Raindrops

If I could make you understand. Just for one moment.

What it means to love.

So banal.

Taken for granted.

So much ink and saliva spent on what seems a chameleon of a subject.

If only.

If I could make you understand for the fraction of a second what it means to dread losing the one you love.

If I could make you for the fraction of a second vibrate like a chord touched by human fingers.

Resonate like a whale's song.

If you could open up and see.

No colours.

No names.

No countries.

The eyes of a child.

They all cry the same.

They all need the same things.

If I had the power to offer you a glimpse of what my heart ungrudgingly holds secret and rocks to sleep to keep me sane.

Now I know what my soul knew from the start. We'll never meet.

In your endless mercy you have provided. Caring for me, you tried to find a replacement.

In your endless sadness you dive inside the Heart.

The Heart holds you.

Like a child.

Judgement Day

And then comes one day that you want to turn Angel Safari into a national pastime. Hunt the fuckers. Raid the Elysian fields or aetheric levels or whatever place they live in, sleep and tan their gorgeous bodies while gracefully sipping mojitos or whatever shit they drink. Pluck their feathers out with pliers. Take a plane and fly over them while they snore peacefully and throw them anvils and safes to flatten them in their sleep. Paint them with black nail polish. Chase them with a flame thrower. Throw them big cactuses with the entire clay pot attached while they merrily chase each other in the ever green fields of the paradise. Next time I am introduced to one of those lazy motherfuckers, I will kung fu their brains out of their skulls. Yeah right, why EVEN TRY to bother with the earthly shit? Oh noooooo, THEY are TOO IMPORTANT to bother. It doesn't matter that this plane of existence has turned into a demo version of hell. Oh nooo, it is not their fault, you see there is this thing called FREE WILL, and since that thing exists, well, THEY CAN'T do anything, it is not their RESPONSIBILITY. You see, there are RULES.

I will rule your ass out of existence you shitstained pieces of feathered ego, you Pharisees of heavens! You bloody scum! Handing over your powers to the exactly wrong kind of humans without caring as long as you will not bother with us lowly mortals, with those oh-so-unimportant mortal affairs. You see we're flesh and blood, too disgusting for your divine hands and standards. When you fucked mortal women they were good enough. Now there is no fucking involved so you can't really bother with the rest of us, can you? Oh no. Too much work and a very dirty job. Too much trouble. A whole fucking planet turned into purgatory and billiors of souls screaming in misery and despair every single day of their lives and you can't move a finger to help. No no no. You are safe where you are. Why bother?

You miserable, arrogant, pretentious pieces of crap. You fucking hypocrites. YOU LOWLY, COWARDLY SCUM. If you cared, really cared, if you indeed served the Creator you claim you serve you'd be too ashamed to show your fucking faces. The brave ones of you have taken the dive in flesh and live amongst the mortals, suffering just like any other human. Being oppressed, victimised, raped, scorned and used like asswipes by mortals and immortals alike. Behold the wonder of existence and what it has turned into. I hope you are proud of yourselves. This is your responsibility as much as anyone else's. When you see a crime committed and you do nothing to stop it, you are as much a criminal as the one commiting it. Hail to the entire angelic race! As above so below; as below, so above. Go fuck yourselves and see if you multiply. Douchebags!

PS I swear, the next forty something American lady/healer with the serene, all knowing smile and the catchy New Age vocabulary I come across in the net, "channelling messages" from this or that or the other Archangel or Teacher or entity, I'll track her down and fuck her up the ass until she recites the entire Greek alphabet backwards.

Treasure chest

[picture: Shinya in action, the fantastic drummer of Dir en Grey]

I went through my usual summer cleaning binge. I threw away stuff, recycled old magazines, gave books and items to friends or charity, recycled old letters from people I no longer am in contact with. Suddenly, while being amidst a mountain of torn paper I stopped fully, because I found a small pile of letters. They were the letters my fictional characters had written to the characters of another lady. We intended to write stories together but this never happened as she was ill and we eventually lost contact fully. But the letters were there; I had kept copies. First letter I came across was the one gentle Sergios had written to one of her vampire characters. I paused and re-read it.

It is hard for another person to understand why a writer may feel the way they do about a particular character. After all they are not real, right? But Sergios is or rather was me. All my characters are pieces of my personality, facades of what I am, was or could be. And as such I love them more than I love my own two hands. My hands will wither and rot one day, but my characters are immortal; they are the closest thing I have to a soul.

I stood for a while. Remembered all the things I know about my dear Sergios. Felt very depressed because he belongs to a different story line and the copyrights for that world belong to a company, so I can never have anything published. I wallowed in my misery for a little while and eventually scolded myself because I once more remembered what any serious magic practitioner of magic (and anyone familiar with the fundamentals of physics) must not forget: energy is NEVER lost. It changes form but never vanishes. The solution had been there all along: I slapped my forehead and concentrated, then called upon the Liberating One and handed them all to Him. There you go, these are my creations, the closest thing I have to a legacy. Take the old characters, the undeveloped stories, all those "what ifs" that will never take place in any world and return them all to the Heart, the Creator/Creatrix. Let Him/Her have it all back. They were once born in dreams, I now return them all to the Womb of dreams to be transmuted and reborn and returned to me to a new form. He naturally was only too happy to do this, and I was not happy at all (because I am such a insecure, sentimental sucker) but felt released. I bet that if a child was looking at the sky that night they would see this flock of multicoloured pegasi passing by and vanishing in the black horizon...

Ahhh, what the hell. Some things are never meant to be. Back to my boring life of blowing up reality, snuggling with Archangels, scratching Yahweh's face because he kept bugging me and showing me his hurt nail, slapping the asses of Japanese rock superstars silly because they won't let me be, fondling the Babylon whore and lending her money and getting into the pants of my female email pals in dragon form during my sleep. Now, if only I could figure out a way to win half a million euro, it would simplify my life a lot but spare me none of the drama.

Reminiscence

Photo: Die, the excellent guitarist of Dir en Grey.

I am once more working like crazy, finding myself home around eleven at night the earliest. Consequently there is not much I can do concerning my emails or my blog. Hopefully beginning next week I will start working less hours again. Which could be good. Should be good. But unless I leave my present job, less hours is pretty much like using aspirin to treat a cancer patient. :-)

My life course twists and turns unexpectedly, my comprehension of reality constantly changes, my battles never seem to end and more than anything else, what makes me sad is that experiences cannot be communicated. All my knowledge and experiences, no matter how much I wish to use them to help other people, cannot be used. Others can perhaps understand but not comprehend and benefit from it. Experience is not a "one size fits all" achievement. And one day that I'll be gone everything will be gone with me, like the funerals of ancient times or the gypsies of today: burying the dead with their jewellery. That alone should make each of us try to live to the fullest, in order to be buried like kings and queens; take with us the treasures of a full life. Memories, colours, sounds, tastes.

When the singers we love die, they take their treasures with them. Their voice. And modern day equipment has allowed us to listen to the same songs again and again; in older times, if you were lucky enough to listen to an exceptional voice it was an one time occurrence, a rare treasure only you had in your possession.

Technology has made us forget to treasure the moment.

Photographs and videos and CDs cannot be treasured. They are but ghosts of what took place. They serve to remind us, but a slothful mind and a shallow heart cannot be urged to remember if they have lost interest to begin with.

Please try to understand how important and valuable every day of your life is.

Please try to live it to the fullest.

Please try to realise how important you are to yourself and others.

A true treasure collector.

Facebook

Home sleeping. This is what I should be doing right now. But I am not. What comfort can sleep offer to a restless mind? Rhetorical question.

Many people are bugging me to get in Facebook in order to be in contact and chat with them. But I don't want to be in contact 24/7. Even if I had the time, I don't want people to see my photos. I can't bother to take photos of myself in swimming suit and full makeup to acquire more "friends". I don't want all my ex boyfriends to know who, and if I am fucking someone presently. I have no desire to meet new people or meet friends from the old. If they were meant to be my friends still, then they would be my friends, here and now. I don't want to meet my friends from school. I had none most of the time. I still at this age see nightmares about being in school and wake up gasping for breath. I was 15 and reading Lovecraft, listening to metal music and loved vampires. No-one considered me normal or trendy enough to be friends with me. Why would I want to meet again all those who made fun of what they could not understand? To be asked if I am working in a highly paid job, have two kids and a husband? Do I owe them, or anyone else an answer? What I do is my personal business. Even if I work as a prostitute, sniff coke and pluck my toenails out with pliers, I owe no-one explanations.

God/dess dammit, I still read Lovecraft and listen to metal music and love vampires.

I don't want to be part of any team of people. I am a very private person. I don't want to have to deal with the politics, cliques and whatnots of any group of people. Yes, I feel lonely. But my loneliness has to do with mortality, with the fact I am one separate entity cursed and blessed with the isolation and confines of one single mind. I have no delusions about "being understood" by others. We all filter reality through the personality we have developed, which is mostly a result of our experiences. Even identical twins who have grown together have different personalities, though they see their own reflection every time they look at the other twin. Even identical twins at the end of the day are alone.

No, I don't think that Facebook can make my loneliness go away. I don't think that watching photos of abs and nearly exposed breasts has any insight to add to my understanding of reality. I don't want to talk with "like-minded others" (read between the lines: they listen to the same music or read the same books, but what about the way they treat actual people?) and I don't think what I am in need of is more friends. Perhaps I am unfair towards those people who use Facebook and enjoy themselves and indeed find what they're looking for. But obviously I am not looking for the same things.

Here and there.

It could be funny. Mindlessness is an art I excel at lately. I spend money to avoid thinking. I buy myself magazines with Japanese rock stars, CDs, cute stationery; what most men would call cute pink crap. I look at pink frilly little designs. The child inside me, cornered, frustrated, sad beyond words, for a moment sighs with relief. A small pink breath for her and I wish, I wish I could connect with her again and tell her it's going to be fine. I don't dare connect because then I will cry non- stop for everything, for all the things that life has turned me into, for all the things I wished I would be and never came to be, for all those moments I fail to face the world with an open heart and my eyes filled with innocence and thirst. Like she would.

I am so sorry sweetheart. I am so sorry for the things that have happened to you and for the pain you had to go through. I am also sorry for the times you will be disappointed in the future, because, you know, that's human nature.

But that's not how it was supposed to be.

It's not.

I wish I could tell her it's all going to be fine and believe it myself.

I wish I did not have to cry in the middle of the fucking net cafe like a goddamn idiot.

She doesn't want kawaii stationery. She wants to be loved.

She is lonely and scared and wants someone to hold her.

I am so very sorry sweetheart.

So very sorry.

Odds and ends

"Where is our fortunate future? When does our fortunate future come?"

*I love the night. I love to take long walks during the small hours. However, were I to live in darkness for the rest of my life, unless my eyesight became nocturnal too, I would miss the colours of nature very much...

*I find it hard to sleep on my back. Then again, tiredness works miracles.

*My sense of hearing and smell have become more acute lately. It does not work to my advantage.

*Most of the time I am certain I am invisible. When I receive compliments by men, I feel immediately alarmed. I am sure they have something bad in mind.

*When I start conversing, actually conversing with people, they either irritate me, disgust me, or both.

"For all that is worth/ the blood on my hands/ is the blood of divinities."

*In my happiest moments I have always been alone. I don't think this will change no matter what happens. The purest contentment is always found inside one's own self. I have recently come to the conclusion that happiness while being with others presupposes a rather naive mind. I've recently also come to the conclusion I am very damaged.

*Beautiful images attack all my senses to the point of actual physical pain.

*I use music the same way others use class A drugs.

*I don't like being touched, hugged, fondled or petted for more than ten seconds at a time, any time.

"I will scream as much as I want and if my voice dies, then let my voice die."

*I can't sleep unless I have a pillow between my legs. Failing to find that extra pillow, I place both hands, a jacket, or anything else I can find.

*I think humans go contrary to nature in a million different ways. The concept of females beautifying themselves is alien to nature; in all cases, the male has to be beautiful and make highly ritualistic approaches for the female to choose him.

* In the blowing of the wind I hear the trees chatter away and share secrets. I wish I could understand what they say.

*I'll always regret not becoming chaos in its most refined, unstoppable form. I'll always regret not leaving behind me a trail of corpses. I'll never, never stop hungering for destruction. All behind the perfect mask.

"Your scars, my love, show me your scars... What a delicate pattern they must dance across your heart..."

*I sometimes marvel at the ease with which people trust. The human body is so fragile, and yet with how much eagerness they entrust it to perfect strangers. Look at me. An utterly inconspicuous nobody. So simple to take someone home. So easy to get on top of a brain dead, excited male. The wall next to bed. My hand on his head. One sudden, decisive push. I am strong. The blunt item in my hand as he is shocked and dizzy. End of game. Only trouble, getting rid of the body. Could I live with myself afterwards? How many times a day do I step on an insect and don't even realise it? What is the difference between the average human and a cockroach? The fact they plead once they realise what's going on? Perhaps cockroaches plead too, if we could hear them. And girls... Girls look so pretty when they're scared out of their wits. Big eyes. Tender big eyes and lovely soft parts on their bodies. I could be the woman you ogle at a bar. I could be someone you have known for the past five years and have never ever given you reason to doubt or suspect me. I am the woman some of you have known for years and you don't doubt or suspect me. How can you know the kind of strange flowers that take root and bloom in my garden? You can't.

"In the dark morning I hear you whisper goodbye. Love me. Abandon hope."

*There are days I see those women in their sixties or seventies, with dead eyes and dead souls. They have nothing to look forward to and nothing good to recall. Becoming one of them is my greatest nightmare.

*Sometimes, the greatest act of heroism is to keep on living.

Wandering

...aimlessly. From one stupid site to the next.

Checking mails. No. Nothing of value in my mailbox.

Ebay. I don't want to buy anything, thank you.

It all looks tempting, but empty.

Blog. What the hell am I doing here anyway?

What is it that I'm supposed to find and I can't?

Where is the link I am looking for?

Perhaps I ought to be asleep already.

My dreams are much more interesting.

If only I could remember them.

I am just so tired.

And work never seems to end.

And no escape seems possible.

And the time is always now.

And I just want to get some rest.

But he, the Judas, won't let me.

I wonder if I am the only one in this position.

Obviously not.

But I cannot see anymore.

Others, or myself.

Nothing.

Ah, all the supernaturals power of the multiverse can go fuck themselves for all I care.

I would indeed sacrifice not one, but two fingers.

One for your unlikely lover, whomever he may be, to walk true, right into your arms.

And one for that small dream of mine.

Thank god we have each other, my oyabun.

Madness lurks just too close tonight.

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.]

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