That's what I keep telling myself. Again, and again.
They cannot stop me unless I stop.
They can't stop me unless I give up. If I give up, they have succeeded.
They are idiots, because I can't really stop. It's not a choice. Asking me to stop breathing would have been easier.
I can't stop seeing. I can't stop writing. I can't stop understanding. It's the way I am wired. The same brain that discerns patterns and responds to specific kinds of music is the mind that has hosted freaks and monsters and wonders for as long as it exists. Yes, conditioning plays a part, but there is genetic predisposition and there is also something called soul.
I follow in the footsteps of Hecate, gathering freaks and lost souls from the crossroads of life, gathering the weird ones around me. Strength in numbers, because everyone and everything is against us. Against decency, humanity, understanding, common sense, dignity, hope. This is war, and it has been going on for as long as humanity exists, and it has never been better or worse. There are periods of remission and periods where the struggle is violent and visible. The struggle never stops, and it is inside as much as outside because this is the way of life. As above, so below, within and without.
Right now in Ohio men in power want to completely abolish abortion and jail women on the mere suspicion.
In countless countries being gay still gets you the death penalty.
Trafficking is worse than ever. Wars have provided the jaws of the Machine with an endless supply of fresh meat.
The entire world stumbles towards blind, mindless, bloody chaos, and I put one foot in front of the other even if I have to clench my teeth to do it.
They cannot stop you unless you stop.
Ο μόνος τρόπος να σε σταματήσουν είναι να σταματήσεις.
Keep moving. Don't let them silence you. There are truths that aren't negotiable. Keep going.
People have problems. Serious problems. They begin with the best of intentions and somewhere along the way they lose the plot.
Losing the plot is OK. I've lost it countless times myself. This blog is a testimony of having lost the plot repeatedly and thankfully having found it again. I have been delusional, I have been living in dreamland, I've been lost in fantasies because there are times reality honestly sucks. So I'm OK with losing the plot. We all do it from time to time.
Do you know what's not, under any circumstances OK? Being so certain you know what's happening that you disregard any opinion different than your own. That's not OK. Why?
We live in a world of subjective reality. Reality can't be objective. Every person perceives reality in a different way. For example, some people can't perceive colour. Others are slightly, or completely deaf. Even those lucky female prodigies who can see a few million colours (I'm told they have a mutation of the X chromosome) can't see in infrared or beyond ultraviolet. Even those with superb hearing can't catch infrasounds, or ultrasounds. Just imagine how many colours we can't see, how many sounds we can't hear, how many energy variations we can't perceive. What we can perceive is in effect very little compared to what we can't.
Having said that, and that alone, it's self-explanatory we know fuck all about the world that surrounds us. Practically, we know shit. And that's fine as long as you're aware of it. The problem begins when someone is certain of something to the point of dogmatic bigotry. One would have thought that the fact we know shit about the world we live in would be insurance against such attitudes, but hell no. We behave as if we know everything and we can bet our lives on it. That's where the problem begins.
I steer clear of conspiracy theories because life tends to be more complex and weirder than even the wildest theories. I also despise New Age and feel disgust for those hacks who sell people a one-size-fits-all solution for 399.90 plus P&P. No, realigning your chakras will do nothing to improve your life, unless you get off your ass and DO something. Sorry to disappoint. There's no such thing as a free meal or painless self-improvement. However, being who I am and what I am, I've often had to tread the unhealthy territory of energy-related research. Well, conspiracy theorists lurk there like athlete's foot lurks in sweaty trainers, and I'm sorry to say, they stink twice as much.
I recently started a research in orgonites. Orgonites are a very real thing, because they have nothing to do with spirits, bizarre theories or one's ancestors. They transmute energy. They turn shitty energy into healthy energy and protect from electromagnetic pollution. So I started researching, reading, comparing. Found this guy who knows his orgonites. He makes and sells some amazing items. I was excited, because it seemed too good to be true. And it was. This guy (who's also vegan because meat is killing us and a smoker) is certain that the Reptilians are the ones responsible for people being gay. In addition to that, anyone who isn't Greek and white belongs to an evil conspiracy to turn the world population into a homogeneous soup of (gasp!) mixed races. (Son of a gun, this is some serious shit. I already feel my purely Greek genes and vagina shuddering in fear.) So we must stop the refugees from coming to our country (or going to any country in general) because they are, in reality, the hordes of evil incarnate and the servants of Reptilians.
Um, sorry, what?
Now, you go and buy his orgonites, keeping in mind they contain quartz crystals in them, and quartz crystals absorb information the same way a sponge absorbs water. Quartz can be programmed to keep and transmit information ad infinitum, and what's worse, the orgonite by its very nature re-enforces the transmitted information. So you have this guy who makes amazing orgonites, only to have them buzz like a beehive with his bias, hatred and paranoia. If I made the mistake of buying from him, I'd be sick within hours of receiving his creations, and you can't cleanse orgonites. The quartz crystals are deep inside the matrix of the construction, frozen inside the resin. You can't immerse them in water to cleanse them, you can't help them in any way. The only way to contain the damage is bury the orgonite, and they are fucking expensive to substitute them for carrots in your garden.
How do you say to such a person that for all their technical knowledge and ingenuity they've lost the plot? Answer: you don't. You don't because they will tell you you are a servant of Reptilians (or a person of alien DNA, or a soulless human, or whatever characterisation they give to anyone who challenges their fossilised life theory) and disregard you. Oh, and they will also tell you you aren't open-minded and your intelligence leaves a lot to be desired. Then they'll ride off into the sunset in pursuit of their 'holy' purpose. And damn, I don't even have red hair that I love so much in order to be a soulless human. ;) I have regular, boring brown hair, with shitloads of white in it.
Do you know why it's OK I lost the plot, but it is not OK they did? Because even during my most self-involved phases, there was always a part of me that reminded me I could be wrong. And I heeded that part. I kept it in mind. It helped me not to take myself too seriously.
PS. One more thing. Most species on this planet evolved into having two sexes. It was done to ensure constant renewal of the gene pool. It's simple biology. Well, some people like people of the same sex, or both sexes, or neither. Let's not turn our sexuality into a moral issue. They're just gonads, you know? Not mystical stuff, space conquest material, a cure for cancer, or an ingenious way to re-disperse wealth. I mean, for the love of fuck. Literally. Get over it. (If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do. Thank you.)
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.
There's an English Thesaurus, one ancient English-Greek/ Greek-English dictionary and one English grammar book carelessly thrown on various surfaces near me. My fingers run the keyboard. I am flushed. I feel private parts of mine clench and unclench. A customer comes. I sell a pack of cigarettes. The customer leaves. I stretch my back. I continue writing. My villain is fucking an innocent young man blind. I try to keep my sentences small, which is always a struggle for me. The words need to be precise and convey what both heroes feel. I am trying to decide whether to use the word 'rod'. It seems ridiculous and decide against it. Generally speaking, I am in favour of more simple language. Nothing wrong with 'cock', 'asshole', 'fuck'. But I don't like repetition and I don't like vulgarity. It makes the whole procedure more interesting and more difficult.
I read what I've written.
I swallow a couple of times.
I wonder what the average man will think of it. He will probably screech in terror and run away. Casual bisexuality has never been the average man's strong point. Masculine characters that offer oral pleasure to other masculine characters can't possibly be protagonists if you aim at a male audience.
Fuck the male audience. I am writing this for me. I am writing because I want to read it and get horny. If my writing makes me horny, then perhaps more readers will get horny. If I am writing this to aim at an audience, I am like a blind man shooting arrows to the moon. I'll get shit.
I wonder what kind of publisher would want to publish my book.
A gay man, most likely. Or an open-minded woman with cojones the size of watermelons.
I read what the villain says to his young hostage. The image of myself hiding in a cave while all the media worldwide crucify me flashes before my eyes. I see my mother's stunned expression as journalists ask her what she thinks of her daughter's preoccupation with what can fit inside a human anus. I can even hear her outraged questions, demanding more information from the journalists.
I can see you all wondering what the hell, doesn't your mom know what you're writing about?
Are you crazy? Of course my mother doesn't know what I am writing about. She knows that I write about vampires and does not even like that.
Writing is not about safe ground, or making your mom happy.
Writing is about as easy as walking butt naked in public display. While masturbating. And screaming obscenities. With a loudspeaker. In a stadium. Full of Mormons.
With a wry smile, I consider that the customer probably wouldn't have wanted that pack of cigarettes if he
knew the places my mental fingers had been seconds before.
I make a mental note to find a cave with internet signal.
I make a second mental note not to tell my mom where the cave is and go back to writing.
After spending a whole month struggling with two chapters, I wrote two more in the last week/ ten days.
The very last one is death and despair. Which is good. It reminds me of what writing should be about. A good kick in the behind. Reading can be pleasant, informative, a way to kill time and all that. But sometimes, just sometimes, reading should be about as pleasant as a hand gripping your heart and squeezing it, then throwing the remaining meat to the crows. To hell with pleasant reading and my pleasant ass. There are vampires in there, not smurfs or care bears. And there is death, madness, despair, and the knowledge that no matter how long you may live, some things will not leave you, or be forgotten. They'll stay.
"If you ask me why bad things happen to people who don't deserve them, I'll tell you I don't know. I never figured that one out. Perhaps there is no why. Am I sorry about everything I did to you? Of course I am. But if I met you tomorrow, I'd do the same all over again. I can't help it. I just can't."
I can also refer to the fact there are two new erotica pieces in my arsenal. One finished two days ago, one finished about half a month ago. Both male/ male. I don't know what I am supposed to do with them except read them and feel horny, which is why they were written in the first place. But other than that... The gay couple I know can't read my English to give those pieces to them. :( I think they'd enjoy them. I think after everything is said and done, gay people will give me a medal of honour. Or something. But nothing is said or done yet.
Well, there is always my homophobic friend who's really eager to read the next chapters of my story, and he has a surprise in store for him in chapters 24 and 25. That should teach him to make strange comments whenever I upload feminine men in my facebook photos.
I was listening to my mother talking with another woman. They were commenting on the fact an old Greek singer has a son who's gay, and the father got so mad about it that he stabbed his son when he caught him in the act. My mother was explaining to the other woman that this singer is a proper man and he cannot put up with such behaviour on his son's behalf.
I kept my mouth shut, because there was absolutely nothing I could have said that would offer something to the conversation. I wanted to spit on my mother's face at that moment. And what would that offer?
"None are as blind as those who will not see".
When I heard this quote for the first time, I could not understand to what it referred. Now I do. It refers to people in general. We all more or less have that infuriating quality, the ability to ignore what is in front of our eyes because it is not convenient. We do not want to see because we are afraid, or don't want the responsibility of our own actions, or it does not fit with our world view and does not agree with our plans. It's far easier to reject or fear that which we don't understand or like. In this case, it's being gay. "It's wrong. It's abnormal. It's against God". Utter crap people will pose as arguments against what they are afraid of, because it is different than what they themselves do.
I am sick of this planet in general. The best thing I can do is keep to myself because I am sick of having conversations that end up with me in a screaming fit. I am just too tired to listen to bullshit. I am not going to judge people because they want to sleep with people of the same sex. As long as they are both consenting adults, why the hell should I play traffic regulator in their beds? Who cares if they want be fucked with men, women, girl scouts, Arabic stallions or dwarf ladies with beards? Unless it's your ass their dick or fingers are preoccupied with, if you'll excuse my language, what the hell do you care?
Argh. No, I must not buy another deck of Tarot cards to blow off steam...
We are sick inside the heads. That's all I can think of. I am sick too, I just don't know it. I don't see my bias because they are my own. I am sick with a terrible disease called being human. That race of morons and degenerates that worships trinkets and ignores the truest treasures. People want bling blings. They do not want pearls of wisdom, they do not want the truth. The truth is never pleasant or amusing and yet it cuts to the heart of the matter like the sharpest scalpel, like the most refined diamond blade.
We are all very, very sick. And I feel sorry for all, including myself, and there are days I wish I was the blindest of all.
But my eyes will not go away, my spirit will not cease to thirst. My eyes will never go away, and they do not fail me, they no longer fool me. Not after all this time and the shit I have been through. I have become the opposite of innocent; I have become a suspicious curmudgeon that views people as a possible source of annoyance, their mouths true springs of stupidity, their hearts barren wastelands, devoid of anything of value. I am sick of it. And it does not end. It never does.
What I can do is rest temporarily; I sleep like a bird upon the fragile melody of a song I love. I rest my eyes upon the sheen of the raven black hair of a beautiful man I cannot have. I smell a rose and know that this flower knows everything there is to know. It doesn't hold back; it blooms in perfect glory for everyone to see and smell. And no-one sees it. No-one bothers to smell it; they pass by it walking in a hurry, hypnotised by their lists of "IMPORTANT things to do" "IMPORTANT people to talk to" "IMPORTANT phone-calls they cannot miss" no matter if they are driving, fucking or taking a crap. Their cell phones follow them even in the toilet. They behave like cocaine crazed gangsters closing in on a target. I on the other hand see the flowers blooming in the evening gloom and they are poems, they are explosions of colours that stupefy the mind and defy any attempt at a description. These colours are sometimes strong enough to feel that they leave an afterglow, a haze of colour in the space around them. I remember describing one of my heroes in a story, perhaps the most beautiful one I have, and his skin is at the same time translucent and blinding, like an angel or a white iris that immaterialises in front of one's eyes, the colour of his face a ghostly white like thick milk that slowly dilutes in water.
I live only for those moments nowadays. The unexpected rose waiting for me at the next corner. The humble jasmine that smells to the high heavens, not yelling but chiming its beauty in a tapestry of smell that sounds like a wild array of the tiniest silver bells you can imagine. I live for the next album by my favourite band and the smell of my cat's fur when he sleeps next to me in the morning and the Pre-Raphaelite paintings that make me lose my speech. I live for my next ice-cream, and the next kawaii order, so full of colours and designs, and the next book or manga I'll read and the next time I'll sleep and my life will be once more exciting. I no longer live for understanding; I no longer live for human fulfilment. I see myself screaming like a woman that's gone not just slightly crazy but completely homicidal bananas and I scare myself with how much sick I am. Sick just like them.
I just wish, wish, wish I could once more dream like I used to.
I try.
God knows I try, while looking frantically inside my heart for the spark to set everything ablaze.
Thankfully the newest album by Dir en Grey is out. "Dum spiro spero". As long as I breathe, I hope.
This will be a rant. Be prepared. Both feet firmly on the ground and off Elizabeth goes like a rocket screaming GAAAARHHH! Picture the incredible Hulk with brown hair and olive skin, blogging and cursing like a sailor who got shat on by a flying cow.
I need to express something or I'll burst. Can someone please explain to me why some people have a prison inside their heads instead of brains? I suppose there is no answer to this question. But still. My rant will be sex and gender related. Any of you gay "sensitive", meaning homoerotic material offends you? Then buzz off, for this will insult you and neither of us needs that. Plenty of other blogs to read! Shoo!
HOW can someone use the characterization "disgusting" in relation to sex practices concerning two conseding adults? How can ANYONE pass judgment on what other people do and enjoy? How can someone JUDGE other people because of this? I understand someone saying- well, that's not my cup of tea, or, boy, that's something that really must hurt, I'd never try it. Or even something stronger than this. But how can you call another human being sick because he likes the same sex as themselves, for example? Why is this thing sick? In what sense? How can you disregard and badmouth another person just because you are different? Why so much fear and hatred for something that is not enforced or practiced on you and at the end of the day it's none of your goddamn business? I will never understand this.
When I finally go to bed with someone I love...
*sigh* It's useless. But I'll try to put it to words anyway.
When I finally go to bed with someone I love, reality is shut off. I lock it out of the room with a kick on its butt. There is NO reality save for the reality of two bodies. No time, no space. Reality begins and ends on the other's flesh. I do not see gender there. I do not see genitals. I see only soul and desire, I see need and heat. I touch the other person the way I would touch a statue I wish to bring to life. I kiss and caress them from head to toes, I love them and accept them and thank god/dess for the chance I was granted to merge with another soul, for as long as this is meant to be. I see their skin responding to touch, their heartbeat racing, their bodies blooming like flowers, opening like wings, unfolding like miracles. I see them lost in the sensation, for body is meant to be pleased regardless of sex, size and shape. I feel them entering another realm, in which there is no mind, no thoughts, only submission to mortality. "With you inside me comes the knowledge of my death." I live to make them scream and cry from pleasure, I live to hold and embrace them and make them forget death, make them forget tomorrow, make them short-circuit and drown in desire so much that they transcend flesh. I am the universal Mother that gave birth to them and held them like their mother perhaps never did; I am Death, letting them know through orgasm what it means to lose control of one's body. This is what my gender is originally meant to do, impersonate compassion, mystery and death. Be as the great Ocean, suck them in, cover them fully, claim them whole and eventually guide them back out, safely on the shore. Blow their fucking brains out, send them sky high and catch them on the way down. Finally let them sink into sleep, smoothing their hair with kisses, letting them know they are safe between the sheets.
... landing on my head would hardly make me raise my right eyebrow, let alone crack a smile.
Found a new way to deal with homophobic people and generally, the kind of know-it-all-Greek people I despise. At the first hint of an idiotic argument that I hear (i.e. for gay people, the characterisation "not normal") I dramatically raise both hands and exclaim curtly and loudly "end of conversation!" This wins me a few surprised glances. It is okay. They do not know it, but it also saves them from a blunt object landing on their moronic heads. I can understand that every person has the right to have a head full of shit and brainwashed /pre-constructed vomit instead of ideas, but sorry, I will not deal with this if I can avoid it. They can keep their opinions to themselves and I will do the same for mine. No 'conversation' (parade of racist, homophobic and simply infuriating 'arguments' that defy any definition of logic) will torture my ears and brain cells if I can just skip it. Not for any other reason, but my blood pressure reaches the heavens and my hands start shaking with the adrenaline I cannot use to flatten their faces and give them a new point of view in life. So yes, I will be a fascist.
I am seriously trying not to pay any attention to the stupidity of people anymore. Seriously trying. But I fail spectacularly.
First of all, my lower back is killing me. I have been doing all the wrong things, not physically, but there are quite a few things that can cause physical pain although they are not causing any physical strain. And believe me, I am not referring to sex. :-)
Secondly, I am the first to admit I am opinionated. Opinionated as fuck, to be more precise. This is why I do not converse with strangers most of the time, because when they start blurting out racistic, homophobic or just plainly stupid opinions that they label "arguments" I want to kick them hard enough to make them spit their balls out. I do not have the patience to explain to them WHY they are stupid. I just want them gone from my view ASAP, and usually to make this happen I just start screaming obscenities. This happened a couple of days ago. Again.
Someone came to my work and unfortunately, we started a conversation related to gay people. He said, "I do not have a problem with them", which is the usual openminded-my-arse cover everyone uses to avoid being called a homophobe, "but one of them is staying in my building. And if I have a kid, what then? If he or she sees two men kissing, what then?"
Right you are, fella. If he or she sees that sight unfolding in front of them, the gay virus will immediately enter them through their innocent eyes. Those two men will get their gayness all over your poor kid and then it will be the end. You kid will become immediately gay. Next step will be to shave her head if it is a girl, let her armpits unshaved till they look like the hairstyle of the singer from Tokio Hotel, and buy herself a tank and a box of multicoloured strap-ons. Or if it is a boy, he will shave his legs, wear one of his mother's dresses (preferably a fuscia red one), pierce his ding dong and go out to satisfy his endless craving for you-know-what kind of meat. Nice, isn't it? Going through all the trouble and expences of reproducing because you need an empty canvas to fill with your complexes and stupidity, and that kid *squeeeeal!* turning out gay. Oh, the horror! Oh, the disappointment! I suppose that when you fuck your wife in missionary position a little voice tells you that you have signed a contract with God and your child will be "normal". Perhaps gay people come out when you fuck doggy style. You should check that too. One can never be too careful with these things.
Question number one: If your son sees two women kissing, is that okay? Because I have noticed that I see a lot of -supposed- lesbian couples in those magazines you buy because you are such a hard, uncompromised, manly man. I suppose this doesn't count. Forgive me. How stupid of me...
Question number two: If your kid never sees two men kissing and he or she still turns out gay, what then? Who's to blame? Who's to burn on that stake you have prepared already? Maybe your kid?
Needless to say, I told him that I hope a meteorite lands in Greece and eradicates the population, because they (Greek men) are homophobic, racist, religion-obsessed fuckwits. :-) Now go on and blame me for that.
