Mistake

I am sure I have made a mistake somewhere.

It can't be explained otherwise.

It makes no sense.

All my choices, though valid, take me to dead ends.

I rerun this story in my head and yet find no escape.

But this is not how it was supposed to turn out.

No, it was not.

What have I done wrong?

Your hands, my beloved, look so immaculate.

What have I done?

My eyes cannot be read anymore.

You will never know.

Even if the time comes, you'll never know.

I'll make it gentle.

But late at night

When I toss and turn in my bed

Thinking over and over again

this sad turn of events, that might turn me

into the hand of fate

Who will take away my sin?

Who will grant me sleep?

Even you

the one supposed to love and forgive us all

the one who stayed in delicate balance

you ask me to do

what you could never.

You cannot absolve me.

I cannot absolve me.

I can only pray

that future will never come to pass.

Predicament

"I know, the past will catch you up as you run faster, I know..."

All bonds break

Reality subsides

All hell breaks loose

It all crumbles to dust

No turning back.

This body will eventually fall apart just like everything else and it won't even have fulfilled its purpose, which was to be loved.

I am left with no choices. You left me with no choices.

Loneliness creeps in and sadness pours down like a unexpected summer shower. Startling cold.

I was handed a sword. Entrusted to cut clean.

I did not refuse it.

"Fear cuts deeper than the sword."

I twist and turn in my sleep, pushing the nightmares away, flailing, gasping. Not now, I will not have those memories surface now. I will deal with them in my own time. When I am awake. NOT IN MY SLEEP.

One day it will all be gone. No more second chances. No other choices, no alternative pathways. Nothing. Void. Back in the Embrace.

Do you realise that?

Have you played the game well?

Have you done all you could?

Have you tried all options?

Have you given your best?

Cause one day you'll be gone. Gone for good.

No one will ever again smile like you did, with the same knowledge gleaming in their eyes. No one will make your favourite food or coffee like you did. No one will touch your lover, or child, or parent in the same way. Nobody will throw tantrums in the same manner or be sad in the same degree. Nobody will be able to replace you. No one in the world will be able to appreciate a moment the way you do. Do you realise that?

Do you realise your time here is finite? Do you appreciate every day? Do you give your best, or plainly drag your feet in a half-hearted existence? Do you understand, fully understand, feel to your bones the irreplaceable void you'll leave in your place once gone? Do you appreciate yourself for all that you are and do, every little quirk and gesture that make you unique? Do you comprehend that one day there won't be a next day to set things right, to apologise, to touch someone or kiss them, to say sorry or "I love you"? Do you really, truly understand that some people will never hear this from you if you keep postponing it?

Do you really think you are going to live forever?

Do you sleep easy at night?

Do you have secrets?

Do you cry?

Do you get mad when people smile at you?

Does anyone in the world hold you when you are alone and afraid?

Do you care?

Late at night, when I walk the streets with my dogs, my footsteps echo in the distance and manage to stir only dust and memories.

Sometimes I sing with my MP3 player shutting off all sounds and I wonder what my voice sounds like.

[A mad woman, an owl, someone calling out to ghosts.]

So many ghosts

so many goddamn ghosts

hordes of ghosts following my every step and me crying out like a monster, an owl with the face of a woman, a harpy, a miasma.

My hands weave spells secured by my voice; tightly woven intricate patterns of energy like some spider from a fairy tale or stories from the old, and I grow older with every passing breath and yet there isn't a single stone on which I can lay down my burden and rest...

Everything carries power and special weight

and I wish I could embrace you and show you my love

Break your frail, bird-like bones in my grip...

Tiny creatures

we're all tiny creatures digging a pitiful existence in the mud

our eternal loves and ideals swept away in a single blink of a dragon's eye

and yet the pride, oh what pride we have...

Name the reality drug that keeps you going

name the illusions that feed your ego and make you feel invincible

name the addictions you harbour that make your world make sense

and all these while our existence lasts only for a scream

and our souls flutter away blind

leaving as blind as they arrived

and it's repeated into eternity.

Is it all meaningless?

Is it futile?

All those years, were they wasted time?

Only time will tell.

Till the dragons fly again,

farewell...

Much needed inspiration...

Moonspell: Scorpion flower

Curse the day, hail the night

Flower grown in the wild

In your empty heart

In the breast that feeds

Flower worn in the dark

Can I steal your mind for a while?

Can I stop your heart for a while?

Can I freeze your soul and your time?

Scorpion flower

Token of death

Ignite the skies with your eyes

And keep me away from your light

Surrender tears to your mortal act

Flower cursed be thy fruit

Of your courage last

Of your grand finale

Flower crushed in the ground

In your empty heart

In the breast that feeds

Flower worn in the dark

Can I steal your mind for a while?

Can I stop your heart for a while?

Can I freeze your soul and your time?

Scorpion flower

Token of death

Ignite the skies with your eyes

In your empty heart

In the breast that feeds

Flower worn in the dark

Can I steal your mind for a while?

Can I stop your heart for a while?

Can I freeze your soul and your time?

Scorpion flower

Token of death

Ignite the skies with your eyes

(Song from the latest Moonspell album, Night Eternal. Full of my favourite themes: Lucifer, Lilith and darkness. The scorpion symbol an added bonus.)

Angels, devils and guitar players.

It is time.

The time of frosted moon and de-frosted Asian buttocks.

I shall be merciless.

I shall chase them like a mad dog to the gates of hell and even further. Into police stations, into libraries, into churches. It is the time of ultimate doom.

Ovulation has kicked in.

I need Asian boys all wrapped up in ribbons and fake fur.

First of all, Uruha. I shall tie him up and throw him in the oven and roast him. And eat him beginning with his little ass.

YES! YOU! YOUR ASS! ASS! BRING ME THE ASS OF URUHA on a silver platter, well roasted and topped with mustard! Onions and potatoes will mark his passage! And leave me to it! ~AAAAAASSSS! That will teach you to shake your hips in videos in such a slutty, despicable, unacceptable manner! ASSSS! ASSSSS!!! Your ass will be GRASSSS!!!

Then Gackt will be the one to suffer. I shall wear my armor and go find him in his fortress. He shall hear me approach, me and my minions of evil, and he shall know me by my evil boots of DOOM. Thigh high platforms that imitate the sound "DOOM" while I march to war. "Doom, doom, doom". Like a frost giant wearing two anvils instead of shoes, walking half-heartedly to his own wedding. The kind of sound that makes the ground shake and the fillings in your teeth vibrate. And behind me, millions of my evil man-eating gothic smurfs chattering away like demonic locusts. All white, with black gothic clothes and tiny very sharp teeth. We shall prevail!

[Gackt, as soon as he heard the news of me approaching, is trying to disguise himself and flee. NO such luck you bastard! Your penis will decorate my hall of trophies tonight!!!]

Then Hyde must fall victim to the power of my ovulation. He will try to escape, try to run and hide, all in vain! VIOLATION! Random violence and undiluted pain in my hands! Tied up and covered in marmalade and me shaving him with a chainsaw while one gazillion ants run all over him, tickling him to death! His defeat and humiliation will be unparalleled, an example to every other Japanese rock star thinking he's more feminine than I am, and prettier as well! BASTARDS! BASTARDS! Why do you have to live in Japan from all places? I need 2000 euro to come there and give you a piece of my mind! I shall take Japan by force and have it under martial law! You will be forced to walk around dressed like ugly transvestites for the rest of your miserable lives!

[Hyde under my martial law, mocking my authority. Take him inside and WHIP him till he bleeds, the bastard!]

And then...

What?

(Someone from behind a curtain speaks to me in a low voice.)

Oh.

I see.

I was just informed that a specific someone brought me gifts in order to reconsider.

Hmmm. Bananas. I love bananas. Come here sweet Uruha boy. I hope you know where these are going.

[Cries of panic echo in the courtyard. A door slams. Then silence.]

(If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do. Thank you.) 

Crash test

Okay, this post will not make much sense to anyone not involved with Japanese rock music. Then again, I want to make my friend K. laugh because she's a true blessing in my life, and she has made me laugh at times I needed it more than dear breath. There you go girl, this one's for you.

SEX CRASH TEST!

Between two major J-rock musicians: Gackt (Gakuto) Camui (musician, performer and singer) and Kyo Nishimura (Niimura), singer of the cult band Dir en Grey.

Gackt: tall, (1.80?) slender but beautifully worked out, lovely smile with blinding white teeth, the androgynous beauty of an angel, mid thirties to late thirties, quite the charmer and the playboy. He is too good not to be vain, conceited and self-involved to the wrong degree. You know, the "for fuck's sake get the fuck out of the bathroom, I need to pee, there are mirrors in other rooms of the house too goddammit!" type.

Kyo: too short, (1.60?) very slender, full of tattoos, a tiny man of solid muscle, yellow teeth that look like a traffic jam after an accident, rather ugly to downright grotesque, early thirties, oddly quiet and polite. The type of quiet and polite that makes you wonder if he's got a closet full of mummified fans hidden somewhere in his house.

Why fuck them?

Gackt: because he's too good to be true, the bastard. Criminally pretty. And grows old beautifully as well.

Kyo: because on stage he behaves like an epileptic orc during a psychotic episode, even to the point of self-mutilation. If he is the same in bed, he's gonna be the fuck of a lifetime.

What would they think if they saw me in a crowded room?

Gackt: Hmmmm... She's too tall (note:I am 1.78m), taller than I (in high heels). How dare she be taller? *annoyed* And she's got tattoos on her arms. Yuck. Such bad taste! How unfeminine! And bags under her eyes as well! Hasn't she heard of concealer? Plus she's not even blond! And she's got boring brown eyes! But I haven't fucked non-Japanese pussy in quite some time, so perhaps I will devote SOME of my PRECIOUS time to her, but only a little.

Kyo: wow, that woman is TALL. (His eyes inevitably fall on my cleavage, due to them being at that exact height.) Er. *Blushes* But why is she staring at me? (Starts looking left and right, certain I am not looking at him.) Perhaps she is looking for the ladies' room?

Romantic courting:

Gackt: Women are such sensitive creatures. (Pours more wine in your glass, to make sure this sensitive creature in particular will be too tipsy to say no.) They bring true joy to my life. (Read between the lines: especially those 90-60-90 types, born mute and perpetually hungry for my divine penis.) Sometimes the loneliness gets me down. (Translation: I haven't scored in two weeks. I need to get laid to satisfy my manly urges and desires. You, lucky girl, you.) I wonder if I will ever find the one I am looking for. (Translation: you could be this one, you luckiest woman on the planet.) Then he smiles a kittenish smile while 'accidentally' touching skin, and you really want to smack his face because he's such a douchebag, especially those perfect teeth are begging for your knuckles, but the lower part of your body has a very different opinion on the whole matter.

Kyo: (Looks at you mystified, then points at a random direction with a barely audible polite whisper:) That way. (Meaning "to the ladies' room".)

Line to make them fall for you:

Gackt: No line. He likes his women mute anyway. Just IGNORE the bastard, ignore him with all your might and fury.

Kyo: ??? Perhaps using a baseball bat would be more effective than any line I can presently think of.

SEXUAL ARENA

Size matters:

Gackt: I'll be damned if I know. Then again, he's Japanese, so what the hell do you expect down there, the Tokyo Tower?

Kyo: He's tiny. I surely hope he's not tiny everywhere. I think in his case you are in for a surprise. Now, whether this will be a pleasant or nasty surprise, we can all pray to the Phallus god. And buy a strap-on just to be on the safe side.

About giving you oral:

Gackt: *twitches his -plastic surgery- perfect nose in serious distaste.* Do what? Yes, I suppose I could do that, being an exceptional lover and all that, but why don't we try this other thing first? (My perfect face is NOT meant to be between the legs of ANY woman, you deluded moron! It is meant to be worshiped, photographed and depicted on magazines worldwide. JUST WHO do you think you are???)

Kyo: You don't ask him to give you oral. In fact, you don't speak at all. You just grab him by the hair and direct his head between your legs. Once down there, I have this very strong suspicion he knows very well what to do.

About you giving them oral:

Gackt: But of course. It took you some time, but you finally understood your purpose in life. That's the only fitting place for a woman anyway. In the bedroom, after she has satisfied all my manly desires. In the kitchen, while at the same time cooking a heavenly meal for me. In the living room, while I am sitting comfortably in my designer couch and she has just vacuumed. In the recording room, while I am writing yet another romantic song and need gentle inspiration. I think I will compose a new song now and perhaps even include you in my thanks section of my latest album.

Kyo: *blushes tomato red*

On scratches and bites:

Gackt: OW! Are you CRAZY? (He jumps out of bed and runs to the bedroom mirror, strategically placed somewhere near bed to be able to watch himself while fucking you.) You scratched my face(/back/arm/leg)!!! My beautiful face(/back/arm/leg)!!! I have a photo shooting in two days and this CAN'T be covered by make-up! Argh!!! (Don't be very surprised if he slaps you at that point and then ties you up, to make sure you won't be able to scratch him a second time.)

Kyo: OW! That felt GOOD! (Then he either reverts to epileptic orc mode and starts fucking you as if there is no tomorrow, or he gets confused, thinks he is on stage and starts singing. Good luck with that.)

AFTER SEX

Gackt: Was it as good for you as it was for me? Of course. How could it not be? I am the perfect lover. Tomorrow I will make breakfast and bring it to bed, BLAH ME BLAH ME BLAH ME BLAH ME BLAH ME... ME ME ME ME ME ME, BLAH DE BLAH... (Just pretend you are asleep. It will save you.)

Kyo: Sleeps like a dead man, probably curled, snoring lightly and drooling on your pillow.

LINES YOU CAN SAY TO...

...make them marry you:

To Gackt: No lines. Zip it for the rest of your life. And read this blog entry from the beginning. Are you sure you want that? Now, I don't think you've been paying attention!

To Kyo: You know, I can scratch, slap and bite you like that EVERY time. Plus I love little fluffy animals. (There are pictures of Kyo nearly shitting himself with joy while petting doggies, cats, rabbits and the like.)

...make them run for dear life and never look back:

To Gackt: I think I am pregnant.

To Kyo: You know, I LOVE torturing and killing little fluffy animals. And hey, actually you look like one. Why don't you get some sleep now? You must be tired.

... make them dump you and possibly execute all your relatives as well:

To Gackt: Kyo from Dir en Grey does it better. Plus he's got a bigger dick than yours.

To Kyo: I have been cheating on you with Toshiya (another member of Dir en Grey) since the beginning of our relationship.

(If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do. Thank you.)

No meaning

Sleep

sweet sleep

give me back my meaning

When the sky fails and the wind falls silent

silent croon of dreams

partner in crime

give me back my purpose

When reality refuses to hand over

what is rightfully mine,

give it to me and pry it back tenderly in the morning

from my unmoving fingers

Sleep

sweet sleep

Motherfather of all realities

sacred thread in the hands of the Weaver

open embrace of the divine

void between the heavens and the blood drenched soil

Give me back

the mind of a child,

the wonder filled eyes

and the open heart

of the miracle maker.

Restlesness

For the past one month I have been on the lookout, continually deflecting psychic attacks from someone. "Attacks". Hmm. Not attacks. Not direct attacks. That would be a lie. Someone was "checking" me out after a reiki therapy I did to him. No problem with that. But then he decided to turn this into a power game. It was partly fun and partly stupid. Spells started flying to all directions. As soon as I realised what he was up to, doors were repeatedly shut at his face, to keep him off my case. He is perhaps as stubborn as a mule enraged by a three hour beating, if more. Amazing, I said to myself.

I closed all the doors I have to my conscious self.

He went dreamwalking.

I shut him off my dreams.

He wove spells.

I tore them apart.

He used other people trying to once more reach me.

I shut those doors too. On top of that I had to give therapies to those people as they were contaminated by his shitty energy. Power games= ego= left path energy= shit energy.

We reached the point of him using one of his friends to borrow energy in order to re-open the doors to me.

Ah, great, but sorry my friend, I have a water dragon who acts as my protector and I did not even ask him to; he simply wants to. I did not need his help, I think I could put you both down single handed if needed, but he butted in anyway. You see, he too received help by me and he feels obliged to protect what he understands as a woman against two men. Different mentality I suppose.

And the grand finale? The discovery I made three days ago about a spell blocking my erotic life. It was then that I've had it with this person and finally got permission to explain to him a few things up close and personal. I never attack, I always deflect and ignore. But this time it was different. I have no idea exactly what I did to him, but I know he deserved it. I hope it was very painful for his pride. I do know two things; one, he got me furious and he should have avoided that because I only helped him, and two, there is possibility of him being in the hospital right now. This second thing I hope is not true, but he should let sleeping tigresses lie, not step on their tails repeatedly.

I'll keep my ears perched, and if he indeed is at hospital I'll give him another therapy. *snigger* :-P

I don't want to be funny.

I have thought of two different funny posts but I don't feel like being funny. I will be funny some time in the future, when the stars are right. In the past days the stars are right only for biting off people's heads. Judging by their behavior, they don't need them anyway. They are just empty spaces, well aired and with plenty of light inside, due to their ears and eyes.

It is amazing. I work at the kiosk. Some guy in his sixties comes whenever he walks his dog and tells me he is the son of god, this is why he will be elected Prime Minister. It is valid the other way round too, from what he says. He will become Prime Minister and this proves he is the son of god. He gets very insulted if I don't agree, so I agree. He also tells me he will make sure I start working in the TV. Okay.

Another thing that defies my common sense. I sell chocolates at the kiosk. The weather has the tendency to change from one day to the next, from cool to rather hot or even stifling. So I had not stored the chocolates in the fridge yet. A lady comes, buys a chocolate and after one minute returns it and tells me "this chocolate is soft". Yes madam, chocolate has the tendency to be soft when the weather is hot, dunno why your brain cannot inform you this is the case. Unless it is not chocolate and it is cement or soap neatly wrapped in a chocolate wrapper, CHOCOLATE WILL BE SOFT WHEN IT IS ALMOST THIRTY FUCKING CELSIUS DEGREES OUT THERE! Does it take more than half a fuckhead's brain to realise this? Unless you expect YOUR chocolate in particular to be an exception to this universal rule. Don't know how this is achieved. Perhaps with a negative gravity field installed in each separate chocolate, with tachyons running around to keep YOUR chocolate cool and dandy. If you find out how the hell this is done, I am interested. I want to install one such system exactly between my legs, to keep my pussy cool and well-aired. There are days in the summer that if I remove my underwear and wring it, I can fill a bucket with the sweat. So it would be perfect. I can already visualise the effect. The gentle breeze making all those cobwebs down there fly like white sheets, washed and placed on the line. All we need is Monica Belucci placing those sheets on the line and we have an Italian drama for the next century. But this is just a humble kiosk and not NASA, so I would appreciate it if you did not expect chocolates to behave like insistent hard-ons when the heat is abnormal even for Amazon Indians. Is this too much to grasp?

I hate summertime. I hate the heat. The sun is kicking my retinas as if it's trying to score for the World Cup. Everything stinks. The garbage bins stink, my dogs stink, people stink. They are too manly for deodorant in this country. You walk into the bus and there is an array of exposed armpits waiting to get you, due to their owners happily holding the roof handles. It's like walking into the Prom of Ninja Academy. Silent and deadly, all of them, gathered to make you pay. Attacking you relentlessly, mercilessly. You can even smell their lunch in the armpit odor. Garlic. Salami. Onion. A true joyride. WHY? Why spend the summer in Greece to have every idiot kung fu my nostrils because he had an argument with his bathtub? And when I finally go home and lie exhausted on the warm sheets, my nine kilo (twenty pounds) fluffy orange tom cat comes and sits on my face. NO. Absolutely NOT. I am not Hugh Hefner and you aren't the 2009 Playmate, mate. Go sit somewhere else. Like the other end of the room in the exact opposite part of the house. You are adorable but too hot.

BETRAYAL! This is, after all, a funny post.

I need to get laid. I need to get laid. I need to get laid. You wouldn't have been able to tell, would you now?

Farewell

I wish I had more actual things to refer to rather than dreams and happenings in other planes of existence. It's not that I disregard those. I am fully aware of the importance of dreams and how they are as valid as "real" life, if not more. It is myself I have a problem with concerning dreams. I can't help but think of myself as a miserable idiot counting dreams instead of actual deeds. Which is funny, as I always go for the quote "as above, so below." I know that all changes happen to the inside first and then the environment, what we call reality, changes to adapt to ourselves. Dreams are as important as real life, they are a second life, much more attuned to the divine spark inside than daily existence. And yet, when it comes to my dreams, my experiences, I always question my motives. "Question my motives". Yeah, in the manner of a officer of SS interrogating a saboteur.

"Perhaps you WISH to be able to do what you think you are doing."

"Maybe you LOVE to live your little personal dramas and you are nothing more than a DRAMA QUEEN addicted to her own pain, real or imagined."

"Oh yeah, let's SUPPOSE you did that. I you were THAT powerful, don't you think your life would be different?"

"Of COURSE that happened. Who do you think you are, the next fucking MESSIAH? Wake up from your reverie little deluded girl, you are not Buddha with boobs."

No-one can be as merciless as I am. Nobody can hurt me the way I do. None can pull the carpet from under my two feet the way I do it. I am unforgiving to myself. I grew up learning to disregard anything that I could not prove, under continual suspicion of me being incapable of dealing with reality. I learned not to trust my instincts and thoughts, not to pay attention to gut feelings unless there was a practical usefulness to them. And there was none. I am still fighting tooth and claw to UNLEARN these things. The power of conditioning is just beyond description. There are times I have hurt myself physically, I have reduced myself to nothing, absolutely nothing, while the voice of the interrogator kept spitting accusations non-stop, hitting me under the belt in the manner only I myself am capable of. Nice, isn't it? Your own private tormentor installed within your head thanks to your family, married with you and living happily ever after inside your thoughts, chewing at your self-esteem until you go stark mad. Until you want to knock your head on the wall to fall unconscious and make that cold, precise, merciless voice SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP.

Today was hard. Very hard.

The only way you can regain control of your life is unlearn these patterns and conditionings. All manners of crazy things take place during that process, ranging from trivial to unbearable. Usually the installed 'program' starts behaving like a virus, attacking the host, making you feel like you have gone bananas. Outbursts of violence towards one's self are not unusual either. I have experienced very interesting side effects. However, I am a very stubborn person. No-one will have control over me to the degree this is possible. And certainly not my ego, not my patterns and other people's misconceptions installed inside me. Therefore, I cringe my teeth and onward I march, pressing it to the end. I will get rid of this shit from my head. I need to be free! I need to reclaim my being from three disturbed people that are my family. If I am to be disturbed, at least I will be serving my own vices and the voices of my own head, not theirs.

I feel like I am walking in a desert during a terrible sandstorm. I almost have no idea where the ground and where the sky is. I am continuously attacked by howling winds, I cannot see a fucking thing, the sand is inside my mouth, eyes and nostrils, my tongue is so dry that it feels like a piece of cotton wool, my lips are split from the heat and sand and I taste my blood every time I open them, I cannot swallow and the sun batters my head mercilessly in spite of the goddamn wind. I stumble on, having no idea whether I am on the right track or not and no proof this is the right decision. I mumble and curse on the inside, feeling a growing despair that since I have no way to verify my direction perhaps I am walking towards the center of this desert instead of the oasis. Needless to say, if this is true, I am as good as dead. And yet I have no choice, I need to press on. I cannot live with myself the way these people have distorted me.

This is the problem with the journey of self-discovery. There are no guarantees, there is no safety net, no assurances, no do-it-yourself little help book with directions. "Here be dragons" and I knew it. With that in mind, someone would have expected I would take any and every scrap of help I could summon. But this is my journey, my soul's journey. Other people cannot help. And today was particularly hard for me because I knew what had to be done. This beautiful creature that came to me some time ago, this water dragon that had encircled himself around me like a ring of protection, had to go. He came to help, and his intentions are pure, and he wanted to show his gratefulness for the therapies. And more than anything else, more than sanity itself, I NEEDED him to be here. I needed him to be close to me, not because I cannot protect myself, but because I am so lonely that it feels like actual physical pain. A pain like someone is tearing off bits of my soul. I needed his being here because he is the only one who has approached me to protect me and soothe me in any way he can, although he cannot soothe his own pain. And I needed his being here because I need a companion more than dear breath, this agony inside cannot be ignored anymore. I knew I could trust in him. And once more I took the hard way, once more I did what felt right. I asked him to go away because I have to go through this alone. He did not want to go away. He even thought I rejected his help, which god/dess knows it is not true. However, he needs to learn to love himself for what he is, not because he is useful to others. And I need to concentrate on here and now. He is not here now, he is not an actual person in my life. Perhaps one day he will be a real person, someone in arm's distance. Someone that can curl next to me in bed and will sleep with his breath caressing my arm and I can smooth his hair and watch over him, just like he did for me. But this is not now. The desert is now.

Will you ever forgive me for sending you away?

The name of the game

[A note concerning the video. All the wounds on the singer's body are self-inflicted. Please DO NOT WATCH IT if you are put off by such a thing. And while you are at it, don't read the entry either. It will be of disturbing quality.]

There is sadness and sadness.

There is sadness that is a temporary wave, a fleeting, passing fragility, like a moth touching one's cheek on the way out of a room. And there is sadness that has those roots that reach down, down within, entwined and thick and tightly enclosing one's soul in a lover's embrace, in an odd unbreakable love knot. You learn to love this second kind of sadness because you cannot part with it. You cannot tear off those roots without tearing bits of yourself, whole chunks of your being, without denying what you, essentially, are. "What brought you here". What shaped you into your present form. God/dess forbid I would ever refer to the emo movement. No. I am talking about the sadness of poets, visionaries, artists, of those mad, broken and burned beyond repair. Those who have lost too many loved ones, those molested or regularly violated, those who see things. It is the inevitable sadness when the world you see with the eyes of your inside has absolutely nothing in common with what you see around you. The feeling that makes you kneel and moan because it essentially means your very being is forever branded with the mark of isolation.

I have always loved my sadness like the leper learns to love what cannot be changed. This does not mean I enjoy it. There are days I would give anything within my possession to be able NOT to share my life with this permanent visitor. Yet I try not to complain, for I see things and taste emotions on the overdrive exactly because of it. Happy or not happy, I always overflow with feelings. My joy is violent like a drug; my melancholy deep like red wine. Madness, when it strikes, is a tidal wave. It sweeps me off my feet and sends me sprawling on the floor. One such night I took the right turn by accident. That's what I want to refer to tonight.

Some months ago I was on the floor of my room, tearing at my hair. It was well in the a.m. and I was trying to mute my screaming in something that would not make the people of the second floor jump out of their beds in horror. The joy of flats- one is not even allowed to scream and yell their pain out. As a result I was down on the floor letting gurgling sounds, while breathlessly punching things and flailing. My crises are quite clockwork; the pain builds and builds and just has to be released somehow. This leads to me simply losing it. However, that night was different. Because I did something I have never done before. I started writing things on my arm using a razor. "I need you. I am in hell. Where are you? Please help me." Those words were aimed at someone out there whose name and face I do not know, but I do know he (or perhaps she) is looking for me, needing me in the same way I need them. What my lips would never speak out loud was written in blood, because I cannot escape forever my need for another being in my life. Still I will probably never say these words to another human being. I simply cannot, in the same way I cannot reach into that part of my heart and claw till I tear off that need. I would if I could; trust me. So I wrote what I will never say. Writing, after all, is my precious bane.

Much to my surprise there was a response. In a dream. My dreams are a huge map of the impossible and the improbable, trapping things from the ether and dragging them all the way down in this reality. What arrived was an answer to my distress signal but I only realised now, that more things have fallen into place. And it's still far from being real, but at least now I know what it is about. Or do I?

In that dream, a gigantic being landed on my rooftop, almost making the building collapse under its weight. A dragon. Light orange and light cypress green on a beast that looked like a crossover between a Chinese dragon and a koi, those sweet Japanese goldfish. Huge fins that almost resembled wings, floating around him like fabric. He levitated effortlessly in mid-air, like swimming in heavens instead of the sea. He was following me around throughout the dream and I thought that he wanted me to do something for him. I am used to that. People coming to me and asking for things, never giving anything back. With the exception of my very close friends, that's what happens. I only recently managed to shift my perception concerning that matter and comprehended for the first time that he had arrived to help me and not the other way around.

So, a water dragon came to stay. He was the only one taking my therapy and offering something back, pressing me to accept his help. He is also the only one whose intentions are pure. He made me wake up crying just one night ago for he is even more unused to accepting love than I am. Like a tree that prefers not to drink water or a fish that tries to swim on the pavement. I was crying over the roots of that tree, begging it to drink the water I was offering it, shifting the soil at its roots which was bone-dry like sawdust. Mingling tears with the water I was pouring, knelt on the soil and sobbing from the deepest core of my soul. "Please drink. You will die. Please drink, I am begging you. Drink. You will die if you don't. I am begging you." Woke up with my chest into a knot, but the soil was moist. Perhaps he will drink. Perhaps he will not. I cannot help him understand. I can only love with no strings attached like I always do for all people and hope for the best for each of us, whether I will ever meet him in flesh or not.

The night after the therapy to him, I went to the rooftop for a while. The night sky was clear and beautiful. Only two clouds were visible- two oddly shaped clouds that looked like two fabulous beasts chasing each other.

"And to the winding vines

the pretty boys dive

And thru the pinhole stars

into the shadow mind

Will you lose him then

on some gentle dawn

This boy is here

and gone."

Smashing Pumpkins