The complexity of being

Most of what we think is never known to others.

Passing feelings, notions and ideas are never known to others.

I share myself as much as I am capable of.

Yet there are things that cannot be shared.

Moments when the sunlight has a specific way of illuminating things.

The feeling of being content when I hug my favourite animals.

[Perhaps it is the "here and now" these beings encompass fully that reminds us so well what being content in the present tense is. Not expecting happiness and fulfillment. Not thinking of times past. But BEING here and now.]

There are things I cannot share, perhaps because of our human deficiency, perhaps because I safeguard the inner core of my being in such a manner.

There are those things that cannot be shared and sometimes are driving me insane.

The feeling of sexual hunger for a curve or a smooth line on someone's body.

The hunger for eternity while I immerse myself in the hue of blue on a pre-Raphaelite painting.

The hunger for life itself while watching an astounding performance.

The need for vanity as I caress a smooth fabric.

The yearning to leave as I look at the line of the horizon.

The arbitrary hunger to fly while a splendid sunset blooms like a wound in front of my eyes.

The feeling of power in my guts while my favourite music shakes me to the core.

Those things, and so many more, only remind me of one thing.

Live well.

Love deep.

Forgive.

One day you will close the door behind you and leave it all here.

Make sure you leave no loose ends.

Blessed be.

And the shitty mood persists.

I have no illusions. It all vanishes in a blink.

It disappears faster than snowflakes entrusted in the care of sun.

Life as a collection of misconceptions on the way to the end.

Moments of ecstasy, moments of terror all mixed up like photos thrown out carelessly on the street after someone emptied a house.

Moments. What entire lifetimes consist of.

Precious, meaningless, countless, finite moments.

The sword of my speech is dulled by age and disappointment.

It can no longer reflect my face.

Perhaps the face it reflects is not my own.

Perhaps I do not recognise my own face.

Perhaps I am nothing I can recognise or associate to anymore.

The sword of my soul is dulled by grief and inconsistency.

The sword of my soul is dulled by battles I cannot win and I myself have chosen.

There is no sword, and no soul, and no battles.

Look deeper.

Open your eyes.

And see.

"Some are born in endless night."

It's the dark night of the soul.

Only dawn can follow.

I have seen the face of my enemy.

I have to be careful. If I slip now, it has all been for nothing.

She said he can change or postpone some things but not everything.

She said there are things he cannot postpone or change.

And that's true.

As for what those things are -if they ever happen- it's something that will once more end in tears, grief and heart break.

He wouldn't want to change or postpone that, would he now?

Going around in circles as a small-hours-of-the-night-specialty for the writer.

I wish, oh how I wish I had a smidgen of my past understanding.

A moment of time at your side.

But I cannot stop now.

I cannot rest.

And I am so unbelievably tired that my soul itself feels replaced by ashes.

Life, of course, goes on, and I am still consumed by meaningless chores and meaningless conversations.

I wish I could still my heart.

I wish I could put my heart to rest.

But the hunt is on, and the great beast beats his wings once and soars high.

He cannot be stopped.

Run, hide, do what you want.

In this lifetime it ends, even if I have to go down with you.

It will be worth it.

DEATH XIII

Shopping spree

Now, I have heard of women who buy shoes as shopping therapy. I've heard of those who buy lingerie, jewellery, cosmetics, you name it, change their hair style, begin yoga lessons or go to beauty salons and let other people smear them with all kinds of gooey, sticky and icky substances.

Never heard of one buying a printer as a shopping therapy. I suppose that makes me a freak of nature? Meh. :-P

Still have not found any salons where sensible, well-developed young men give you a massage and then screw you till your eyeballs pop out. :-)

Yes, I am buying magazines with Japanese singers again. And my friend K. is downloading porn with Asian men for me. Again. God bless her (un)holy fingertips and her gift-bringing, eye-bulging, orgasm-sharing internet connection, I have nekkid Asians in my hard drive, in various stages of getting hard for my eyes only. Bless you girl. That latest Thai one was... mmmgrrr. Mew!

The problems Asian rock stars present me with are endless, and my hormones are presently cascading like a waterfall from the mount Venus. First of all, it's the glitter and the eye-liner they use. Why oh why? Why not let me draw on their skinny bodies with pieces of praline? Where is the sense in getting onstage to sing wearing only bits of fur and suspenders? Why is my rabid grace endlessly tortured with pictures of boys who barely reach my nose, all made up like a present, hairless and skinny, with ding-dongs that look like my finger? (That latest bit I choose to ignore on the grounds that, with another race, I'll never have the chance to fuck with a male someone who wears more make-up than I do and looks prettier in a skirt than I). Even worse, what in the name of Buddha was God/dess thinking when S/he placed them at the other side of the globe? (probably their safety...)

On the happy side of nonsensical news, here is a new video by Dir En Grey. I am sure K. will appreciate watching her precious Die (the charming guitarist who resembles a hardcore Yakuza criminal) with his arms covered in what looks like infected dragon scales. I surely enjoyed it. Kyo is singing in his usual amazing style, like a man who accidentally swallowed first a smurf, than half a dozen frogs and finally a pit demon. The bassist is one of the most exquisite creatures you can hope to come across, with a neck that can make even a zealot vampire hunter develop strange urges. And the drummer... Mmmm. Pistachio.

*Mmmmm*. Busy licking imaginary neck right now. Talk to you later.

I am just so tired.

And work never seems to end.

And no escape seems possible.

And the time is always now.

And I just want to get some rest.

But he, the Judas, won't let me.

I wonder if I am the only one in this position.

Obviously not.

But I cannot see anymore.

Others, or myself.

Nothing.

Ah, all the supernaturals power of the multiverse can go fuck themselves for all I care.

I would indeed sacrifice not one, but two fingers.

One for your unlikely lover, whomever he may be, to walk true, right into your arms.

And one for that small dream of mine.

Thank god we have each other, my oyabun.

Madness lurks just too close tonight.

Much needed inspiration...

Moonspell: Scorpion flower

Curse the day, hail the night

Flower grown in the wild

In your empty heart

In the breast that feeds

Flower worn in the dark

Can I steal your mind for a while?

Can I stop your heart for a while?

Can I freeze your soul and your time?

Scorpion flower

Token of death

Ignite the skies with your eyes

And keep me away from your light

Surrender tears to your mortal act

Flower cursed be thy fruit

Of your courage last

Of your grand finale

Flower crushed in the ground

In your empty heart

In the breast that feeds

Flower worn in the dark

Can I steal your mind for a while?

Can I stop your heart for a while?

Can I freeze your soul and your time?

Scorpion flower

Token of death

Ignite the skies with your eyes

In your empty heart

In the breast that feeds

Flower worn in the dark

Can I steal your mind for a while?

Can I stop your heart for a while?

Can I freeze your soul and your time?

Scorpion flower

Token of death

Ignite the skies with your eyes

(Song from the latest Moonspell album, Night Eternal. Full of my favourite themes: Lucifer, Lilith and darkness. The scorpion symbol an added bonus.)

Small steps

Tattoo number two is at place. Now both forearms are decorated on the inside, in a rather unusual way for a girl. Then again, I am a rather unusual girl from what I gather.

I am sick and tired of those who come to me with problems they have absolutely no intention of solving and then get mad when I tell them so. It happened today. Then again, I have no patience and I owe no-one explanations. They can just take their leave from my life. I am not expecting anyone to solve their problems. But I surely expect them to keep them for themselves since they love them so much that they can't part with them. I have enough of my own. The fact I tend to keep them for myself or talk about them only to people I trust does not mean I have no problems. So let's try not to screw my nerves and turn them to shreds, eh? I'd appreciate it.

I've hit rock bottom concerning things I want to do. I mostly let things happen to me. And things do happen. Short stories and poems, fights because I am forced to reclaim my space and kick intruders out, little creatures coming out to greet me and me shitting myself (hehe, some occult practitioner that I am xD), total strangers considering me a blessing while friends are turning to strangers, or are rediscovered as the weeds that they are. Life goes on with me following suit. And there is nothing I want to do anymore. Perhaps this is trust; perhaps I am dead and rotting while still conveniently walking around. However I am calmer than what I have been in years. I suppose this is as good a compass as any.

Now all I have to do is find a way to lose my tummy so that I can once more fit in tighter pants. Maybe I can forget it in a bar and someone else will accidentally pick it up? :-D

The vacation is over.

[ Beautiful art by http://directors-cat.deviantart.com]

I have managed to see quite a few people these days. Which makes me quite happy as all these people are important to me. No matter how much I try, I cannot exist in a void outside space and time. I need people. And I dare say my friends need me too.

I spent some time with my best friend, and it was quality time. We walked around a lot. We sat in a playground late at night and made little shapes with small stones on a bench. We shared little moments of magic and joy and swapped humorous tales. He is a true blessing in my life.

I saw a few more people too. I will not refer to them one by one but seeing them made me happy. I burned their brains with beautiful photographs and pictures. We moaned and nagged and complained to each other. We agreed that no-one can sleep well after the two eclipses, and when we finally manage to sleep the quality of sleep we get is lamentable. We also all agreed that we need some major changes in our lives, but don't know when these changes will take place or what will appear. We joked to each other and promised we will kidnap each other; that the first of us to get out will just grab the rest somehow till we are all saved. Or that's the plan anyway.

I am blessed with friends who know how to listen, make me laugh, are talented, funny, giving, and remind me what I am made of when I myself forget. I am blessed with their kindness and understanding, their humor and creations. I am surrounded by an army of angels, some of them fallen, some tattooed and pierced, some with nasty habits and odd interests, all of them with dark minds and most of them with dirty mouths, too. I am a lucky woman because they put up with me, support me and never complain. This should not be taken for granted.

The only one missing as per usual is you. :-( I wonder when you'll finally make your appearance.

I needed that!

I discovered this band by accident. Not so much an accident, really, as I fell in love with their name and looked them up in youtube. You can call me shallow, kitsch, artistically blind, but hell they made my mood better. And you have to agree on the fact Eugene, the singer, is a cult icon. It is one of the most electrifying, stunning live performances I have seen in ages. My hips instinctively obeyed to the calling of this music and started moving by their own volition. People in the Internet cafe for the past two nights must have been thinking that I am having seizures. Whatevah. Enjoy, unless you are one of those constipated types that only respond positively to black tie events. There is just too much scrotal sweat involved in Gogol Bordello for your taste, so please visit some other blog. :-)

Eugene, marry me!

[Alas, how have the mighty fallen... heheheh]

Breathe in, breathe out.

Music: System of a Down: Toxicity.

If I was my character, Dorian, I would have gone out hunting. The night is deliciously cold and crisp and it smells like winter. The air has a razor quality that cuts through clothes and freezes the face, but in a pleasant way. And the sky is such a dark blue that puts any fabric to shame.

If I were Dorian I would be walking out nearly invisible, looking for the one to kill, the one to quench my thirst. Not for blood. For sky. Killing is one more way of deifying one's self. However Dorian is a vampire, and that's a handy excuse for killing. A vampire is no longer human. It does not obey to the same laws a human does. A wolf is only expected to kill, after all. And we have lost the archetype of the hunter long ago. Or perhaps upon returning to the collective and diving back inside, it emerged as the vampire this time. The urban figure of the dangerous, alluring stranger. But I am straying from my original thought. And my original thought is related to killing.

My dark side is having a party. It is okay. I invited all my demons out to get to know them better. They talk to me, and the things they say are more than just tempting... They are delicious. That's probably the reason I will never understand vegans. Killing is a sacred act. Killing is not alien to our nature. I suspect that people would have a much better relationship with death and loss if we still had to catch and kill our own food. And as for all those people freaking out at the mere thought of taking advantage of someone innocent, there is nothing more tempting than the destruction of innocence. That's natural to us too, and only cowards would deny its pull.

I need to voice out my darkest callings. I need to let them roam free inside my head, or else I will burst. If thoughts were a crime, we would all be behind bars or in padded cells. Yes, I would love to kill, or scare someone witless. Yes, I would love to take something beautiful and destroy it utterly. And I would certainly pick the most beautiful and charismatic I could find from the human crowds, and also find them at an age I would be able to work on them as if they were clay. No, I would not kill them. I would turn their world view upside down and make them like me. I would make them worship their egos as the only god that exists in this sad age. I would create little viruses like myself and I would unleash them. And through the opposition I would only serve my part of the plan. Sad, isn't it? In all our glory and creativity, and though possessing the strongest weapon that exists -the human mind- we can only serve one of the two basic urges: love and death. Sex and power. We cannot escape our glands and genitals. We cannot think of something beyond that, and even if we can, human language cannot pinpoint it or describe it. Lovecraft tried to second guess alien gods. Arthur Miller and Arthur Machen tried to hint of Iago, to describe pure evil. The anti-saint. And all the average human can think of is money and pleasure. Sad.

At nights like this one I am happy. Content with the taste of winter on my lips and the sense of wild joy in my heart. As if I am the one leading the hunt, and there is a strong horse between my thighs and miles of snow-covered forest ahead of me, with no sign of humans anywhere, with no human city to be encountered ahead of me. Because they don't exist yet. I am happy to look at the night sky and watch my breath crystallise. I am fulfilled.

Heartache

Image: Yoshitaka Amano

 

This is a moment of happiness. Coffin: The art of Vampire Hunter D by Yoshitaka Amano is in my hands, a huge volume gathering all the fantastic works that Amano ever made on this hero. Words can't describe the feedback one gets through his creations, the longing to be somewhere else, to be someone else. For if our parents, religion, sexual preferences, place of origin, colour of skin and even sex mean nothing, what's left of us is our legacy. Or is it? Amano was hoping this art book to be part of his legacy. What is going to be mine? Friendship books? Old letters? Do actions matter at all? What people see, what people say about one, does it matter? When my ashes will be travelling the planet, will other people's opinion matter in the least?

We all exist to nourish God/dess

What kind of nourishment do I offer to Him/her?

True art makes me weak, and don't get me started on what true art is. Just remember those times you ceased to breathe in front of a work of art. There, that's true art for you.

Moonlight...

Last night I went to rooftop. The moon is nearly full, but not yet. I could hear the birds of night, uttering their monotonous songs with what sounded like reverence; I could feel the wind carrying all those news and bits of information. Life being created and life ending. Ghosts resting gently upon mossy rocks. Teenagers dancing. The city mysteriously alive, pulsing, breathing. The moon illuminating everything with a secret smile. My heart felt like it was ready to burst with longings I could not put to words. I wanted out. I wanted to float like a balloon and follow the silver brilliance to its source, vanish. Be gone. Disappear. I wanted so many things, too many to count. My entire being is made up of longings...

Night walk

Sometimes, late at night, the urge strikes me to go for a walk. I take my MP3 and off I go, letting my feet guide me. The place I live is close to a mount and a forest of sorts, but I walk the streets. They are a maze.

I walk quietly, or I might go dancing and singing if the song is inspiring and the mood is right. Most of the time I am what I strive to be in real life too: an observer. I walk by and steal glimpses of the lives of other people. I see their gardens. I stop and smell their flowers, or touch their trees. When a room has the light on, I stop and observe the house. I see what kind of feedback I get. Would I like to live there? I often wonder what I would be like if I had grown in that house and had been in the company of different people. Would I be different? Then I count the lighted windows, estimating how many people are not sleeping, much like I am not. Are they expecting something? Are they insomniacs? Perhaps they are guardians, even without knowing. Perhaps they are suffering, or making love, or staying up till late watching this or the other film. Or maybe they are tormented by others, or tormenting themselves or others. Are they happy? Are they sad? Do they realise time flies? Do they strive for the best they can, or they hold back, afraid of fate, others, themselves? Do they live at all?

I don’t envy the lives of others. I know I will never get to live their lives and don’t want that to begin with. It’s me I am always talking to/with. Through my eyes and personality I interpret reality and am content being myself. Yet there are times I wonder, how many of these people will come to be meaningful to me, how many will be indifferent or even enemies, how many of them will be my lovers, which one (if any) will be the one to kill me, though ill intent or otherwise. Does it matter? No, it doesn’t. Those are just questions to pass time. What does matter is that time passes.

Do you ever see me passing by? Do you realise I am talking to your flowers or myself? Do you think me crazy? Do you crane your neck trying to catch a glimpse of the glorious night sky which envelopes the whole planet? Do you realise how tiny you, me, we all are, how easily a tragedy can take place, stripping you bare from everything you consider familiar, from your security and preconceived notions of life? Do you tell to those people that matter to you how you feel about them? Do you spend a few minutes every day with the one you love, be it a parent, companion, child, pet, or craft? Do you let them know you are there? Or do you just let time pass, thinking about bills and wages and pussy and dick? Do you really care? Do you see? Not just look, but see? 

Open your eyes

The night sky is clear tonight and the stars are a sight to behold

The night is sweet, and mostly quiet, and smells of flowers and spring

The earth awakens

Every moment, with every breath you take you change, you become a different person, a different version of yourself

Every moment, with every breath you take, millions of cells in your body die and new are created and your consciousness is begging you to make that one step that separates thought from action

Open your eyes. Wake up from your coma.

This is your life, right here, right now. This is your life, so you might as well live it.

Open your eyes.

You might just see me passing by.

Goodnight.

Brainfuck

I watched the movie "What the blip do we know" a couple of days ago. I have not been the same since. Make sure to somehow see it: steal it, rent it, download it... I don't care. Just watch the bloody thing, to realise why you do the things you do, and what really stops you from being happy. Still here? Go grab it!

Drooling (in secret)

Saw one of my ex today, the one I could end up in jail for dating by age difference alone. Kiddo looks good. Big lie. Kiddo looks downright gorgeous, making me wonder what drugs the creators were on when they added the finishing touches. Whatever it was, it was some fucking good shit, you know? They should buy from the same dealer a whole lot more often. Anyway, kiddo says he owes me a hug, and I have to admit I am tempted to ask for more. It's really hard to still be mad at him, though he sometimes does have the tendency to let his mouth flap unchecked. What do you expect, woman? He is only 19, godsdammit. Well, I have stopped trying to be mad a long time ago. I just can't. He makes me proud just by being himself: tall, gorgeous, smiling like a kitten, so very intelligent. His thirst for life betrays his true age. Oh, fuck it. He grows up and I grow old, but can't help but smile whenever our paths cross. Keep up the good work, kid. Kick them in the nuts. Way to go luv.