Toxic relationships

Some relationships are toxic.

My most toxic relationship is the one I have with my mother.

I do my best to avoid toxic relationships, however it is very difficult to avoid the person I live in the same house with.

None of us is working right now and this means we spend a lot of time together. It's not quality time.

Many years ago, my mother decided to have a child in order to have someone to love and support her.

I am the 'lucky' child in person. 

She is not the first parent to make that mistake. A lot of parents think that a child will be a way to complete their happiness, expecting to receive a lot more than they are willing to give. A safe investment kind of thing. Make a child and it will make you happy.

Really?

Make a child and you will feel proud and completed.

If you want to feel proud and completed, nothing like taking a good shit to give you that warm and fuzzy feeling. Instead of making a child, add some fibre to your diet and drink lots of water. Satisfaction guaranteed.

I will never be good enough for my mother.

I am not good enough because my value as a human being is in direct relation to my weight. If I am thin and beautiful, I am good. I please her. Therefore she has to police my eating to make sure I'll keep pleasing her. Never mind the fact she is fifteen to twenty kilos overweight. That's another thing.

I am not good enough because I have friends she does not approve of. Right now, with me nearing my forties, she still expects me to spend time with her and not have friends. Or have friends, but you know, they should not be as important as she is in my life. And as she pointed out, what kind of person is happier to meet with her friends instead of spending time with her mother?

I am not good enough because I am stupid, I don't take notice of what's happening around me, a nonsensical immature little idiot who prefers cutting bits of paper and playing with stickers than doing something mature and more 'my age'. For example, watch TV by her side. Now that would be a mature and responsible thing to do, unlike writing letters and crafting.

I am not good enough because I am an introvert and I don't like mindless socialising. 

I am not good enough because I am 37 and still have not married and haven't had any children of my own. 

I am not good enough because it is perfectly okay to spend most of our monthly income feeding stray animals, but if I want to fix my glasses, go out for coffee or go to the doctor that's not really necessary or important. 

I am not good enough because my value as a human being is in direct relationship to how much I please her. Ideally we should be like conjoined twins and I should spend every hour of my day and every day of my life revolving around her, a blissful little planet orbiting around her pleasant personality.

You know what, mom?

Fuck you.

Fuck you and your ideas and your experiences and your understanding of reality.

Fuck you and your emotional blackmailing and your manipulation and your guilt trips.

Fuck your love under conditions.

Fuck your kindness under obligation.

Fuck you. I am going to find a way to do what I want.

I may not be good enough for you, but that's okay.

I am good enough for me.

I am good enough for my friends.

I am good enough for everyone except you, it seems.

And you know what?

I am perfectly happy with it. 

I don't need to be good enough for you.

I don't need you.

I just need me.

Many letters to write, and one.

I have several letters to write and I am too busy to sit on my arse and do so. However, there is one letter I want to write more than others, and it is the one letter that the receiver will never be given. It's a very long catalogue of swearwords and things I have been meaning to say to that person for years now. I have never told them because even if I did, they would get hurt and not understand a thing. They live inside their own head and love to play games. The games they play are preferable than their real life, which sucks. I play games inside my head too; it feels nice to be queen of the universe for a while, even if that universe is solely inside my imagination. But I feel the desperate need to get it off my chest and will do so. I will do so in my diary, because I don't want to say it in public, in case they stumble upon it and then freak out. You see, contrary to them, I do consider the kind of impact my actions might have on other people. I am not beyond it. I am not too busy being Sorcerer Supreme or the Left Testicle of Odin to bother with reality or other people's feelings. 'Nuff said on that.

Generally speaking, it helps to write letters to people telling them everything you never said, even if you do not intend to give those letters. I am serious. You can do it even if you are not on speaking terms with them, or they aren't alive. What really matters is the inner cleansing that follows a proper vent. Get it off your chest, my darlings, and don't be afraid to write anything you damn please. Then you can burn the letter and complete the cleansing. I do advise burning, not tearing it up. For those of you into paganism, Vesta is the Roman goddess related to purification, and Hecate can also help. Give the ladies a shout. For the rest of you, just set it on fire. Try it and you will see. :)

Well into the a.m.

 (The pictures have an educating purpose. Do not disregard them. It's Khan from Star Trek- Into Darkness  dressed as a French maid in the first, and about to have sex with someone in the second. Read the text below for more information. Source: http://kimeido.tumblr.com/post/91128959618 and http://kimeido.tumblr.com/post/99052818858 )

Naturally, the best time to visit my blog is well into the a.m., while my mother is asleep and the house is absolutely quiet. One of my cats is sleeping in a basket close to me, I have music on, and two candles are burning on an altar across me.

It's funny. I started spellweaving again after ten or more years. I have an altar again. I haven't had one since I came home from U.K., and now I have an altar in my room and I do spellwork, demanding nightly spellwork I never thought I'd have the patience or the guts to do again. Go figure.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures, thought there is nothing that resembles desperation in my current state of mind. Desperation isn’t only a bad advisor, but also not an inappropriate reason to do spellwork. You're most likely going to fuck up spectacularly. No, in my case, it is ‘lex talionis’, lawful retaliation. To put it simply, I am sick and tired of being every idiot’s asswipe for 36 years now. They want to screw me over using magick, fine, free will and all that. How about they get that ‘nice’ energy handed back to them on a silver platter, by a universal force/ porn star wearing a leather French maid costume and brandishing a huge erection? No? Why not? I mean, you had no qualms about sending this energy to me in the first place. It’s not like your conscience bothered you so much you couldn’t sleep at night. But if you don’t like the discovery that the one you have been throwing knives at can actually catch them in mid air, and oh shit, she’s throwing them right back at you, well tough shit, sweetcakes. Oh, it hurts? Oh, you didn’t expect it? Oh, it sucks having shit energy shoveled in your life? You poor, poor thing, maybe you should have thought twice before shoveling it in mine in the first place. Dang and fudge and ginger-pie, someone I loved had to die. 

Most of the time I am perfectly happy because I have cats, a steady supply of correspondence, a roof over my head, good music, good health, food to eat and people I call friends. I don’t go out of my way to hurt others, I steal no-one’s money or boyfriend, and I keep my mouth shut when I don’t know who I am dealing with. I treat so fucking lightly I doubt there is a single person who knows I who I am except for my circle of close friends, which is the staggering number of five people. And I treat lightly because I hate being disturbed. In the same manner, I don’t want to disturb.

You’ll be surprised to discover how many people see that not only as a weakness, but also as a reason to attack you. Why? Because you and they are so fundamentally different that a person with your mentality rubs them the wrong way. They see your lack of involvement and think you consider yourself too good to bother with them. They see you being humble, because you fucking know how easy it is to die and also because you take nothing for granted, and they perceive it as haughtiness and arrogance. They will project their sick inner landscape on you and then proceed to eliminate the threat by attacking you.

There are two ways to deal with these people. Disengage and go away, or kick the living daylights out of them. So far disengaging has not been working, so we’ll go for the killing them dead option. Not literally. Metaphorically. Let’s not forget that magick is the art of changing consciousness at will, so metaphor, symbolism and all that noisy and colourful lot are your tools and most trusted servants. Kind of the most evasive, obscure and drag-queen elements of human sciences being your homeboys. Great fun.

If you ask me, I’d choose the universal porn star with the leather French maid costume and the brandishing erection any time as my preferred pastime, but if needs must, they will eat my dust. 

:D XD :P

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. 

Example of a conversation at my job.

Customer, man in his thirties: Hello, uh,  do you have any single wet hankies?

Me: Yes, I do. How many would you like?

Customer: Dunno. 3-4 I guess. They are women's stuff.

Me: Keeping your hands clean is women's stuff?

Customer: No, I mean the hankies. I wash my hands.

Me: Oh, I get it. You have a portable sink. Well done. The rest of us will just have to use hankies, I guess.

Prayer: Please Satan, Buddha, Christ, and Spaghetti  Monster, I want my next job to involve the general public as little as possible. Lighthouse keeper sounds ideal. Thank you.

Burning down the Heavens

Life is degrees of hard and absurd. Maybe it’s the planets. I can rephrase a famous poet’s last words and say I had a lover’s quarrel with God, not the world. 

These aren’t good days. These are days to stay indoors and avoid all electrical appliances. Psst. Wear a helmet too, just to be sure.

Life is also degrees of unfair, and the only actual source of solace and comfort are friends. You can pray all you want, light all the candles that you want, but there will be no answer. Or maybe I am persona non-grata, and the rest of you are fine with the Almighty Asshole, so don’t listen to me. Pray on. See if He gives a fuck.

I scratch my head as I am considering ways of burning down the heavens. So far I’ve disregarded three plans and I am looking for possible flaws in a fourth.

I am also considering having more tattoos and blowing my brains out, but those are just silly thoughts, the exasperation of the slave that has been a punching bag, a toilet girl, and ashtray and a mule for her entire life. Oh, did I mention free therapist/ healer as well? Write that down under everything else. Now look at the title, it has my name, my photo, and the 'mysterious' inscription ‘idiot-sucker-moron’ next to it. In impressive big red letters. With the additional information/clarification “desperate to please” noted just under that. What a CV.

I valiantly offer my middle finger and piss on the shadow of every power hungry pantheon of the planet. I am so sick of you, you fucking pushers, pimps and bullies of human despair. I shit on you. I defy you. I deny you. I’ll make you pay, Spider Jerusalem style. I swear I will, even if it takes away everything I have. I haven’t got much left to begin with, since you took it all away. Sanity isn’t compatible with the kind of life I am left with.

I refuse to live here. I want to pack my stuff and leave, go away to some plane that isn’t governed by deities with a small dick and a big opinion on themselves and their equally small-minded Renfield-like followers. Those sad idiots do the dirty work for free, they are so narrow-minded and easy to control that they create a living hell in a place that was supposed to be neutral ground aspiring to heaven. And I see these humans everywhere. Everywhere. They are the threshold keepers, always knowing better and deciding whether you are to be allowed in the ‘elite’ or not. They are the priests, or the defenders of normality in various positions, telling you what is normal and what isn’t natural and God looks down upon you and will burn you for it. They are politicians, licking the asses of each other and the asses of multinational corporations and banks and stepping on the backs of everyone else. They are even the rude person who steals your place in a queue, the neighbour that minds your business instead of theirs, the parent who raised you to be unhappy for the rest of your life.

By the curses of my grandmother, I fart in their weddings and shit on their properly mowed grass. They can go suck my fuck.

I want an exploding vagina. I want big fucking guns and ammunition. I want lethal boobs. I want to rid humanity of a few dozen deities who drink the blood of the innocents and revel in our pain and entrapment. I want to squash these bloated leeches who are feasting on our dreams, our happiness and our good fortune. I want to stomp and dance on their corpses. I want to find a way to bring down the veil and release the planet of this tyranny. First and foremost I want to release myself from their tyranny. 

They say if you want something, really want something, you might get it. I won’t leave this to chance. I'll work towards it. We’ll see. You’ll see. You have been warned.

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.

In and out

Tired again.

Slept late both on Sunday and Saturday and now I am sleepy and just a little bit cranky. :( I am cranky because I want to do things and as per usual there are one thousand obstacles, as if I am trying to kill someone. I don’t think that there are obstacles because what I am trying to do is wrong, but rather, because what I am trying to do is right. :( 

I am more than 84 kilos, which is not good. I ought to eat something sweet to drown my sorrows. ;D Ha ha!

Somehow everything is useless, and somehow everything matters. I do so many things, try so hard, and see no change whatsoever, no improvement in my life, nothing better, nothing different, as if I don’t try at all. 

The temptation not to try at all becomes very strong sometimes. Why try? It’s not like something is going to change anyway, so why even bother? But if I do nothing, I’ll most definitely go mad. 

Last year around this time I was trying to help a kitten live, and he didn’t make it. Don’t pat me on the back and tell me that I tried, I know I did. And just as he had started purring while we were feeding him, he died. 

Now don’t you dare fucking tell me that I tried and that’s what matters. I am going to rip your fucking throat out because what really matters is that no matter how much I try, it’s to no avail. And that matters a lot more than any effort I make. Result carries a lot more weight than merely trying and trying, and the result was, once more, death. For all my efforts, once more, death. And I tried so much with him.

Sometimes I am certain that the reason I came to this world was to have my heart broken into a million pieces again, and again, and again. I am not sure if I can find the pieces anymore, let alone put them together. I am just here so that someone can be amused, and use me as a chew toy. Beth thinks she is Loki’s chew toy and this enrages me, but it turns out I am no better. Just a chew toy. And no matter how much I try, and try, and try, nothing will ever change, and I’ll never find the one responsible and kick their ass until it gets wrapped around their heads. Unless I go, and then what’s the point? If I am already dead, there is obviously no point.

“I still catch myself being sad over things that don’t matter anymore.”

If that makes me human, what the fuck is it that makes me happy and whole?

At least the ‘Umbersun’ is playing, and it soothes my heart with its darkness. Thank fuck for Elend. I would have written, “thank god”, but tonight god can go fuck himself as far as I am concerned.   

There is one thing that can calm my heart, going to the rooftop again. Looking at the stars somehow makes it all better, and then once more nothing makes sense. In the rest of my life absolutely nothing makes sense. It never did, yet in the past I wasn’t as tired and sick of everything as I am now. I know right from wrong, I know the value of each thing and at the same time nothing of what I know by heart and by instinct applies to the world I live in. It just makes no sense. My inner compass is so strong, so certain of what I must do and why I must do it. So I follow my inner guidance and what happens is that I am merely saved in the nick of time, or put on waiting forever, or I am thrashed around perpetually for good measure. Nothing comes to fruition, nothing grows, nothing happens, I just exist to be used as someone’s amusement.

Is this fucking war? And if it is, where are my reinforcements?

If any of you knew how tired I am. All those people who chat with me and laugh at my jokes and thank me for my swaps. I am so, fucking, tired, that I hold it together by the skin of my teeth and not even that, I am slipping, slipping, slipping, and losing it, I am losing it all, meaning, purpose, sanity. Hope was the first to go. I try to function on an everyday basis for the sake of my own safety and sanity, I try to function and try to be polite, and try to be nice, but there is no end to my despair, no end to my anger. I am hollow and blackened and dead inside, disillusioned, dead, so fucking dead, I feel 90 years old and used and wasted and stupid, the only person who didn’t get the joke in a room of laughing people. There is nothing funny here, nothing funny at all, just stupidity and shallow, scared people, putting on a show for the sake of society, putting on a show for the sake of faces, and they are the real monsters, they are the real hollow ones, and I want to kill each and every one of them, I want to strangle them with their expensive handbags and crush their bones using their expensive cars, I want to flay them and tear their eyes out, I want to do terrible things to them and I keep it together, keep it down, keep it secret and cool and keep smiling and nodding and walking and eating and going to work every day as if it changes something, and it changes nothing. It changes nothing. And they won't let me be. He comes to me, blind, blind as the rest, lazy, chasing his own tail, pretending to be alternative, in reality just another pitiful junkie of his own self- loathing, and asks me for my opinion, and I want to be so mean, I want to spit on him and kick him away, and it’s not my place to be mean or to be his therapist and so I shut my mouth. And she comes to me demanding that I take my dog away, because her grandchildren are coming and they are afraid of a 15- year-old fat dog with arthritis that can barely move. And she demands that I take the dog away NOW, and I want to grab her by the hair and knock her head on the opposite wall, because she has turned her grandchildren into crippled, useless individuals. She lives in a country that you can’t go anywhere without coming across stray dogs, and unless they get familiarised with dogs they won't be able to go outside their home without being scared; still she claims I am the weird one and don’t understand. So I once more shut my mouth. But one day I won’t be able to shut my mouth anymore, and unless something happens to convince me that there is indeed some kind of universal, higher justice than the one I hold in my hands, someone will die or end up in hospital. And I try not to let that happen if I can. But if it continues going likewise, then I won’t be able to keep it together for much longer. So if there are indeed reinforcements on the way, now it would be a good time for them to show up. Or even better yesterday. Know what I mean?

Dreams of heaven, dreams of hell.

More of the second variety actually. Long, confusing, tiresome dreams full of ill omens.

I have started writing again. Late at night, when I can hear my inner voice clearly. It's not easy, yet unless I write, it won't be written. And I cannot have that.

It's a game, and therefore I decide what to be. I choose the mask. I call the shots. Then luck and life and death throw the dice and laugh at me and each other. 

Second time I am finishing a book.

Second time I am finishing a game.

Two different games have been paused, or finished. The trio of above players will decide. 

Twos are good. Everything is good. As I said, it's a game. I need the harlequin mentality more than ever. Time to call upon my dearest Lash. Lash is a fictional character. Lash is I. Lash is a harlequin. Lash exists outside time. And time is out there to get me.

I need to speak with that barbarian friend of mine concerning blood and entrails. He can help me. He always does help me. I cannot complain. His help is invaluable. His love is also invaluable. I never take people's devotion for granted. I have seen the opposite too, far too often. And more often than not, from so-called friends. :) That's people for you.

I love being me, I just wish I had intelligent company more often.

All good things come to an end, all good things are given to me in small amounts.

I will work on that.

Promise.

Yahoo, relationships, and the hermit's point of view.

It's  been five days that I have no access to my primary email account, the one I have registered for almost all social sites I use. Facebook, this blog, bookmooch, thealterium, twitter, tumblr, vistaprint and youtube are connected to it (to name the majority). If I permanently lose access to that account I have a lot of work ahead of me. It's not going to be fun. Let's hope the technicians will be able to fix whatever is wrong with it because I am not the only one who has a problem from what they say.

Sometimes I wonder why we do what we hate being done to us, like judging.

And sometimes I don't think. Judging is so tightly woven into human nature that it's impossible to avoid.

I've been in a void of partly my own choice. Away from erotic relationships. I don't want to change that.

It resembles unlearning to eat candy. If you unlearn it, you no longer feel the craving for it from a point onward.

It's not like I feel no craving.I just don't want to bother with all that ensue a relationship and intimacy with another person. It's not worth it. I am tired of the trial and error process relationships are. I want to keep my quiet, for the rest of my life if possible.  Not bother what this and that and the other means.

I look around me. I am not blind. Erotic relationships have an expiration date. Those that stay with the other person even after the interest has died out are pretty much buried alive. They stay because they have a child, or joined bank accounts, or they are afraid, or whatever really. Is any of that a valid reason to stay with a person for the rest of your life? Or is it better to stay with one person and cheat on them because you still want to have interesting sex?

We never really get to know anyone. People are like moons, with a hidden side.

We always think we know others and ourselves.

In reality we know shit.

We make relationships with strangers that remain strangers throughout and even after the end of the relationship.

And how surprised we are when we find out we knew nothing about them and never found out anything, even after years.

All this makes me sick.

There must be a way I can play by different rules, or failing that, not play at all.

I am seeing strange dreams.

I always see strange dreams.

I don't want to do what any of the rest of you do.

I want to play with your perception of reality.

I want to fuck with you and fuck off.

And I am outta here.

High maintenance boyfriends

You know, I keep wondering about it. Not that it changes anything, no matter how many times I preoccupy my brain cells in wrestling marathons with it. But I can't help but wonder.

Why very beautiful men are the way they are? Which means immature. Or stupid. Or too vain. Or too gay. Or whatever. My purpose isn't to make a list. Why? As soon as I see a truly breathtaking man, I almost immediately realise he's not relationship material, end of story. I have no delusions about changing them, saving them, or discovering a hidden, different self if I dig deep enough. There is nothing different no matter how deep and how long I may search. They are just unsuitable. Period. If he's very beautiful, there is something fundamentally flawed about him in some other part of his being.

But why is that? I don't understand it one bit. 

I do have a life long regret that I'll never find the kind of man I dream about. Because the kind of man I dream about is the high maintenance kind of boyfriend. And that kind of boyfriend never falls for my type. They fall for the equally problematic type of high maintenance woman. Or the kind of woman they can relate to whatever issues they have with their mom or dad. And I am neither. I am too straightforward for such. And a part of mine is very, very disappointed and regretful because I know time passes and I must get my act together and look for the kind of companion that will be suitable for me, and not the kind of man I dream about. 

If that isn't a contradiction in terms I honestly don't know what is. And I don't want that.

This is the basic reason I don't do relationships. I don't want any more half-hearted relationships with 'good guys'. No matter how lonely I feel, I refuse to do that again. Been there too many times in the past. Not again. Never again.

It's also one of the reasons I write. My longing for things I cannot have.

Well FUCK THIS. 

There must be at least ONE person that is attractive enough, smart enough and kind enough to be my match.

Just one. Billions of people on this sorry planet. Just one? Pretty please? 

Two would be even better but let's not get greedy now... :P

I am proud of this blog.

I really am. It started in 2005 and it has countless hours of work in it. It also has a large portion of my unusual ideas, mentality and emotional chaos. I am proud of it the same way I would be proud of my child, even if the neighbor had just appeared at my doorstep to tell me my child blackened the eye of their kid. I am sure most people don't like it. Then again, I don't like most people.

I got rid of massive amounts of unwanted items in the past few weeks. Humans amass such ridiculous quantities of useless things around them... And slowly those items become a part of the house, or library, or cupboard, and we don't even realise they are there. A friend brought me a large volume of her unwanted books, so I was 'forced' to once more go through MY books. Which was excellent initiative to see what else I can get rid of. Thankfully a lady I know does a bazaar around this time of the year for stray animals. She got a small mountain of unwanted books, most of which had been stored in another room than my own. She also got comic books in Greek. She sold them all and we're both happy.

As I went through my earthly possessions I realised I can't find two books I really love. The one is 'Master and Margarita' by Mikhail Bulgakov. The second is 'The perfume' by Patrick Suskind. I have the very bad  habit of lending books and other items which more often than not results in me losing them. So I added the books to my wishlist in amazon and slowly but steadily managed to gather another big pile of unwanted comics in Greek.Those will go to another friend. I re-read them and they are good, but not something I am interested in anymore.

The next thing I did was get on all fours. And stuck a cucumber... HaHAHAHAHAHHAAHAhaahahha you fell for it, didn't you? Nope, I stuck my head under the bed and pulled out a large cardboard box. In there I had my collection of (shriveled human heads. I wish.) stationery. I had started collecting it when I was around 12. I decided that after 23 years that I had all that paper in my possession it was time for it to go. I mean, I want to move abroad and stay there permanently. Having under my bed a box of papers that are more that 20 years old serves no logical purpose I can think of. Of course, I am still keeping my enormous kawaii stationery collection. There is no way I am giving that away!!! I am not bored of it yet.

Going through my old collection (full of flowery, dreamy landscapes, beautiful women, romantic themes and so on) I got a glimpse of what I was feeling back then. More than anything else, that state of mind was achieved by my sense of smell as those stationery sets are all aromatic, and smells are an express connection to the past. I had so many dreams back then. I still do and they are not realised. I never really expected my life to become like this. I don't think anyone ever does.

Yesterday as I was separating some papers to send them to a swapper I thought about vampires and wondered if they, too, hold onto objects. However, when you're made to outlive everything and anything that surrounds you, whether living or inanimate, it must be hard to be sentimental about objects. You cannot afford to be sentimental about people anymore, let alone objects. Besides, modern objects are not build to last. Clothes, gadgets, even jewellery in some cases last only for a season or two if they are expensive. In the old times, clothes lasted for twenty or thirty years and I have an ancient stereo thing that plays large rolls of tape. It belonged to my father and it's probably still working. I don't even know the name for that item. Not even in Greek, I mean. But it's working after the 40 odd years that we have it. Buy a sound system nowadays and see if it lasts longer that five. And it's not only the objects that are made to be cheap. The mentality is also different. I have had the same cellphone for the past three years. It's still working, so I see no reason to change it. If it breaks, I will. Until then, I am perfectly happy with it. It does not have a touch screen, internet or android. You press buttons and call people, or accept calls, or send messages. That's what a cellphone is supposed to do. It even has bluetooth connectivity and can get funny ringtones by my friends' mobiles. All my needs are covered. Most people nowadays stampede to get the latest iphone, ipad, imyass although they have the exact previous model. I could get in a long winding argument about how this mentality has screwed us and the planet over by making us buy with money we don't have (credit cards) gadgets we don't need at an outrageous price. Gadgets that cost 10-20 dollars to be made are sold 500 or 700 or more, and they are made in terrible factories that treat human beings like automatons. But no-one will listen because they are too busy playing with their new gadgets. So I won't say anything more.

Sometimes I hope the Earth will get Her Christmas wish granted and an extra terrestrial civilisation will come and spray the population with something that kills eejits only. And the rest of us will inherit the earth and their ipads too.

*grumblemoannag*

About the situation in Greece

Some people ask me what the situation in Greece is like.

I am no good at making political analysis. But I can give you a good synopsis of what's going on. Click on the link below.

My name is Spyros and I am a MALAKAS.

Malakas= asshole. But in this instance, it means idiot, someone who's been taken for a ride.

If you really want to know about Greece, please take a few moments of your time to watch it. On the other hand, it might seem that Greece is very far away and it's not something you should bother with. Well, it's not. Anything and everything that happens on this planet will sooner or later come and knock on your door, too. No matter how far you may live, or how safe you think you are.

Don't believe the media.

Thank you for your time.

A harsh dose of reality...

A Letter from a Shelter Manager - anonymous in North Carolina

I think our society needs a huge "Wake-up" call. As a shelter manager, I am going to share a little insight with you all...a view from the inside if you will.

First off, all of you breeders/sellers should be made to work in the "back" of an animal shelter for just one day. Maybe if you saw the life drain from a few sad, lost, confused eyes, you would change your mind about breeding and selling to people you don't even know.

That puppy you just sold will most likely end up in my shelter when it's not a cute little puppy anymore. So how would you feel if you knew that there's about a 90% chance that dog will never walk out of the shelter it is going to be dumped at? Purebred or not! About 50% of all of the dogs that are "owner surrenders" or "strays", that come into my shelter are purebred dogs.

The most common excuses I hear are; "We are moving and we can't take our dog (or cat)." Really? Where are you moving to that doesn't allow pets? Or they say "The dog got bigger than we thought it would". How big did you think a German Shepherd would get? "We don't have time for her". Really? I work a 10-12 hour day and still have time for my 6 dogs! "She's tearing up our yard". How about making her a part of your family? They always tell me "We just don't want to have to stress about finding a place for her we know she'll get adopted, she's a good dog".

Odds are your pet won't get adopted; how stressful do you think being in a shelter is? Well, let me tell you, your pet has 72 hours to find a new family from the moment you drop it off. Sometimes a little longer if the shelter isn't full and your dog manages to stay completely healthy. If it sniffles, it dies. Your pet will be confined to a small run/kennel in a room with about 25 other barking or crying animals. It will have to relieve itself where it eats and sleeps. It will be depressed and it will cry constantly for the family that abandoned it. If your pet is lucky, I will have enough volunteers in that day to take him/her for a walk. If I don't, your pet won't get any attention besides having a bowl of food slid under the kennel door and the waste sprayed out of its pen with a high-powered hose. If your dog is big, black or any of the "Bully" breeds (pit bull, rottie, mastiff, etc) it was pretty much dead when you walked it through the front door.

Those dogs just don't get adopted. It doesn't matter how 'sweet' or 'well behaved' they are.

If your dog doesn't get adopted within its 72 hours and the shelter is full, it will be destroyed. If the shelter isn't full and your dog is good enough, and of a desirable enough breed it may get a stay of execution, but not for long . Most dogs get very kennel protective after about a week and are destroyed for showing aggression. Even the sweetest dogs will turn in this environment. If your pet makes it over all of those hurdles chances are it will get kennel cough or an upper respiratory infection and will be destroyed because shelters just don't have the funds to pay for even a $100 treatment.

Here's a little euthanasia 101 for those of you that have never witnessed a perfectly healthy, scared animal being "put-down".

First, your pet will be taken from its kennel on a leash. They always look like they think they are going for a walk happy, wagging their tails. Until they get to "The Room", every one of them freaks out and puts on the brakes when we get to the door. It must smell like death or they can feel the sad souls that are left in there, it's strange, but it happens with every one of them. Your dog or cat will be restrained, held down by 1 or 2 vet techs depending on the size and how freaked out they are. Then a euthanasia tech or a vet will start the process. They will find a vein in the front leg and inject a lethal dose of the "pink stuff". Hopefully your pet doesn't panic from being restrained and jerk. I've seen the needles tear out of a leg and been covered with the resulting blood and been deafened by the yelps and screams. They all don't just "go to sleep", sometimes they spasm for a while, gasp for air and defecate on themselves.

When it all ends, your pets corpse will be stacked like firewood in a large freezer in the back with all of the other animals that were killed waiting to be picked up like garbage. What happens next? Cremated? Taken to the dump? Rendered into pet food? You'll never know and it probably won't even cross your mind. It was just an animal and you can always buy another one, right?

I hope that those of you that have read this are bawling your eyes out and can't get the pictures out of your head I deal with everyday on the way home from work.

I hate my job, I hate that it exists & I hate that it will always be there unless you people make some changes and realize that the lives you are affecting go much farther than the pets you dump at a shelter.

Between 9 and 11 MILLION animals die every year in shelters and only you can stop it. I do my best to save every life I can but rescues are always full, and there are more animals coming in everyday than there are homes.

My point to all of this DON'T BREED OR BUY WHILE SHELTER PETS DIE!

Hate me if you want to. The truth hurts and reality is what it is. I just hope I maybe changed one persons mind about breeding their dog, taking their loving pet to a shelter, or buying a dog. I hope that someone will walk into my shelter and say "I saw this and it made me want to adopt". THAT WOULD MAKE IT WORTH IT.

Fallen

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left,
Sell one, and with the dole

Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

- Muslih al-Din Sa'di (Saadi)

Gulistan (Garden of Roses), 1258

It's never enough.

 

Once you had told me that my way of thinking is too narrow. Perhaps it is, but I will repeat it. This world is a fallen place. This world is a sad place. I don't really care what you think. You perceive the world through your eyes. I perceive it through mine. And I see a fallen place. A sad place to be.

It's not only the people that are sad. It's everything. The tastes, smells, sounds, colours, everything is reduced to a flat minimum. I see ghosts and shadows instead of people and colours. I see the hidden flaw. I was created to see flaws in the continuity, and put them right. I cannot do that anymore but strangely enough I still see them. This place is a sad place to be. Purgatory, not hell, and the kind of purgatory that never redeems one of anything. It's like sticky shit that just won't wash off no matter how much you wash it. The stink of it stays with you for what seems an eternity.

Entry level copycats that try to pass for beings with consciousness populate this sad imitation of a place to be. I would love to know who is responsible for this mess to execute them in the slowest way possible, or even better, trap them here and let them live the rest of eternity on this plane. EVERYTHING is not enough and I have much, much less than everything.

I see a work of art. I hear a song. I see a beautiful, truly beautiful person. And my heart stops and I remember divinity. I remember for a split second what it was like to live in a state of being where the four elements were united in a fifth, where the ecstasy of fire, the bliss of water, the enlightenment of air and vitality of earth were united in Ether, and I lived immersed in it. I hate this place, I hate this pathetic imitation of a world where mediocre is considered worth of praise and unoriginality is the norm. I hate this portion of universe and everything it contains, because I still can feel with my heart what it was like to be whole. This world is not enough for me, and the time I have is not enough to do what needs be done. This too is a trap. There is no time, but how conveniently this place is designed to deprive us of it.

I have been waging war against reality and normality for as long as I remember myself. It must be the way I am made. I cannot rest, I cannot stop seeing, I cannot ignore. I am not happy with my share. Yes, I appreciate everything I have. It is not enough. I need to become better. I need to become the best I can be or go mad. This place refuses to host me and I refuse to integrate. This reality doesn't like me and I don't like it either. I will somehow manage to make it bend to my will or I'll destroy myself trying. I don't care one way or the other. This existence makes me deeply unhappy. I will either create a haven in it and transform the whole of reality or nuke the fucking thing. I will either succeed or die trying. I want to see people that sparkle with intelligence, creativity and beauty from within. I want to converse with equals or shut my mouth and concentrate on my task. The rest don't concern me on any level. Yes, I care about humanity, but at the same time if 90% of the human population was gone tomorrow I would sigh with relief. They take up space. Nothing more, nothing less. And they take up space due to their choices, their beliefs and way of being. Not because anyone forced them to be wallpaper. So let them go fuck themselves. I don't have a minute to spare for those who perpetuate this condition of irresponsibility and not thinking and avoiding pain. They have their own thing to do and I have my own thing to do. Let me be. I am busy.

Fuck you all, and your convenient ideals and fashionable cars and empty insides.

Fuck off and die a quiet death and leave us all alone.

Earth is full. Go home.

Bloody idiots.

Oh God no...

I wonder why the so-called alternative sites (see Vampire Freaks) are full of emo teenagers with fringes? I haven't got anything against fringes per se, but when I see cute teenage things with duck faces and fringes I want to slap them. I can't help it. It's a knee-jerk reaction. Just like that. Blame it on my sadistic side. And then I want to get a pair of scissors and hack the damn fringe. And then I want to spank their asses as if they were tambourines. With all the facial piercings they have they will probably jingle like tambourines, too. Argh. Half a kilo of metal on your face and not even doing it right. I mean, what exactly is the purpose of those damn little balls protruding from your nostrils like permanent boogers? I have seen so few people that the piercing actually looks good on them. The rest merely have those eternal metal boogers just outside their noses. I suppose they can always use this excuse to flirt with people of their preferred sex, asking for a handkerchief.

And the drama. Drama drama drama. Nooooooo. I don't want to hear why your life sucks so much. When you're 15, everything sucks and nobody sucks you, which is the basic reason for the drama. With all those hormones having a party in your head and body I can understand why, but shouldn't such sites be strictly over 18? Just saying.

Another fantastic American puritan thing. Calling someone a pedophile for flirting with someone under 18 years of age. A pedophile is a person that is attracted by children, which means, pre-puberty children. Once the teens kick in, the whole "child" notion goes out of the window. Anyone in their teens is not a child anymore. The lowest legal consent age in Europe is 13, in Spain, and I have lost count of how many European countries have 14 as the limit. This is NOT to say that anyone in their teens know what's good for them, or are fully responsible for themselves. This is why we recall our teens with mixed feelings of wonder and terror, about how we made it through alive and sane despite how STUPID we were. But when we use the term 'pedophile', we refer to someone attracted by any child from zero to more or less 12, even 13 years, not older. When the hormones kick in, the teenager is as much of a child as a T-Rex is a lizard. You do catch my drift. I do understand that there are different age limits in countries around the world but my problem has to do with the definition, not the mechanics or the morality. A teenager is JAILBAIT (if you're American). Not a child. So flirting or fucking a teenager does not make you a pedophile. Unless you're a 'lucky' American.

Rant over.

Off I go to write more...

Seraph

Today is the first day my face in the mirror looks familiar again. I haven't a clue why.

I saw you in my sleep last night. 

It's funny how I see you in my sleep while we don't talk in real life. You were wearing a light blue suit that shined at parts with an almost satin sheen. I am guessing that it was the tie, or the shirt that shined. This time you looked like your usual self. And blue looked good on you, although I have never seen you wearing it. 

Damned fairies. Damned race of alcoholic, sex addicted, heartless, whimsical nutters. Nothing but trouble and heartache. It's all about your glamour and conquests. I am guessing most of you die of liver failure or drug overdose, and those who don't just carry some kind of STD to their dying day. But I forgot; you're a lucky bunch of arseholes. You manage to avoid disease most of the time even if you're not particularly careful.

I would so spank them collectively. Using planks. Or better big clubs and flattening their stupid heads.

Talking about fairies, the character I would mostly like to BE (from my own ones) is Seraph. Seraph has a fairy soul, but not the "drink and make merry" type, but rather the "kill and fuck mercilessly" type. He's Irish, 6'3'' (1, 93m), long coal black hair, gray blue, almost silvery eyes, very pale skin, lots of blue black tattoos, and also a real piece of work. A brooding, misanthropic, nearly growling young man, presently in University, who's about as amused with humanity as I am, but not really interested in censoring his mouth if you aggravate him. What are you going to do, hit him? You can try. He's been trained to kill vampires since he was practically a child. He has even killed a few. Come on, try. Give it your best shot. The doctors will have such a good time re-arranging your bones afterwards. Like playing Tetris but with no visible bricks. Thankfully Seraph looks like someone that it's NOT in your best interests to annoy. Most people instinctively know he can break them in two. Even bullies shrink away from him, and those who don't are usually used as an example for others, and offer quality time to doctors and physiotherapists (practicing the medical Tetris I described just now).

What I admire about Seraph is his willpower and self-discipline. He has been exercising since he was very little, partly because he needs to be in perfect physical condition for hunting and partly because regular exercise keeps his murderous and restless nature in check. He never questions what he is, never doubts what his responsibility is. He's quite content with his share. He's been brought up to kill vampires, period. Not all vampires. The ones that kill humans. You'd be surprised to know, perhaps, that most modern day vampires would rather not. You can't magic away a corpse, and leaving a trail of corpses behind you is guaranteed to attract the wrong kind of attention. Seraph takes care of those stupid enough or uncaring enough to do so.

Clichés I have tried to avoid: 

He's not a vampire. I mean, give me a break. Jesus wept.

He's not a loner because he has been heartbroken. He just happens to enjoy the company of his own self a lot more than that of other people. He never invests a lot in order to be heartbroken.

He's not misanthropic because he's old and disappointed. He is merely disillusioned. Has seen through the lies and appearances and social conventions and knows how petty and ugly most people are on the inside.

He does not kill vampires to protect humans. He doesn't like humans very much to begin with. No, his mind is far too complicated and different to see humans as 'good' and 'vampires' as bad. He strives to preserve the balance, because a vampire that habitually kills is a chaotic, disruptive, unchecked power. Still he's not obsessive. He's aware he cannot kill ALL wild vampires out there. He, too, is only human after all. At least his body is.

He does not kill for revenge. Another cliché. He never had any of his relatives or friends killed by a vampire. Hell, I am not sure if he even has any friends. He's pretty dispassionate about it all. Vampire hunting just happens to be his calling, and he enjoys doing it because he’s what he’s best at. 

In addition to the above, he can also kick seven shades of blue out of most people, armed with nothing but his stunning body and a grin. xD

I would love to be Seraph. Don't get me wrong, I love vampires. But give me a good body and many years of training to kill and a few bullies to practice on. Oh god yes. This would be orgasmic.

I go do something else now, before I soak my pants so thoroughly that my socks get wet too.