Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Radical radish

And then comes the day that you decide you just want everything gone from your email. And the best buttons in the world are: Ctrl+A+Delete. You don’t stop to see what’s useful and what’s not useful. You don’t save anything. You don’t care about anything. Everything has to go, and it does. Bye bye now. Off with their heads, said the mad queen. So I erased all my emails before I could change my mind. And I feel ecstatic about it. Yay!

In the future we'll be able to erase all our emails using bombs. Meh. Kind of a way to check your mail and release tension at the same time.

Then I went into Facebook, and for some reason all the advertisements on the right appear in Japanese. The fuck?!? Not certain why this is happening. Not even certain IF it's happening. Perhaps I'm having a bad dream about it. After watching three really bad horror movies by various Asian directors called "Three Extremes" I am sure I am seeing Kanji and entrails everywhere. It's the vlad, I tell you. The vlaaaad. (blooood.) That, and the awful directors. Very postmodern bullshit with psychoanalysis elements my two smelly feet. With the exception of the third movie in the lot, which was fantastic: dreamy, unusual, beautiful. Lovely images, really scary sounds.

The fuck. Now I think my customers speak to me in Japanese. Let me try cleaning my ears a little. Aaah, still I'm hearing Japanese. It could be worse. I could be hearing little children singing. Not ghost children. Off tone children. Those are worse.

Why on earth am I still hearing Japanese?

Friday, November 25, 2011

“All those born with wings.”

It is time. Tonight.
That the wind blows like a gale, like a curse, like a threnody.
It is time.
For me to spread my wings. Ebony black, darker than the heart of darkness.
To take flight.
To roam the skies between the blind screams of the elements.
I shall land on those rooftops that despair has proclaimed her own, and her ragged flag, invisible to all eyes but my own, is dancing to each hellish gust.
I shall enter from locked windows and darkened mirrors, unseen and unheard. I shall answer your prayers. Tonight.
Feed on you.
Feed on your hearts.
Feed on the reek of your sins.
Till all that is left will be something so mutilated, so torn, that won’t pass for human remains.
Till your true nature is revealed. Rotting sacks of meat. Nothing that could be called a soul residing in you.
Do you see me on the floor, wiping my mouth?
Between the dark blood, and entrails, and the broken bones sticking out from torn limbs?
Do you see my knowing smile?
Do you know my name?

It is time.
To enter in places where there is no hope.
To touch the brows of those dying alone.
To kiss the cheeks of children crying even in their sleep.
I’ll wipe the blood from my lips before kissing them goodnight. I shall leave no trace.
And if I cannot save them anymore I‘ll steal them from you.
I’ll whisper in their ear.
Suicide. What a tragedy.
Surely not as bad as the so-called life they had.
And my sister, the shepherd of the lost, will pick their souls from the crossroads, and embrace them like you never did.

I’ll mix poisons in boiling cauldrons and feed them to you secretly.
I’ll feed you when you think yourselves invincible. The purest milk from my breasts.
The source of feelings becoming the source of death.
Vagina transformed into a grave.
You will pay.
By the blood from your veins you will pay.
For the blood of your children that you shed with such ease you will pay.
No-one can stop me.
No-one can make me spare you.
Tonight that the wind knows no rest, I come on wings as black as the negative of matter.
Bare like the moon.
Black like my Sun.
Because you called me back.
You raised me from the river of Lethe and named me.
You gave me my wings.
You armed my hand.
You sharpened my sword with your outrageous crimes.
No land will hide you.
No god will save you.
You are mine.

“And her name was like a blackbird, like a night bird crying out in the most desolate of all deserts; the human heart.”

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Beautifully mad.

It's pretty much useless.
He is not Nuare and I don't have thigh high boots yet, to trample him underfoot.
Still the thought persists.
It's them again, pestering me. Damn Japanese. Always pestering me. I swear I was only making labels. Not looking for trouble.
And he is beautifully mad too. Isn't it a shame he is so far away?

[Both photos: Kamijo, singer of Japanese rock group Versailles.]

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Personal favourites

Experts from the book “Oranges are not the only fruit” by Jeanette Winterson.

…“In those days, magic was very important, and territory, to start with, just an extension of the chalk circle you drew around yourself to protect yourself from elementals and the like. It’s gone out of fashion now, which is a shame, because sitting in a chalk circle when you feel threatened is a lot better than sitting in a gas oven. Of course people will laugh at you, but people laugh at a great many things, so there’s no need to take it personally. Why will it work? It works because the principle of personal space is always the same, whether you’re fending off an elemental or someone’s bad mood. It’s a force field around yourself, and as long as our imagining powers are weak, it’s useful to have something physical to remind us.
The training of wizards is a very difficult thing. Wizards have to spend years sitting in a chalk circle until they can manage without it. They push out their power bit by bit, first within their hearts, then within their bodies, then within their immediate circle. It is not possible to control the outside of yourself until you have mastered your breathing space. It is not possible to change anything until you understand the substance you wish to change. Of course people mutilate and modify, but these are fallen powers, and to change something which you do not understand is the true nature of evil.”
“‘Don’t you ever think of going back?’
Silly question. There are threads that help you find your way back, and there are threads that intent to bring you back. Mind turns to the pull, it’s hard to pull away. I’m always thinking of going back. When Lot’s wife looked over her shoulder, she turned into a pillar of salt. Pillars hold things up, and salt keeps things clean, but it’s a poor exchange for losing your self. People do go back, but they don’t survive, because two realities are claiming them at the same time. Such things are too much. You can salt your heart, or kill your heart, or you can choose between the two realities. There is much pain here. Some people think you can have your cake and eat it. The cake goes mouldy and they choke on what’s left. Going back after a long time will make you mad, because the people you left behind do not like to see you changed, will treat you as they always did, accuse you of being indifferent, when you are only different.”
“If the demons lie within, they travel with you.”
“Everyone thinks their own situation most tragic. I am no exception.”

Tuesday, November 01, 2011

“Mommy, it hurts! I need a band-aid! Big enough to cover the entire me!”

You ungrateful self-centered little shit.
All you care about is your own self. Your deluxe little black box of misery where you want to lock yourself for the rest of eternity.
FINE. You do that. I’ll come and empty a fucking lorry full of cement on it to make sure you will never come out of it again even if you change your mind.
You fucking moron, little deluded idiot. You are the only one who hurts, aren’t you? In a world of absolute happiness and perfection only you suffer. Your little frozen heart, your anguished cries, you poor thing that feels like garbage and was never given any love… That you can live in squalor because this is what befits you. Strange words coming out of the pen of a man who has his own brand of clothes and god/dess knows how much money he makes in an average year doing what he loves most. Masturbating over his failures. 
You miserable stadium-sized egotist. A whining leech, a male drama queen asking to be patted on the back. A hypocrite through and through, deceiving first and foremost yourself. Never thought the emo movement would make it all the way to your country, but it did. And you were the father of it before it even came. Congratulations, another candle lit in the altar of stupidity. 
What the fuck is it that you are trying to show to the rest of us? That human pain has your name in the copyrights section? That you can spell the alphabet of hurt, a knowledge gained by the countless times you’ve mutilated yourself? Every single time you’ve done this there is only one person you are thinking of and that person is your own self. Every time your hands hurt your own self, every time your choices hurt you THE ONLY FUCKING PERSON YOU ARE THINKING OF IS YOUR OWN SELF. How to prolong your pain because you enjoy it so much. How to keep getting your fix, because you are addicted to your own misery. YOU ARE A JUNKIE. You are not deep, tormented, traumatized or misunderstood. YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A JUNKIE ADDICTED TO THE CHEMICALS YOUR BRAIN PRODUCES WHEN YOU LOATHE YOURSELF. You’ll do anything on a daily basis to get your fix, you’ll care about nothing, appreciate nothing and stop nowhere in order to get your drug. People like you will ignore, destroy and sabotage everything good in their lives in order to keep their fixed ideas of living in hell. And there is only one thing I want to do to your kind; spit you in the face. But I wouldn’t do that, no, because you’d get your fix then, you’d get your pleasure. And people like you deserve to get back only what they give out. NOTHING. Nada. Zip. So please stop masturbating over your issues and crawl back to the hole you came out of. No-one here will pay attention to your antics or pity you. No-one will bother with you any longer or care. I RENOUNCE YOU. In the name of the one I love the most, my other half, I renounce you. In my own name that I hold sacred I renounce you. In the name of humanity and hope I renounce you. All bonds between us, past and present, are severed. Go in peace or go to hell; it makes no difference to me anyway. I’ve had enough of self-centered whining leeches. Enough of meaningless BULLSHIT. To hell with it.