Tuesday, May 15, 2018



I need to post something for two reasons. One, both music and performance are fantastic. Secondly, I can't bear to see the photo of poor Louse every time I open my blog. It hurts me. So I'll post ballet, which is one of my vices, and stop seeing my dead kitten. Sounds like a plan?

For those of you who don't care about ballet, may I suggest looking at the arms of the female dancer? Just observe the grace and beauty of their movement and don't look at anything else if you don't want. Those fluid, seemingly effortless movements are the result of a few thousand hours of excruciatingly difficult practice. Just try the ballet posture for a minute and then tell me. Shoulders down and back, neck and body straight, tuck in your tummy, don't sag, don't stick your butt out. Keep breathing. Wow, that hurts, doesn't it? And you're not even moving! That's the basic posture, not practice. Ha! You simply have to keep that unnatural posture (which, by the way,  is actually the healthy posture your body should have, but due to smartphones and office jobs and what have you, no-one stands that way) and try simple exercises for beginners. Oh joy! Suddenly those effortless, graceful movements in the video reveal themselves for what they really are: torture methods for a particularly nasty elite in hell. I'd sure as fuck make politicians learn classical ballet after death. I'd love to see Hitler or Trump in a pair of pointe shoes. I'd probably use a whip for encouragement. 

Hm, I got carried away, didn't I? Well, I hope you'll enjoy the video. I found it less stiff and stylised than the average ballet performance. Beautiful acting too. And the damn French, oh the damn French, they should either be eradicated from existence, or placed in a harem and made to serve me exclusively. Evil, evil beings, beautiful and talented and expressive and... yes, God dammit, I am jealous. That's my excuse.
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Sunday, April 22, 2018

The unexpected visitor of Sadness

A few days ago, my kitten Louse got sick. It was a respiratory infection that goes around lately; causes fever, lack of appetite. Another of my cats also got sick with it and got over it. But poor Louse simply could not make it. I saved her life twice in the past, this time it was over in less than three days. 

I knew this cat would not live for long. She wanted to live and clung to life with a ferocity I've rarely seen. She was not growing up properly, she had a heart or lung condition and yet she ran around the house like no other kitten. She played constantly and pulled tricks on the other cats, driving them insane. She was the smartest cat I've come across, and she only lived for less than six months. I had come to accept the possibility of her passing away ever since the vet told us about her heart condition. So when she died, I did not cry. But today that I opened a folder in my PC and came across that photo of hers, I cried my eyes out. She looks healthy in that photo. Healthy, happy and inquiring as to what this stupid human (me) wanted from her.

I only wanted you to live for as long as you could, my sweet darling. And I am happy I offered you those six months. I wish I could have done more, but my hands were tied.

Please neuter and spay your cats. Louse was found on the street and I did the best I could for her. Most kittens born on the streets live in appalling conditions for as long as they live and die terrible deaths. There is too much misery in this world already. Don't add to it.

I hope you are happy wherever you are now, and run around, perfectly healthy and feisty and smart as a whip. Good bye, my darling; till we meet again.

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Saturday, April 07, 2018

Fun time with demons

I have been re-reading my past diaries. I do that from time to time. I recently came across a dream I had seen in 2016. I had forgotten about it. Ha! It scores a veritable nine out of ten in the Shitting Bricks scale, so I thought I'd share with you. Ready or not, here I come.

I am in a place with other people. Everyone is sleeping. I meet a friend's mother in law. She is smoking like a chimney, and I tell her that she has a demon in her throat. If she exorcises that demon, she will quit smoking. I also tell her that someone has seen spots in her aura, which means she is in imminent danger of developing cancer if she doesn't quit. She tells me she doesn't want to. 

I notice that there is a metallic object flying in the room. It is a decorative object, but it is flying like an insect. I grab it, throw it on the floor and step on it, destroying it. There is an orange substance like dough inside. The left hand I used to catch it with is smeared with that orange substance. I know there is a demon inside that thing, so I keep stomping on it while yelling, "Fire! Bring me fire to burn it!" No-one pays attention to my yelling. 

The scenery changes and I am back in my house. The demon has followed me there. My (dead) grandmother appears in my dream. She was my father's mother, and her name was Elizabeth. She takes the demon inside her willingly to protect the rest of the family. Suddenly I find myself in another place, where two friends live, and they, too, are under possession and they keep attacking me together with their demon, who's a man. I can barely keep them in check. 

I find myself back in my house, in my room. My possessed grandmother is in my room with me. I step out. My mother gives me a candle to put it inside my grandmother's mouth. I open the door, put the candle inside my grandmother's mouth, and close the door again. An explosion takes place, and when I open my door again, my grandmother has transformed into a candle that burns slowly. My mother seizes that candle and tells me, "Now I am going to call another demon to take her soul and bring me wealth." She is holding the candle in her right hand as she tells me "Look! Do you feel that wind? It means he has arrived. He is already here." 

I look around and there is indeed an abnormal wind blowing that terrifies me, because there is a thing like tendrils of black smog inside it. "I am going to stop you," I tell her. "In the name of Christ," I say, and raise my hand. I am holding a big metallic knife in my right hand. I draw a banishing pentagram in the air and her invocation is cut short.

"What did you do?!" she screams at me. I realise her left eye is completely black, as if it is a stone and not a human eye. "A rich man would have come in my life, and he'd have taken care of me!" 
"It's best for you to be free," I tell her, and I wake up. I am panting. I look at the clock. It is 05:43 a.m.

The worst part of the dream wasn't that. The worst bit was after waking up. I called upon Michael because I was terrified and still heaving. I looked at the ceiling and saw tendrils of black smog. I raised my right hand to block it and spoke out loud the name of Michael three times. At the same time, a dog started howling somewhere in the neighbourhood, while the sirens of two ambulances echoed in the distance. 

Don't ask me how I slept again that night. I did. It wasn't easy, but I am rather used to these things happening to me. 

Points of interest:
  • Sleeping people= unaware of the supernatural?
  • Addictions are actually 'demons'. 
  • Spots in aura are a sign that a sickness is about to appear in the physical body, if it hasn't already.
  • Fire can indeed be used to fight demons.
  • Selling the soul of a person who sacrificed themselves to protect others in order to gain wealth is one of the most abominable deeds I can think of.
  • Drawing a banishing pentagram in the air can be used to ward off evil whether one is asleep or awake. 
  • The knife I saw in my dream does exist. After the dream, I took it and placed it on my altar. 
  • Michael and Christ are excellent choices to keep evil at bay. Don't forget Michael's element is fire, and Christ... Well, I don't need to elaborate.
  • Howling dogs, eh, not good. Animals sense when something is wrong. Ambulances, obviously not good. Numbers in descending order, not good either. 
Here is a picture of an invoking and a banishing pentagram. Use the second to kick some demon ass. And don't forget, the worst demons are the ones we create by addiction and obsession. They begin as thought-forms and slowly evolve into separate, autonomous entities. So regulate your bad habits if you don't want unhealthy roommates in your body and mind. :) And if you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do. Thank you.

Monday, February 12, 2018


"Hi ho, nobody home, love nor hope nor honour have I none, yet I will be merry..."

The song of the dispossessed is buried with them, piles of rotting flesh in nameless graves. Then the crows, eaters of flesh, take it back to the Mother who's Unfathomable, Unnamed, Sacred, Absent from this hellhole of a world.

"You know, Lilith has had as much bad press as Lucifer, if not more. It's the same with Kali and Hecate. Kali kills the parts of the self that not only don't serve a purpose anymore, but turn into fully-fledged demons if left unchecked. Hecate was the goddess of witchcraft, but also of justice, eloquence, a protectress of pregnant women and children and the one who in her mercy gathered the souls of the mad and the suicides from the crossroads."

And Lilith?

Luminous shadow of Creation
the left hand of God/dess
Black Moon to Her Black Sun
The Ancient One who walked in the gardens of Babylon
The Second Born and first to give birth
Exalted, revered, sacred
The ones scared of Her power 
called Her mother of abominations
the One who gave birth to Death
As if life itself isn't the first step towards
the embrace of Death...

And you?

I weave. Silently, incessantly, I weave. I write and pray and light candles and kiss my cats and eat and walk and talk and weave. In my sleep I sing the song of the dispossessed and wake up with my cheeks wet with tears. In my waking hours I see the heart of the tiniest phoenix in the flaming center of a flower and go back to bed with my cheeks wet with tears. Cause no-one else sees it, and when I tell them about it, they give me that half-smile we give to children and mentally challenged people. 

If you have money, you are eccentric. If you don't, you're just weird.

I can live with it. 

Dead Can Dance
"Song Of The Dispossessed"

The river is deep and the road is long
Daylight comes and I want to go home
Awoke this morning
To find my people's tongues were tied
And in my dreams
They were given books to poison their minds
The river is deep and the mountain high
How long before the other side?
We are their mortar
Their building bricks and their clay
Their gold teeth mirror
Both our joys and our pain
The river is deep and the ocean wide
Who will show us how to read the signs?
The earth is our mother
She taught us to embrace the light
Now the lord is master
She suffers an eternal night
You blocked up my ears
You plucked out my eyes
You cut out my tongue
You fed me with lies
Oh lord
Oh lord
Oh lord
Oh lord

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Monday, February 05, 2018

Ta daaah!

I know who my enemies are. They are the Grey Black Reptilian Jewish Gay Freemasons, who also happen to be Communists, because their answer to everything I try is "NO". I knew it! I fucking knew it. I could tell by the way the postman is giving me the evil eye. The fact I sometimes order books that weigh half a tonne and he's developed multiple hernias the size of a witch's hut is irrelevant.

Because the stars are right and my lower back hurts (again) and there's been a string of incidents of unmitigated entropy, I declare war on seriousness. I demand to fondle boobs and butts on a daily basis times three, or else. Money would also be nice.

If my demands are not met promptly and in a satisfactory manner, I shall eat a barrel of beans and proceed to fart the sweet Bejeesus and Infernal Chorus in vapour, which will in turn kick the living daylights out of your detestable species homo cretinus. I shall continue until the entire country is lost in a bubbling green-brown cloud that is a hair away from developing self-awareness and buying an iPhone. DO YOU HEAR ME?!?

Other points of interest include: 
  • my Schrödinger mustache, which both exists and doesn't depending on who's looking (I can see it just fine, yet others say it's my idea) 
  • the fact one of my cats mews like a horse accidentally inhaled a canary and then a cat accidentally swallowed the horse and now all three are having a conversation
  • mosquitoes in February buzzing over my head and sounding like a hoover is sucking air through a fan, but in slow playback
  • bending time and space by living on money I have not received yet and won't receive until three months later
  • there is. No chocolate. In the house. No chocolate. In the godsbumped. Whorefucked. Sunfried. Pimplejuiced. Asstapping. House. None. Whatsover. Arghh! L'eeeengh! Weghjanitor, bepantholldopel visavickslkanjig xkajax lgjwalrusswl! Yggdrasil!
I started speaking in tongues, it's a sign that heralds the oncoming beanapocalypse. You can still stop it. Send me money. Lots of money. I need it for the vet. And chocolate. Digsbums a la creme! Motherstacking infidels of borderfine generalities! Shub Niggurath wearing nipple clamps! Ai, ai, my lower back hurts! Fhtagn!

I don't know what I am doing wrong, but I suspect something is not done right. xD
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Monday, January 22, 2018

Last exit for the Lost

That last exit for me is music. Writing presupposes some kind of coherent thinking, music needs less thinking. Screaming, for that matter, needs no thinking whatsoever. But since it is next to impossible to start screaming in a flat without drawing the wrong kind of attention, music and writing it is.

2018 is here and thankfully I am here too. I have an impressive frostbite on my right index finger, good music in my possession, a wound inside my mouth, lungs full of mucus and a half-insane mother because one of our cats is probably not going to make it. I am resigned. She is not, and she is making me crazy too because she needs company. Oh well.

First blog entry of the year and I set off on the wrong foot. Someone once told me that this blog is always complaining about something. He made me feel I should apologise for feeling the way I did. Then I remembered my friend Virve, the one who died. In one of her very last messages, she told me to keep writing regardless of who loved my writing and who hated it. She said that neither category had anything to do with my writing per se, but the person themselves. The reason this blog was created in the first place was to be an online diary. I won't censor myself. I guess no matter what you write about, someone will be displeased. Then again, there is always the option of not reading what makes you upset.

So I was talking about sadness. Sadness is not acceptable by society. Mourning is not trendy or productive. Being constantly positive is the latest fashionable prerequisite. Everything happens for a reason. Everything is a valuable lesson. Whatever does not kill you makes you stronger. And so on and so forth. Right?

Not everything happens for a reason. Most bad events happen because we are the most pig-headed and close-minded race of sentient beings I have ever had the unfortunate 'privilege' of coming across. There are less than five people I can talk with and not need to explain or be wary of their intentions. I survive by keeping a low profile and feigning ignorance. I survive by listening to music, reading, writing, and minimising the time I spend socialising. Which reminds me...
I've done a lot of socialising for my standards since October. Turns out the maximum amount of exposure to a large crowd (30+ people) I can handle is once every two weeks. I refuse to repeat it in a smaller amount of time. I simply get sick. Sore throat, cold, you name it. The funniest thing is that everyone who mets me regards me as super social and friendly. Low profile, remember? And to be honest, I do care about people. I am not friendly and kind towards them because I want to manipulate them.

Music is what makes our souls soar above the mud of existence. Man-made vibrations that express a multitude of feelings. Love is what makes our souls merge with something bigger, leaving behind us every smidgen of pretense and appropriateness. And to quote one of my most beloved heroes, "You don't choose the ones you love. What you do choose is the way you'll treat them".  

If I extend my hands left and right in this small room, crammed with books and CDs and personal items, and with one cat sleeping on my bed, I am alone. Right?

No. Because they open the door of my heart and out they come, one after the other, the ones I love. The ones I brought here and gave them flesh and blood and other people who love them and hate them and want to see them dead. And together with them my books and my comics and my CDs and my old drawings secretly open too, and countless stories pour out, colourful strings of every conceivable hue. Everyone I've ever loved and hated is here with me, and what I need to do is close my eyes and will them out. Every story humanity has ever come up with, or at least one variation of it is here with me, together with every note and colour and tear ever shed. How can I be alone? I am not. I am never alone. Even in the most desolate, tiniest cell of the whole world I would not be alone. There is a richness inside beyond anything. It merges with me and makes me ecstatic, makes my eyes so full of beauty and wonder that this world will forever pale in comparison. And that is why I am sad. Because my eyes and mind and heart perceive the fullest potential in a world that has gone to the dogs. And the gatekeepers of this world hate my guts for it.

Should I really apologise for that? I don't think so.

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Tuesday, December 19, 2017

1984 dreams

Today I came across something I had forgotten I have in my possession. Some childhood Barbie and Ken dolls of mine. I thought I had given them away. One of my dogs had chewed them and they are mangled at places. Probably that's the reason I kept them. I had forgotten them, yet as soon as I opened the bag and saw the splendid dresses, I remembered them.

Right now I don't know what to do with them. They are not in good shape to give them away, and I don't want to throw them away. It's so strange. I feel I am holding dead people in my hands. It hurts and I don't even know why. No, not dead people. Dead dreams.

I went online and found them in pristine condition. It's pointless to buy them again, even if I had the money, and I obviously can't undo the ravages of 30+ years of time. It's the nature of reality. But at least I can remember what they looked like when I was holding them in my hands and life had not crushed me in a hundred different ways and I was full of dreams bigger than life itself.

And I still hope. I don't dream as big as I dreamed back then, I don't hope in the same way, yet I hope. They didn't take that away from me. Not completely. And I know how hard they tried.

I don't expect others to understand why I upload these photos. But I need to do it. It's a form of apocatastasis. 

From Wikipedia: Apocatastasis (/æpkəˈtæstəsɪs/, from Greek: ἀποκατάστασις, apokatástasis) is reconstitution, restitution,[1] or restoration to the original or primordial condition.[2]

Barbie Dream Glow 1984

Barbie Jewel Secrets 1985

Ken Jewel Secrets 1985

And perhaps the last Barbie doll I had ever bought. 1988 feeling fun Barbie. In 1988 I was ten years old.

Who would have thought one day they'd knock me flat on my ass...
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Saturday, December 02, 2017

Tarot reading

This wonder of wonders is Louse. She is small, cute, stubborn and the Queen of mucus. This is why she is presently on my bed, on a small heating mat and on antibiotics. She was in the garden of my building, but she is too small to be able to survive winter outdoors. She got sick on top of that. Meh. Need I explain more? I think I don't. Wish me luck. I hope to find a home for her.

This was supposed to be a funny entry on tarot reading. I am not sure I can be funny at the moment. I can try.

As you may or may not know, I read tarot cards. I do readings for myself, my mother and some close friends. This isn't an entry for advice on reading. There are countless books and online sources on how to do it. I'm sure I don't have something new to add. I can tell you how I do it for the laughs though.

I always light a candle before reading cards. Fire and salt are the most ancient ways of purification. If you have some incense to burn, do that too. Fire keeps evil at bay, incense binds itself with the positive ions of the air and takes them out of the room if you have a window open. So don't be lazy, burn incense if you have it. It does what it says on the label.

Next thing on the menu. Interpretation. I have this special relationship with my cards. I talk to them. Sometimes it works.

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Piss off! Don't act like you don't know!"

"Oh, that's reeeeaaally helpful now, reeeaaally clear, thanks for nothing."

"That's it. One of us here is pulling the other's leg, and you haven't got any."

"Are you on fucking drugs? I mean, seriously, are you?"

(Initially in a sweet voice) "Do you know what you need? Purification by fire. Unless you tell me, I'll use you for kindling, you useless piece of symbolic fluff."

"Oh yes, why don't you give me more people cards, I mean I need advice and I get every person in the tarot plus their close relatives and best friends. I thought this was a reading, but you seem to think it's a blasted wedding! Well let me tell you something, it's not a wedding, it's a funeral. Yours."

"Do you see these scissors? Huh? See them? Wanna take a closer look?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, you have one job."

"Are you giving me the lip now? Is that it? Feeling adventurous today, are we?"

"That's it. I am buying a new deck, and you are going into the spare box, together with the dust bunnies and your useless lazy sisters. Okay, half sisters. That's not the point."

Kidding aside, I've been using tarot cards since 1997. I have a lot of decks, yet this is my standard. It works spectacularly. Sometimes readings just don't work. The cards aren't to blame though.

(Having said that, once I got so mad with a set of clay runes that I pounded them to dust one by one, using a stone. Whoopsie).

The lousy Louse.

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Friday, November 17, 2017


Ramsey Dukes rocks my socks. Open your ears and enjoy. He's amazing, and his sense of humour does not diminish the validity of his message. I wish I could be as clear, articulate, and at the same time as funny as he is.

Sorry for my absence. I have had cats run over, cats dying, cats run over but not dying, and the deluge on a daily basis here in Greece. I'm doing OK, thanks for asking. I have had interesting dreams too. Working on it. Kicking some ass, waging war, the usual.

Should anyone wish to help me with expenses during what proves to be a very challenging time, here is my Ebay page. See if anything catches your fancy. I'll add more items soon. Thanks in advance for looking! You're also more than welcome to donate using the ko-fi button on the top right corner. I feed more than 40 cats on a daily basis and I am still unemployed. Every little helps very very much. :) 1 euro= two cans of cat food. See how easy that was?
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Sunday, November 05, 2017


Two nights ago I had  a very interesting dream. I was in the bedroom of a young woman I've known since childhood. She was in bed with me and we were naked. In the beginning of the dream I thought it was her, but then she attacked me and I knew it was a shape-shifting demon.

I started struggling with the demon. It was strong and trying to overpower me. I was stronger. I was fighting to hold it still and screaming sacred names of entities at the same time. I remember using Michael's name, and I also shouted "divine providence". Every time I yelled one of the holy names, the demon reduced in size until what was left of it was a handful of blonde hairs. So I got off bed and started burning those hairs using a candle, and even the hairs of that thing were struggling.

Just as I was done burning the hairs, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and stood behind it completely naked. I was feeling at ease. Outside stood a tall, slim young man, whose features were Caucasian, but he had the skin colour of either an Arab or a person of one black and one white parent. His eyes were green and transparent. He was actually quite sexy and had a pleasant demeanor. He asked me if my friend was inside, and I replied she wasn't.
"Oh, that's a pity," he said. "It has such nice weather. I was thinking of taking her to the sea."
"I am sorry. She's not here," I said and closed the door.

I woke up feeling tired and cranky by my struggle with the demon. Two pieces of information came to me as I made the transition to wakefulness. 

One, that pleasant dark-skinned man was a demon too, and he had come to take what had been promised to him. You see, that young woman I have known since childhood had a mother who was involved in magic. Unfortunately she was the worst kind of witch someone can be; sloppy and with superficial knowledge. I wouldn't be surprised if she promised her daughter to some entity, or something tricked her. 

Two, that man wasn't just any demon. He was the Black Man of the witches, also known as Nyarlathotep. He appears as a man of Arab ancestry sometimes, but is also seen with Caucasian features. Great.

So... exterminating shape-shifting demons by vibration (yelling) and fire, check. Flirting with Nyarlathotep, check. Shutting the door on his face while he came to collect a debt, check. Seeing that dream on the night of the full moon, check. Not that I am counting or anything. Just saying.

I really, really need to win the lottery. Life is so much simpler when all you have to worry about is what colour nail varnish to use. Not that it'd change anything in my case. I'd still spend my days choosing stickers and my nights grappling with demons. And trying to type a blog entry with a cat sleeping on my lap. Both my legs have gone to sleep presently, and I suspect that's what I ought to do too. I hope Nyarlathotep won't pay me another visit any time soon; I sorely need my beauty sleep. 😝
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Thursday, November 02, 2017

Free books for the masses

Hey! My author friend Lizbeth is running a giveaway again! If you are a member of Goodreads, you can enter to win a copy of her book. And if you like dark fantasy and erotica, boy, are you in for a fucked-up treat. 😈

Reviews for the Theater of Dusk taken from the giveaway info:  

“...If you like dark, mysterious and slightly disturbing things, this is the book for you. I cannot be happier that this author and I crossed paths. This collection is a mix of dark, mystery and a little of the in between. It's a mix of emotions and darkness. Darkness that wraps you up in its tight-fisted hands and pulls you in close to kiss you so passionately that you go stupid. You forget everything.”

“This little read takes the reader by surprise. In its entirety this book is filled with darkness… We become each character, however horrific that thought is, and realise that love does not exist. …Each short story takes you along a road of self-discovery and the reader can recognise elements of the darkness within the self… I would recommend it to anyone prepared to brave the deep.”

Good luck! Giveaway runs until the 10th of November. I hope you win, it'll be an amazing belated Halloween gift. And while you're there, check the other giveaways too. Lots and lots of books of every possible genre available. Enjoy your browsing!

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