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 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.