Up the wall

I was listening to my mother talking with another woman. They were commenting on the fact an old Greek singer has a son who's gay, and the father got so mad about it that he stabbed his son when he caught him in the act. My mother was explaining to the other woman that this singer is a proper man and he cannot put up with such behaviour on his son's behalf.

I kept my mouth shut, because there was absolutely nothing I could have said that would offer something to the conversation. I wanted to spit on my mother's face at that moment. And what would that offer?

"None are as blind as those who will not see".

When I heard this quote for the first time, I could not understand to what it referred. Now I do. It refers to people in general. We all more or less have that infuriating quality, the ability to ignore what is in front of our eyes because it is not convenient. We do not want to see because we are afraid, or don't want the responsibility of our own actions, or it does not fit with our world view and does not agree with our plans. It's far easier to reject or fear that which we don't understand or like. In this case, it's being gay. "It's wrong. It's abnormal. It's against God". Utter crap people will pose as arguments against what they are afraid of, because it is different than what they themselves do.

I am sick of this planet in general. The best thing I can do is keep to myself because I am sick of having conversations that end up with me in a screaming fit. I am just too tired to listen to bullshit. I am not going to judge people because they want to sleep with people of the same sex. As long as they are both consenting adults, why the hell should I play traffic regulator in their beds? Who cares if they want be fucked with men, women, girl scouts, Arabic stallions or dwarf ladies with beards? Unless it's your ass their dick or fingers are preoccupied with, if you'll excuse my language, what the hell do you care?

Argh. No, I must not buy another deck of Tarot cards to blow off steam...

We are sick inside the heads. That's all I can think of. I am sick too, I just don't know it. I don't see my bias because they are my own. I am sick with a terrible disease called being human. That race of morons and degenerates that worships trinkets and ignores the truest treasures. People want bling blings. They do not want pearls of wisdom, they do not want the truth. The truth is never pleasant or amusing and yet it cuts to the heart of the matter like the sharpest scalpel, like the most refined diamond blade.

We are all very, very sick. And I feel sorry for all, including myself, and there are days I wish I was the blindest of all.

But my eyes will not go away, my spirit will not cease to thirst. My eyes will never go away, and they do not fail me, they no longer fool me. Not after all this time and the shit I have been through. I have become the opposite of innocent; I have become a suspicious curmudgeon that views people as a possible source of annoyance, their mouths true springs of stupidity, their hearts barren wastelands, devoid of anything of value. I am sick of it. And it does not end. It never does.

What I can do is rest temporarily; I sleep like a bird upon the fragile melody of a song I love. I rest my eyes upon the sheen of the raven black hair of a beautiful man I cannot have. I smell a rose and know that this flower knows everything there is to know. It doesn't hold back; it blooms in perfect glory for everyone to see and smell. And no-one sees it. No-one bothers to smell it; they pass by it walking in a hurry, hypnotised by their lists of "IMPORTANT things to do" "IMPORTANT people to talk to" "IMPORTANT phone-calls they cannot miss" no matter if they are driving, fucking or taking a crap. Their cell phones follow them even in the toilet. They behave like cocaine crazed gangsters closing in on a target. I on the other hand see the flowers blooming in the evening gloom and they are poems, they are explosions of colours that stupefy the mind and defy any attempt at a description. These colours are sometimes strong enough to feel that they leave an afterglow, a haze of colour in the space around them. I remember describing one of my heroes in a story, perhaps the most beautiful one I have, and his skin is at the same time translucent and blinding, like an angel or a white iris that immaterialises in front of one's eyes, the colour of his face a ghostly white like thick milk that slowly dilutes in water.

I live only for those moments nowadays. The unexpected rose waiting for me at the next corner. The humble jasmine that smells to the high heavens, not yelling but chiming its beauty in a tapestry of smell that sounds like a wild array of the tiniest silver bells you can imagine. I live for the next album by my favourite band and the smell of my cat's fur when he sleeps next to me in the morning and the Pre-Raphaelite paintings that make me lose my speech. I live for my next ice-cream, and the next kawaii order, so full of colours and designs, and the next book or manga I'll read and the next time I'll sleep and my life will be once more exciting. I no longer live for understanding; I no longer live for human fulfilment. I see myself screaming like a woman that's gone not just slightly crazy but completely homicidal bananas and I scare myself with how much sick I am. Sick just like them.

I just wish, wish, wish I could once more dream like I used to.

I try.

God knows I try, while looking frantically inside my heart for the spark to set everything ablaze.

Thankfully the newest album by Dir en Grey is out. "Dum spiro spero". As long as I breathe, I hope.

Please god/dess. Please.

I have no strength left anymore.

Thank you.