It's amazing.

If my life was a comic, there would be no background in the panels. Every single frame would be filled to the brim with brain flotsam and jetsam and random whatnots. That's what I do. I manage to squeeze in humble everyday life insane amounts of tasks in order to avoid thinking. Thinking makes me depressed and depressed is not good. 

I think it's time to start threatening deities again. I am good at it. The deities can testify it. If something happens to me you should all know that the usual suspects are Jehova, Raphael and some asslicks of similar magnitude. Now that I said "asslicks", I just remembered popular Supernatural (the series) swearwords. Bobby uses "eejits" but the medal goes to angel Castiel for his ingenious "assbutt". A man after my heart, Castiel. I love you for managing to fit the word ass twice in one swearword. Four ass-cheeks in one go. And there's always Alistair, a demon, referring to angels as, "you righteous dicks!" Oh indeed. With exceptions, of course.

I got my short stories back, corrected by an editor. I opened one of them, saw countless red lines. Closed the document again and went away to clip my nails. The next day I opened another. Another red sea there. I closed it and went to feed the geese. (I have no geese but I am sure you know what I mean.) It was the same with essays in my university years. I would go home, clean everything, re-arrange furniture, fold all my clothes in the closets (because if your closet is in disarray, you obviously cannot write an essay. It's self-explanatory. Closets are vital to essay writing) and then I'd go grocery shopping. In the supermarket, I would put goods back on their right place on the shelves, making exasperated remarks on the irresponsibility of people. When I went back home, I'd spend copious amounts of time re-arranging everything on my desk. Doing the laundry. Taking a shower. Anything to delay writing the damn essay. I'd enlist for an astronaut if it was possible. Same with the short stories now. I only started going through them after a month and a half. And now, instead of checking them I write in my blog. Procrastinating? No way!

I go now. I need to feed the bears. The polar bears. :) See you later.

The voices inside my head.

Liz: No, no, don't do it that way. Too easy. It's just too easy. Plus, if every time something wrong happens she appears and saves the day, there is no stopping it. She'll be deus ex machina every goddamn time. You can't do this.

Elizabeth: Yeah, smartass. And what do you propose? He saw them, he will alert the rest. What if they kill him? This is the logical thing to do.

Elizadeath: I want to die. It's all meaningless. I don't know why I bother writing. It's going to be a failure anyway. I'll never be good enough. English is not my first language. Why do I even try?

Liz and Elizabeth in one voice: SHUT UP, MORON.

Liz: They can't kill him. She won't allow it, and none is powerful enough to do it. He has to stay alive. But if he remains alive, cut the memory loss crap. It just isn't a good idea. Work your way around it.

Elizabeth: For the fuck of love. Why make things complex? He saw them, she erased his memory. If he dies it will be World War three in London. The Overseers from the other capitals will fly there and then London will be turned upside down. Two out of three protagonists will have to flee. How the hell am I supposed to write a book with two of them in different countries?

Elizadeath: I have become so fat. My tummy is like I am pregnant. I will never get laid again. Look at how white my hair has become. I want to die. I want to eat an ice-cream. Everything is meaningless.

Liz and Elizabeth: SHUT UP, MORON.

Liz: Plus the "erase the memory" thing is basic in Identity Crisis. You cannot do that, you know it's not really a solution. You really need to find another way of doing it. Even if it means killing him.

Elizabeth: I thought about that. I am not sure I can handle the way this will go if I kill him. Simple solutions always work best.

Liz: That's not a simple solution. It's a sell-off. You can do better than insult the intelligence of your readers. You need to find another way to do it. Quit it already with the 'no can do' routine. You can, and you'll do.

Elizabeth: Arrrrrghhhhh I hate you! I fucking hate you! You make my life hell!

Liz: But you know I am right.

Elizadeath: Stop arguing. You're giving me a headache. Life is meaningless. No-one loves me.

Liz and Elizabeth: SHUT UP, MORON.

Elizadeath: Whatever. I am making tea. Who wants some tea?

Liz: Roasted Japanese tea for me.

Elizabeth: Vanilla flavoured black tea for me.

Elizadeath: Fuck you. I am making some rosemary. Make your own.

Liz: Eat my shit and die.

Elizabeth: Get stuffed.

Elizadeath raises her middle finger to both and goes off to make tea.

Both pictures taken from here: http://pavel-petel.tumblr.com/

Concentration exercises

So what do you do when you finish the first book?

Naturally, you continue to the second. Especially since the first book offers no conclusion whatsoever, but rather, leaves the readers hanging high and dry. And cursing. You don't  know if this is what will happen, which means, the readers being hooked enough to feel personally wronged and cheated if you leave them at that point at the end of the book. You hope it will. At least if you were a reader, you wouldn't just curse, you'd threaten the author with tortures that would make demons blanch. Only it's too damn hot to write, or think. Or even scratch yourself. So you manage to write about half a chapter and even the sound of the keyboard lulls you to sleep.

Still you have a second book to finish. And there is the matter of the edited short stories you need to check.

Bah. So damn sleepy to do any of that. So damn sleepy to keep my eyes open.

Only I am at work. :P

Summer's here

Translation: if I could spend my days half-immersed in a barrel of water and do everything from inside the barrel, I would. I'd fit those small wheels at the bottom and move around. I'd wear a bikini and air my luscious tummy. And splash water on passers by.

I received my edited short stories back. I have not looked at them yet. Or rather I did take a look, but that's about it. I did not bother further. At some point I need to go through the corrections and see what I'll keep from the changes. Noticed my saying, "at some point". It's not as simple as it seems. At least judging from the dreams I see, where I am trying to protect a baby from vampires that mysteriously kill the family and realise at some point that the vampire is the child itself. Child= creation. I need to protect both myself and my creation.

Come on, two chapters left. Move your ass and write them. Two bloody chapters to finish the damn book. Come on, girl. Write and stop your bellyaching.

Bah.

Αchievements of the week plus book giveaway for the 20.000 pageviews..

1) Sore throat, nightmares, waking up sweaty.

2) Made address labels with Alexander Skarsgard. Cut them to size and I am waiting for friendship books to arrive in order to use them.

3) Two, maximum three more chapters and book number one is finished. Three of the heroes appear to have died. Let's see if we can make them five.

4) Sorted through J-rock magazines, about fifteen of them will go. Four are gone already.

5) Finished one more book and listed it to be given away at http://bookmooch.com/

6) Passed 20.000 pageviews in this blog. Well not yet, but with this entry I am sure I will.

Here is your chance to get free (used) books.

I have four books I am giving away for free. You can ask for as many as you want, even all of them if you want.

Desperation by Stephen King.

(Taken)

Cravings by Laurell K. Hamilton, Rebecca York etc.

(Taken)

Daemon Eyes by Camille Bacon-Smith.

The Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly.

(Different cover)
(Taken)

You can ask for any of these books to be sent to you absolutely free. Just email me and give me a postal address. The books will be given away on a first come, first served basis. This is not a trick; I am giving these same books away via bookmooch. If you are the winner I will email you and let you know. :) As soon as the book is gone I will write it just under the book as a comment.

Come on! Ask away!

Jesus and the rest of them.

 (Shinya, drummer of Dir en grey, sweetness impersonate)

Today I saw two people I had not seen in a long time. One of them just got out of a stifling, dysfunctional marriage and looks better than ever. She lost weight and found herself.

The second is an old friend I had first met in UK when I was a university student. She has an almost two-year old daughter that truly is a bundle of joy. She runs around in the house and smiles. She loves hugs, asks for hugs and is such a trusting, easy going child.

I have no experience with children, but her attitude shows an unafraid, happy child. And she made me happy too. It made me happy to see what a child is like when they feel safe and loved. It also reminded me we need to have patience and kindness in our conduct with others and this actually is the most important part of our communication.

Here I will insert just a note for those people who, for some reason of their own, have a bone to pick with Jesus. It just seems utterly silly to me, for a variety of reasons. But let me begin by making some things clear.

One: I am not Christian. I grew up as Christian Orthodox, but right now I am happily irreligious. Not atheist, but irreligious, which means, I don't believe in any religion. My 'religion', if I can call it that way, is a mixture of elements, with plenty of my own unique flavour. I am perfectly and happily chaotic. I don't need ritual, but I may use ritual if I feel like it. I usually pray a lot to a multitude of entities from many different pantheons and religions. Praying often includes swearwords and threats. I like to light candles and incense because they help me concentrate and smell good, plus they cleanse the space. But I don't believe I need any kind of middle man, special place or formula to speak to the divine, like a church or an altar. If I need a church, I touch a tree. And if I need an altar, I use my heart.

Two, I don't believe in a Father, Son and Holy spirit. I believe in a Creator/ Creatrix that encompasses both male and female, to whom I refer as God/dess for more ease. I believe in the sanctity of all being, including the nasty bits. I believe in serendipity, synchronicity and providence. I also believe that we're our own worst nightmares and we can easily put demons out of business. And I don't believe that Christ was the son of God any more or less that I and all of you are.

Is it clear?

Can we proceed?

What is the matter with you people? What is your problem with Jesus?

I see those that say, "oh, the cursed Nazarene, teaching masochism and pain and being a victim as a way of existing."

Okay. Let's try to put things in some semblance of order.

You haven't got a clue what Jesus said. Why? Because you weren't there. That's why. The only way to know what someone has said was to be present when it was said, and even then, there is plenty of room for misunderstanding. Now, you want to take the words of the apostles literally, be my guest. Just keep in mind you are reading a second hand opinion that has passed through countless translations and changes to support and uphold a whole system, something very rotten called organised religion.

Jesus never wanted to begin a new religion. He spoke of love and forgiveness in an era of cruelty and turmoil. He spoke of kindness to strangers. He also attacked organised religion and its hypocrisy and the upholders of the system themselves, by words and actions. Or do you forget that because it does not add up to the profile of the masochist you have created? It was those words and actions plus the fact that he had gathered a huge following that finally got him killed. He was becoming dangerous. Potentially a new force. They did  not want that, so he was crucified. The rest is history.

I see the same people who curse the name of Jesus hug their pets, or have erotic relationships, companions, children. And I want to tell them: the love I see in your eyes, the kindness you show with your words and actions, is the very essence of Jesus energy.

And I see the same people who curse the name of Jesus scream against the rotten system of religion, the hypocrisy of priests and their fanatical followers, and I want to tell them: this, too, is Jesus energy, the very same energy you condemn. Love will not mingle with hypocrisy like water won't mingle with oil. Jesus never accepted hypocrisy. Every holy man and woman who ever walked this planet never embraced it. This is why most of them got murdered in a variety of ways, or exiled, and they never had a stitch of clothing extra than what they absolutely needed.

As for me, next time I trip and fall down like I usually do I would like someone with the essence of Jesus, Buddha or any of the great teachers in their being, to stop and help me up and ask me if I am OK. They do not have to be Christian or Buddhist; just understand in their heart that we are all connected to each other, and the next person that may trip and fall down may be themselves or someone they love. And they would like someone to stop and help them like they did it for me.

'Nuff said.

Yahoo, relationships, and the hermit's point of view.

It's  been five days that I have no access to my primary email account, the one I have registered for almost all social sites I use. Facebook, this blog, bookmooch, thealterium, twitter, tumblr, vistaprint and youtube are connected to it (to name the majority). If I permanently lose access to that account I have a lot of work ahead of me. It's not going to be fun. Let's hope the technicians will be able to fix whatever is wrong with it because I am not the only one who has a problem from what they say.

Sometimes I wonder why we do what we hate being done to us, like judging.

And sometimes I don't think. Judging is so tightly woven into human nature that it's impossible to avoid.

I've been in a void of partly my own choice. Away from erotic relationships. I don't want to change that.

It resembles unlearning to eat candy. If you unlearn it, you no longer feel the craving for it from a point onward.

It's not like I feel no craving.I just don't want to bother with all that ensue a relationship and intimacy with another person. It's not worth it. I am tired of the trial and error process relationships are. I want to keep my quiet, for the rest of my life if possible.  Not bother what this and that and the other means.

I look around me. I am not blind. Erotic relationships have an expiration date. Those that stay with the other person even after the interest has died out are pretty much buried alive. They stay because they have a child, or joined bank accounts, or they are afraid, or whatever really. Is any of that a valid reason to stay with a person for the rest of your life? Or is it better to stay with one person and cheat on them because you still want to have interesting sex?

We never really get to know anyone. People are like moons, with a hidden side.

We always think we know others and ourselves.

In reality we know shit.

We make relationships with strangers that remain strangers throughout and even after the end of the relationship.

And how surprised we are when we find out we knew nothing about them and never found out anything, even after years.

All this makes me sick.

There must be a way I can play by different rules, or failing that, not play at all.

I am seeing strange dreams.

I always see strange dreams.

I don't want to do what any of the rest of you do.

I want to play with your perception of reality.

I want to fuck with you and fuck off.

And I am outta here.

Voodoo and stainless steel panties.

I was reading about Voodoo, Hoodoo, African indigenous religions and Santeria for two or three hours yesterday. It was research for the novel. It paid off, but if someone was to see the history of my computer they'd rub their eyes at first and pack their stuff immediately afterwards.

I realised that the super handsome guy with the long black hair who has been a regular at a penpal's  Facebook is one of the four members of Apocalyptica. In fact the one I consider the funniest and handsomest of all four. That's why he looked familiar. *facepalm* I had not realised, partly because my penpal/ friend never told me and partly because remembering long Finnish names is not my forte. Then again she never said anything about composing or contributing to a lot of their songs either. That calls for some serious ass whacking as soon as I get her ass in my hands.  Not for any other reason, but because I suspect this is merely the tip of the iceberg of what she has not told me. I know she is reading my blog, so buying herself a stainless steel pair of panties for our first meeting sounds like advice she should take. After I cuddle her to her near death, a spanking is in order. Of course, with her being in Japan and everything it seems highly unlikely I'll ever do meet her. Don't ask me what she's doing in Japan. I don't know. She hasn't told me. *sigh and aaarghhh*

I think I am about to finish the first book(?) of my trilogy (???). It came sooner than I expected, after using a tool called 'word count' (bwahaha :D) and the realisation it's actually a good point to stop. But even as I start tying loose ends, I can't help wondering. Wondering about a lot of things. Phoooey. My friend H. says he will read it although in his case the meter for homophobia would show a solid eleven in a climax of ten. In fact he said some very sweet things to me yesterday and helped me snap out of my depression. :) We may disagree on a lot but in his case there is one thing I can count on. He loves me, just as I love him. If he sees me happy, he'll be happy. And he's a person who has always had absolute faith in my writing. I cannot thank him enough for that.

I want ice cream. :P Served on the smooth skin of a teenage elven boy. :P :P :P

I'll say something that is perhaps self-explanatory, or has been said far too often.

Thank God/dess for music, for without music I wouldn't have those last negligible bits of sanity left in me.

Thank the entire Universe for art and the kindness of strangers.

I need to write a blog entry on Jesus Christ. Maybe next time.

Like trying to teach cats synchronised swimming.

That’s what it feels like. Three heroes, three storylines, important events happening to all three of them, then two of them finally meeting. The writer needs to make sure the appropriate events have happened in the previous ‘days’ of the novel to all three before the two meet. Like being handed an open origami and instructed to fold it back in shape. I fold here, fold there, nothing falls in place at first. I think I finally got it right. Then I started writing here. I am not so sure I did get it right. If I discover yet another discontinuity, I’ll start cursing and re-arranging again. It won’t be nice.

The lower back is okay. Not so sure of my brain after three eclipses in a row.

There is a lot of sex in my book(s). Not so sure if this is good or not. There is no sex in the writer’s life, so it all has to balance out, I guess. And some of the sex in my book is not the kind of sex I’d like to have, thank you very much. My idea of sex has me still alive after finishing. Some of my heroes aren’t that wise.

A penpal told me to read the books of a writer specialising in vampires. Read an online excerpt. I found it mind-blowingly inane. It was like discussions between women happening at the hairdresser’s, but with vampires wearing kilts and getting married as their subject matter. I mean seriously WTF. 

http://www.kerrelynsparks.com/bk11_engagement.html

Afterwards, I was suggested the books of another vampire writer by another penpal. Turns out I had read a longish story by her just a few weeks ago and it was something between a mediocre video game and the average ‘Vampire: the Masquerade’ session I used to play. Which in turn means, nothing I’d like to read more of any time soon. 

Then I was told to take a look to the site of another writer. It was like reading a teenager with a 500 word vocabulary describing having sex. It was all ‘wonderful’ and ‘tickling’. With boredom for me and orgasms for the heroine. Now go figure. 

http://www.erotica-laurastamps.blogspot.gr/2013/03/boinking-vampires-boinking-feyoh-my.html 

It’s been a while since someone in the novel has been beaten black and blue. I think I am going to go and do just that. Since I can’t beat black and blue some people I have in mind, someone else will pay. :D

Lower back not functioning = hours of fun

Which is exactly what's happening right now. My lower back gave up on me. Funny thing being, I did nothing to provoke it. But since I have a medical history of damage and pain there I just shrugged and accepted my fate. It's not like I can get hold of the pain and scribble on the envelope 'Unknown receiver. Return to sender', then put it back in the post box and get rid of it. 

Unless this has happened to you personally, you cannot imagine what it's  like to have it. From a functioning human you are transformed to a person with special needs. You cannot move your legs normally. You cannot use the bathroom because lowering yourself on the toilet is a very long and delicate process. You can't even get up from bed. You have to try and find a combination of using your arms, legs and body in a way that doesn't hurt.

I have spent the entire day alternatively giggling and crying out. I have a very good relationship with insects and animals, so I feel like a tortoise or a beetle that found itself flat on its back and cannot turn around. I smell that intense odour of ointments and patches, something like camphor and menthol and something else. Unsurprisingly, all that comes to mind concerning my present sexual appeal is a combination of a cupboard and an invalid. I have three patches on my lower back one after the other in parade. I am thinking about arranging them in a triangle next time, to imitate the Bermuda triangle and hopefully make the pain vanish. I wear a special medical belt, walk with a limp and giggle non-stop as I remember Igor from Frankenstein Junior saying "walk this way". I can easily be confused with someone who was fucked to her near death last night. Yes, I could be the poster girl for intense sexual activity at advanced age. Picking up or carrying weight is a joke, like trying to pick up a safe using chopsticks. Weight increases pain without warning and I drop things on the floor. Picking them up is another joke.

Generally speaking, I wait patiently for the pain to subside and go away. I can't do much about it. I wish I could  be in bed right now, but it's impossible. So I cringe my teeth, work and giggle. Don't try this at home kids. Really, don't. I pity all those people who have this as a chronic condition. :(

For a tiny life lost too soon.

I am so sorry.

I tried to keep you alive.

I know that kittens so small rarely make it.

I am aware that there was perhaps a 10% possibility of you surviving.

Yet the distance between knowledge and experience can be whole worlds.

You stayed with me for four days. From Thursday night, till Tuesday morning.

I feel like I have been crying for four years.

Goodbye.

High maintenance boyfriends

You know, I keep wondering about it. Not that it changes anything, no matter how many times I preoccupy my brain cells in wrestling marathons with it. But I can't help but wonder.

Why very beautiful men are the way they are? Which means immature. Or stupid. Or too vain. Or too gay. Or whatever. My purpose isn't to make a list. Why? As soon as I see a truly breathtaking man, I almost immediately realise he's not relationship material, end of story. I have no delusions about changing them, saving them, or discovering a hidden, different self if I dig deep enough. There is nothing different no matter how deep and how long I may search. They are just unsuitable. Period. If he's very beautiful, there is something fundamentally flawed about him in some other part of his being.

But why is that? I don't understand it one bit. 

I do have a life long regret that I'll never find the kind of man I dream about. Because the kind of man I dream about is the high maintenance kind of boyfriend. And that kind of boyfriend never falls for my type. They fall for the equally problematic type of high maintenance woman. Or the kind of woman they can relate to whatever issues they have with their mom or dad. And I am neither. I am too straightforward for such. And a part of mine is very, very disappointed and regretful because I know time passes and I must get my act together and look for the kind of companion that will be suitable for me, and not the kind of man I dream about. 

If that isn't a contradiction in terms I honestly don't know what is. And I don't want that.

This is the basic reason I don't do relationships. I don't want any more half-hearted relationships with 'good guys'. No matter how lonely I feel, I refuse to do that again. Been there too many times in the past. Not again. Never again.

It's also one of the reasons I write. My longing for things I cannot have.

Well FUCK THIS. 

There must be at least ONE person that is attractive enough, smart enough and kind enough to be my match.

Just one. Billions of people on this sorry planet. Just one? Pretty please? 

Two would be even better but let's not get greedy now... :P