Small steps

Tattoo number two is at place. Now both forearms are decorated on the inside, in a rather unusual way for a girl. Then again, I am a rather unusual girl from what I gather.

I am sick and tired of those who come to me with problems they have absolutely no intention of solving and then get mad when I tell them so. It happened today. Then again, I have no patience and I owe no-one explanations. They can just take their leave from my life. I am not expecting anyone to solve their problems. But I surely expect them to keep them for themselves since they love them so much that they can't part with them. I have enough of my own. The fact I tend to keep them for myself or talk about them only to people I trust does not mean I have no problems. So let's try not to screw my nerves and turn them to shreds, eh? I'd appreciate it.

I've hit rock bottom concerning things I want to do. I mostly let things happen to me. And things do happen. Short stories and poems, fights because I am forced to reclaim my space and kick intruders out, little creatures coming out to greet me and me shitting myself (hehe, some occult practitioner that I am xD), total strangers considering me a blessing while friends are turning to strangers, or are rediscovered as the weeds that they are. Life goes on with me following suit. And there is nothing I want to do anymore. Perhaps this is trust; perhaps I am dead and rotting while still conveniently walking around. However I am calmer than what I have been in years. I suppose this is as good a compass as any.

Now all I have to do is find a way to lose my tummy so that I can once more fit in tighter pants. Maybe I can forget it in a bar and someone else will accidentally pick it up? :-D

Baffled and bewildered

That fucking thing called pure intentions. Oh that goddamn elusive chimera, so important for those needing to sleep peacefully at night. How can anyone be certain of good intentions when our mind pulls the blindfold over our eyes while whispering seductively in our ear, sweet talking us into yet another little game with our familiar toys? Mind games and other people, power games, games of possession, obsession, victimization. The promise that if we play the game the pain will stop or be forgotten. And the sweet shiver down our spine, the tingling inside our loins. He or she fell for me. He or she mistreated me. I am powerful/ I am a victim of circumstance. I am the one in control. I control my possessions/ I control my misfortunes. I choose my toys/ I choose who's gonna turn me into a toy. I will make myself crazy/ other people will make me crazy.

Good intentions. Not pure intentions. The way to hell is paved with good intentions. Literally. Good intentions can be a one way ticket to hell for both doer and receiver of the action. I know all these things. Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons is what makes good intentions nearly lethal and so immaculate in the eyes of the doer/decider. I know those things. And yet there is one thing I cannot see in a situation, one blind spot that makes all the difference, and I'll be damned if i can see it. I know I will. Ask and you shall receive. And I asked. But damn all the mainstream monotheistic guilt-ridden religions of the multiverse, I cannot see it YET. It drives me nuts. Hell and damnation! Being evil is certainly less trouble! At least I would be able to indulge in power games (which I sooooo love) without my conscience throwing fits and tantrums that there is something I cannot see. I would be able to violate lots of underage Asian boys as well, to the point of them always screaming my name when they have an exceptional orgasm. Always and forever. Till their last fucking days. Arghhhhhh!

I'm reading lots of English grammar lately. Perhaps this is to blame for my condition???

The symptoms

"Hello. I'm French."

"Hello. I'm sleepy."

(My reply to the guy who was trying to get my attention on a recent night out.)

The symptoms are easily recognised. I get a feeling of desire without a specific target, combined to uneasiness and restlessness. Then I want to listen to mushy songs in youtube and don't really want to reply to my emails, but still I want to write. What does this mean? It means another blog entry is in the making. Rejoice, oh crowds. I am back. And damn, I wanted to keep my silence a little longer. Make you miss me.

The Dir en Grey cds arrived. They sodomized and vandalized my ears. They violated my sense of appropriateness and dragged my aesthetic criteria into mud, shit and vomit. They even made me write dark poetry, full of gore and corpses. Now I have one more purpose in life. I've got to see them live! And donate my nice boobs to the holy purpose of shoving short, ugly Japanese singers on them, to comfort, soothe and pet the aforesaid singers. There, there sweetheart. It can't be that bad. Here's a pair of exceptionally nice boobs for you to rest your face on. See how good that feels? Now stop screaming your little black velvet heart out, stop scratching yourself till you bleed. Rest for a while. Sleep too if you want. I don't mind.

[Damn. Having said this, Kyo (the singer of Dir en Grey) is SO short that I have the impression that I will need to first put him on a stool and then shove him on my boobs.You gotta love this possessed little pixie.]

I recently had a interesting conversation with Mr Osram. Mr Osram is a very sweet supernatural entity, whom my best friend has nicknamed thus. He (she?) is a fellow lunatic member of the ones that decided to land flat on their ass down here on this miserable planet. So here is a part of the "conversation" (me nagging and him/her listening without complaining).

"...I mean, this sucks. I am not cut for this. I don't get along with flesh. Flesh and I are just not compatible. I feel like a goldfish on a fucking bicycle. What am I supposed to do here? I am offered all these gifts in this recent incarnation and still I can do shit. Look at me. I have an exceptional voice, my writing ability surpasses by far what many of the so-called professional writers out there can manage, I can practice reiki on perfect strangers living in fucking Australia, even my doodles are better than what some deviantart members upload, and what do I do? I am working in a kiosk and putting up with morons and eejits on a daily basis, only to return home to have terrible rows with my mother. I don't have a sexual or social life. I use nothing of what I have. I live every day of my life trying to give the best I have and at the end of the day, nothing changes. What a fucking waste of flesh, breath and resources. I want to die, Mr Osram. I really want to die. Don't get me wrong, you know I don't mean commit suicide or hurt myself, but somehow find myself in spirit again. Not in flesh. Fly again like I used to. I am sick and tired of this shit. I am not cut for this, I swear I am not. I feel pity for everyone and compassion for the entire human race, even for so and so (referring to two people who have done some really nasty things to me). But I am tired, Mr Osram. This is not what life should be like! This pitiful existence is NOT life. When I was a kid I imagined that life at this age would be full of beautiful moments with my friends, with something new and wondrous every day. Not necessarily buying something, but you know, something silly, like trying a new flavor of ice-cream, watching a new movie, talking about a new experience or book, seeing a new flower blooming in my garden. And this... thing, this life that I am living is just killing me, I can't take it. *starts sobbing* I want to die, Mr Osram. I don't want to die literally, but even if I died I would not mind, I have made my peace. I just can't take more of this ...life. I want to move on. Please help me. Show me what I need to do to change my life situation. I can't continue. I have started inspecting buildings when I walk the dogs, trying to locate those with the many stories and wondering if the door to their rooftops will be locked, in order for me to jump from there. This is not me. Please help me."

The worst thing is that I know what needs be done. I need to continue doing what I do, which is, live this kind of life. Typical contradiction of reality. In order to change things, you have to continue doing what you already do without any visible change. All changes are happening inside, that wonderland of despair and Japanese singers sleeping peacefully on my boobs (probably holding them and drooling on them, while the rest of the band around the bed play soft melodies.)

Thank god/dess for my sense of sarcasm, because there is an awful lot of tall buildings in my area.

D'ah!

[Photo by http://lesta.deviantart.com]

God/dess give me strength!!!

This will be a rant. Be prepared. Both feet firmly on the ground and off Elizabeth goes like a rocket screaming GAAAARHHH! Picture the incredible Hulk with brown hair and olive skin, blogging and cursing like a sailor who got shat on by a flying cow.

I need to express something or I'll burst. Can someone please explain to me why some people have a prison inside their heads instead of brains? I suppose there is no answer to this question. But still. My rant will be sex and gender related. Any of you gay "sensitive", meaning homoerotic material offends you? Then buzz off, for this will insult you and neither of us needs that. Plenty of other blogs to read! Shoo!

HOW can someone use the characterization "disgusting" in relation to sex practices concerning two conseding adults? How can ANYONE pass judgment on what other people do and enjoy? How can someone JUDGE other people because of this? I understand someone saying- well, that's not my cup of tea, or, boy, that's something that really must hurt, I'd never try it. Or even something stronger than this. But how can you call another human being sick because he likes the same sex as themselves, for example? Why is this thing sick? In what sense? How can you disregard and badmouth another person just because you are different? Why so much fear and hatred for something that is not enforced or practiced on you and at the end of the day it's none of your goddamn business? I will never understand this.

When I finally go to bed with someone I love...

*sigh* It's useless. But I'll try to put it to words anyway.

When I finally go to bed with someone I love, reality is shut off. I lock it out of the room with a kick on its butt. There is NO reality save for the reality of two bodies. No time, no space. Reality begins and ends on the other's flesh. I do not see gender there. I do not see genitals. I see only soul and desire, I see need and heat. I touch the other person the way I would touch a statue I wish to bring to life. I kiss and caress them from head to toes, I love them and accept them and thank god/dess for the chance I was granted to merge with another soul, for as long as this is meant to be. I see their skin responding to touch, their heartbeat racing, their bodies blooming like flowers, opening like wings, unfolding like miracles. I see them lost in the sensation, for body is meant to be pleased regardless of sex, size and shape. I feel them entering another realm, in which there is no mind, no thoughts, only submission to mortality. "With you inside me comes the knowledge of my death." I live to make them scream and cry from pleasure, I live to hold and embrace them and make them forget death, make them forget tomorrow, make them short-circuit and drown in desire so much that they transcend flesh. I am the universal Mother that gave birth to them and held them like their mother perhaps never did; I am Death, letting them know through orgasm what it means to lose control of one's body. This is what my gender is originally meant to do, impersonate compassion, mystery and death. Be as the great Ocean, suck them in, cover them fully, claim them whole and eventually guide them back out, safely on the shore. Blow their fucking brains out, send them sky high and catch them on the way down. Finally let them sink into sleep, smoothing their hair with kisses, letting them know they are safe between the sheets.

How can anyone call this disgusting?

The wheel

The wheel turns on and on.

We have met before. Why should this surprise me?

We have craved each other again. Why does it have to hurt so much?

We were to be husband and wife.

Both killed on our wedding day.

Never touched each other.

And now I am here and you are there.

Unable to touch each other.

I thought I am crazy, deluding myself. Just a miserable thirty year old woman who, incapable of having a real life, weaves dramatic tales to satisfy her ego. But my best friend met us both in dream time yesterday. Two Chinese teenagers on their wedding day. Painfully young. Soon to be husband and wife. We talked with him in dream time. Today that he told me about the dream without knowing what it was I thought my heart would stop. This isn't my wishful thinking.

Why do past stories have to hurt that much?

"Future's out to get you all."

Why do we have to go through fire and sword? What comes out of so much pain and unjustified cruelty? Why do we have to find each other just to be snuffed out like candles before we even touch?

The wheel turns on and on.

Perhaps in this lifetime the cycle will close and old scores settled.

Please. I beg you. If we meet again, don't break my heart.

There we go again.

Once more I find myself accidentally linked with someone and giving them a reiki therapy without ever intending to do so. This is the third time this is happening to me with this person. I think he should place an aetheric block around himself from now on, to avoid me spamming him with therapies. Ha-ha. They are worse than uninvited farts, these therapies. Always coming out of the blue and manifesting in a very inconvenient manner. You just get them whether you want them or not.

On a more realistic note, I am trying to discover if it is me attracting all this shitty mood and the feeling of imprisonment to myself, in order to first understand WHY and then stop it.

On a humorous tone, I think Buddha should be watching his back from now on because I am dangerously close to enlightenment. Can you possibly beat the flaky Greek oh Buddha? Do you have what it takes?

Sure, Buddha said. My tummy is bigger than yours and I laugh all the time. Beat this! Ha! Eat my dust!

Damn. You win! But heed my words: perhaps I need to dye myself blue and walk around in a loincloth, but this shall not pass!

I will soon be the proud owner of the entire Dir en Grey discography. If any of you have seen the videos I have embedded on my blog, you probably think they are a rather mild and melodic band. I thought so too, until I saw those videos in you tube that, ahem. You do know how disgusting and wrong Marilyn Manson can get, right? Well take the grotesque factor of MM and multiply it by three, then add plenty of disgust points because they are Japanese (and we all know how disgusting and wrong they can be, I suppose?). It is a full scale visual attack accompanied by blood curling screeches by the singer who does his best to look like a grotesque pixie covered in self inflicted scratches. What's worse, those screams are interchanged with vocals of breathtaking sweetness and feeling, while a teenager kills his father with a golf club, fiddles with the fingers and other body parts of his dead mother slumped on the dinner table, and cockroaches walk around. In the second video the singer vomits with his face half covered by torn black stockings, band members play between hanged corpses, geisha demon women with black teeth covered in a sticky substance vomit blood and please each other, one guitarist pulls his heart out and starts chewing on it and other such visual treats or horrors, depending on someone's point of view, take place.

Damn! They are cooler than Yeti, Buddha said. You have to dig this shit.

That's exactly my sentiments oh Enlightened one. Hence buying their discography.

Anyone who wants to watch those two videos should use these links:

http://youtu.be/nQcA_T9VbN8

http://youtu.be/EUvpMhw5ALw

Just don't tell me I didn't warn you.