The symptoms

"Hello. I'm French."

"Hello. I'm sleepy."

(My reply to the guy who was trying to get my attention on a recent night out.)

The symptoms are easily recognised. I get a feeling of desire without a specific target, combined to uneasiness and restlessness. Then I want to listen to mushy songs in youtube and don't really want to reply to my emails, but still I want to write. What does this mean? It means another blog entry is in the making. Rejoice, oh crowds. I am back. And damn, I wanted to keep my silence a little longer. Make you miss me.

The Dir en Grey cds arrived. They sodomized and vandalized my ears. They violated my sense of appropriateness and dragged my aesthetic criteria into mud, shit and vomit. They even made me write dark poetry, full of gore and corpses. Now I have one more purpose in life. I've got to see them live! And donate my nice boobs to the holy purpose of shoving short, ugly Japanese singers on them, to comfort, soothe and pet the aforesaid singers. There, there sweetheart. It can't be that bad. Here's a pair of exceptionally nice boobs for you to rest your face on. See how good that feels? Now stop screaming your little black velvet heart out, stop scratching yourself till you bleed. Rest for a while. Sleep too if you want. I don't mind.

[Damn. Having said this, Kyo (the singer of Dir en Grey) is SO short that I have the impression that I will need to first put him on a stool and then shove him on my boobs.You gotta love this possessed little pixie.]

I recently had a interesting conversation with Mr Osram. Mr Osram is a very sweet supernatural entity, whom my best friend has nicknamed thus. He (she?) is a fellow lunatic member of the ones that decided to land flat on their ass down here on this miserable planet. So here is a part of the "conversation" (me nagging and him/her listening without complaining).

"...I mean, this sucks. I am not cut for this. I don't get along with flesh. Flesh and I are just not compatible. I feel like a goldfish on a fucking bicycle. What am I supposed to do here? I am offered all these gifts in this recent incarnation and still I can do shit. Look at me. I have an exceptional voice, my writing ability surpasses by far what many of the so-called professional writers out there can manage, I can practice reiki on perfect strangers living in fucking Australia, even my doodles are better than what some deviantart members upload, and what do I do? I am working in a kiosk and putting up with morons and eejits on a daily basis, only to return home to have terrible rows with my mother. I don't have a sexual or social life. I use nothing of what I have. I live every day of my life trying to give the best I have and at the end of the day, nothing changes. What a fucking waste of flesh, breath and resources. I want to die, Mr Osram. I really want to die. Don't get me wrong, you know I don't mean commit suicide or hurt myself, but somehow find myself in spirit again. Not in flesh. Fly again like I used to. I am sick and tired of this shit. I am not cut for this, I swear I am not. I feel pity for everyone and compassion for the entire human race, even for so and so (referring to two people who have done some really nasty things to me). But I am tired, Mr Osram. This is not what life should be like! This pitiful existence is NOT life. When I was a kid I imagined that life at this age would be full of beautiful moments with my friends, with something new and wondrous every day. Not necessarily buying something, but you know, something silly, like trying a new flavor of ice-cream, watching a new movie, talking about a new experience or book, seeing a new flower blooming in my garden. And this... thing, this life that I am living is just killing me, I can't take it. *starts sobbing* I want to die, Mr Osram. I don't want to die literally, but even if I died I would not mind, I have made my peace. I just can't take more of this ...life. I want to move on. Please help me. Show me what I need to do to change my life situation. I can't continue. I have started inspecting buildings when I walk the dogs, trying to locate those with the many stories and wondering if the door to their rooftops will be locked, in order for me to jump from there. This is not me. Please help me."

The worst thing is that I know what needs be done. I need to continue doing what I do, which is, live this kind of life. Typical contradiction of reality. In order to change things, you have to continue doing what you already do without any visible change. All changes are happening inside, that wonderland of despair and Japanese singers sleeping peacefully on my boobs (probably holding them and drooling on them, while the rest of the band around the bed play soft melodies.)

Thank god/dess for my sense of sarcasm, because there is an awful lot of tall buildings in my area.

There we go again.

Once more I find myself accidentally linked with someone and giving them a reiki therapy without ever intending to do so. This is the third time this is happening to me with this person. I think he should place an aetheric block around himself from now on, to avoid me spamming him with therapies. Ha-ha. They are worse than uninvited farts, these therapies. Always coming out of the blue and manifesting in a very inconvenient manner. You just get them whether you want them or not.

On a more realistic note, I am trying to discover if it is me attracting all this shitty mood and the feeling of imprisonment to myself, in order to first understand WHY and then stop it.

On a humorous tone, I think Buddha should be watching his back from now on because I am dangerously close to enlightenment. Can you possibly beat the flaky Greek oh Buddha? Do you have what it takes?

Sure, Buddha said. My tummy is bigger than yours and I laugh all the time. Beat this! Ha! Eat my dust!

Damn. You win! But heed my words: perhaps I need to dye myself blue and walk around in a loincloth, but this shall not pass!

I will soon be the proud owner of the entire Dir en Grey discography. If any of you have seen the videos I have embedded on my blog, you probably think they are a rather mild and melodic band. I thought so too, until I saw those videos in you tube that, ahem. You do know how disgusting and wrong Marilyn Manson can get, right? Well take the grotesque factor of MM and multiply it by three, then add plenty of disgust points because they are Japanese (and we all know how disgusting and wrong they can be, I suppose?). It is a full scale visual attack accompanied by blood curling screeches by the singer who does his best to look like a grotesque pixie covered in self inflicted scratches. What's worse, those screams are interchanged with vocals of breathtaking sweetness and feeling, while a teenager kills his father with a golf club, fiddles with the fingers and other body parts of his dead mother slumped on the dinner table, and cockroaches walk around. In the second video the singer vomits with his face half covered by torn black stockings, band members play between hanged corpses, geisha demon women with black teeth covered in a sticky substance vomit blood and please each other, one guitarist pulls his heart out and starts chewing on it and other such visual treats or horrors, depending on someone's point of view, take place.

Damn! They are cooler than Yeti, Buddha said. You have to dig this shit.

That's exactly my sentiments oh Enlightened one. Hence buying their discography.

Anyone who wants to watch those two videos should use these links:

http://youtu.be/nQcA_T9VbN8

http://youtu.be/EUvpMhw5ALw

Just don't tell me I didn't warn you.

I am angry.

I am angry because one of the people in my building is throwing away the courier notifications and two packets that I have ordered have arrived ten days now already and no-one told me. I am pissed off because I went against my personal code that more or less tells me to mind my own business and not interfere with other people's blogs and comments. In the aftermath, I feel I lost valuable time- and time is the only thing that cannot be replaced, bought or brought back. I am also pissed off because of a million other things- because of the person that calls herself my mother and she doesn't know how lucky she is I have not used a pillow to kill her in her sleep. I am raging mad at the fact people have a very sick idea of what human relationships should be like and consider this normal. I am hopping mad at the fact I have to deal with this really twisted way of viewing reality on a daily basis with everyone, save for four whom I consider actual friends. I am disappointed because I want to have more tattoos done and need to wait. I am disgusted by the fact some people consider a torrent of swearwords and flame the standard way of communication in internet, because they don't show their ugly mugs and don't use their real names, so it is safe to be insulting towards everyone else. I am even more mad at the ones who call themselves open-minded but the only humor they considered approved is their own. I am generally, totally officially and awfully ANGRY and know just the way to deal with it. I will listen to the two GazettE cds that arrived today a few more times and enjoy those pretty Japanese boys in action.

In other news, I am happy I have not yet succumbed to the sirens singing in my head to send a few people directly to their next incarnation. Because I am sure that if I want to, I can. Who will stop me? And it is not like they are offering something by being here, quite the contrary. But then again, the worst thing these people do to someone is turning them into a version of themselves. And I will serve no-one, not even my wrath. I will not change myself for their sake. I will not change myself for the sake of anyone but myself. I can see your faces, thinking, owww, the poor thing probably broke a nail and she wants to kill the manicurist. Hahaha- I wish. I wish my problems were of this kind. I wish I was one of those unthinking blobs of meat out there. I wish the pain would stop. But the pain never stops. I wish I could at least befriend it but it keeps biting me, the damn thing.

Don't let me go to Japan!

I am serious. Don't let me go to Japan. I don't know what it will take, but ban me from that country. And while you're at it, ban me from eBay as well.

Just imagine me there. Or rather don't. A sex-starved, androgynous beauty devotee western girl unleashed on the streets of Japan. Like Krakatoa, a Mongolian riding excursion and a banquet sponsored by Viagra and Dionysus rolled in one and interrupted by deafening farting sounds. I get excited just by thinking about it. I'm sure I will somehow spot Gackt. Or Uruha. I will sniff them. I will use my bionic super senses, trained to locate all hairless males with arms slimmer than mine and promising lips in a hundred mile radius. I bet they smell like cotton candy, hot chocolate with cinnamon and vanilla and cat fur. I will locate them and the entire police force of Japan won't be able to open my jaws, firmly secured around Gackt's underwear (with Gackt still wearing it and struggling in vain, of course). They will lose so much manpower trying to get close and being repelled by a mysterious poisonous gas that makes even gas masks melt that they'll decide to let me have him and that will be the end of it (and him). I will drag him unconscious to my lair and lick him till he has no bodily hair left, not even eyebrows. Mmm, sweet-smelling flesh, stupidity and obligation free. He can wail and scream as much as he wants, I don't speak his language. I will then raid every shop that sells those fantabulous clothes I can't buy from here, unless I sell my entire mother and one of my kidneys to the organ market. And finally, I will leave Japan with three hundred suitcases, at least fifty of  which will be delivered to FedSex (see post: advertisement) because they'll contain nekkid Japanese boy-toys (although Gackt is over thirty five). I will declare those at customs as "bedroom decoration articles/other".

Seriously. Don't let me go to Japan. I don't know what I'm capable of, but I'm sure I will find out on the spot. Someone must declare Japanese visual kei artists as endangered species and post my photo as the natural predator of the species before it's too late! Act now to prevent disaster from happening! You have been forewarned...

Fun with our friends the Japanese.

Okay, by now I have a LOT of magazines and books on Gackt, an eerily beautiful and feminine Japanese singer, style somewhere between pop and rock. I also have quite a number of magazines on The GazettE, a band featuring the gorgeous guitarist Uruha, the rest of the band vary from attractive to very attractive. I had never bothered listening to any of their songs; I had been too busy burning my brains with Gackt's songs. And since pop music is not my forte, I could not really listen to it for long without my toes involuntarily curling and my liquidised brain cells dripping from my nose. Then I got a wild hair up my ass and decided to investigate The GazettE in more depth. Like an idiot I typed the name in youtube and waited to listen to something mellow, rock-pop, you know. They are all girly gorgeous and wear clothes that look like a crossover between dresses and glam rock suits with silk, velvet and studs, long lace gloves and garters an added bonus. How hard do you expect the band to be with this image? So I heard the normal intro of the song and relaxed, and suddenly my poor ears were attacked by an all guns blazing succession of growls from the singer and metal riff outbursts like machine guns from both guitarists. I paused and stared at the screen, with a stupid expression on my face. *blink blink* WTF?!? I looked at my bottle of chocolate milk with the same moronic expression, wondering what the fuck was wrong with my ears or perhaps if someone had slipped something in my drink. But The GazettE went on with all their members merrily headbanging their napes away and I actually liked what I was listening to, since the basic genre I love IS metal. So yes, the next thing that came to mind was Slayer members dressed like The GazettE and that was the end of my sanity. xD

ARRGGH!

Okay, that's enough. The Japanese version of amazon from the new year onward has a standard shipping cost of thirty something euro no matter if someone wants to buy a matchbox or an elephant- isn't that insane?! It used to be about five euro per item!!! GRRRRR *fuming* What am I, a devotee of Gackt going to do? Hell! I need my drugs (magazines with Gackt).

Katherine, save me. I need to go to Japan- it will be cheaper. If you see any hedgehogs or collie dogs following me discretely, shoot the bastards.

I am so ashamed.

I have tried so hard to create an intellectual profile. I have written entry after entry mixing semiotics with symbolism, the occult, culture, ecology, romanticism and depression. I have made my eyes bleed and my brains (the what?!?) melt with the effort to be serious and badass. Well now I am about to toss everything out of the window. I am deeply ashamed but will admit it regardless of the consequences, regardless of what people will think of me. I will fear no criticism and no comments, I will bear the pain, So yes- the cat is out of the hat now.

I LOVE CINEMA BIZARRE.
 
I love the fact they are over the top, gay, fluffy, glittery and absolutely-not-serious entertainment. I appreciate the ridiculous statements they make, i.e. "style is war". You bet YOUR style is war- to all 'manly' common sense. And I LOVE THAT. I am fascinated by the fact the singer looks like a rather ugly yet attractive woman and behaves like an annoyed schoolgirl primadonna. I worship the gay GOD Luminor who plays keys and just exists to be gorgeous in front of the camera and I will be sooooooooooo sad if he indeed leaves the band. I ogle the guitarist who wanders around in lives without his shirt on to make little girls squeal. Finally, I love the fact they try so hard to look like a j-rock visual kei band and miss their target by miles, thus accidentally creating a whole new genre: gay glam rock. I adore their style, pose and music because they are so fake and artificial and exaggerated that it is a crime of irrational proportions against any 'serious' music.

To shed some light on this mystery, I also adore Oscar Wilde. He once said, "to regain my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early or become respectable." Cinema Bizarre are somehow all the ridiculous and nonsensical and artistically incorrect things combined together in one band. And this makes them perfect. It makes them ideal to wear on a t-shirt, especially if the person wearing it is of the over thirty variety like I am. Guaranteed to scare away any suitors looking for a good wife and mother of their children. Also guaranteed to scare away all those humorless types that appreciate strictly high culture and only manage to take a shit once a month. (There are rumors Alexander the Great and Adolf Hitler were also chronic cases of constipation, you know. I mean, if you can't possibly take a good honest crap like other people, you are bound to make someone pay for it.) Also guaranteed to make you appreciate irony, rapidly lose face and self respect and finally the last of your worries concerning how cultured you are. Like admitting in front of a full auditorium that you like to sniff your socks and underwear when you take them off. Or that you actively support extreme right wing politics. Something as bad anyway, guaranteed to stigmatize you for the rest of your life...

Okay, here is a video by Cinema Bizarre. You have been forewarned. After watching it, you'll be seeing little shiny thingies dancing in your peripheral vision for days to come. Those are glitterons and glamerons, particles emitted by such bands. If you are a boy, the glamerons will affect you in an irreversible and possibly fatal way, changing your brain wave length and forcing you to wear nothing but tiny tank tops and skirts with sequins and feathers for the rest of your life. If you are a girl, then glitterons will enter your body and will make you a faithful sexual slave to Cinema Bizarre till your last days. The only catch is that you won't be able to ever do something about it because they are all probably mostly gay. (No offense intended, I was affected by glitterons too so I feel your pain.)

Hey! Did I actually refer to the fact their music is very enjoyable?

So fuckin' original.

[Mana from Malice Mizer, J-rock band, now has a band name Moi Dix Mois...]

Whenever I spend more than just a bit of time with my mother, we are at each other's throats like maddened dogs. Nothing strange about it. We have grown too close for comfort and familiarity breeds contempt. I wish I could give an end to this uncomfortable, meddlesome affair. But just like it happens with everything else in my life, I have to wait.

If I nuke this planet you will know I just got bored of waiting.

[Klaha, ex singer of Malice Mizer, after Gackt left...]

On a happier note, I have been downloading endless pictures of J-rock artists with Malice Mizer and Gackt being the center of my affections. *sigh* It never ceases to surprise me that such men exist. I never cease to look at them dumbfounded, their make-up, their clothes, their style... Their hairless bodies, smooth faces, almond shaped eyes... Why do Greek men look like apes? Ugly, no necks, just a head stuck onto their shoulders, fingers like sausages, manners like Ostrogoths on a raiding spree, and the permanent fear of being called gay... Why do their interests begin and stop at football and television? There are exceptions, of course. Like my best friend. But I am tired of this whole bullshit trade. I am generally tired of everything and everyone, this why I once more focus on that which I cannot have. To escape somewhere better than here and now. And then I have to return and it hurts non-stop.

Nuking the planet still seems like the only valid option. :-)

[ And Gackt.]