Friday, December 27, 2013

Aristocratic


Would you look at that. Those fingers, those nails.
And I presently look like a homeless woman who's trying to give birth to the Antichrist through a zit on her forehead. Or maybe I am on my way to becoming a unicorn. The possibilities are endless.
Wah.
:-/
Go away, 2013. Just go away.
You suck.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Fuck me.



Art by Xiao Bai

Fuck me. Fuck me standing, sitting, lying, in any position possible, fuck me like you mean it, like we won't live to see another day. Fuck me hard, fuck me gently, fuck my brain for weeks before you seduce me out of my clothes. Fuck me by the way you touch your glass, fuck me by the way you play with your cufflinks while talking about your life. Fuck me with my clothes on because you smile that evil smile of yours and I melt to see it addressed to me only. Fuck me by getting up and moving into my space, asking me to dance with you, while your clean body’s scent makes my knees turn into jelly. Fuck me anywhere you want. Fuck me till I beg, fuck me till neither of us can move, fuck me until even fetching a glass of water means one of us crawling on all fours because walking is impossible. Fuck me until reality breaks down into pixels and colours explode inside our heads and when we try to talk we speak in tongues and all we can do is cry in each other's arms. Bite me, suck me, lick me, kiss me, eat me, tell me how good I taste, look at me with irrational wanting, like I’m the only person left on earth. Let me worship every square inch of your body with my mouth and my fingers. Let me hear you yell until the neighbours jump out of their beds in fright. Let me feel your fingers in my hair, hear your sharp gasp as you orgasm. Let me hear your breath catch in your throat as I lower your zipper with my eyes full of murder, feel your pulse race under my fingertips. Fuck me raw. Fuck me on all fours while strangling me and biting my back, fuck me slowly as I lower myself on you again and again, taking you in, keeping you my willing prisoner. Fuck me in bed, in the kitchen, in a public library, in the bar's toilet, in a back alley. Fuck me because you can second-guess me accurately enough to be frightening. Fuck me and let me drink from your sweet blood and seed and saliva like I am having communion from the living body of my personal Christ and saviour.

Be mine, be mine, be mine.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Chemicals

Art taken from here


I am sad tonight.
It is silly to be sad about what doesn't matter.
It's silly to be sad about movies, books, music.
Those three things make me sad more than anything else.
Sadness is nothing but chemicals. The brains experiences a stimulus, gives the order to the appropriate glands, they saturate your blood in chemicals. Our very own tailor-made, fit to perfection drugs.
There you go, dear. Have a cuppa. All yours, choke on it.
Drink it down to the last drop.
I have no protection against art.
People I have protection against.
Art, I don't.
Solstice.
Biggest night of the year. Darkness knows no end tonight.
I am not afraid of darkness. It is a caress, a luxury, a friend.
There's a kitten in a box near my feet.
I don't know if he'll survive the night.
Let's hope it does.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Birthdays and namedays and keepsakes



So many people have lost me and they haven't realised I am not there anymore.
They 've lost me because they are petty and jealous and ungrateful. They are worse than ungrateful actually; they try to harm me while I have only done them good. But that's humans for you.
Most of the time that I press on I have no idea why.
I've settled in a life of quiet desperation and all I do is count my blessings.
I still love. I still care. Or I pretend I do. When I caress my cats, half of the time I do it because I know they need it and I don't want to let them down.
But I am so tired.
Tired to my bones. Tired to my very soul.
Tiredness is combined with bouts of mania and desire, where I do one million things to avoid thinking. Or I download pictures from the internet and look at all those things, places, people I cannot have and get more depressed.
There are days I can see the world in all its ugliness, destruction and decomposition.
I see me for the disgusting sack of meat that I am, for the death waiting to happen, for the old age setting in, for wasted chances and potential and absolute lack of anything noteworthy. I think that if I was to die tomorrow, all that would be written on my tombstone would be, "she tried".  
Of course, we live in a society that success is not measured by effort, but achievement.
And there are days I look inside and it's so beautiful. Everything makes much more sense in there. Just next to the tower of abyss where my dark side is having one of her usual parties, there is so much beauty. I feel like a person deprived of speech that hosts paradise, and so I write, and write, and write, and pretty much nothing changes.
I just write. And then I read what I've written. And it's good, or I think it's good. And I pat myself on the back for it. Well done.
And I go back to my life of quiet desperation.
I wish I wasn't as strong and I had given up already.
I wish I was already dead.
And then my friend's words come to my mind, and she said to me, in one of her letters, we've crawled through every road in hell, and we never gave up.
And she said to me that all she has stayed back for are her rabbits, because she doesn't trust a single soul to take care of them. Don't laugh, that's as valid a reason as any.
I just wish I had given up already.
That's all.
But there are so many out there with less than I have.
And so I count my blessings and press on.

Saturday, November 09, 2013

Three nights ago


Tarot of The Old Path: Six of Swords, a barrier to travel removed.


Night departure

The city’s lights look like a jewellery box left open
Like a mirror for the constellations in human size
They swell and ebb, an ever-flowing river of possibility
And there too is the promise of immortality.

The wind around me blows like a caress
Like a transparent shawl of memories and conversations
The candle flickers in my hands
Unknown to all, I stand here, not lost, but found.

All those faces, now gone, all those chance meetings
None of it matters when I lay my head to rest  
Travels on the back of a book, or in person
All leading back to the same starting point.

If only I could once more feel
What is like to expect the future with eyes open wide
The worm of doubt is such a trustworthy companion
And yet the heart tugs, tugs and reminds.

The city sleeps. The city never truly sleeps.
The stars above and I below
Form one puzzle, one promise
And the gateway to immortality.


Saturday, October 19, 2013

Stardust and immortality





There is so much you don’t understand even now.
There is nothing left of us. Nothing.
We’re stardust and we return to being stardust.
Do you want something left of you?
Teach other people what you know. It may be a simple trick to make better coffee. Or you may be able to teach them something more ambitious. Every single thing that enriches their life, every bit of knowledge you share, is your bet on immortality. It will be left behind when you’re gone.

Don’t judge. They’re doing the best they can. Make sure you do the same. It’s very tough.

Don’t compare. There isn’t another person like you, not one. Comparing is useless, it’s poison for the mind. Ask yourself what you want to do, make sure you do it for the right reasons, and try to make it happen. If it doesn’t work, try something else.

Don’t ask why. Understanding other people’s motivations or knowing why something is happening is like wanting to know why it is raining while you’re caught in the middle of a downpour. It is raining. Either open an umbrella, find cover, or start dancing and enjoying yourself. The reason it is raining won’t make your enjoyment bigger, or offer you cover. Sometimes things are that simple. Don’t waste your time speculating while you should be using it to see what you’re going to do about it.

Move on, be strong, and make sure you do something new every day. Try a new recipe. Pick up a bit of litter and throw it in the bin. Smile to that grumpy neighbor of yours. Plant a single seed in a bare patch of land and see what comes out of it. Open a dictionary and read what an elusive word means. Pet someone’s dog. Take a different route to your work. Put your cell phone aside while you drive or when you meet a friend. Don’t worry, they’ll find you. You cannot escape so easily. If only it was that easy. 

Make sure you are here before you go back to being stardust. Make sure you live.
I love you.

Friday, October 04, 2013

Autumn is all about making tea and lighting candles

Autumn came very suddenly. I love this season. I can light candles again without sweating like a pig and wanting to exit the room. I make tea! I read books. I do read books all year long, but drinking tea while reading a book makes both taste better. :)
Once more I am digging out useless things from the four corners of my room. Yes, unbelievable, but there's more. I am going through cds now. It's actually fun! There's also a pad of recycled paper I have had in my possession since I was 18 or 19 years old. That, too, needs to go. Don't ask me why it hasn't gone already. I forgot it was there. It had become part of my mental wall paper/ room furniture.
I am reading free e-books I download from amazon.com. They are awful, and as a result I write stinging reviews in Amazon. One of them was short stories by Oscar Wilde. Wilde is anything but awful. He makes me cry every damn time. I may know what the story is about, I may have read it before, and there I am, crying again. Same with Andersen and his blasted mermaids. I hate these two writers. They don't just tug at the strings of my heart, they use them as a trampoline. :( It's unfair.
I can't write. Other things are going on. I hope to go back to writing soon. :)
At least I read and recycle/ pass on stuff.
And make friendship books.
And feel sleepy.
:P
  

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

A change of plans



We’re such a silly race.
We clutch onto our plans and carefully designed routes with true ferociousness.
We fear change and anything that threatens to throw us off course. At least off the course we had thought as ideal. We’re so silly and scared. I am so silly and scared. Going with the flow is supposedly the easiest thing to do, yet how unwilling I am to just do that. How scared I am of any kind of commitment on any level and for any reason.
A friend in one of her letters to me wrote, “I always had an escape route handy in case something went wrong.” I know exactly what she means, and this is how I plan my life usually. Making sure I need to rely on no-one except myself, and if relying on someone cannot be avoided, I certainly don't choose to rely on someone I am evolved with in an erotic manner. Depending on my lover is my greatest nightmare. I want to be free. I want no power games or need involved. I want to be myself, and approach someone because I feel the need for companionship. Not their help. Feeling helpless drives me nuts, being in need for something only another person can provide makes me beside myself with distaste and annoyance. It’s actually better than what it was; in the past I got sick with self-loathing whenever I even thought about such a possibility. I probably am the most deluded fool of all, wanting to exist alone in a perfect void, where desire and need cannot take root. This cannot happen, such a state of being cannot be achieved. Not while I am still human. Perhaps at some other point. Oh no, you will not capture me again, I say to desire, I will never again be your prisoner, as if desire is the executor, or the bad guy. And this coming from a person who’s nothing but desire in its purest form. I have the ability to bridge and understand and download and merge and shape, using desire as my guide, and the one thing I do understand to a frightening degree is desire. Yet I struggle against it tooth and claw. At least the erotic type of it, because I splurge in all other types. They’re safe. They cannot make me depend, or humiliate me. I have avoided drugs and alcohol and any single option of desire that can make me lose control. The rest, yeah right, bring it on. I’ll dive head into it. Music, any kind of art, food, pets, even friends have been safe choices. Never sex or love. They are the dangerous choices. And even with friends, I make sure to choose the ones I can guide and help to my advantage and therefore control most of the time. Sad freaks, those choosing not to play the game. Sad addicts, those choosing to play it. And I pretend to be standing in the middle ground. Yeah, right. Jesusing my way on the angry sea. You go, girl.
If only there was a way to re-acquaint myself with erotic desire in a safe way, with no strings attached and no stupid power games. With respect, responsibility and an open mind. Then again, if pigs could fly… (I would make swarms of them circle the houses of those I hate, and shit on them non-stop. Ha ha!) Yet, strangely, my best friend has managed the balance. Maybe I can do it too.
Sometimes the cure to a very unusual problem is an equally unusual solution.
The solution in my case, strangely enough, involves death in an indirect manner.
Not my death, and not through my hands. I did my part seven years ago. It nearly killed me, yet I did my part. I tagged you and I wait.
Let me hear good news from that front. Please.
In the mean time, I’m ovulating. Pretty boys, cover your rear. The butt chasing menace is out there, salivating and making gurgling noises. Need I tell you how dangerous she is for the sanctity of your butt?
No sir.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Exceptional

Combining talent, humor and sensational movement. Him being French is just an extra bonus for me, since I love the damn chauvinists. Anyone who doesn't like belly dancing, or deviations of the norm (like male belly dancers) can go watch something else.

Enjoy.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Discussions and black butterflies.




I’ve just discovered that my diary is at home.
I was seeing many interesting dreams last night. Most have to do with therapies. Hence the amount I’ve paid in direct deposits whenever I visited the bathroom today.
One of my friends and I were discussing about magick, magic, making things to sell on the internet, and then another friend came and the ascended masters, painful memories of past lives as a killer and the disbanded (?) black brotherhood entered the equation. The conversations of the past days have become a roller coaster of numerology, the wondrous, dead bad guys, contemporary writers, pendulums, orgonites, people (?) with three chakras, the Golden Dawn, (not the fascists), angels, (self- righteous dicks), demons (ruthless bastards), souls, poisoned pets, advertisements, the long-dead series Carnivale, the astronomical sums actors are paid, marriages, christenings, and all the jazz surrounding the aforesaid components.
Life is funny with all those things as part of it.
I need cats, good music and a pen name. And to wash my hair before it jumps off my skull and starts running on its own.
What are we doing here? What the hell are we doing here? Please remind me. What do we even bother?
We have forgotten so much. I have forgotten so much. Yesterday I could  hear a kitten meowing somewhere. Probably the owner had abandoned it. Their cat gave birth and after a few days they got rid of the kittens. I did not do something. I was putting the clothes on the line and listening to the desperate cries and did nothing about it. I didn't even know where it was. I just knew it was scared and desperate; I know what scared and desperate sounds like. I already feed about thirty cats and have six in my flat. I can't take more. There was a phase in my life that I took home every single kitten I found abandoned and it wasn't working either. I couldn't live in that house. Yet yesterday I felt bad for doing nothing about it. What could have been an evening at the rooftop enjoying the last evening light and the sounds and smells, was turned into a guilt trip thanks to someone else's irresponsibility.  
Why the hell do I bother? Why the hell do I try? Who cares about ascended masters and solar consciousness when most people spend their lives with their heads up their ass?
Gods damn.

As a rule, I don't like modern Greek music. I love that song. Here are the lyrics roughly translated in English.


John Charoulis sings for the series "The Island" the wonderful song "Black Butterfly."
Song: Helen Fotaki
Music Minos Matsas

Stark white and white, white waters
won’t wash you clean this time
Your angel is looking for you carrying a candle
show yourself, black butterfly, so that he may find you.

The knives are asleep at the mountains
and the black butterfly awakens them.
Death gives his kiss elsewhere
and the black butterfly summons him.

No desire ever remained hidden
and you fly too close to the light.
Incense is burned and the heavens weep
and the coming of night won’t find you alive.

Stark white and white, white waters
won’t wash you clean this time
Your angel lights three fires
get out, black butterfly, show yourself.

Monday, September 09, 2013

Ever tried googling your name?

Here are some of the weirdest (and least related) results I got after I googled Elizabeth V in images:






Maybe more related than I think, this one. XD



Sunday, August 25, 2013

Dreams of heaven, dreams of hell.


More of the second variety actually. Long, confusing, tiresome dreams full of ill omens.
I have started writing again. Late at night, when I can hear my inner voice clearly. It's not easy, yet unless I write, it won't be written. And that cannot be.
It's all a game, and therefore I decide what to be. I choose the mask. I call the shots. Then luck and life and death throw the dice and laugh at me and each other.
Second time I am finishing a book.
Second time I am finishing a game.
Two different games have been paused, or finished. The trio of above players will decide.
Two's are good. Everything is good. As I said, it's all a game. I need the harlequin mentality more than ever. Time to call upon my dearest Lash. Lash is a fictional character. Lash is I. Lash is a harlequin. Lash exists outside time. And time is out there to get me.
I need to speak with that barbarian friend of mine concerning blood and entrails. He can help me. He always does help me. I cannot complain. His help is invaluable. His love is also invaluable. I never take people's devotion for granted. I have seen the opposite too, far too often. And more often than not, from so-called friends. :) That's people for you.
I love being me, I just wish I had intelligent company more often.
All good things come to an end, all good things are given to me in small amounts.
I will work on that.
Promise.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Guidance is overrated :P



Last night I asked for guidance before I slept. The result was waking up with my left back side stiff. The back is related to issues one is not aware of yet, and pain located there is a premonition of some issue coming to the conscious mind. Or perhaps it's the result of a draught and there is nothing else there. ;)

This week I've "gobbled" down almost the entire first season of 'Carnivale', the TV series. It's very good. A pity it was discontinued after the second season. Finished with five Seasons of Supernatural, feeling very happy with the series. This abruptly stopped after watching the first episode of the sixth Season. It was so disjointed and stupid I was sure I was watching another series. I guess when the creator wants to finish a series at a point, they know what they are doing and why. They worked on their plot, they counted the breaths and the stops and the pauses in the flow. The original creator of Supernatural did want to stop there. The series, however, was too popular to stop, and they hired someone else to continue. Money talks, I can understand this, but if the sixth season does not improve after an episode or two more, I'll just stop watching it. It was the same thing with Deathnote. It should have been brought to conclusion much earlier.

I am waiting for thing to happen since actively chasing them brings no results.
Waiting brings no results either, so I move from one to the other- chasing and waiting, waiting and chasing.
Let's see. Keep your fingers crossed for me. 

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

It's amazing.



If my life was a comic, there would be no background in the panels. Every single frame would be filled to the brim with brain flotsam and jetsam and random whatnots. That's what I do. I manage to squeeze in humble everyday life insane amounts of tasks in order to avoid thinking. Thinking makes me depressed and depressed is not good. 


I think it's time to start threatening deities again. I am good at it. The deities can testify it. If something happens to me you should all know that the usual suspects are Jehova, Raphael and some asslicks of similar magnitude. Now that I said "asslicks", I just remembered popular Supernatural (the series) swearwords. Bobby uses "eejits" but the medal goes to angel Castiel for his ingenious "assbutt". A man after my heart, Castiel. I love you for managing to fit the word ass twice in one swearword. Four ass-cheeks in one go. And there's always Alistair, a demon, referring to angels as, "you righteous dicks!" Oh indeed. With exceptions, of course.


I got my short stories back, corrected by an editor. I opened one of them, saw countless red lines. Closed the document again and went away to clip my nails. The next day I opened another. Another red sea there. I closed it and went to feed the geese. (I have no geese but I am sure you know what I mean.) It was the same with essays in my university years. I would go home, clean everything, re-arrange furniture, fold all my clothes in the closets (because if your closet is in disarray, you obviously cannot write an essay. It's self-explanatory. Closets are vital to essay writing) and then I'd go grocery shopping. In the supermarket, I would put goods back on their right place on the shelves, making exasperated remarks on the irresponsibility of people. When I went back home, I'd spend copious amounts of time re-arranging everything on my desk. Doing the laundry. Taking a shower. Anything to delay writing the damn essay. I'd enlist for an astronaut if it was possible. Same with the short stories now. I only started going through them after a month and a half. And now, instead of checking them I write in my blog. Procrastinating? No way!



I go now. I need to feed the bears. The polar bears. :) See you later.

Wednesday, July 03, 2013

The voices inside my head.


Liz: No, no, don't do it that way. Too easy. It's just too easy. Plus, if every time something wrong happens she appears and saves the day, there is no stopping it. She'll be deus ex machina every goddamn time. You can't do this.
Elizabeth: Yeah, smartass. And what do you propose? He saw them, he will alert the rest. What if they kill him? This is the logical thing to do.
Elizadeath: I want to die. It's all meaningless. I don't know why I bother writing. It's going to be a failure anyway. I'll never be good enough. English is not my first language. Why do I even try?
Liz and Elizabeth in one voice: SHUT UP, MORON.
Liz: They can't kill him. She won't allow it, and none is powerful enough to do it. He has to stay alive. But if he remains alive, cut the memory loss crap. It just isn't a good idea. Work your way around it.
Elizabeth: For the fuck of love. Why make things complex? He saw them, she erased his memory. If he dies it will be World War three in London. All the Overseers from all the other capitals will fly there and then London will be turned upside down. Two out of three protagonists will have to flee. How the hell am I supposed to write a book with two of them in different countries?
Elizadeath: I have become so fat. My tummy is like I am pregnant. I will never get laid again. Look at how white my hair has become. I want to die. I want to eat an ice-cream. It's all meaningless.
Liz and Elizabeth: SHUT UP, MORON.
Liz: Plus the "erase the memory" thing is basic in Identity Crisis. You cannot do that, you know it's not really a solution. You really need to find another way of doing it. Even if it means killing him.
Elizabeth: I thought about that. I am not sure I can handle the way this will go if I kill him. Simple solutions always work best.
Liz: That's not a simple solution. It's a sell-off. You can do better than insult the intelligence of your readers. You need to find another way to do it. Quit it already with the 'no can do' routine. You can, and you'll do.
Elizabeth: Arrrrrghhhhh I hate you! I fucking hate you! You make my life hell!
Liz: But you know I am right.
Elizadeath: Stop arguing. You're giving me a headache. Life is meaningless. No-one loves me.
Liz and Elizabeth: SHUT UP, MORON.
Elizadeath: Whatever. I am making tea. Who wants some tea?
Liz: Roasted Japanese tea for me.
Elizabeth: Vanilla flavoured black tea for me.
Elizadeath: Fuck you. I am making some rosemary. Make your own.
Liz: Eat my shit and die.
Elizabeth: Get stuffed.

Elizadeath raises her middle finger to both and goes off to make tea.


Both pictures taken from here: http://pavel-petel.tumblr.com/

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Concentration exercises

So what do you do when you finish the first book?
Naturally, you continue to the second. Especially since the first book offers no conclusion whatsoever, but rather, leaves the readers hanging high and dry. And cursing. You don't  know if this is what will happen, which means, the readers being hooked enough to feel personally wronged and cheated if you leave them at that point at the end of the book. You hope it will. At least if you were a reader, you wouldn't just curse, you'd threaten the author with tortures that would make demons blanch. Only it's too damn hot to write, or think. Or even scratch yourself. So you manage to write about half a chapter and even the sound of the keyboard lulls you to sleep.
Still you have a second book to finish. And there is the matter of the edited short stories you need to check.
Bah. So damn sleepy to do any of that. So damn sleepy to keep my eyes open.
Only I am at work. :P

Monday, June 17, 2013

Summer's here

Translation: if I could spend my days half-immersed in a barrel of water and do everything from inside the barrel, I would. I'd fit those small wheels at the bottom and move around. I'd wear a bikini and air my luscious tummy. And splash water on passers by.

I received my edited short stories back. I have not looked at them yet. Or rather I did take a look, but that's about it. I did not bother further. At some point I need to go through the corrections and see what I'll keep from the changes. Noticed my saying, "at some point".It's not as simple as it seems. At least judging from the dreams I see, where I am trying to protect a baby from vampires that mysteriously kill the family and realise at some point that the vampire is the child itself. Child= creation. I need to protect both myself and my creation.

Come on, two chapters left. Move your ass and write them. Two bloody chapters to finish the damn book. Come on, girl. Write and stop your bellyaching.
Bah.


Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Αchievements of the week plus book giveaway for the 20.000 pageviews..

1) Sore throat, nightmares, waking up sweaty.
2) Made address labels with Alexander Skarsgard. Cut them to size and I am waiting for friendship books to arrive in order to use them.
3) Two, maximum three more chapters and book number one is finished. Three of the heroes appear to have died. Let's see if we can make them five.
4) Sorted through J-rock magazines, about fifteen of them will go. Four are gone already.
5) Finished one more book and listed it to be given away at http://bookmooch.com/
6) Passed 20.000 pageviews in this blog. Well not yet, but with this entry I am sure I will.

Here is your chance to get free (used) books.
I have four books I am giving away for free. You can ask for as many as you want, even all of them if you want.


Desperation by Stephen King.

(Taken)
Cravings by Laurell K. Hamilton, Rebecca York etc.

(Taken)
Daemon Eyes by Camille Bacon-Smith.


The Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly.
(Different cover)
(Taken)



You can ask for any of these books to be sent to you absolutely free. Just email me and give me a postal address. The books will be given away on a first come, first served basis. This is not a trick; I am giving these same books away via bookmooch. If you are the winner I will email you and let you know. :) As soon as the book is gone I will write it just under the book as a comment.

Come on! Ask away!

Sunday, June 09, 2013

Jesus and the rest of them.

 (Shinya, drummer of Dir en grey, sweetness impersonate)

Today I saw two people I had not seen in a long time. One of them just got out of a stifling, dysfunctional marriage and looks better than ever. She lost weight and found herself.

The second is an old friend I had first met in UK when I was a university student. She has an almost two-year old daughter that truly is a bundle of joy. She runs around in the house and smiles. She loves hugs, asks for hugs and is such a trusting, easy going child.

I have no experience with children, but her attitude shows an unafraid, happy child. And she made me happy too. It made me happy to see what a child is like when they feel safe and loved. It also reminded me we need to have patience and kindness in our conduct with others and this actually is the most important part of our communication.

Here I will insert just a note for all those people who, for some reason of their own, have a bone to pick with Jesus. It just seems utterly silly to me, for a variety of reasons. But let me begin by making some things clear.

One: I am not Christian. I grew up as Christian Orthodox, but right now I am happily irreligious. Not atheist, but irreligious, which means, I don't believe in any religion. My 'religion', if I can call it that way, is a mixture of elements, with plenty of my own unique flavour. I am perfectly and happily chaotic. I don't need ritual, but I may use ritual if I feel like it. I usually pray a lot to a multitude of entities from many different pantheons and religions. Praying often includes swearwords and threats. I like to light candles and incense because they help me concentrate and smell good, plus they cleanse the space. But I don't believe I need any kind of middle man, special place or formula to speak to the divine, like a church or an altar. If I need a church, I touch a tree. And if I need an altar, I use my heart.

Two, I don't believe in a Father, Son and Holy spirit. I believe in a Creator/ Creatrix that encompasses both male and female, to whom I refer as God/dess for more ease. I believe in the sanctity of all being, including the nasty bits. I believe in serendipity, synchronicity and providence. I also believe that we're our own worst nightmares and we can easily put demons out of business. And I don't believe that Christ was the son of God any more or less that I and all of you are.

Is it all clear?
Can we proceed?
What is the matter with you people? What is your problem with Jesus?
I see those that say, "oh, the cursed Nazarene, teaching masochism and pain and being a victim as a way of existing."
Okay. Let's take this from the start.

You haven't got a clue what Jesus said. Why? Because you weren't there. That's why. The only way to know what someone has said was to be present when it was said, and even then, there is plenty of room for misunderstaning. Now, you want to take the words of the apostles literally, be my guest. Just keep in mind you are reading a second hand opinion that has passed through countless translations and changes to support and uphold a whole system, something very rotten called organised religion.

Jesus never wanted to begin a new religion. He spoke of love and forgiveness in an era of cruelty and turmoil. He spoke of kindness to strangers. He also attacked organised religion and its hypocrisy and the upholders of the system themselves, by words and actions. Or do you forget that because it does not add up to the profile of the masochist you have created? It was those words and actions plus the fact that he had gathered a huge following that finally got him killed. He was becoming dangerous. Potentially a new force. They did  not want that, so he was crucified. The rest is history.

I see the same people who curse the name of Jesus hug their pets, or have erotic relationships, companions, children. And I want to tell them: the love I see in your eyes, the kindness you show with your words and actions, is the very essence of Jesus energy.

And I see the same people who curse the name of Jesus scream against the rotten system of religion, the hypocrisy of priests and their fanatical followers, and I want to tell them: this, too, is Jesus energy, the very same energy you condemn. Love will not mingle with hypocrisy like water won't mingle with oil. Jesus never accepted hypocrisy. All holy men and women who ever walked this planet never embraced it. This is why most of them got murdered in a variety of ways, or exiled, and they never had a stitch of clothing extra than what they absolutely needed.

As for me, next time I trip and fall down like I usually do I would like someone with the essence of Jesus, Buddha or any of the great teachers in their being, to stop and help me up and ask me if I am OK. They do not have to be Christian or Buddhist; just understand in their heart that we are all connected to each other, and the next person that may trip and fall down may be themselves or someone they love. And they would like someone to stop and help them like they did it for me.

'Nuff said.


Wednesday, June 05, 2013

Yahoo, relationships, and the hermit's point of view.


It's  been five days that I have no access to my primary email account, the one I have registered for almost all social sites I use. Facebook, this blog, bookmooch, thealterium, twitter, tumblr, vistaprint and youtube are connected to it (to name the majority). If I permanently lose access to that account I have a lot of work ahead of me. It's not going to be fun. Let's hope the technicians will be able to fix whatever is wrong with it because I am not the only one who has a problem from what they say.

Sometimes I wonder why we all do what we hate being done to us, like judging.
And sometimes I don't think. Judging is so tightly woven into human nature that it's impossible to avoid.

I've been in a void of partly my own choice. Away from erotic relationships.
I don't want to change that.
It's much like unlearning to eat candy. If you unlearn it, you no longer feel the craving for it from a point onwards.
It's not like I feel no craving.
I just don't want to bother with all that ensue a relationship and intimacy with another person. It's not worth it. I am tired of the trial and error process relationships are. I want to keep my quiet, for the rest of my life if possible.  Not bother what this and that and the other means.
I look around me. I am not blind. Erotic relationships have an expiry date. Those that stay with the other person even after the interest has died out are pretty much buried alive. They stay because they have a child, or joined bank accounts, or they are afraid, or whatever really.
Is any of that a valid reason to stay with a person for the rest of your life? Or is it better to stay with one person and cheat on them because you still want to have interesting sex?
We never really get to know anyone. People are like moons, with a hidden side.
We always think we know others and ourselves.
In reality we know shit.
We make relationships with strangers that remain strangers throughout and even after the end of the relationship.
And how surprised we are when we find out we knew nothing about them and never found out anything, even after years.
All this makes me sick.
There must be a way I can play by different rules, or failing that, not play at all.
I am seeing strange dreams.
I always see strange dreams.
I don't want to do what any of the rest of you do.
I want to play with your perception of reality.
I want to fuck with you and fuck off.
And I am outta here.