WRITING.

I am writing.

I am constipated, have discovered an impressive cavity in my (last) wisdom tooth, the floor of my room has absorbed moisture and the wood has expanded and I cannot close the door and the other laptop is dead and I am writing like mad.

I am reading a book and yesterday spent a quarter of an hour yelling comments and observations out loud to no-one in particular. You can read them for your pleasure (?) here:

"I mean what the fuck, fucking hell fuck, I am struggling with every available braincell to make this appear gradual, I am torturing my heads (the one I have on my shoulders, and several others in the refrigerator, I mean obviously, why else use plural here) in order to be smooth, smooth gods god dammit, gradual, you know, not like we've only just met and BOOOM! sex, and this is what gets published, I don't even know why I struggle with my craft, and erase all the repeated words, and bury my fucking nose in two different dictionaries and one thesaurus if I cannot come up with the word I am looking for, and re-write the same chapter again and again and again to make the flow of the story natural and effortless, for the love of holy fuck, put some effort into your writing, hell yes I want to read sex, hell no like this. This is not sex but microwave popcorn, just add microwave. I mean save me a fried Godzilla for later, and if I just wanted to write about sex and no plot I would write the words cock, pussy (or ass), in, out, in out, in out, in, out, boobies jumping up and down, moan, moan moan, sigh, !SUDDENLY! Jizz everywhere! Who cares???"

(I am not sure what people think when they see me during one of those live-comment broadcasts of insanity. I wave my hands dramatically as well and make faces and noises. I am not sure if the best way to do this is radio, camera or a padded cell.)

~~~!!!WRITING< WRITING< WRITING< LALALA< WRITING< WRITING< WRITING!!!~~~

This is the point where the writing starts to take off the ground. Until now I wasn't even sure what was happening. I never use a plot. I have a very general idea of what it is about and then just throw all the characters in and wait to see what will happen. Stephen King does the exact same thing. So I threw everyone in together with everyone else and I kept looking at the progress. (It mostly consisted of characters telling other characters off at first or batting at their faces like annoyed cats. Most of my characters aren't the get along easily/ the more the merrier type.) And for the first time I start realising this is GOING somewhere and I think I have a very vague idea WHERE. The two basic characters are in, the third one must be introduced now. Just after I finish with the chapters with the second character. Vampires with special needs, violent sex, crude language, a masochistic psychic and murderous twins. Not bad. Now everything will start flooding in. It will be something of a shaggathon, vampire novel, suspense/ horror/ romance kind of book. Now, don't you dare tell me there are no such books! I know there aren't! This is why I am writing mine. Silly, silly boys and girls, but of course. I first and foremost write in order to have something to read!!! Silly. It's like masturbation, only with more people watching. BWA HA HAHA HASSSAAAAAN HERE I COME!!! Eat my dust and shit fucking troglodytes of shit books. I am going at almost full speed now. Or to quote Luciphur from Poison Elves,

EAT CROW!!!

I love you all. Smooch!

I go write now. Open your umbrellas, jizz is coming. *O*

Writing again...

It is more than welcome, although it comes out in an unusual way. Old characters are re-introduced in my head and sometimes I am not sure to what direction they mean to go or what they want to say. Aubrey is back, George and William are back (secondary characters, total cutthroats but very interesting) and Sergios is also back. Edward, Aubrey's "father" is also re-introduced. I am trying to listen to what they have to say. It's not always easy. I think I know them but I don't really know them anymore. They have changed since 2003 that I began writing their stories. I still have the old stories but cannot use them, they are not valid anymore. And I had done such a good job back then, at least plot-wise. But I should not fret. The plot will be better now because I am a better writer. And there is total freedom concerning what I can do. That world is mine, the characters are mine, and I can even introduce characters from other stories since they all live in that same world. It's a matter of finding my rhythm again, and getting re-acquainted with the characters.

(I am sure this entry will bore people to tears, but it's OK. I never made the blog for other people to begin with.)

I wonder what will happen to this blog if I ever manage to get my stories published. I will probably have to disassociate it from my name. What joy.

Speaking of names, I am trying to find a pseudonym for me. I like Elizabeth, but Vasilaki is not exactly the easiest surname. Any ideas? I am trying to avoid the too obvious ones like "Desdemona Ravencrow" and "Lucretia Deathrain". (Or as a friend said: "Petronella Deathpanties". xD) I want it to sound like a surname that does exist, but a tiny pun would not be unwelcome. At the same time it needs to be small as Elizabeth is four syllables long. 

If I don't manage to come with any good ideas I'll just keep "V-" as it brings to my mind a lot of pleasant associations (V for Vendetta, vampire, the Latin number 5 -which is my number- and V, as in vampire blood from True Blood).

Right. Off I go to write. Be more interesting than poor ol' me, as I am too busy to do anything more interesting right now.

Dominic

Your father never allowed you to learn the violin. "You will not," he had said, his voice dripping scorn, "learn to play that thing. My son will not play that which amuses drunkards and lowlifes in village fairs." And you had to obey, because when you didn't, he wasn't shy about making you hurt in dozens of places with his hands or his belt. So you, the marquis's son, never learned it. You never touched the instrument the relatives on your gypsy mother's side played with such skill that made it sound like a weeping human heart, or a banshee, or a storm over the distant mountains. You learned to play the piano instead. And you also learned to drive your father crazy, to laugh at his face, and weave magic with nothing but spit and a mumbled curse, while your father pored over heavy tomes written in obscure Latin and badly copied Greek.

And you grew up to become fearsome.

And you grew old, much older than any human possibly could, though your visage did not reveal it, and still you never learned to play the violin.

And one day she came into your life.

And for the first time in your very long years you found yourself yelling just like your father had. Setting rules that she broke with a laugh and ample defiance. Chasing her inside your mansion of a house swearing to God you'd strangle that brat even if it was the last thing you'd ever do. You found yourself angry again, your temper flaring. You remembered what it was like to drive someone crazy, but this time you were at the receiving end. You found yourself ambushed, surprised, made fun of.

I think this is when you actually understood and forgave your father.

And it must have been then that you realised for the first time that you never did learn the violin, not even when your father was gone. Because she had the guts to pose the question.

Will you learn it now? Or you think you're too old and tired for that, for learning to touch a new beloved when your fingers run the piano keys with such skill that make it sound like a weeping human heart, or a banshee, or a storm over the distant mountains?

I love you so much.

All those people that came to inhabit my head over the years and tell me their stories, or allowed me to see fragments.

I love you so much.

You are what will be left of me when my time comes.

“The blazing fire makes flames and brightness out of everything thrown into it.”
― Marcus Aurelius

Seraph

Today is the first day my face in the mirror looks familiar again. I haven't a clue why.

I saw you in my sleep last night. 

It's funny how I see you in my sleep while we don't talk in real life. You were wearing a light blue suit that shined at parts with an almost satin sheen. I am guessing that it was the tie, or the shirt that shined. This time you looked like your usual self. And blue looked good on you, although I have never seen you wearing it. 

Damned fairies. Damned race of alcoholic, sex addicted, heartless, whimsical nutters. Nothing but trouble and heartache. It's all about your glamour and conquests. I am guessing most of you die of liver failure or drug overdose, and those who don't just carry some kind of STD to their dying day. But I forgot; you're a lucky bunch of arseholes. You manage to avoid disease most of the time even if you're not particularly careful.

I would so spank them collectively. Using planks. Or better big clubs and flattening their stupid heads.

Talking about fairies, the character I would mostly like to BE (from my own ones) is Seraph. Seraph has a fairy soul, but not the "drink and make merry" type, but rather the "kill and fuck mercilessly" type. He's Irish, 6'3'' (1, 93m), long coal black hair, gray blue, almost silvery eyes, very pale skin, lots of blue black tattoos, and also a real piece of work. A brooding, misanthropic, nearly growling young man, presently in University, who's about as amused with humanity as I am, but not really interested in censoring his mouth if you aggravate him. What are you going to do, hit him? You can try. He's been trained to kill vampires since he was practically a child. He has even killed a few. Come on, try. Give it your best shot. The doctors will have such a good time re-arranging your bones afterwards. Like playing Tetris but with no visible bricks. Thankfully Seraph looks like someone that it's NOT in your best interests to annoy. Most people instinctively know he can break them in two. Even bullies shrink away from him, and those who don't are usually used as an example for others, and offer quality time to doctors and physiotherapists (practicing the medical Tetris I described just now).

What I admire about Seraph is his willpower and self-discipline. He has been exercising since he was very little, partly because he needs to be in perfect physical condition for hunting and partly because regular exercise keeps his murderous and restless nature in check. He never questions what he is, never doubts what his responsibility is. He's quite content with his share. He's been brought up to kill vampires, period. Not all vampires. The ones that kill humans. You'd be surprised to know, perhaps, that most modern day vampires would rather not. You can't magic away a corpse, and leaving a trail of corpses behind you is guaranteed to attract the wrong kind of attention. Seraph takes care of those stupid enough or uncaring enough to do so.

Clichés I have tried to avoid: 

He's not a vampire. I mean, give me a break. Jesus wept.

He's not a loner because he has been heartbroken. He just happens to enjoy the company of his own self a lot more than that of other people. He never invests a lot in order to be heartbroken.

He's not misanthropic because he's old and disappointed. He is merely disillusioned. Has seen through the lies and appearances and social conventions and knows how petty and ugly most people are on the inside.

He does not kill vampires to protect humans. He doesn't like humans very much to begin with. No, his mind is far too complicated and different to see humans as 'good' and 'vampires' as bad. He strives to preserve the balance, because a vampire that habitually kills is a chaotic, disruptive, unchecked power. Still he's not obsessive. He's aware he cannot kill ALL wild vampires out there. He, too, is only human after all. At least his body is.

He does not kill for revenge. Another cliché. He never had any of his relatives or friends killed by a vampire. Hell, I am not sure if he even has any friends. He's pretty dispassionate about it all. Vampire hunting just happens to be his calling, and he enjoys doing it because he’s what he’s best at. 

In addition to the above, he can also kick seven shades of blue out of most people, armed with nothing but his stunning body and a grin. xD

I would love to be Seraph. Don't get me wrong, I love vampires. But give me a good body and many years of training to kill and a few bullies to practice on. Oh god yes. This would be orgasmic.

I go do something else now, before I soak my pants so thoroughly that my socks get wet too.

Everything about you.

Ugh, perhaps I should have slept earlier yesterday... But I was busy re-reading America Gods, which is both brilliant and boring, Watchmen, which is one of the most detailed, amazing and multi-layered graphic novels I have read in my life, and thinking about a million things- and one.

You know, there is a saying. If you want to leave, go. If you don't want to leave, stay. But for the love of  God(s), sugar, or anything you hold holy, near and dear to your heart. DON'T. NAG.

Don't nag about how your life is. You are the one who chose it down to the last detail, either by choice or by lack of it. That, too, is choice, letting things happen to you. So please don't nag. If you don't like it, you're free to do something else.

Don't complain about your parents, friends, or boyfriend/ girlfriend (or lack of). Do not expect others to change to cater for your needs on any level. It is fascistic, illogical and a handy excuse to avoid any responsibility. You hate it when others expect you to change, yet with what ease you expect it from others. Do not expect others to show common sense when you first and foremost don't. It's about as effective as expecting rain to stop because you close your eyes. Stop the wishful thinking and get out of the rain. 

"Oh, I can't." Why can't you? "Because doing this will upset so and so, or I will have to displease so and so. Or even worse, I will have to face my own fears about upsetting them, displeasing them, and being an entity separate from my parents/ friends/ boyfriend or girlfriend." In that case, seek out professional assistance. You need a therapist or psychologist to help you develop social skills and a personality that is not some other person(s) conjoined twin. I am not being ironic here. In fact I am very serious. I can give you phone numbers if you ask. I care about you otherwise I would not be writing this. I cannot solve your problem though. And I don't want to hear about your problem if you don't want to solve it either.

If you see your life until this point and it displeases you, don't expect it to change without you participating in that change. You should try to get used to it instead because this is how your life will be for the next fifty years or so. It's very sad, but it's what you want, and what you choose is not negotiable. You'll get it.

If you don't like it, remember: you're free to choose again any time you're ready. This is not negotiable either. Your pace is your own. Your rhythms are your own. Your problems are as big as you feel them to be and I am not going to compare them with mine or anyone else's. But take your time because you really want to change, not because you want to procrastinate. And if you want to procrastinate, that too is fine. But please. DON'T. NAG. Let me be. I have my own problems and I am not going to spend a single second telling you what to do or pat you on the head making "poor you" sounds. You are not in need of pity. There is nothing pitiful about you and I am not going to feed you your drug of choice. You know perfectly well what you need to do. If you don't want to do it I cannot help you, no matter how much I care about you. End of the story.

Pffffffffffffff (sound of kettle boiling... inside my head.)

(I have no opinion on Nickelback... But the review is just hilarious.)

It is official.

It is indeed. I understand nothing.

I have an authority problem.

I have issues.

I also have many cats.

I want to go and hide somewhere so that I don't have to talk to people anymore.

I want to shave my head and wear on it a pot with flowers.

I want to fuck half a million people.

I don't want to fuck anyone ever again. Safe, my head screams. You're safe. You must be crazy to want to get in trouble again. Think of what can go wrong. Pregnancy, disease, falling in love and losing control, getting hurt. You're safe in this place of non- action. And all this danger, all this risk, for what? Getting sex that you don't even enjoy? You must be mad.

Indeed. But I may change my mind in a month or ten minutes from now. And I probably will.

All this thinking gets me tired and depressed and gets nothing done.

If you ask me what I want to do, the answer is never again get involved with anyone on any level.

If pigs had wings they would fly. Naturally.

It's almost hilarious.

I am running away again. At maximum speed.

I wish I was more consistent in the way I feel.

I wish I was uncaring.

I must discover a different way of being and feeling.

I am a member in thealterium.com, an alternative social network. Like Facebook but with no censorship. Nudity is allowed, in fact encouraged. They are pretty much nice guys and girls there. But the roles I can play are limited. Yes, yes, yes, I can put pictures of my ass and get many flattering comments. But I am not an ass, or a pair of boobs, or my vagina. I am a human being. There is so much more to a human being than just body parts.

The game is played with flawed rules.

I refuse to play the game with such rules.

And then I wonder why I feel I lack something and what am I doing wrong, as the game can only be played with the aforesaid rules.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. And so tired I feel someone turned me upside down and emptied my very soul out of my body.

It's your fault.

I can think of three people I can accuse for my present state of being. But accusing others for where you stand is just silly. If you don't like it go somewhere else.

I need to get more tattoos done on me. They won't help me resolve my confusion, but they may prevent me from getting laid, or even help me get laid. I am not sure what would be worse at this point.

[All the above can be concentrated in ONE word: scared.]

I mostly believe

Ha, ha, ha. I have been looking for this everywhere.

by Neil Gaiman (from  the book American Gods)

“I can believe that things are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen – I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.”

- Samantha Black Crow I agree with about 98% of this. He, he, he.

Practicing curses.

[This is the only living being I would take orders from. Them, and their bigger cousins.]

I want to be terribly violent on someone tonight. Thankfully no-one is here.

I got seven kinds of furious today. I got harassed by a cop. The majority of cops here in Greece think they are the second power after God Almighty and even the Almighty is scared of them. So it's not unusual for them to talk to citizens in the manner a 18th century plantation owner talked to their slaves. Threatening me and arousing me and fiddling with my temper is not good for a variety of reasons, but let's run our options here and go back to the basics.

1) I don't own a Jaguar, yacht, a bank account in Switzerland, an offshore company or anything of that kind. In fact, if I owned any of those I would be living the quiet easy life those same cops are so intent on protecting.

2) I don't own whores, drugs, weapons (unless we count my farts) or sell any of those. If I did, I would also own several of #1 so these people would once more be interested in protecting me.

3) I don't have a rich father, mafioso boyfriend or girlfriend or pimp. Nor am I employed by them. Again, if I had any relation to any of them we'd go back to option #1.

How about talking to citizens in a more respectful manner, goddammit? I did not have the permit you asked for. I didn't rape your or someone else's grandmother, OK? Although your grandmother being raped by a cooties infested gorilla and you calling the offspring "dad" would explain a lot of things concerning your behaviour today.

Honestly, don't those people have something more productive to do? Like catch criminals? Then again, I live in Greece, the land of the gods and myths and logic. We don't catch criminals here. We offer them our vote and make them members of the parliament and Prime Ministers. Right...

So I'll swallow a ...

... and continue with my life. Mind you, I spent many hours fuming and a good half hour cursing in the old, traditional way, that includes grinding of teeth, shaking my fist to the heavens and colourful descriptions of rare and exotic incurable diseases that make people's flesh rot and fall off. I don't know if that works anymore or you have to be the genuine article to do it, which means living in a secluded hut and communing with spirits. But my grandmother did not live in a hut and her curses worked presto.

Mwahaha.

Godless

I never stop surprising myself.

It's amazing how someone can make me change my mind from one moment to the next. I am moody, it's true, but there are times I suddenly just get sick of a situation. And this takes place in the blink of an eye. And I feel the exact opposite of what I was feeling till then. Just like that.

I am just so tired. Tired, tired, tired. All these years have been nothing but battles. I feel I should just retire now. I should just go to a quiet place and rest my weary bones. I want nothing. I can feel connection to nothing save for art anyway. I don't know if I can connect to people and to what cost. More often than not the cost is so much more than the gain. I should find a quiet place, preferably next to a tiny waterfall and spend the rest of my life touching one of the rocks there and talking to it. I should be one with the rock until the day there will be nothing left of me, till my body vanishes and my voice echoes no longer. Till the land takes me in and holds me in its warm embrace. How many things can I observe as a humble rock? How many animals would come and nest or stay for a moment? And humans, would they come to sit on me and kiss? Would children use me as a fortress? Would someone spill blood on me? Would someone come to lie on me and curl and cry their troubles away?

Would someone come and talk to me?

Forever and ever caught in a circle of incarnations that cause us nothing but pain, and give us no reward we can use on this world, forever caught in a maelstrom of sadness, betrayal and disappointment. I want out. I want back home, I want to tread the empty halls of my true origin again. I want out. I want my wings back. I want back to the time being was delight, and I could sleep in the heart of newborn suns, and I could bring music into existence by smiling. I want out and away. I want back and I cannot. Even if I die, I cannot go back. 

What manner of existence is this? Why am I punished so? What did I do wrong to end up here in this sad place of being that most of the time feels like a cruel joke, like a half-finished attempt of a world in which nothing goes right? There is so much pain and not nearly enough truth and ecstasy to overcome it. There is so little to gain and so much to suffer for.  Innocence is a guarantee you'll get trampled underfoot and made to bleed. Only robots survive here. Only robots, liars and deceivers. People who's way of being is synonym to cruelty and indifference.

Why have you abandoned us so?

In a godless world, who can help me?

Why have you thrown me to the wolves?

Why?

When will this end?

When?

Getting nothing done is a fine art

I am not so sure of what I want to write.

I only know I am good at what I do.

Sometimes it feels like I am trying to untie a knot with my eyes blindfolded and my arms tied behind my back. I keep pulling at the knot with my teeth and eventually it gives way. The knot is, of course, inside my head.

Some days I am sure I am one big knot that defies gravity, logic and any attempt to be untied. But I’m going to reach the heart of the matter no matter what it takes.

Communication is improving. Before there was no communication.

I am trying, trying really hard. I am sure you have no idea how difficult this is for me, to keep trying while the messages I receive from you are discouraging. You can't see it because of your own problems that hold you tight. Over the years, I have seen so many people destroyed by their parents, their ability for intimacy uprooted before it could even bloom. Still you need to understand, this does not come naturally to me. What I am doing now is surpassing myself and my own conditioning, letting myself open and vulnerable. My whole being cries out against it. But I have to un-learn. I have to try and move on from someone closed and sealed like a safe to a person that leaves some light slip in. Judging by the way you are handling this, perhaps in vain. Or probably not in vain, but we don't do things because we expect a response from someone else. We do them because they need be done. But the heart wants what the heart wants and doesn't care about anything else.

The heart needs a place to call home. Even Endymion had Elidora to call her home. Even the maddest, most callous and cruel beings want a place or a person to call home. And home is where the heart is, the heart that is deceitful above all things...

Special thanks to B. for the beautiful song accompanying this entry and matching perfectly.

To Nowhere by Yuki Kajiura

Lyrics:

Can you hear the calling of the raving wind and water?

we just keep dreaming of the land 'cross the river

we are always on the way to find the place we belong

wandering to nowhere, we're paddling down the raging sea

Who can cross over such raving wind and water?

on the rolling boat we sit, shivering with coldness

come by an island, come by a hillock,

it's just another place, we paddle on down the raging sea

But in one morning we'll see the sun

bright shining morning dew singing

they who will search will find the land

of evergreen

Can you hear the calling of the raving wind and water?

we just keep paddling down the sea, up the river

no destination, but we are together

in the silent sadness we're paddling

down the raging sea down to nowhere.

Much activity here

Means I am in a rotten mood. :-) *chuckle*

I am listening to Iron Maiden's "Caught Somewhere in Time". Oldies but goodies. Music that accompanied my teens. And I am thinking, thinking, thinking. The wheels inside my head turn so fast that I can smell something burning. Hopefully it's not my laptop that has a busted fan.

There are things I want to write but cannot write about them here.

I often feel like an alien. My personality makes others react in a very odd way. This baffles me and hurts me and makes me consider dozens of "what ifs". "Perhaps if I did that, they would react differently." "Perhaps if I did the other thing, they would do that other thing." But the thing is, I don't want to change myself and the way I think/ feel/ behave. I don't want to regulate my behaviour in order to achieve "results" because those results will be fake. It is important to show others your true self, to not deceive them or misguide them about who you are and what you want. If I tell lies or hide things sooner or later truth will out and then I'll be the one who's in trouble. Therefore I try to make sure what they see is what they get. Sure, I don't talk about my full list of interests to strangers. For example, my interest in the supernatural, my fascination with serial killers and horror and my beliefs on various social subjects are strictly personal. But other than that, I don't pretend something I am not. Some examples are:

I am introverted and don't like meeting people very much. For me quality is a million times more important than quantity. Because of that I make sure not to find myself in situations that include a crowd I don't know. I am aware I am the one who's going to suffer if I do this and therefore I don't pretend I am social, or a party animal. I hate noise. I hate smoke, I hate drunken people. Can't be more clear than this.

I am opinionated and headstrong about lots of matters. I don't try to hide it. I don't care about being easy-going. I'm not. I don't mind what other people believe in as long as they don't lecture or try to shove it down my throat. But I am not going to pretend I agree with something I consider stupid. I'll keep my mouth shut and wait till the subject changes.

When it comes to liking others, I don't like most. This does not mean I'll disrespect them. I can put up with civil everyday contact but if I don't like someone I am not going to pretend we're best friends. I will not be insulting, I will not attack them verbally or despise them but as soon as there is nothing more to say I'll vanish. 

When I do like someone, as a possible new friend or lover, I let them know I do. I seek them out. I try to meet them again. I show and tell them I am interested. Usually the erotic arena is where the real trouble begins, because I don't like to feign indifference or play hard to get. My feelings, when they occur, are deep and genuine. However, the majority of people feel great discomfort, alarm and confusion when they encounter such a straightforward behaviour. They are used to games, fake indifference, people that approach them in order to take from them. Most erotic relationships have only sex as an exchange coin and no communication. If I was interested in that, I would not have this blog. I would be someone else. But I am not. Well, this pretty much scares off and freaks out everyone. And this in turn hurts and pisses me off. But as for how this can be resolved, the answer is not to my liking. I just have to wait for that one person that won't freak out.

Great. Just great.

My mind is OK with it most of the time. But try explaining that to feelings. Oh boy, you're in trouble.

So what do you do?

Personally, I love crafting and blogging. I have also found masturbation to be soothing. Actually anything that does not cause permanent liver damage or reduced brain function is fine. Especially if the reduced brain function in question is because I got so mad that I bashed their head in with a metallic ashtray or strangled them with one of their luscious cravats. No oxygen supply to the brain due to strangulation can cause permanent damage and it's such a pity when the brain in question is so quick and witty and talented. Just saying.

Oh well. When I become a rich and famous author they will all regret the error of their ways. Till then, crafting, blogging and masturbation seem like an excellent alternative.

Grumph.

Rhyming smutty scatological poetry, or,

...I am overwhelmed with happiness.

Midsummer afternoon poetry.

My ass has become as round as a peach, my boobies are blown up to heaven,

the bags under my eyes fit many gallons each, and I love to sleep in till eleven.

I perform dubious acts with my cats, and we purr and we lick in unison,

and we pat and we shake our prodigious butts, and we vanish in the line of horizon,

I by farting, thus propelling my way, they by bouncing and meowing excitedly,

I believe that this poem has gone rather astray, so at this point I’ll shut up politely.

And I’ll wave you goodbye, but I want you to know

that no mischief was done while creating it,

but my Muse is PMing and my mind is just slow

bet that too has to do with not dating.

Elizabeth V

Little things, beautiful things that make me go on

Like that video. That video is a good example of things that make me go on, because they are waiting for me to discover them. :-) And if I leave I'll never see, or taste, or hear them, and I'll be the one who's going to be poorer for that.

Watch the video. Don't be jealous of their bodies or movement. They weren't born with those muscles, they weren't born dancers. They were born just like you. What you see there is many thousands hours of dedication, practice, pain, frustration, and many many "no"s. Refusals to go out, to drink that extra beer, to spend that night partying. Dedication to any art is very much like monkhood. Nothing to be jealous of.

Look at them again.

Now, go out and make your dream come true.