, sewing, baking… Let’s say I’m good with my hands and DIY projects are a weekly thing. It’s relaxing so I say Iet’s call it a hobbie. Also this is an advantage for my little school-aged cousings to keep their “A” grades in art class.

5- I consider myself a metal-head. I am a 90’s kid… but a late 90’s kid; so I grew up listening to new metal, wearing military boots, belts with chains and KoRn t-shirts. I don’t think people knew I was a girl until I got to Uni.
Luckily or not it wasn’t a “phase”: I still listen to Marilyn Manson, Metallica, Rammstein and wear band shirts… only I don’t wear it to work… often. And do dress an occasional skirt.
IG @andrurebolledo

6- I have a thing for skulls… don’t ask me why; I just do. I have everything: shirts with skulls, dresses with skulls, leggins with skulls, rings, bracelets and necklaces with skulls, keychains with skulls, tatoos with skulls… and lastly skulls, fake ones of course but still.
IG @andrurebolledo

7- My favorite superheroe is… isn’t it obvious? BATMAN (my first post here was about Batman, actually). I think is an obsession from childhood; when other girls wanted to be Disney princesses I was Batman, not Batgirl or Batwoman… just Batman.
The best one is Michael Keaton, my favorite movie is Burton’s Batman Returns, I still liked Val Kilmer’s version and I’m inlove with Affleck’s Batman… but I hate Christian Bale’s BTW. Sorry not sorry.
IG @andrurebolledo

There’s still too many thing I could say about myself, like my favorite movie… wich is Forrest Gump (ah!, you tought I was gonna say something dark like The Crow of Nightmare Before Christmas, right?). But this list it’s getting annoyingly long. You are very welcome to follow me on Instagram to verify these and other facts (this is a desperate attempt to get followers, see?).

Finally, hope to make some friends around here and, specially, I wish you like my posts. See you soon! Looking forward to write often!

Originally posten in my Steemit blog.

10 Pros & Cons on Becoming a Martyr (Let Me Make You a Martyr – Movie Review)

10 Pros & Cons on Becoming a Martyr (Let Me Make You a Martyr – Movie Review)

I’m not over it yet, guys. This Marilyn Manson phase, I mean. Y’all know by know how crazy I am about MM, but lately I’ve been having a total obsessive break as it was the 2000 era of Holy Wood all over again (I didn’t misspelled Hollywood, that’s how Manson’s record it’s called).

Source: Tom Hollands Terror Time

This regression has brought me to watch his most late film participation: Let Me Make you a Martyr(2016), one of those indie films oddly directed by two debutants young filmmakers, Corey Asraf and John Swab, attracted to the old cowboy story made new with a bit of murkiness and existentialism.

Apparently it’s a trend.

It’s not like I’ve had directed a movie before, but I can’t really conceive how two directors can coexist in the making of the same very film. Any control freak would understand what I’m talking about: Creative decisions… Between two brains! Holy ego-conflicts Batman! But, it happened, it worked, it’s a celluloid miracle that I’ve just realized… so sadly this deed is not making it into the countdown.

Source: Tom Hollands Terror Time

Long story short, I watched the film. And as a very daunting challenge to myself I decided to give it shot and writing a movie review (kind of)… for the first time! I’m a daredevil you might say.

So, ladies and gents: here are 10 thoughts I had while watching Let Me Make You a Martyr (LMMYAM), if my opinion is any praiseworthy. You, who are still reading, thanks in advance.


Source: FilmAffinity

1- Now, to be an indie movie… you know, it’s very well made. Doesn’t have like really weird shots and scenes that make you wonder “why the heck am I watching this from the perspective of the pet cat?”, or any shaky cameras chasing the action (so cliché) nor subjective angles whatsoever. This might be the slightly-educated-in-film-making-me talking but, thank you for using the underrated average composisitions we all love! Points up to the great audio recording BTW.

2- Let’s get this out of the way: Marilyn Manson is on it, so yay! For those who love The Reverend and go completely nuts everytime we get to see his weird self on the screen, I did love very much the dark scenes he’s on. Specially the very last where he just awkwardly waves to the suburban wife after he just left a home where he killed two people and finding a little girl inside the truck of his new card.

To be honest, the fact that Marilyn Manson is on the movie could be the only reason most of us deign to watch LMMYAM.

Source: 99scenes

3- You start watching the movie… and all of the sudden you don’t know if the story it’s all scrambled, or it’s a loop, or there’s some cifi going on until the very end. Only then you realize, the story it’s being shown in the form of the main character’s flashbacks and pieces of what he knows…

Still I feel there’s a bunch of chunks missing. The storytelling is just too ambitious it’s confusing: first they created a loop: the movie starts showing a scene from the end. Why? Beats me, we really didn’t need to know Pope (Marilyn Manson) had to kill Brown (Gore Abrams) in advance. In fact, this scene show at the beginning deforms Brown’s characters making it look like a bad guy, wich he’s not.

Second: The whole “purgatory” scene extended through the whole film came up too late. I now is meant to be the conduct of reason to explain the plot, but failed at clearing things up. Unless its point was to confuse us until the very end… in that case, well played?

Third: Some of Drew’s (Niko Nicotera) flashbakcs are unnecesary, as some characters. If it’s flashbacks we’re seeing, that still doesn’t explain how he knows certain things, mostly because he wasn’t there, like Uncle Marvin’s incineration.

Source: We are movie stories

4- I could only hear one voice in the whole script, the characters are interesting but they needed more developing, more voice of their own. The dialogues were just too much of the same despite the differeces between characters. Missed opportunity there.

Doesn’t anybody noticed even the drug dealers were talking in metaphores? Or is it like a common thing?

5-Rooney (Gracie Grenier), the kid… WTF? I have no idea why she’s there, why Hondo (George Carroll) had her all tied up in a shack? Why she’s given to June (Niko NicoteraNiko Nicotera), why June says she wants to keep her even if she’s planning on dying (the theory of the salvation of the innocent dies there, I guess), why they can’t remember she was left inside of the trunk? Why they just don’t get her home or the police?

For a moment I thought she was some kind of idol, angel, mutant, alien… What’s her meaning? -looking into the horizon with a deep gaze-

*Source: Cinema Clock)

6- Now, I might have been distracted somehow but… Pope was hired to kill Drew by his adopted father Larry (Mark Boone Junior) but ended up murdering EVERYONE, except Drew. What happened, what did I miss?

Was this character a spooky way to amend the good balance of the universe? I mean, the “good guys” kill themselves to be “free” so the bad guys had to die too? In that case, why he had to “put down” the junkie uncle Marvin and Larry? They were a threat to what exactly?

7- So many questions… that are far from stopping because here’s another one: What’s the deal with the drug thing? Everyone’s hooked, but again, it’s not a major plot factor. Yes, June was a junkie and went of a killing rampage to Hondo’s trailer; but if she needed a reason to off herself to be set free, this wasn’t it. She definitely didn’t show any regret of using.

AND, she’s a prostitue in a low life joint so, pop culture has always told us: she’s olbviously an addict.

Was part of Drew’s plan to come back after so many years just to get his uncle fixed… specially when he admits he’s clean? Why would you do that?

Source: Moviepilot

8- On the other hand there are some pretty hard things about the mafia business that granted a raw and dark hue to the story: protitution, kidnapping, drug abuse, rape. I do think Drew’s rape presumably ordered by Larry, his self proclaimed adoptive father, was particularly harsh to watch and unexpected. Talking about atmosphere setting. Thumbs up.

9- When did all became a strange story about life-death-suicide-redemption? I just thought Drew came to his hometown for revenge, closure or even to get June out of it; but in the end he just “suicides” the love of his life (who happened to asked him to kill her while dope) and then shoots himself in the heart. What is all this?

Source: We are movie stories

10- Too many plot holes. This is one scene, Pope it’s sitting right in front of Drew, he’s about to kill him; but all of the sudden Drew appears at a chinese restaurant where he’s picked up up by Brown and shows him he’s got a bullet whole in his side. And then Pope goes rogue killing Larry, Brown and taking Rooney for a ride.

If this is a movie about “reasons” instead f the actions, I failed to see more than a few. I said “wait, what?” so many times while watching the movie you don’t even know.

How did I do it guys?

In the end, this is a story about two lovers who reunite after a long time of growing together as adoptive siblings under the care of a criminal. All this while being chases by a creepy hitman. Trust me, it sound better than it really is.

Source: EcranLarge

Want a gratuitous strange performance by Manson?, go for it! Because an old redneck MM smudged in fake blood reciting some old cherokee legend it’s all worth getting.

Cheers, mates!

Originally posted on my Steemit blog.

High end of low? The nervous breakdown and lovelust of Marilyn Manson

High end of low? The nervous breakdown and lovelust of Marilyn Manson

I might be a little sentimentalist right here but; guys: I’m worried. I’m worried about Marilyn Manson.

Now, hold on, don’t look at me like that. I am not concerned about how a rock singer could affect nowadays post-terrorism youth; or how a 49 year old man with make-up could affect the modern aesthetics steriotypes of middle-America.

No, we’re over that. It’s getting old, actually.

Manson for the cover of Metal Hammer

Maybe somehow it’s a bit late to be writing about this, but the truht it’s been hunting me since it happened. As you might have read or, worse yet, seen: Marilyn Manson had a mental and emotional breakdown on stage. Now hear me out cuz I’m writing this past my bed time after two cups of green tea. I’m living on the edge!

A day after last Valentine’s day, the Antichrist Superstar was giving a concert at the Paramount in Huntington, NY where he just cut his show short after demanding more and more “displays of love from the crowd”. A shamefull fan video is circulatin the webs. On it we can see a very confused Manson asking the fans for applause in order to continue with the concert.

My desk, meaning my bed… and notes

I love MM, but even I know this is pittiful… or at the very least, very worringly. This was so unlike him. Our rockstar has been accused of many despictfull things -some aquited, some not so much- but never of having such a terrible episode while performing before.

It was also reported an even more confused band and crew who, in dread, could only play a jazz-like tune while Manson mumbled undecifrable words to the mic… The musicians obviously didn’t had a clue what the singer was doing.

This Ashtonishing Panorama of the End Times lasted for 15 minutes before Manson refused to finish the show after only performing 7 songs. Angrily, the fans shouted “Refund!” -tears running down my face right now… of sadness and shame. Moral tears.

Source:Daily News NY

I can’t say that gazing my eyes through that tortuous moment didn’t give me anguish. Witnessing The Fall of Adam: that artist you have long admire, follow, sing to, cry to it’s devastating. I know what y’all thinking; maybe I don’t know the man, but I own his albums, sleep wearing t-shirts with his face, and had huge posters in my bedroom walls from ceiling to floor back in the days. So, have some emphaty, people! You all have Justing Bieber tattoos and I’m not here judging… loudly.

Is this the beggining of the end for Marilyn Manson? With all my black heart I’d like to say it’s not, but such scene reminds me of Amy Winehouse’s last years when she refused to perform because she was too drunk to sing. An after a few years, we know the story, Amy was found dead. Her addictions were too severe, she just couldn’t handle it any longer. Tragic.


Can we size up this two characters? I’m not even gonna say it… Even so, I don’t believe Manson’s problem surpass drinking issues.

Instead I think of three devastating scenarios that could have lead The Reverend to that disgracefull night in New York. First of all, let’s recall a previous incident, also on stage, equally laughable, where Manson’s leg was crushed by a stage prop (there are also a couple of ignominious videos of that very moment). The injury send our musician to a surgery that owned him a few screws in his leg an anckle. Ouch.

After all of this story telling: Manson recognized he was in a lot of pain so we can assume he was under painkillers. And let’s be honest, americans are crazy about feeling numb so I strongly doubt doctors would’ve just given him ibuprofene. And that’s how maybe his very publicly breakdown was a result of a heavy medicated elder man. Or can’t you see a resemblance to our drunken grandpas at Christmas parties? Am I right or am I right? That’s scenario one.

Source:Los Angeles Daily News

Another possibility, and the most frightening, it’s that he was so loaded on drugs that, for the first time in his career, was completely out of himself (remember Amy’s example back there?) and was disabled from singing. Spooky… and sad. We all know, from the very same serpent’s tongue, he has experienced with drugs, specially acid. But what we do not know is if he’s currently under some other influence… appart from his own ego who appears to be a whole different person that gives very bad advices.

Lastly and furthermore intesresting: This happened a day after Valentine’s, wich means this occurrence could’ve been a product of a broken heart… to put things more realistic: The fear of a human being of getting old alone, I mean… older, in his case. And this is a sentiment we can all relate to. This idea struck me particularly because of the insistent demand of love and applause. It was a cry for help, you guys!

I don’t know about you but I would definetly feel my love life is over after divorcing a gal such as Dita Von Teese (couldn’t care less about Rachel or Lindsay). Just saying.


The leader of the Spooky Kids is made from flesh and blood like us… just with a make up ability higher than most. At the end of a fourth decade of living shifting the mainstream Marilyn Manson could be in the middle of a crisis, questioning his place on earth, death (he lost both of his parents last year), about his carreer, his music and himself… and kids, maybe? Aging must be a very difficult stage to accept, specially when you don’t fell as wasted as you look; and it’s impossible to deny Manson’s physical decay.

How mundane: The Antichrist of music appears not to be much different than us down here in the gutter after all. I do hope I get to be as rich as him by the time I’m 49, tho. In the bottom line I’m just a simple woman shouting to the dark: “Don’t you dare die on me, man! We have already lost Dolores O’Riordan earlier this year!” Couldn’t take it.

What you think, have an “scenario 4” in your head? Tell me all about it. It’s late kiddos, I’m out.

Originally posted on Steemit.