Almost everything.

It is only natural that I don't write everything here. Save for the obvious reasons of not every thought or occurrence being worthwhile of recording, sometimes written word does not cover one tenth of what I really need to say.

Haha.

The other reason is perhaps less obvious; the people reading it, at least the ones who know me personally. The other ones, well, there are lots of warnings everywhere in the blog, so let the reader beware, right?

Sometimes I am thinking about starting another blog and writing whatever the hell I want there, no matter how extreme or weird or whatever. But truth be told, this one is almost as good as I want it to be. Almost. And I am against too many blogs and too many accounts in too many sites. A lot of people are total attention whores, but I say to myself I am not. This is a bit of a lie, as writers are terrible attention whores. Then again there are things I would do and things I would not do to get attention. And sacrificing the blog I have created bit by bit in the past five years would not be something I'd do to get attention. Posting naked pics of me would also get me lots of attention, but not the kind of attention I want. I mean, I have breasts, hips, and generally every body part women have. What's new?

The only new thing I can display and flaunt in people's faces is my mind. Nothing more, nothing less. That, and the way I understand and experience reality. The way I interpret what we call life.

Human beings are very fragile creatures. A single gust of wind and we are gone. But the mind and its creations stay. And the word "mind" is actually too narrow to describe what I want to say. The Greek word would be "pneuma", πνεύμα. A beautiful word meaning spirit and soul, related to breath and the mind.

I think that's about the only thing that stays behind in some form or other. And this is what this blog is about. It may be poor, it may be lacking, it may be anything. But that's what I have, that is my treasure. They can strip me naked of everything but they cannot take this away from me. It's my treasure hidden in the deepest vault of my heart and yet open for everyone to see and partake if they so wish.

That's all I have. And I am both proud and grateful for it.

"God[/dess] is hidden in the details."

All my fault.

“For all that is worth the blood on my hands is the blood of divinities.” [Tiamat]

The path is getting stranger by the day. Stranger and harder.

Divinities.

I have killed many of the so called divinities of modern age. The killing is done inside, not outside. I have killed notions of family, friendship, love. I have killed my so-called parents and faith in blood relatives, I have killed romance, gods and archangels. I have come to comprehend myself as god/dess, and yet the dissatisfaction persists. The need for affection and the yearning persists. And as a result, the sadness is the one constant that never changes or stops. It never wanders afar. It is always at arm's reach. An inexhaustible fountain of ever-overflowing melancholy.

Where is the one for me?

Not those sad imitations of people who walk around hypnotised. Not another candidate for baby sitting, not another candidate for busting my balls. I am sick of it.

When you sleep late at night, do you too feel that something is missing?

Exhausted by yet another day, do you see how futile everything is?

Is it worth fighting for?

Is there any meaning in this endless recycled trouble?

When my soul flies away in the arms of Morpheus, do any of these worries matter?

Where is the one who will remind me that flesh is something more than just a jail, something more refined than future food for worms? Where is the one who will make less sick of my desires, less sick of the whole parody of reproduction?

Why can’t I escape my desire for affection? Why can’t I escape the animal side of flesh?

Where is the one who will make me give up control by not trying to subdue me?

In dreams late at night

you come

whispering

just before wakefulness claims me

and oh how fast reality manages to pull out the knife and stab me in the back.

But it’s my fault.

I am the one who's doing something wrong and I think I know what it is.

I have connected what's natural with the lewd people I experienced it with. I have equated it with them. But the Universe can also provide me with an different experience in order to judge better.

Okay then. Let's concentrate on making this happen...

We are the raven-haired and live grave-deep.

 

Music: Amber Asylum: The natural philosophy of love.

It happens with pictures.

You see a picture of something or someone you desire. It reminds you where you are and in an indirect manner, points out the fact you are nowhere near home or where you wanted to be anyway.

It is always funny considering the contrast: where you would like to be and where you actually are. Where you are is where the universe figures you’re supposed to be. Not an arbitrary guess; after all, we are the ones who give feedback to the universe concerning our understanding of the situation and where we stand. Our thoughts and actions are a moment to moment report of our progress. Nobody can fake this report or brag about achievements they haven’t made. You can lie to other people, not to the night sky. Not to matter itself. Matter sings; atoms, quarks, every little bit of what we understand as reality around us SINGS. It vibrates and dances and sings and repeats the most beautiful phrase ever:

Live and learn.

I seem to never learn. Because even though I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be, I still wish I was somewhere else.

It all passes so quickly.

[There is no such thing as time.]

It all hurts so much.

[There is no such thing as actual gain and actual loss.]

I so wish I was somewhere else.

[Yes, but demons, if found within, they travel with you.]

I can outsmart myself quite easily.

Yet feelings pour out like an ocean; unchecked, roaring, wild.

Rationalize what? Desire? Sorrow? Anger? Tears? Why even bother?

Why do we shed tears when nothing has entered our eyes? What do we try to wash out with the salty essence of experience? Perhaps our fear of death?

But Lilith.

They desecrated your garden, oh Wild one.

They desecrated your holy vagina.

They trapped you in human flesh.

They gave you a human name and a human destiny.

They took your orgasms away, oh Holy one.

They took your memories, your children and your lovers.

They gave you time in exchange for all those.

They birthed and condemned you into darkness eternal.

They seek to put your light out forever oh Wise one.

What will you do?

Nothing. It’s what I chose. I’ll ride the wave, see where it takes me, said the Wise one.

But is it what you wanted?

In the garden of No choices I’ll carve my name with blood and flame and screams, said the Wild one. Till the walls are torn down and tyrants are brought to heel.

And if this fails?

Well, I’ll just find another way. Because, after all, we are only as big as our dreams and aspirations, said the Holy one.

In the garden of earthly delights let me accept my burden, in the garden of my womb let there be Time, born again through me.

There is no such thing as time.

Live and learn.

Live and love and learn.

Nothing can stop me.

(Special thanks to Moonspell, Neil Gaiman and T. for inspiration and quotes...)

D'ah!

[Photo by http://lesta.deviantart.com]

God/dess give me strength!!!

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.

How can anyone call this disgusting?

Not in the mood for jokes.

I am in a weird state of mind.

Not exactly happy.

Not exactly sad.

Not very angry either. Once more I have managed to balance between the constant need to inflict violence and the overwhelming desire to be gentle in the way my family and close ones never were to me.

Time is pressing me. There is no such thing as time, time is an illusion of the mammalian brain, and yet I am pressed for time. Isn't this ironic? One of the nicest things I read on a tea tag recently was "we are spiritual beings having a human experience." When my time comes, I will miss having a body, though I am not too certain what to do with it presently.

Watching the above video with gorgeous Gackt I can't help but wish I lived somewhere else. Somewhere or perhaps sometime I could pull a sword and hear the gut-warming sound a perfectly balanced, razor-sharp blade makes while unsheathed swiftly. The slashing and hissing of a good sword through air is a song I have missed, and something my soul still murmurs at nights between red dreams and vague memories.

I don't think I will ever forgive myself for choosing a female body this lifetime. I can understand the reasons, they are more than justifiable, but this doesn't make me hate it any less. I don't have a problem with my body per se, but I certainly have a very serious problem with the fact my sex needs to be penetrated in order to mate. I hate the man who sees me naked no matter who he is, I resent the hands that touch me for they defile me. I don't want to be entered. I do not want to have a vagina. I do not enjoy being the receiving part. It fills me with terror and rage to belong to the sex that has been systematically abused, forced, victimized and tortured for the fact we are designed to receive. I feel irate for the way this world treats my sex. Yet there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can stay away from relationships for the rest of my life; I have already been almost five years without one, but from a point onward this is cowardice. And I am anything but a coward. I would rather be accused of being a serial killer than a coward.

I hate myself for desiring that which makes me sick. I hate myself for choosing to be incarnated and live the life I did. I'd rather be somewhere else. Give me a horse and a sword and a woman to love me and I would be nice to her in ways beyond imagination. Or give me just a sword and nothing else. Just let me be. I don't want to be female anymore. Or if I am to be female please take me somewhere else. I can't stand those creatures who call themselves men anymore. They turn my guts.

[Funny to consider the fact my best friend is male and he's one of the four most respectful people I know. It is not men I have a problem with. It is not men that are twisted out of shape and suffer for it, but society as a whole.]

The twilight of excuses

Ever had one of those times you wished you were someone else?

I saw the movie Twilight. It really made me wish I was someone else. I won't refer to the movie. It was simply the emotional boost I needed to reach my present state of mind. Which is, I wish I had someone to protect me for once.

I don't need a daddy at my age. I am not looking for a daddy. But I am tired of always being the strong one in my relationships. Tired of being the one to give advice, understand, insist, retreat, encourage, look for hints, read the fucking cards. I wish I was normal.

No, lie. I wish I was brain dead .

I wish I could find comfort in my female nature. I wish I had been accepted, protected and loved when I needed it most. I wish I had a normal family when I was small. I wish I had not been destroyed by the ones supposed to protect me and not turned into what I am- someone disgusted and terrified by human touch and appalled by intimacy.

I wish I had lived a normal life, that's all. It will pass.

Nearly forgot!

A few weeks ago fans of two different football/ basketball/ volleyball teams got into a huge ruckus and virtually kicked the living crap of each other. One person was stabbed to death and many seriously injured. So it is early morning, I am at the kiosk opening and arranging the newspapers, and shaking my head with disgust as I read these headlines. A friend of mine, Theodore, who's half American half Greek, is asking me what happened. I explain to him that this is the Nature's method of weeding out the stupid ones. At that point another person who hears this conversation butts in and tells me, "yes, and I can tell you exactly what happened." "I'm not interested", I tell him. "No, let me tell you", he insists. "I don't want to know," I tell him, "these people are idiots who get what they deserve anyway." "Yes, you are right," he insists, "but let me tell you what happened." 
This utterly stupid conversation goes on for another one or two minutes, with him insisting that I have to know and me asking him to leave me be. Finally he says, "you have to know because you are Greek." (!!!) Failing to see any connection between the two things, I turn around dumbfounded and ask him, "so what?" Please read the ensuing conversation.

Him: "What do you mean 'so what'? You are Greek, aren't you?"

Me: "Yes, so what? I don't give a toss about it."

Him: "You mean that if an Albanian comes and burns the Greek flag outside your kiosk, you won't care?"

Me: "He can use the flag to wipe his ass with it if he feels like it, I don't give a fuck."

This freaked him out enough to make him go and leave me alone at last.

I AM NOT GREEK, GODSDAMMIT. I am human. Do you have any idea of what human means? I am not Greek, female, orthodox Christian, or any of that social conditioning crap. I am just human. What does Greek mean, besides having Greek education? Greek ancestors? There is no such thing as a pure blood anything! There have been endless blood mixtures over the millennia and that's the way it should be, for healthy genes. Besides, modern-day Greeks can no more lay claim on the great philosophical and mathematical ideas of ancient Greece. At least, not any more than any educated person of any race can. That was two thousand five hundred years ago, people. Do you have anything recent to show me that proves a connection to those great minds? NO. Then shut up. Religion equals fear equals mental poison. And as for gender, it reveals nothing more about me than the fact I belong to the birth giving sex. SO FUCKING WHAT?!

I am only ONE thing, fellas, and get it right because I will not bother explaining it more. I am human. And God/dess knows, NOT PROUD OF IT. How could I? Take a look around and tell me. How could I?

Scraps

Sometimes the stuck in-between period is just too much. Waiting waiting waiting... Waiting to receive e-mails, waiting for people to make up their mind and finally call me, waiting for the changes to take place, waiting for things to take shape... It seems that my whole life is one waiting period to the next. And then hopefully everything will happen at once, or not. Bah.

One of my stories was published (as I said months ago). My friend A. turned a little poem by me into a comic, that was published too. Now she wants to work on another short story. I am very honoured, but not excited. I am not really here. I am nowhere in particular. I feel like a ghost that exists in the in-between period between then and never and infinity, accidentally trespassing into now from time to time. I feel mostly fleshless. Everything begins from inside to and again returns to me, a cyclic river feeding itself, with no real source and no destination. I feel genderless, fleshless and purposeless. I will eventually feel better, I know. And it's strange because today J. told me some of the sweetest things I have ever heard about my writing style. He is sweetness impersonate sometimes, this being. Still the connection with me and this reality fails miserably. Ha. I don't know if I should laugh, cry or simply stare into nothingness with a thin, amused smile. The anchors are gone and I am floating like a balloon on the ceiling of my sanity. I will eventually find an open window and escape... 

I am just tired and perpetually sad and nothing can fill this emptiness. Too many people leaving the scene at once and me left behind to entertain an audience that grows more uneasy and angry by the minute. I still live on borrowed reality. But fear not; I have medicine. It is called a good crying (which I am afraid I cannot do anymore) and chocolate (which I am sick of). It seems that the situation is serious...

"Friends"

You fucking cunt rug. You despicable twit. Thinking you've got everything right, everything fixed. With a few kind words. And I'll be happy again, like an imbecile, or a hurt puppy. As if my whole life depends on people's approval. When it was so simple: what you had to do was keep your word, and you didn't do it.

You idiotic bastard. You fucking, blithering asshole. Thinking you've got me wrapped around your finger just because you have a dick. When all you can do is stare at me, stare like a bemused moron. Till my inner light will blind you once and for all, till my face burns itself onto your memory. And I'll descend like a tower of fire, to touch the ground for a single breath before I take flight and disappear.

You will pay. Oh, how you'll all pay. I will make you all pay. Because you are not worthy of your title human, άνθρωπος -άνω θρώσκω, κοιτώ προς τα πάνω- turning the stare to the sky, unlike pigs that cannot do that. Because you sacrificed everything for the sake of your ego, or rather, your dick, because all you had to do was keep your mouth shut. Because that thing you've got between your legs, that fleshy protrusion is meant to be filling the gap between our legs in only one way. Like the sky would.

Brother piece of "friends".

Music: Porcupine Tree: Stupid Dream: A smart kid.

This world hurts me.

This reality, this plane of existence hurts me. People hurt me by being themselves. They make me crazy. They make me sad. I want to go away. Run. Hide. I want to stay hidden. Disappear. Vanish without a trace.

“The lady of the lake.”

Water, feelings. More than anything else, pain. Great pain.

I take pain too personally. I take pain as an enemy. I want to run away, to escape pain. I want to escape this world. And the only way I can do this is create. And I cannot create when I am so hurt. I cannot create. Creation is a cocoon to hide me in and make me feel protected. Safe. Nurtured. It helps me breathe cause I cannot breathe. Not in this world. I am not made to breathe air, I can only breathe underwater. And this world is dry and my gills feel brittle as if they are about to shatter. My chest aches as I breathe, my being hurts as I breathe. I cannot draw breath and I cannot create. I feel like a whale that was washed out and the sun is killing it.

It’s so hard to put into words what feels like a rain, a storm inside. So hard.

The road to success is paved with lipglossed saucers

I accidentally glance at the cover of a fashion magazine and see the x or y starlet with blond hair and blue eyes and ‘juicy’ lips (like she’d been stung by wasps, it seemed to me.) I take a look at another magazine, this time for men, and find the same type of beauty rubbed in my face, only she’s wearing her garters and high heels and nothing more. I take this discreet means of promotion more seriously and start looking at all the covers, one after the other. Tits, boobs, breasts, bosoms, udders, hips, loins, assmeats, asscheeks, asses, bums, buns, butts, bottoms, buttocks, nether regions, behinds, hindquarters, rumps and most certainly lips. Lips with ‘devious’ makeup so that they look fleshier, lips with silicone, lips with subtle latest fashion shades of neon fire brigade ‘sexy’ red or been dead for a week ‘mysterious’ white or brown. Monstrous lips which from a point onwards remind me of those natives who insert those saucer looking thingies in their lower lips cause they find it sexy. And it may well be for them, but this is Greece in year 2005, and women my age all try to look like Pamela Anderson. Yes, yes, we must stretch our faces, fill our lips and breasts and asses to the point of bursting and be hungry for sex 24/7 and always impeccable and perfectly dressed/ manicured/ depilated, but why? What about the brain department? Why struggle so much?

There is nothing wrong with taking care of one’s self, and I do not weigh four hundred pounds nor look like the protagonist of Nosferatu, but these things from a point onwards are empty. Like the years these sex bombs live when their star no longer shines. It’s a futile struggle against time; there will always be someone younger, prettier, easier. These women find themselves more desperate with each passing year, or early dead. And a corpse is a corpse: good looking or not, it only bothers those few fanatics of necrophilia. Is that what they are interested in?

At least both male and female life style magazines do agree on one thing: they are not looking for women, but inflatable knick-knacks.