Allergic to humans (a serial killer in the making)

I went to visit a couple I know. 

I returned home incensed and disappointed with the human race.

I am tired of human beings. I know the particular people aren't the paragon of open-mindedness, yet I was reminded of it, and if I had been reminded of it in fifty years, it would have been too soon.

You know what? I am disgusted by humans in general. I am sick and tired of hearing the characterisation 'abnormal' for those whose sexuality doesn't agree with the speaker's point of view. My stomach turns by the fact we live in a society that 'normal' is the majority's point of view, and the majority expresses close-minded, homophobic, misogynistic, racist, sexist, insulting and patronising points of view. They label their bias arguments and then call me insulting because I don't want to discuss with them. No, when you are saying about someone "his ass was itching and asking for it" because they are gay, I am sorry, I don't want to discuss with you. I don't want to discuss with a person who links morality and ethics with an anatomical orifice. I don't want to discuss with someone who labels 'degenerate' another human being they don't know just because they know their sexuality, and demean their value as person based on that. What I want to do instead is get in one of those ships we sent to space to give to aliens information about the human race. I would have included the following information on the sketch of our solar system: a gigantic red "X" on earth, with a note that would read "BOMB HERE" in the five most-spoken languages of the galaxy. Please bomb us before our stupidity breaks free of all boundaries and infects the rest of the universe with the disgusting vomit we call mental processes. We are the cancer of this solar system, high and mighty bacteria with delusions of grandeur that need to be exterminated asap. PLEASE come here and wipe us out of existence. Honestly, I don't mind dying if I'm going to take all the stupid ones with me. It will be the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of the planet, solar system, equilibrium, you name it. To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, we lower the IQ and empathy of the entire galaxy. We need to go back into being stardust, in the hope of forming something better next time. I don't want the kind ones to die too, but you know what, they will probably suffer less if they stop being surrounded by the stupid ones, so to hell with it. Kill us all, turn us into dust. Leave the planet be, she is perfectly innocent. But show no mercy to humans. I swear to you I will be thanking you with my last breath.

I know I should not bother. I know others are not my problem or my responsibility. I know I should not take it personally or become angry. But you know what? It's too fucking many of them and they are fucking everywhere. I don't dare open my mouth and express my true opinion on anything anymore, for fear of running into one of them. And I DO. I do run into them, they are like clockwork, they are more widespread than hydrogen. I have to police my mouth because I belong to the minority who thinks that all people regardless of colour, gender, age, sexuality, religion, etc, need to be treated as human beings, need to be protected, given food, water, shelter, education, health insurance, and a safe place where they can live and flourish and love and grow old by the side of the ones they love. I HAVE TO HIDE THIS FROM OTHERS OR I HAVE TO FIGHT AND ARGUE WITH THEM BECAUSE I BELIEVE IN THOSE THINGS, I BELIEVE EVERYONE DESERVES TO BE HAPPY AND SAFE. I HAVE TO LISTEN TO THEM CALL OTHERS ABNORMAL, DISGUSTING OR PROVOKING BECAUSE THEY HAVE A DIFFERENT SEXUAL ORIENTATION. AND I ALSO HAVE TO LISTEN TO THEM TELL ME I'M THE WEIRD ONE BECAUSE I CAN'T LISTEN TO OTHER OPINIONS THAN MY OWN, AND HAHA, HINT HINT, THIS REVEALS I AM THE ONE WITH THE CLOSED MIND. REALLY NOW?

If those aliens came and bombed us tomorrow, I would have died screaming, "what the fuck took you so goddamn long?"

And this is the reason I cry every single time I remember my late friend. BECAUSE SHE WASN'T LIKE THAT. AND THERE ARE SO FUCKING FEW OF US, SWIMMING UPSTREAM WITH OUR IDEALS AND HOPES, AND WE BECOME FEWER EVERY YEAR. THAT'S WHY I FUCKING CRY. 

FUCK YOU ALL. I AM SICK OF YOU. DIE ALREADY. DO THIS PLANET A FAVOUR, DO ME A FAVOUR AND DIE ALREADY. LEAVE ME ALONE.

Needless to say, I won't be visiting that couple again any time soon. 

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Are you sure about that?

Cause if you are, that's okay.
You can tell me, you know. You can tell me the truth. I won't tell anyone.
I would never tell anyone.
You've trusted me with your secrets before. I didn't pity you for them. I didn't patronise or judge you.
Once you told me that my stories made you feel awkward and freaked you out because it was like I knew those secrets of your past you had told no-one else.
That didn't stop you from reading my entire blog.
There was a ticket bought for me that went to someone else, and a promise you wanted to keep and didn't manage to. That's okay.
But please, let me know. Somehow, in some way, tell me I need to stop crying because you are okay. And I will keep it a secret.
All I want is to stop crying.
Please.
I won't tell anyone. I swear I won't.
I just need closure, even if you never speak to me again afterwards. I won't ask you to.
Just one phrase, or one word.
Tell me you are okay.
Goodnight.

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Has it been a year already?

A year without you? No, it can't be.
I am always thinking that you are somewhere and you're very busy and this is why I haven't heard from you. But you're okay. That's what I always think. That you are just busy. And late at night, when the knowledge of you being gone becomes an itch I can't scratch, or a burden that chokes me, I cry quietly. I've given up trying to make sense. I can't.
I miss you. I always miss you. I miss you quietly, or I miss you desperately, or I pretend I don't. But I do.
You knew me well enough to be able to second-guess me. You cared deeply and wholeheartedly and with no strings attached.
The next book is going to be dedicated to you and no-one else.
You were a blessing that keeps illuminating me even now.
I love ballet, and deviants, and loved this one.
I wish I could show it to you.

I miss you.

It appears that this is the year I lost two of my most beloved beings; Virve and my fluffy ginger cloud of a cat. 

Damn it.

Writing as a second life

Writing, writing, writing... My fingers have been dancing an endless, monotonous dance across the keyboard for as long I remember. Before that it was across the paper. Same difference.

It's like the argument with the chicken and the egg. I am no longer certain which came first. I don't know if I write because I need, or I write because I am needed. I don't know. I don't care. All I know is I can't stop. I write letters, keep a diary, have two blogs, I am between two books and one novel(la). I have also been gestating a bloody saga in my head for the past twenty years. I live so many different lives with countless different names, each hero a distinct voice inside my mind. I am a living shadow that connects everything, I exist everywhere at once and at the same time I'm no part of it.

Maybe my heroes pray to me, and if they indeed do, they worship a very cruel mistress. I only do what I think is fair and inevitable. I can't protect them. I can't even protect myself. I try to recreate life the way I understand it and the way I perceive life may be screwed and fucked up six ways to Sunday. Still I do my best to recreate it and infuse it with the wonder I miss.

I have so many secrets. Not from the ones I keep close. They know everything, they have been given the keys, yet I've never told them which key goes where. The unicorn holds most of them. Even she doesn't see all of me. She knows so much because she has gained my trust, or rather, because she has never betrayed my trust. At the same time there are vaults even I have no access to. The keys to them are held by the Firstborn, her father. My memories are there, and my name, and my crimes and miracles sleeping entangled in one another, mingling breaths and sharing their warmth.

And now it's time for betrayal, isn't it? Why? Because we are weak. We take true blessings and throw them in the mud, and seek gratification in all the wrong places. We only appreciate what we have when we lose it. If only I could save her from that choice. Yet she is human, and must enter the fire to gain access to knowledge. She must suffer.

And you still have no clue what I am talking about.

And I pity her as much as if she was a real person, if not more because she is a part of me.

 Still she must suffer.

At nights I ask you where you are. You don't reply. You can't.

And I read your blog and it's a voice across space and time, defying even death.

It's no wonder I am writing, is it?

Officially beat and writing fan-fiction.

 Australian flying foxes (species of bats) . All together now: AAAAAAAWWWWWWW!

Running around like mad today. I am glad I managed to get things done. But, presently I feel that awkward combination of tiredness, being hyper and restless and craving something I can't get my finger on.

Oh, I actually can get my finger on it just fine, I just can't have what I want, thank you very much.

I do wish I had the same unshakable resolve when it came to eating sweets. I wouldn't look the way I do.

This is a combination of all the wrong things creating a nice potent combination of melancholy, arousal, useless passion and low self-esteem. I do like myself, very much in fact. Enough to dislike most people I come across because their moral code is not as strict as mine. I do not judge them. I just do not like them and know I can expect very little from them. At the same time I am perfectly aware of my own faults and the cracks in my own mask of so-called perfection. I am an unlikely combination of a misanthrope joined at the hip with an altruist. Most of the time I want to rebuild this world, and then there are times I just want to destroy it all, crush it under my heel and let nature, gods or chance sort the mess out. I see right through most humans I come across, and I am bored, and sick of them, sick of life, bored of death, simultaneously uncaring and desperate, perpetually thirsty and locked up and unavailable like the goddamn frost maiden, sick of myself and clinging onto myself like a baby at its dead mother's tit.

I am just tired, and nothing will change unless I get off my ass and change it.

The trouble is that I am scared out of my wits, absolutely terrified of what will happen if I even try.

I do try. Baby steps, tiny little baby steps, little by little. Better than no steps at all.

I get discouraged every two to three steps. I think I will never make it, never go anywhere, never reach any safe place. Just remain stuck here.

I write fan fiction to quench my thirst for the unattainable. I have no other solution. I write my own version of marriages made in hell and my insolent fingers play the chords of the wrong characters like they are harps. I toy with them from a safe distance and pretty much write like there are demons on my heels. Twelve thousand words in just three days and I am not done yet. You see, there are indeed demons on my heels. They are called CV, job finding, and the rest of that unhappy lot. Give me villains, serial killers, the cream of lunatics. None of them terrifies me as much as the word 'resume'. Give me man-eating men and monsters, give me sadists, pedophiles, the lowest of the low. Anything you want. I will write it for you and make it rock your world, or even better, write it and rock my world till my titties are salsa-dancing. Just keep the job search and the CV editing away from me. I am absolutely terrified. 

I head back to my fan-fiction. I am writing this for myself, I say, and yet I can't help not share with my best friend. She is the only one who will not call me weak and stupid, will ignore my improvisations and not judge me.

Even monsters need a friend. Even gods of death need a home. Everyone needs to belong somewhere, to a person, place, or the memory of one.

By the way, I have not forgotten you. I still expect a letter from you. Then I remember you are gone. And the God of Death comes and gives to that knife stuck in my gut that charming extra twist.

I have so very, very few friends. The tiniest portion of humans manage to pass the threshold into my heart and every single one of them is not treated as a friend, but as a small miracle.

In your case, someone decided to take the miracle back.

I am patient. I will dig that little bastard out and sooner or later I'll be the one holding the knife.

The pen is mightier than the sword indeed. 

This one is for you.

An 800 year old Icelandic hymn sung in a German train station. Ancient married to modern. Circumstance married to providence. An amalgam of contradictions like you were.

I hope you can hear it through me.

Taken from here.

http://whatever.scalzi.com/

Empty skins

I have become an outsider. I don’t know any of your friends and feel cut off for good. I loved you so much and now I am an outsider because you, the link that united us all, are not here, and I don’t know if I like any of those people. I knew you, I loved you, I cared about you, and all I have left from you are letters, emails, messages and a circle of total strangers, some of them famous, who knew you personally and I have no place among them.

At night I listen to music and you come to my mind, and the pain just blooms and withers, blooms and withers, like blood escaping from an open wound. Each heartbeat makes it expand and vanish, expand and vanish in flowers of scarlet. I feel so awkward, so isolated in my mourning because I can’t share it with anyone who knew you. I was just the random person who happened to land in your circle because you opened your arms and took me into your embrace and now you’re gone.

How the fuck am I supposed to deal with that?

Oh, I go on, don’t worry, I go on and write and breathe and brush my teeth and suffer fools gladly just like I did before you were gone. But sometimes during the day or late at night I extend my hand and touch a solid object and then once more realise you are no longer here. The indisputable reality of matter under my touch just makes your absence bigger, harder to swallow and completely irrational. I can’t, won’t wrap my head around the fact you’re no longer here. I know I could talk to you about everything and anything, I could tell you my troubles and you would understand, and even if you failed to understand you’d never judge, and then you’d say something funny or try to offer me advice or relate something from your own life. I speak of my troubles to so few people, and you were one of them, and now, you’re one of them no longer and I hit the keys on my computer and cry and nothing changes. No matter how long and how hard I cry, what I write or don’t say, what I do or don’t dare, there will never be another conversation with you, there will never be another letter from you, and no-one will understand me the way you did.

I just miss you so much my silly Finnigami.

I miss you so much it’s like time has stopped.

If I could get my hands on Time I’d strangle the living daylights out of him for the trick he pulled on us both.

Damn it.

Friends and 'friends'.

It’s been a fun week, and I guess it’s going to be even more fun as the days pass by. I have a sore back, presently on the mend. I found an abandoned kitten and I am trying to find a home for her. I have been called delusional and insane. I have also been accused of disloyalty by the same person who called me delusional and insane. Funny thing being, in the ten years that I know her, that person has never been loyal to me. I could try to explain to her, of course, or tell her my side of the story. However, in my 36 years of life here I’ve noticed that an alarming percentage of humans deny everything when you point out their own mistakes and also become enraged on top of that because they can't be anything less than perfect. Besides, maybe the notion of loyalty for me and for that person means different things. So as per usual I shrugged and let it pass. I wait and see what else will come to knock on my door.

My friend who passed over less than a month ago was very loyal to me. She genuinely cared.  In her case,  she understood loyalty the way I too understand it. She wasn’t antagonistic, didn’t ogle the ones I liked and wanted to see me happy. She did care. She didn’t care because I was doing her any favours. She never asked for favours to begin with. She understood and respected the concept of limited time and energy. My sensitive information was safe with her. She’d never use it to exploit me or gain leverage. And whenever I shared good news with her, it put a smile on her face.

I am writing, and that’s something in itself. It’s slow and a bit scary and it’s happening if I set my mind to it. For good or for ill, who knows. I draw breath too and I am not sure what, if something, comes out of it.

I need to get rid of more books as I have so many of them at the moment. I read two, I still have about 70 unread. Life goes on. Ha ha.

Why did you have to go? I know you loved me, and nowadays there are so few of those who do love me with no strings attached. Why did it have to be you? You really cared, and now that void can’t be filled and won’t be filled by anyone else. 

Why couldn’t I help you? I have helped so many others, and in some cases I didn’t care about them, at least no more than I care about everything that draws breath and has the capability to feel. I should have helped you more than anyone else. However, I couldn’t. And it bothers me.

I miss you so much and I know with the passing of time I am only going to miss you more. My pearl, my dear, my precious Finnigami. You had to go and leave me with all the eejits and the cunts. I miss you like I miss my moments of happiness. I miss your jokes, your moral code, your talents and more than anything, your kindness. People sometimes don’t understand that when I keep my mouth shut and don’t tell them what I really think, that too is a form of kindness.

It just isn’t fair to lose you from all people. It isn’t, or maybe fair means different things to different states of being. I don’t know. What I know is that it hurts.

You can't be serious.

 

You can't be gone. Not like that. We've never met. I've never held your hand. We never chatted. We never kissed. We never hugged. I haven't heard your voice.

You can't be gone. I know you will message me, email me, or write me a letter. You'll send me something, I'll send you something. I bought tea for you, I know you love that tea. You can't be gone. You never gave me an address to send you your tea.

You can't be gone. I love you so much. I need you here. I need you to stay. Your husband, your children need you to stay. You have so much more music to write, love to make, hugs to give to the ones you love. This must be a joke, and when I find out the one behind it, they will pay in blood.

You can't be gone.

You can't.

In was crying one entire day before the news of your departure arrived- how many more days, weeks, months, times will I be crying for you?

Stop this nonsense.

Stop it right now.

You're breaking my heart.

3/8/1977-12/3/2014

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2011/11/all-those-born-with-wings.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/03/hide-and-seek-and-you-may-find.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/06/seen-things-you-people-wouldnt-believe.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/06/blog-post.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/12/friends-from-afar.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2013/03/birth-day.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2013/05/voodoo-and-stainless-steel-panties.html

Voodoo and stainless steel panties.

I was reading about Voodoo, Hoodoo, African indigenous religions and Santeria for two or three hours yesterday. It was research for the novel. It paid off, but if someone was to see the history of my computer they'd rub their eyes at first and pack their stuff immediately afterwards.

I realised that the super handsome guy with the long black hair who has been a regular at a penpal's  Facebook is one of the four members of Apocalyptica. In fact the one I consider the funniest and handsomest of all four. That's why he looked familiar. *facepalm* I had not realised, partly because my penpal/ friend never told me and partly because remembering long Finnish names is not my forte. Then again she never said anything about composing or contributing to a lot of their songs either. That calls for some serious ass whacking as soon as I get her ass in my hands.  Not for any other reason, but because I suspect this is merely the tip of the iceberg of what she has not told me. I know she is reading my blog, so buying herself a stainless steel pair of panties for our first meeting sounds like advice she should take. After I cuddle her to her near death, a spanking is in order. Of course, with her being in Japan and everything it seems highly unlikely I'll ever do meet her. Don't ask me what she's doing in Japan. I don't know. She hasn't told me. *sigh and aaarghhh*

I think I am about to finish the first book(?) of my trilogy (???). It came sooner than I expected, after using a tool called 'word count' (bwahaha :D) and the realisation it's actually a good point to stop. But even as I start tying loose ends, I can't help wondering. Wondering about a lot of things. Phoooey. My friend H. says he will read it although in his case the meter for homophobia would show a solid eleven in a climax of ten. In fact he said some very sweet things to me yesterday and helped me snap out of my depression. :) We may disagree on a lot but in his case there is one thing I can count on. He loves me, just as I love him. If he sees me happy, he'll be happy. And he's a person who has always had absolute faith in my writing. I cannot thank him enough for that.

I want ice cream. :P Served on the smooth skin of a teenage elven boy. :P :P :P

I'll say something that is perhaps self-explanatory, or has been said far too often.

Thank God/dess for music, for without music I wouldn't have those last negligible bits of sanity left in me.

Thank the entire Universe for art and the kindness of strangers.

I need to write a blog entry on Jesus Christ. Maybe next time.