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.