You can set a large LIMIT on improvement without the teachers, the starters, the aces, the mavericks and luck being trained with their timeless lessons. The masters of the art. I owe them a debt of gratitude more than they know.

What else would you like to do things anyway? Go out wasting effort? Go out empty handed, unprepared? Punch and kick like a child? Deal half-assed on people? Talk like a duck? Code without paying attention? Waste moments instead of enriching them? Write without a rhythm?  I can imagine them all on face palm and I want to sink in the earth with shame.

I respect their humility, their uniqueness that influenced me, their appreciation to little things in life, and the path on demanding perfection and quality in things you do. Skill is hygiene, you will stink when you neglect it.

All of them are different but they all require one thing: Discipline.(Especially recognizing when you have to be or when you don’t.)

Nourishing your achievements in the mix of courage, action and benevolence.

There is this tediousness(Dealing with a lot of shit). But your attitude reflects who you are, how much you can handle, how corny you can be, how lack of relaxation and energy you got, in this clownish, circus trips of daily grind.

Did you produce something? Have you made a difference on people you meet? Are you communicating right messages? Are you making sense? Are you synchronized? Are you refreshed? Are you doing things in dynamics? Are you making lots of mistakes for successes, enough to pay back in tenfold times? Are you stretching the boundaries? Are you comfortable? What up? Why? Great questions to ask everyday.

After revising the tools and the tasks, the rock-and-hard-place inputs, I got home and returned to my place.

Having the attitude for not being swayed around in the pack, the cheesy hyperbolas media feed us everyday, the inane and hilarious news with false condescending scribbles.

Kind of jaded of the way things roll out in a funny kind of way. Eliminating that paralysis over analysis, curses of knowledge.

I sometimes wonder that I make romantic meth moments that looks so real I hardly notice.

This time,parts of my assumption contain unforgivable cracks. That I get it playing all the wrong keys at some point. An honest imperfection, a surrender with baby white flags.

The requests declined, the free spots ignored,the the dinners soon finished, the rendezvous hurried up, the silk sheets uncounted. Whatever man, things happen.

Damn, I’m a special kind of asshole with remembering those things. But I made some changes.

Tried something I’ve never done before: Watch love movies alone.

The films A Walk To Remember and The Notebook in one fucking day, my head felt like a watermelon. Punctured and sliced to make a Cornucopian art ready to be served for my basest archetypes.

Watching the films I swear before I’ll never watch because of “stupid notions” I consider back then.

Now, I guess part of me did many things wrong. With those moments I gathered, broken pieces to form in one piece, quite lucky for that. Refreshed at some point.

All of the trend happened in the past, the stupid correlations, the links and levers, the standards, like all of it are mixed up in one giant wave splashing in my head,crashing soft, mellow landings, and in the ribs of my chest.

Those sweet memories, those laughing times, the careless moments like the rose petals I favor to offer. It is worth to realize that love exist in our hearts.

Keeping that golden pendant in my velvet jacket. I keep moving anyway.

I am fond of index cards. First, they are quick and dirty. Second, you don’t have to crumple them when you’re done.

Index cards provides you strange but limitless freedom to write designs. Like a ubiquitous kitchen knife, to prepare a sumptuous feast. To sketch and to work out ideas you are hesitant to put on screen.  Useful to write diagrams,workflows,capture insights, drawings, reminders, side-notes, re-create ideas and more.

Easy to fold and to throw away.