Zen

Art by http://www.benheine.com/

We walk in circles under the same stars that travel in circles above our heads.

Millions of years and still they are at the same place

Millions of years and still I am at the same place.

Blind, useless, terrified, going around in circles, doing nothing and not once realising that

We’re breathing stars ourselves, waiting to be re-united with those above.

Why so much fear?

Because I want to live and life is about pain and estrangement and confinement while it should be about joy and ecstasy and the open skies.

I miss my wings.

I miss your gentle hand on my shoulder.

I miss your kind breath waking me up.

I miss your wings around mine.

I miss you so much.

You’ve watched me die a million times and not once could you do something to stop it.

One above, one below, one in the heavens and one in flesh, walking the empty halls, walking the empty streets, and it’s all gone and gone and gone. Forever gone.

I want to die.

I want to live.

I want to be released.

I miss you.

Who dares call love unholy, when you meet people who see the other person as the living Christ or the Goddess in flesh?

All flesh is sacred

All flesh demands

All is temporary, to pass away, all is forever, all is dust, all is eternity. All is one.

And here I am.

Blind, scared, walking around in circles and never going anywhere.

No-one wants to see. No-one wants to understand. No-one wants to change.

All men must change. All men must die. All men must love.

Circles, circles, circles, circles with no beginning or end, no meaning or purpose, nothing at all.

I wish I could say that this is Zen.

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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?

The boss of this level

The boss is the villain you need to defeat to get to the next level in video games.

I don't really know if there's indeed a boss, levels, or I just have a very vivid imagination. The same kind of imagination that throws (seemingly) teenage boys on all fours and sexy vampire villains on top of them, and then havoc ensues. However, seeing parallels to video games and movies and books helps me make sense of reality.

Isn't that an awfully ambitious aspiration? Making sense of something presupposes that there is some kind of sense to be made. I have lots of doubts whether this reality can indeed make sense.

I have long, complex dreams. Oh, dreams I'm good at, I know how to unravel and interpret. Life, on the other hand, isn't that simple. It has no rules I am aware of.

I have two favourite hours in the day. One is very late at night, after three a.m., where everyone is asleep and I find myself looking at the sky, wishing I could make sense of my life, and the little pinpricks of light over the horizon seem to salute me or mock me, don't know which.

The other is when twilight falls and the entire palette of colours changes frequency and vibrates in altogether different notes. That is a time of endings, and for the past to be put to rest, and death.

I don't think there is one hour of the day I am not thinking about death. I am thinking about it more than I think about sex, which under normal circumstances should be alarming. It's not. Death is always there. Sometimes we hold hands and walk together. Time, on the other hand, isn't there to hold my hand, but to crush me under his heel.

So far I've been very, very resilient. Bits and pieces of me have broken and fallen off. The rest still stands.

Have I made my peace with the world?

Have I made my peace?

No.

I can't.

Aristocratic

 

Would you look at that. Those fingers, those nails.

And I presently look like a homeless woman who's trying to give birth to the Antichrist through a zit on her forehead. Or maybe I am on my way to becoming a unicorn. The possibilities are endless.

Wah.

:-/

Go away, 2013. Just go away.

You suck.
[Sherlock]

Fuck me

Art by Xiao Bai

Fuck me. Fuck me standing, sitting, lying, in any position possible, fuck me like you mean it, like we won't live to see another day. Fuck me hard, fuck me gently, fuck my brain for weeks before you seduce me out of my clothes. Fuck me by the way you touch your glass, fuck me by the way you play with your cufflinks while talking about your life. Fuck me with my clothes on because you smile that evil smile of yours and I melt to see it addressed to me only. Fuck me by getting up and moving into my space, asking me to dance with you, while your clean body’s scent makes my knees turn into jelly. Fuck me anywhere you want. Fuck me till I beg, fuck me till neither of us can move, fuck me until even fetching a glass of water means one of us crawling on all fours because walking is impossible. Fuck me until reality breaks down into pixels and colours explode inside our heads and when we try to talk we speak in tongues and all we can do is cry in each other's arms. Bite me, suck me, lick me, kiss me, eat me, tell me how good I taste, look at me with irrational wanting, like I’m the only person left on earth. Let me worship every square inch of your body with my mouth and my fingers. Let me hear you yell until the neighbours jump out of their beds in fright. Let me feel your fingers in my hair, hear your sharp gasp as you orgasm. Let me hear your breath catch in your throat as I lower your zipper with my eyes full of murder, feel your pulse race under my fingertips. Fuck me raw. Fuck me on all fours while strangling me and biting my back, fuck me slowly as I lower myself on you again and again, taking you in, keeping you my willing prisoner. Fuck me in bed, in the kitchen, in a public library, in the bar's toilet, in a back alley. Fuck me because you can second-guess me accurately enough to be frightening. Fuck me and let me drink from your sweet blood and seed and saliva like I am having communion from the living body of my personal Christ and saviour.

Be mine, be mine, be mine. 
STID:K

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Chemicals

 

Art taken from here

I am sad tonight.

It is silly to be sad about what doesn't matter.

It's silly to be sad about movies, books, music.

Those three things make me sad more than anything else.

Sadness is nothing but chemicals. The brains experiences a stimulus, gives the order to the appropriate glands, they saturate your blood in chemicals. Our very own tailor-made, fit to perfection drugs.

There you go, dear. Have a cuppa. All yours, choke on it.

Drink it down to the last drop.

I have no protection against art.

People I have protection against.

Art, I don't.

Solstice.

Biggest night of the year. Darkness knows no end tonight.

I am not afraid of darkness. It is a caress, a luxury, a friend.

There's a kitten in a box near my feet.

I don't know if he'll survive the night.

Let's hope it does.

[Sherlock]

Birthdays and namedays and keepsakes

So many people have lost me and they haven't realised I am not there anymore.

They 've lost me because they are petty and jealous and ungrateful. They are worse than ungrateful actually; they try to harm me while I have only done them good. But that's humans for you.

Most of the time that I press on I have no idea why.

I've settled in a life of quiet desperation and all I do is count my blessings.

I still love. I still care. Or I pretend I do. When I caress my cats, half of the time I do it because I know they need it and I don't want to let them down.

But I am so tired.

Tired to my bones. Tired to my very soul.

Tiredness is combined with bouts of mania and desire, where I do one million things to avoid thinking. Or I download pictures from the internet and look at the things, places, people I cannot have and get more depressed.

There are days I can see the world in all its ugliness, destruction and decomposition.

I see me for the disgusting sack of meat that I am, for the death waiting to happen, for the old age setting in, for wasted chances and potential and absolute lack of anything noteworthy. I think that if I was to die tomorrow, on my tombstone would be written, "she tried".  

Of course, we live in a society that success is not measured by effort, but achievement.

And there are days I look inside and it's so beautiful. Everything makes much more sense in there. Just next to the tower of abyss where my dark side is having one of her usual parties, there is so much beauty. I feel like a person deprived of speech that hosts paradise, and so I write, and write, and write, and pretty much nothing changes.

I just write. And then I read what I've written. And it's good, or I think it's good. And I pat myself on the back for it. Well done.

And I go back to my life of quiet desperation.

I wish I wasn't as strong and I had given up already.

I wish I was already dead.

And then my friend's words come to my mind, and she said to me, in one of her letters, we've crawled through every road in hell, and we never gave up.

And she said to me that all she has stayed back for are her rabbits, because she doesn't trust a single soul to take care of them. Don't laugh, that's as valid a reason as any.

I just wish I had given up already.

That's all.

But there are so many out there with less than I have.

And so I count my blessings and press on.

Stardust and immortality

There is so much you don’t understand even now.

There is nothing left of us. Nothing.

We’re stardust and we return to being stardust.

Do you want something left of you?

Teach other people what you know. It may be a simple trick to make better coffee. Or you may be able to teach them something more ambitious. Every single thing that enriches their life, every bit of knowledge you share, is your bet on immortality. It will be left behind when you’re gone.

Don’t judge. They’re doing the best they can. Make sure you do the same. It’s very tough.

Don’t compare. There isn’t another person like you, not one. Comparing is useless, it’s poison for the mind. Ask yourself what you want to do, make sure you do it for the right reasons, and try to make it happen. If it doesn’t work, try something else.

Don’t ask why. Understanding other people’s motivations or knowing why something is happening is like wanting to know why it is raining while you’re caught in the middle of a downpour. It is raining. Either open an umbrella, find cover, or start dancing and enjoying yourself. The reason it is raining won’t make your enjoyment bigger, or offer you cover. Sometimes things are that simple. Don’t waste your time speculating while you should be using it to see what you’re going to do about it.

Move on, be strong, and make sure you do something new every day. Try a new recipe. Pick up a bit of litter and throw it in the bin. Smile to that grumpy neighbor of yours. Plant a single seed in a bare patch of land and see what comes out of it. Open a dictionary and read what an elusive word means. Pet someone’s dog. Take a different route to your work. Put your cell phone aside while you drive or when you meet a friend. Don’t worry, they’ll find you. You cannot escape so easily. If only it was that easy. 

Make sure you are here before you go back to being stardust. Make sure you live.

I love you.

Autumn is all about making tea and lighting candles

Autumn came very suddenly. I love this season. I can light candles again without sweating like a pig and wanting to exit the room. I make tea! I read books. I do read books all year long, but drinking tea while reading a book makes both taste better. :)

Once more I am digging out useless things from the four corners of my room. Yes, unbelievable, but there's more. I am going through cds now. It's actually fun! There's also a pad of recycled paper I have had in my possession since I was 18 or 19 years old. That, too, needs to go. Don't ask me why it hasn't gone already. I forgot it was there. It had become part of my mental wall paper/ room furniture.

I am reading free e-books I download from amazon.com. They are awful, and as a result I write stinging reviews in Amazon. One of them was short stories by Oscar Wilde. Wilde is anything but awful. He makes me cry every damn time. I may know what the story is about, I may have read it before, and there I am, crying again. Same with Andersen and his blasted mermaids. I hate these two writers. They don't just tug at the strings of my heart, they use them as a trampoline. :( It's unfair.

I can't write. Other things are going on. I hope to go back to writing soon. :) At least I read and recycle/ pass on stuff. And make friendship books. And feel sleepy. :P

An urgent announcement

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/awesome_native_american_grandmothers_capture_and_burn

This made me laugh like a mad woman. Way to go ladies!!!

A change of plans

We’re such a silly race. We cling onto our plans and carefully designed routes with single-minded ferociousness.

We fear change and anything that threatens to throw us off course. At least off the course we had thought as ideal. We’re so silly and scared. I am so silly and scared. Going with the flow is supposedly the easiest thing to do, yet how unwilling I am to do that. How scared I am of any kind of commitment on any level and for any reason. 

A friend wrote to me in one of her letters, “I always had an escape route handy in case something went wrong.” I know exactly what she means, and this is how I usually plan my life too. Making sure I need to rely on no-one except myself, and if relying on someone cannot be avoided, I certainly don't choose to rely on someone I am evolved with in an erotic manner. Depending on my lover is my greatest nightmare. I want to be free. I want no power games or need involved. I want to be myself, and approach someone because I feel the need for companionship. Not their help. Feeling helpless drives me nuts, being in need for something only another person can provide makes me beside myself with distaste and annoyance. It’s actually better than what it was; in the past I got sick with self-loathing whenever I even thought about such a possibility. I probably am the most deluded fool of all, wanting to exist alone in a perfect void, where desire and need cannot take root. This cannot happen, such a state of being cannot be achieved. Not while I am still human. Perhaps at some other point. Oh no, you will not capture me again, I say to desire, I will never again be your prisoner, as if desire is the executor, or the bad guy. And this coming from a person who’s nothing but desire in its purest form. I have the ability to bridge and understand and download and merge and shape, using desire as my guide, and the one thing I do understand to a frightening degree is desire. Yet I struggle against it tooth and claw. At least the erotic type of it, because I splurge in every other type. They’re safe. They cannot make me depend, or humiliate me. I have avoided drugs and alcohol and every single option of desire that can make me lose control. The rest, yeah right, bring it on. I’ll dive head into it. Music, any kind of art, food, pets, even friends have been safe choices. Never sex or love. They are the dangerous choices. And even with friends, I make sure to choose the ones I can guide and help to my advantage and therefore control most of the time. Sad freaks, those choosing not to play the game. Sad addicts, those choosing to play it. And I pretend to be standing in the middle ground. Yeah, right. Jesusing my way on the angry sea. You go, girl.

If only there was a way to re-acquaint myself with erotic desire in a safe way, with no strings attached and no stupid power games. With respect, responsibility and an open mind. Then again, if pigs could fly… (I would make swarms of them circle the houses of those I hate, and shit on them non-stop. Ha ha!) Yet, strangely, my best friend has managed the balance. Maybe I can do it too.

Sometimes the cure to a very unusual problem is an equally unusual solution.

The solution in my case, strangely enough, involves death in an indirect manner.

Not my death, and not through my hands. I did my part seven years ago. It nearly killed me, yet I did my part. I tagged you and I wait.

Let me hear good news from that front. Please.

In the mean time, I’m ovulating. Pretty boys, cover your rear. The butt chasing menace is out there, salivating and making gurgling noises. Need I tell you how dangerous she is for the sanctity of your butt? No sir.

Exceptional

Combining talent, humor and sensational movement. Him being French is just an extra bonus for me, since I love the damn chauvinists. Anyone who doesn't like belly dancing, or deviations of the norm (like male belly dancers) can go watch something else.

Enjoy.

Discussions and black butterflies.

I’ve just discovered that my diary is at home. 

I was seeing many interesting dreams last night. Most have to do with therapies. Hence the amount I’ve paid in direct deposits whenever I visited the bathroom today.

One of my friends and I were discussing about magick, magic, making things to sell on the internet, and then another friend came and the ascended masters, painful memories of past lives as a killer and the disbanded (?) black brotherhood entered the equation. The conversations of the past days have become a roller coaster of numerology, the wondrous, dead bad guys, contemporary writers, pendulums, orgonites, people (?) with three chakras, the Golden Dawn, (not the fascists), angels, (self- righteous dicks), demons (ruthless bastards), souls, poisoned pets, advertisements, the long-dead series Carnivale, the astronomical sums actors are paid, marriages, christenings, and all the jazz surrounding the aforesaid components.

Life is funny with those things as part of it.

I need cats, good music and a pen name. And to wash my hair before it jumps off my skull and starts running on its own.

What are we doing here? What the hell are we doing here? Please remind me. What do we even bother?

We have forgotten so much. I have forgotten so much. Yesterday I could  hear a kitten meowing somewhere. Probably the owner had abandoned it. Their cat gave birth and after a few days they got rid of the kittens. I did not do something. I was putting the clothes on the line and listening to the desperate cries and did nothing about it. I didn't even know where it was. I just knew it was scared and desperate; I know what scared and desperate sounds like. I already feed about thirty cats and have six in my flat. I can't take more. There was a phase in my life that I took home every single kitten I found abandoned and it wasn't working either. I couldn't live in that house. Yet yesterday I felt bad for doing nothing about it. What could have been an evening at the rooftop enjoying the last evening light and the sounds and smells, was turned into a guilt trip thanks to someone else's irresponsibility.  

Why the hell do I bother? Why the hell do I try? Who cares about ascended masters and solar consciousness when most people spend their lives with their heads up their ass? Gods damn.

As a rule, I don't like modern Greek music. I love that song. Here are the lyrics roughly translated in English.

John Charoulis sings for the series "The Island" the wonderful song "Black Butterfly."
Song: Helen Fotaki
Music Minos Matsas

Stark white and white, white waters
won’t wash you clean this time
Your angel is looking for you carrying a candle
show yourself, black butterfly, so that he may find you.

The knives are asleep at the mountains
and the black butterfly awakens them.
Death gives his kiss elsewhere
and the black butterfly summons him.

No desire ever remained hidden
and you fly too close to the light.
Incense is burned and the heavens weep
and the coming of night won’t find you alive.

Stark white and white, white waters
won’t wash you clean this time
Your angel lights three fires
get out, black butterfly, show yourself.