Brainfuck

I watched the movie "What the blip do we know" a couple of days ago. I have not been the same since. Make sure to somehow see it: steal it, rent it, download it... I don't care. Just watch the bloody thing, to realise why you do the things you do, and what really stops you from being happy. Still here? Go grab it!

Androgynous men...

Photo by http://blueblack.deviantart.com

A little irrelevant comment.

I wonder what is it that makes me so crazy about feminine men, men with make-up, androgynous creatures, men who are in reality women (have two of them in my stories and I mean it literary, not cross-dressing) and gay men in general. Perhaps it is my gender confusion. Heheheh, in a recent test I took I got 36 points in how male my brain is, while the average for women is 24 and for men 30. Hahaha! Anyway, tests don’t prove anything at all, so back to my point. I am crazy about such creatures, (especially of the gothic type) though I fully know I will never have one such myself. Perhaps it is the crush I had on Darryl, that beautiful Scottish goth eons ago, when I was in UK studying? It was never really fulfilled, but it seems that it was just a symptom, not the source of trouble itself. Perhaps my androgynous soul instinctively looks for men who are aware of their feminine side and not afraid to embrace it? (even though it seems that the only thing the men in question embrace is fashion and their countless insecurities…) Perhaps I am a victim/slave to beauty and this will never change? Funny thing being, I am fully aware of how empty these boys/ men are in reality, how incapable of holding a decent conversation, how childish, high school-type-of-mentality this reflects about me, but cannot get rid of it. I don’t think I ever in my life will. I mean, look at me, I am past twenty-nine and on the way to thirty, and still dream of androgynous angels and goths. How sad is this? I do not mean that I should at this age dream of doctors and lawyers (God/dess forbid that I ever fall for such mainstream, slave-to-the-system “ideal husbands”), but since I fucking KNOW what the deal is with goths, why not get over it? I’ll be damned if I know. You tell me. At least I now am wise enough to realise that the outside is just a beautiful wrapping with no content. If there was something inside, they would not be goths to begin with. 

You got confused? Lemme help. Someone who dresses as a goth, or metal fan, or anything, shows nothing but the need to belong somewhere in order to be safe. I belong absolutely nowhere and am very happy about that. I revel in my lack of definition style-wise, religion-wise, mentality-wise. Anybody who tries to classify me is in for endless trouble. I do cheap, mushy, kitsch, pink/fluffy, classical, solemn, gothic, macabre, high aesthetic, surreal, even hippy, goddammit. I do anything and everything. “I am a chameleon of sorts”. I do a mix and match of things. I am. I am NOT a goth, an 80s fan, a lady of the castle, a girl in a kiosk, a mad erotica author, an absolute failure according to the standards of society, the next step in human evolution, a misanthrope, a communication expert, a heretical prankless Erisian, a perfect atheist, a reader of soppy romance or a fantasy geek. I am all of them together. It is a matter of dosage. I do lawyers and doctors too. I just don’t fall for them, if you know what I mean. And it’s okay if you don’t.

System of a Down: “Hypnotize”

New fb label (very informative!!!) *titter*

There is, in a sense, a tradition to this blog. And as my beloved Dorian (a serial killer and vampire in my stories) would say, “Keeping the etiquette is inevitably a good thing.” So the tradition for this blog is one funny text followed by one or two sad. People undoubtedly are caught a bit unawares by this habit of mine. How funny can it be to read something expecting to laugh and find the gaping maw of manic depression nibbling your toes? Or, for those naturally inclined towards melancholy, how disappointing it must be to one week read something familiar and next week to come across one of my surreal, graphic, humorous pieces? It’s like seeing this fella advancing towards you holding a pillow, only you are not certain whether the pillow contains feathers or stones. But anyway. As one of my new labels (that I use in friendship books) says:

Five facts about me.

• I am not here to be pleasant or agreeable. If this happens, it is purely coincidental. 
• Most “open-minded” people I know just parrot opinions they got second-hand with no personal experience involved. As for the “normal” ones, they bore me to sobs, goddammit.
• My Gods are funnier than your GOD
• Male/ male pairs make me wet.
• My inner pendulum swings between two “poles”: the Twins Eros and Thanatos (=death) and Chaos/Art. Which barcode do you worship?

Amuse me, impress me, make laugh, think, write my ass off. But please do not disturb: already disturbed.

I think that should be enough to actually scare “normals” and discourage a generous portion of the “open-minded” ones. Open-minded my arse.

To proceed with what I wanted to refer to, I am steadily losing the last connections I had with the human race. Or to quote myself from a letter I wrote today, “I used to care deeply about the human race. I still do. I just don’t like them anymore.” There is no connection save for the semblance on the outside. I used to feel pity for those who were in a difficult situation. Now I don’t, because they either brought this upon themselves, so I won’t spare any sympathy for that, or there is a useful lesson hiding somewhere in their trouble. Why should I feel troubled by other people’s life lessons? I have a lot of my own to feel pity for if I am in that mood. Moping about reality. How stupid can one get? What a fucking waste of time…

I am not in any specific mood for the past few months. I am slowly trying to find a new direction to push myself to, because I got rid of the old compass. This is how actual change happens. Fist one starts to feel that there is something wrong with things. Then one day s/he wakes up and the inner shift has taken place, and s/he is no longer capable of returning to the old patterns. This happens with no emotional fireworks involved. It just happens. The fireworks explode waaay before the actual realization of things being wrong. Finally, the person takes a new road, but just after the crossroads, there is a light confusion as to what s/he has to do while on this new road. I am exactly there now. Have to wait to see what has to be done. There is, however, one thing I know for certain: the majority of humanity can no longer surprise me, in a pleasant way, that is.