Raindrops

If I could make you understand. Just for one moment.

What it means to love.

So banal.

Taken for granted.

So much ink and saliva spent on what seems a chameleon of a subject.

If only.

If I could make you understand for the fraction of a second what it means to dread losing the one you love.

If I could make you for the fraction of a second vibrate like a chord touched by human fingers.

Resonate like a whale's song.

If you could open up and see.

No colours.

No names.

No countries.

The eyes of a child.

They all cry the same.

They all need the same things.

If I had the power to offer you a glimpse of what my heart ungrudgingly holds secret and rocks to sleep to keep me sane.

Now I know what my soul knew from the start. We'll never meet.

In your endless mercy you have provided. Caring for me, you tried to find a replacement.

In your endless sadness you dive inside the Heart.

The Heart holds you.

Like a child.

Judgement Day

And then comes one day that you want to turn Angel Safari into a national pastime. Hunt the fuckers. Raid the Elysian fields or aetheric levels or whatever place they live in, sleep and tan their gorgeous bodies while gracefully sipping mojitos or whatever shit they drink. Pluck their feathers out with pliers. Take a plane and fly over them while they snore peacefully and throw them anvils and safes to flatten them in their sleep. Paint them with black nail polish. Chase them with a flame thrower. Throw them big cactuses with the entire clay pot attached while they merrily chase each other in the ever green fields of the paradise. Next time I am introduced to one of those lazy motherfuckers, I will kung fu their brains out of their skulls. Yeah right, why EVEN TRY to bother with the earthly shit? Oh noooooo, THEY are TOO IMPORTANT to bother. It doesn't matter that this plane of existence has turned into a demo version of hell. Oh nooo, it is not their fault, you see there is this thing called FREE WILL, and since that thing exists, well, THEY CAN'T do anything, it is not their RESPONSIBILITY. You see, there are RULES.

I will rule your ass out of existence you shitstained pieces of feathered ego, you Pharisees of heavens! You bloody scum! Handing over your powers to the exactly wrong kind of humans without caring as long as you will not bother with us lowly mortals, with those oh-so-unimportant mortal affairs. You see we're flesh and blood, too disgusting for your divine hands and standards. When you fucked mortal women they were good enough. Now there is no fucking involved so you can't really bother with the rest of us, can you? Oh no. Too much work and a very dirty job. Too much trouble. A whole fucking planet turned into purgatory and billiors of souls screaming in misery and despair every single day of their lives and you can't move a finger to help. No no no. You are safe where you are. Why bother?

You miserable, arrogant, pretentious pieces of crap. You fucking hypocrites. YOU LOWLY, COWARDLY SCUM. If you cared, really cared, if you indeed served the Creator you claim you serve you'd be too ashamed to show your fucking faces. The brave ones of you have taken the dive in flesh and live amongst the mortals, suffering just like any other human. Being oppressed, victimised, raped, scorned and used like asswipes by mortals and immortals alike. Behold the wonder of existence and what it has turned into. I hope you are proud of yourselves. This is your responsibility as much as anyone else's. When you see a crime committed and you do nothing to stop it, you are as much a criminal as the one commiting it. Hail to the entire angelic race! As above so below; as below, so above. Go fuck yourselves and see if you multiply. Douchebags!

PS I swear, the next forty something American lady/healer with the serene, all knowing smile and the catchy New Age vocabulary I come across in the net, "channelling messages" from this or that or the other Archangel or Teacher or entity, I'll track her down and fuck her up the ass until she recites the entire Greek alphabet backwards.

Treasure chest

[picture: Shinya in action, the fantastic drummer of Dir en Grey]

I went through my usual summer cleaning binge. I threw away stuff, recycled old magazines, gave books and items to friends or charity, recycled old letters from people I no longer am in contact with. Suddenly, while being amidst a mountain of torn paper I stopped fully, because I found a small pile of letters. They were the letters my fictional characters had written to the characters of another lady. We intended to write stories together but this never happened as she was ill and we eventually lost contact fully. But the letters were there; I had kept copies. First letter I came across was the one gentle Sergios had written to one of her vampire characters. I paused and re-read it.

It is hard for another person to understand why a writer may feel the way they do about a particular character. After all they are not real, right? But Sergios is or rather was me. All my characters are pieces of my personality, facades of what I am, was or could be. And as such I love them more than I love my own two hands. My hands will wither and rot one day, but my characters are immortal; they are the closest thing I have to a soul.

I stood for a while. Remembered all the things I know about my dear Sergios. Felt very depressed because he belongs to a different story line and the copyrights for that world belong to a company, so I can never have anything published. I wallowed in my misery for a little while and eventually scolded myself because I once more remembered what any serious magic practitioner of magic (and anyone familiar with the fundamentals of physics) must not forget: energy is NEVER lost. It changes form but never vanishes. The solution had been there all along: I slapped my forehead and concentrated, then called upon the Liberating One and handed them all to Him. There you go, these are my creations, the closest thing I have to a legacy. Take the old characters, the undeveloped stories, all those "what ifs" that will never take place in any world and return them all to the Heart, the Creator/Creatrix. Let Him/Her have it all back. They were once born in dreams, I now return them all to the Womb of dreams to be transmuted and reborn and returned to me to a new form. He naturally was only too happy to do this, and I was not happy at all (because I am such a insecure, sentimental sucker) but felt released. I bet that if a child was looking at the sky that night they would see this flock of multicoloured pegasi passing by and vanishing in the black horizon...

Ahhh, what the hell. Some things are never meant to be. Back to my boring life of blowing up reality, snuggling with Archangels, scratching Yahweh's face because he kept bugging me and showing me his hurt nail, slapping the asses of Japanese rock superstars silly because they won't let me be, fondling the Babylon whore and lending her money and getting into the pants of my female email pals in dragon form during my sleep. Now, if only I could figure out a way to win half a million euro, it would simplify my life a lot but spare me none of the drama.

Reminiscence

Photo: Die, the excellent guitarist of Dir en Grey.

I am once more working like crazy, finding myself home around eleven at night the earliest. Consequently there is not much I can do concerning my emails or my blog. Hopefully beginning next week I will start working less hours again. Which could be good. Should be good. But unless I leave my present job, less hours is pretty much like using aspirin to treat a cancer patient. :-)

My life course twists and turns unexpectedly, my comprehension of reality constantly changes, my battles never seem to end and more than anything else, what makes me sad is that experiences cannot be communicated. All my knowledge and experiences, no matter how much I wish to use them to help other people, cannot be used. Others can perhaps understand but not comprehend and benefit from it. Experience is not a "one size fits all" achievement. And one day that I'll be gone everything will be gone with me, like the funerals of ancient times or the gypsies of today: burying the dead with their jewellery. That alone should make each of us try to live to the fullest, in order to be buried like kings and queens; take with us the treasures of a full life. Memories, colours, sounds, tastes.

When the singers we love die, they take their treasures with them. Their voice. And modern day equipment has allowed us to listen to the same songs again and again; in older times, if you were lucky enough to listen to an exceptional voice it was an one time occurrence, a rare treasure only you had in your possession.

Technology has made us forget to treasure the moment.

Photographs and videos and CDs cannot be treasured. They are but ghosts of what took place. They serve to remind us, but a slothful mind and a shallow heart cannot be urged to remember if they have lost interest to begin with.

Please try to understand how important and valuable every day of your life is.

Please try to live it to the fullest.

Please try to realise how important you are to yourself and others.

A true treasure collector.