The second blog I promised you...

My second blog is slowly growing. Only a few posts yet, but I am getting there...

https://mostlyamused.blogspot.com/

Or the first link in my list of links.

You are more than welcome to visit.

Dreams of no importance

Why do I bother myself with what your problem may be when you are out there to get what you can?

Then again, dreams have no emotional censorship. What I felt was a very powerful blast. You were trying to reach me, to get close to me, and I grabbed you by the face and pushed you away in the same manner a bored prince would push away a concubine that has tired him with her affections. You had three or four other men around you and you were truly desperate to get close. I was indifferent, treating you as an annoyance. In the same dream I could see your house and it was spotless, but there was no kitchen in there. You were only eating cold meals based on very simple and poor ingredients. You don’t feed yourself on any level. You deprive yourself of emotional nourishment because you are an idiot of the worst kind, wanting to control everything. Control again, that old friend of mine. Controlling. What an excellent way to keep yourself busy in order to avoid thinking. I do it myself…

I pushed you away and you grabbed my hand, literally begging. “Please” you said. “Send me away, but at least caress my face.”

Now in the dream I felt pity for you and was more than a little shocked; you are not the begging type. Why, I would have thought you’d rather have your nails torn out than beg, much less beg a woman, any woman. And even less me. Then again, in the dream you were writhing in the arms of those men, and even as I pushed you away you still tried to get close. You were actually tearful. That’s what shocked me the most. You were begging me with your face contorted by agony and tears in your eyes.

Can you fake it so much? My sensible, caring side asks. Can you fake so much feeling? 

You probably can. You can probably do a lot more to gain attention and steal energy.

At the same time, my dark side is having a party thinking of the delicious possibilities of me hurting you, making you beg on your knees. Something you’ll never, ever, ever do in the waking world. You’d never stoop so low as to beg a woman and me in particular. Never. That belongs to the world of dreams, of my soul visiting places of ‘what may be.’ And I’d never try to make it happen either. I don’t think I can anyway; I feel very alienated to myself to believe anyone could feel something so strong for me. It’s not even low self-esteem as much as actual alienation. I can’t identify with the person I see in the mirror and see her as a woman, much less a desirable woman. But I digress. The only real reason I do not wish to go down that path is that I am not sure I’ll be able to keep my sadistic impulses in check. And if I don’t, heh. Then god/dess help us all and me more than anyone else.

Then morning came, full of distressing news. And right now I can’t focus.

I have seen similar dreams before.

Thankfully they fade away during the day.

Thankfully you have no access to me on any level.

I am safe, both from you and my dark side.

At least for now. Later on I may be a different person and not care.

I truly hope I will.

[Insert random sounds of distress here]

Some people have a gift they should be shot for. Or deified. And yet they're humble...

I just finished watching the Mist, based on a novel by Stephen King.

The part that really spoke to my heart was an old "friend" of mine.

Let me introduce you...

Her voice resembles a raging hurricane, the Ocean before Time giving birth to existence. The end of the world and the beginning of Worlds.

Enjoy (?)

Black and gold and full of scales

[Wonderful art by Royo]

Today I am wondering again if you are happy.

Of course, it makes no difference what I think or believe. It cannot alter your state of mind. I can only change myself. Yet sometimes thoughts pass through my head, similar to erratic flocks of birds. The mind as the most ancient drive-thru in existence.

Sometimes I wonder if I want to know. I know I am merely cheating. I cannot live anything exciting now and try to find something more interesting to bother my head with. But my head is bothered and fucked up and disturbed already, it’s a reverse Cathedral of wishes, dark games and obsessions. I should not add to it.

But are you happy? My mind once more asks. And what had happened between us back then?

Who cares? With my luck in these matters, you probably had murdered me. Much like another person we both know. Or have heard about. 

I don’t really want to know, to be honest. I want the naughty stuff without the painful details. Hahaha. What a bloody idiot. Wants a consequences-free sin. Like eating those disgusting 0% sweets. If you’re gonna sin, sin boldly. Sin like you mean it!

Will I be able to get rid of the past?

Will I be able to dance through the minefield of you all without ending up as minced meat? Burned, broken and destroyed? Because fully avoiding you doesn’t seem an option. I don’t know how stubborn you are as a person. The other one is extremely stubborn. And he’s about as attractive as that insistent, sweet toothache when one is teething. It hurts but kinda nice. One can't help but rub their tongue onto it.

And there are days I know that none of you has any actual power over me. I can simply slip from between your fingers like a memory and leave you behind, because that is what you deserve. I can simply get up and let you fall in the floor, in the manner of a woman who sheds clothes she does not need anymore.

Well, I am still wondering if you’re happy. And whether adultery is your cup of tea.

I promise I’ll add honey and spices to it.

Erotica

Been writing erotica for three days in a row. Perhaps my head will explode and LET ME BE at last. And I am not even ovulating.

Mah.

Hide and seek and you may find

 

Sometimes days pass in a hurry, like the fluttering wings of a bird.

Sometimes the hands of the clock get stuck and go nowhere and the day drags on like punishment.

And sometimes feeling and understanding are bridged in a single moment. The experience itself illuminates with nothing more needed. Feeling is understanding and time does not exist. Everything is one.

Books, volumes cannot express that magic speck of time. Philosophy is inane prattle compared to the alchemical moment when something -and everything- makes perfect sense.

How many such moments have you had in your life?

And why do these moments illuminate those who have lived in darkness for years, with their hearts as their only source of light?

How can music make me cry so much when so many things don’t touch me anymore?

For a moment you danced in front of my eyes, and you were just like the snowflakes you so much love. Flawless. Perfect. Celestial. Beautiful enough to make someone’s heart break.

Still waters run deep. Ancient water married to ancient fire.

How do you hide so well?

How do you hide so well? Answer me. How do you manage to hide under all those shadows and poisonous thorns when you are so white a single glimpse of you can illuminate my entire sky? The pearl hidden in the abyss. The proverbial pearl.

I am lucky I can read between the lines.

I am lucky you have illuminated my sky.

Thank you for making me cry tonight.

Thank you.

I am expanding!

Literally. Last time I weighed myself I almost got a heart attack. But never mind this. Let's hope my next boyfriend will be muscular enough to deal with it, because I sure as hell won't do anything about it. No, what I meant was that I'll open a second blog that I plan to keep as vanilla as possible and only write about my hobbies there. I don't want to refer to this blog here as interview material, for reasons we can all understand, and I certainly won't censor what I write here in order to make it less "challenging" for a possible employer. On the other hand, a site with my writing is a good thing, and I want to have one handy. There will be a link to that blog from here, but there won't be a link to this blog from there because I want to keep them separate (again for reasons we can all understand). As soon as it is ready, I'll add the link. Feel free to visit, although I need to explain beforehand that it will be a blog related ONLY to my interests. Which means, letter writing, crafting, music, movies, books, comics, manga and the occasional reference to role playing games and other bits and pieces. No deep philosophical questions, no overdose of pondering and no profanity, to the degree this is possible.

Let's see how this goes. And THANK YOU for reading this blog, even if you don't want to comment or make yourselves visible. I take this as a compliment of this blog being a secret vice of some sorts (don't I wish!).

Gorgeous red hair

You do realise...

...that there should be a law AGAINST men who naturally have this colour of hair, don't you?

Not for any other reason than sheer petty jealousy...

Goddamn all the redheads in existence and their bloody freckles...

Why should a melanin glitch make my heart lose a heartbeat? Or half a dozen of them, for that matter???

Ahhh....

Ermmm...

I think I am going to go fuck myself. Suddenly everything has a new meaning.

Yes, the phrase "go fuck myself" fits the description perfectly. If you'll excuse me for a moment...

Goodnight you all...

I said good night!!!

[Photos: Bartek Borowiec, a very ugly specimen of flaming red hair and milk white skin. Excuse me while I wolf whistle!!!)

Give it a fucking rest already!!!

Cat's cradle

 

Hello my conscious self,

Reality didn’t just slap me in the face yesterday. It slapped me with a door in the face. Just as I thought things were back on a good track, reality said, oh yeah? And used the steel door of a safe to slap me around a little. I feel a bit battered today, that's all. Just an elephant size bit. Oh well. It's not like I wasn't aware of the problem, but naive as I am, I was certain it was better. Never mind. One more relationship down the drain.  

Despicable bastard.

You're not helping me any.

My hormones are making this even worse.

I honestly wonder what the hell we need hormones for.

There is no answer to that.

There is no answer in general, and that forces me to come up with new interesting variations of an answer. And new fantasies I am too tired to do anything about. Just thinking, thinking, thinking, and consequently feeling horny, and eventually the day ends, and a new day comes, ad infinitum. The days succeed each other in the same meaningless manner. And I am about as aware of residing in flesh as the average ghost is aware of haunting a place. Hmph.

I was watching a friend of mine talk about martial arts and I envied him. Envied the ease with which he moves, envied his effortless posture. And thought of one of my characters, my beloved Takeshi. But there is no meaning there either, trying to live your life through other people's experiences. 

Where is the meaning? My inner voice demands. Tell me where the meaning is.

There is no meaning other than what we choose. 

I am so tired.

I did not lie when I said to my friend your energy is barbed. It has thorns and fangs and barbs and it's dark red, almost crimson black, solid and wet and sticky at the same time. Like the inside of an exotic flower that first attracts you with its smell and colour, then traps you and sucks you dry. But at the same time it gives, it gives fever dreams, nightmares and weak mornings. You are all devouring, all demanding. You leave love bites and secret poison as proof of your having been there, and finger marks on wrists and napes. You make women muffle their moans in between sheets and inside pillows, and next morning as you make your bed those moments fall on the ground like the beads of a broken necklace. I wonder, truly wonder how happy you are with what you have.

Are beings like us ever meant to be happy? And I don't mean be happy together. It will never happen. I am just wondering, that's all.

It's not like I am doing anything more noteworthy anyway.

 

Ample illumination

After the anger and the heartache last night, it is with great pleasure that I make the following announcement. I got the little bastard who was responsible for my fits of rage and now we're having a glorious time together. If you consider being fucked to death a great time, that is.

I am going to bed... just not yet.

My mind is running at many hundreds of miles per hour. I am busy inside. At the same time I am listening to the inner “motor” of the Earth warming up, the swirls of energy moving once more. The planet is preparing her engines and takes deep breaths, ready to pick up more speed. I think this will be a no bullshit zone/plane very fast. And I can’t fucking wait. I can’t, fucking, wait.

I am more attuned to what’s going on now. And the more I work on myself, the more I clear out the accumulated clutter inside me and make space for the messages and whatnots, the more I’ll receive. Back to the time of innocence, motherfucker. You did everything within your power to steal my innocence, turn me into a copy of yourself. But you have not. I think you have not. And trust me when I say that I’ll dance on your grave when the time comes. I may be heading to become the next Buddha, but I’ll take breaks in the meanwhile. I’ll be human whenever I get the chance, and quite low, and happy to see a worm like you where it belongs. Six feet under. You think you are so smart, and smart you are, but not wise, and certainly not kind. I’ll be the one to pour you more wine when you dine in hell.

Walking last night on my way to my Japanese lesson, I was listening to music and looking at the sky. I couldn’t help but once more realise how unique and kind you are, and you are not aware of it. Not in the slightest. I heard the tiniest sound of something breaking inside and I think it was my heart. I also think you’ll be the only one I’ll miss when I go, and you know where I’ll go to; we discussed it in my house. But I’ll find you again. I can wait, and time will be the one thing I’ll have in abundance. Besides, I was the one who made you, flesh of my flesh. I was the one who gave you form together with your father. I am not even sure who is the father and who is the mother anymore. I am not even sure if the strongest one descended or stayed up. Remember who is the biggest? Remember what I told you about your father’s dragon? Remember Magdalene, and how it appears that they captured the weakest of the two? The female in body and male in spirit appears to be just as strong as the male in body and female in spirit, if not more. It feels so wrong, so ridiculous to claim such power that does not belong to me and at the same time the mind makes connections I never asked for or understood. Who remained? Who descended? Who was the mother and who was the father? I was the mother, but Altamon is male and the most powerful. It’s a mess, isn’t it? And it probably makes no difference.

I have been defiled. I have been twisted out of shape and I breathe anger in and out. I have been mercifully deprived of my full power, otherwise that anger would have given Earth a brand new facelift. There are days what I want is to kill, torture and hurt, and believe me when I say I am not doing that bad. It is my secret shame, my burden. Nobody has seen me in my darkest moments. Nobody? Those who suffer at my hands have seen me alright, and it shames me and saddens me and yet I cannot stop. Like a junkie that always promises this time will be the last, but there is no such thing as a last time when you are a junkie. And I am a junkie. I do what I accuse others of doing, and I am blind, just as blind as everyone else.

And there are nights I just want to die, knowing that I may do the same things to my children, I may yell at them and drag them around in the house by the hair the same way my mother did to me, I may relish every single moment that I’ve scared them shitless and terrorized them because they stepped out of line. Control, control, control, control, control. I do the same thing now to my dogs, I yell at them and kick them into obedience and then I just want to die.

There is only the illusion of control that vanishes as soon as the river of anger fills again with red. And the river is always ready to run wild, always ready to swallow and carry everything away with it. And I’m riding the red wave as if I was born to do that. Born only to do that. Maim and destroy, hurt and frighten to death. And perhaps I was shaped into that, but I need to somehow befriend this. Not control it. You cannot control a hurricane or lightning. Accept it and befriend it before I wring someone’s throat till their eyes pop out together with a blackened tongue. It's not my conscience that prevents me from such an act, but my basic self-control.

I’d kill so many people if only I could.

And at the same time, so much understanding, such an innate ability to comprehend pain and such a strong need to soothe it. How can anyone be so violent and so tender at the same time? How can I feel in my heart of hearts the gentle sigh of each blade of grass trampled underfoot and at the same time hunger so deeply for destruction? How can I cry for each tiny life that ends and at the same time feel the need to kill so many of the so-called sentient beings? How can the same person still cry for the kitten that had died in my hands years ago and for my little mocking bird, and be so sadistic and callous at the same time? It makes no sense. How can these two feelings share the same body? How can they both be so powerful and encompassing? My entire being hungers for death, bloodshed and destruction and at the same time the concept of pain, people hurting other people and animals makes me burst into sobs.

At times like these, I want to go hide in a cave for the rest of my life. I want to shoot me in the head. I want to sleep and never wake up again. Still I am here and can’t go anywhere without giving up. And I am not a quitter.

However, I am certain of two things. One, I am not relationship material. I’ll never be relationship material unless I undergo through some bizarre personality change that happens only in bad Hollywood movies. My own self, my questions and inner seeking will always have priority over everything and everyone else. And that’s not negotiable.

Two, I still like myself a lot and wish to improve as a person, and would not change a thing about me even if I could. The only thing I want to change is imposing my anger on others. And that’s it. I love my anger. It’s truthful and part of me. I just don’t want it to run the show, that’s all.

And I should just sleep.

Personal responsibility

"Bullets are the beauty of a blistering sky,

bullets are the beauty and I don't know why..."

There are moments in one's life that change the course of that life forever.

Done can't be undone.

Seen can't be unseen.

"You cannot unring a bell."

Do you realise that every single moment is one such moment? It may not feel like it, but it is...

New year is here...

...and all the old troubles are hanging from my butt like a bizarre tail. Or tale, if you'd rather.

I have a cold. I am coughing and donating mucus in hankies like there is a special challenge and the biggest donation gets an award. Judging by my production, the award will be a golden nose on a mini pedestral. This year from the summer onwards I have been sick three times already. This is not usual. The money situation is shit and I get stressed on a daily basis, trying to make ends meet. As a result, my immune system has all but given up the spirit. You'll tell me, don't get stressed, it's not helping you any. You think I don't know this?

I am trying to make my mood better by making pretty things with my hands and studying kanji as if there is no tomorrow. You should really be able to see me sticking ribbons and confetti and sparkly thingies in photos while listening to Amon Amarth, Lamb of God, Dir en Grey and Cavalera Conspiracy. It's appropriate. Half of the time, I also accidentally stick my hair on the photo or stick sequins on my hair, and when I am done crafting I look like a person mistaken for a Christmas tree. Other than that, I am watching about one movie every night. God/dess knows what got into me. I think I am trying to keep my sanity in place. I am not even sure if there is such a quality about my person anymore in order to keep it there but I try.

Then I watch youtube videos with inconspicuous Japanese singers shaking their hips and licking microphones. Bad, bad, very bad. Especially if the singers in question have this outstanding face with the super wicked eyebrows, killer cheekbones and really long, narrow, evil snake eyes. And they do all these... um... affectations to no-one in particular. Then it's not difficult to imagine they come to your bed late at night and they give you this long, sensual, detailed massage. And just as you have turned into a mass of goo they fuck you blind, deaf and in multiple other ways challenged. Oh yes. Someone please. And that someone in particular, certainly yes please.

I also discovered I am married to Silvia, one of my oldest (female) penpals after accepting a request she sent me in Facebook. Good. She's a really beautiful and talented young woman and being married to her is very flattering. Too bad she lives in Germany, otherwise I might have tried to take advantage of the situation. Heh. I can see me, coughing like a sick dog and with two tampons stuck up my nostrils to block the constant flow, trying to seduce her. It would be a smashing success. And then her boyfriend would enter the scene and things would quickly get out of hand. Things would also get out of their appointed places and quickly enter in other places, and I am not referring to the tampons. :-DDD

Other than that, here is the link for the BEAUTIFUL dresses and gothic/period clothes my friend Silvia makes. Her work is fantastic, she speaks English and can take orders as well. You ask for it, she makes it.

http://www.kostuemgeschichten.de

Have a great new year everyone!