Turning point

When I had gone to bed at 03.00 am the heat was stifling. Then I woke up at four, because a window was banging from the air. I sat up, groggy and disoriented, and tried to understand where the sound was coming from. I deducted that it was from the rooftop and decided to get up and close it. I was in my knickers, and in spite of my sleepiness thought it would be a good idea to put on something, like a t-shirt. I doubted anyone would see this bare-breasted woman on top of a building at four in the morning, but you know what they say... Better safe than sorry. Barefoot and sleepy I went up the single flight of marble stairs that leads to the rooftop, opened the metallic door with the misspelled sticker advertisement and stepped out.

The cement under my bare heels was still pleasantly warm from the scorching heat of the day. The wind was blowing on my face, rather warm but very strong, and my hair was flying everywhere at once. I walked to the window of the elevator shaft and closed it, then looked around. It was late and except for the wind, everything was quiet. Almost all windows were dark. The cypress trees in the garden were bending with the currents of air, the branches of the large pine trees shaking and moving in disquiet. I looked at the distant stars, glittering their eternal, monotonous song, and felt utterly alone. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. It was like I was the only living soul on another world that night; maybe on the surface of the moon, or in an alien vista, on my own, scantily dressed, not a worry in the world. I was feeling alone, yes, but in a safe and exhilarating way. Those are the moments I am at perfect peace and I don't need someone to share them in order to validate them. My feet registered the uneven cement and the pieces of glass and small stones under them, the gale was ruffling my t-shirt and hair and caressing my entire body, and it felt like it carried something with it, like something had arrived together with the change in weather, riding the very currents of air that kissed me.

I stood there for a while, absorbing everything I could. My only regret was that my wings are not capable of carrying me into the night. Only in my fantasy and dreams. I would have given anything to be able to ride with the spirits that night, putting all thoughts of sleep and normality behind me. But I couldn't, and eventually I closed the door behind me and marched back into my room, where I landed in bed and slept again.

Maybe in my dreams I did ride with you.

The Weaver and the Destroyer

So what is this about?

One moment that can change everything.

Mistakes that could not be avoided.

Memories, some of them not made yet.

If I was to put on the one side of a scale the good humanity has done and on the other side the harm and heartbreak, what would the scale show?

Would it balance?

Or the one side would be so much heavier it would crash down and open a hole in the fabric of the universe?

And why can’t I stop wanting since I know what lies at the end of it?

“The Weaver is always at war with the Destroyer. Some say the Weaver is mad because sooner or later the Destroyer will pull everything apart, so it is useless to even try. But the Weaver can’t help but create, this is the only song She can sing. The Destroyer sings the other song. Together they make the universe. And the universe is beautiful even though one day it will be pulled apart. We need to see the beauty because there is death at the end. Do you understand?”

Everything matters. Just not enough to give me peace. I am the only one who can grant peace to myself. No-one and nothing else.

Officially beat and writing fan-fiction.

 Australian flying foxes (species of bats) . All together now: AAAAAAAWWWWWWW!

Running around like mad today. I am glad I managed to get things done. But, presently I feel that awkward combination of tiredness, being hyper and restless and craving something I can't get my finger on.

Oh, I actually can get my finger on it just fine, I just can't have what I want, thank you very much.

I do wish I had the same unshakable resolve when it came to eating sweets. I wouldn't look the way I do.

This is a combination of all the wrong things creating a nice potent combination of melancholy, arousal, useless passion and low self-esteem. I do like myself, very much in fact. Enough to dislike most people I come across because their moral code is not as strict as mine. I do not judge them. I just do not like them and know I can expect very little from them. At the same time I am perfectly aware of my own faults and the cracks in my own mask of so-called perfection. I am an unlikely combination of a misanthrope joined at the hip with an altruist. Most of the time I want to rebuild this world, and then there are times I just want to destroy it all, crush it under my heel and let nature, gods or chance sort the mess out. I see right through most humans I come across, and I am bored, and sick of them, sick of life, bored of death, simultaneously uncaring and desperate, perpetually thirsty and locked up and unavailable like the goddamn frost maiden, sick of myself and clinging onto myself like a baby at its dead mother's tit.

I am just tired, and nothing will change unless I get off my ass and change it.

The trouble is that I am scared out of my wits, absolutely terrified of what will happen if I even try.

I do try. Baby steps, tiny little baby steps, little by little. Better than no steps at all.

I get discouraged every two to three steps. I think I will never make it, never go anywhere, never reach any safe place. Just remain stuck here.

I write fan fiction to quench my thirst for the unattainable. I have no other solution. I write my own version of marriages made in hell and my insolent fingers play the chords of the wrong characters like they are harps. I toy with them from a safe distance and pretty much write like there are demons on my heels. Twelve thousand words in just three days and I am not done yet. You see, there are indeed demons on my heels. They are called CV, job finding, and the rest of that unhappy lot. Give me villains, serial killers, the cream of lunatics. None of them terrifies me as much as the word 'resume'. Give me man-eating men and monsters, give me sadists, pedophiles, the lowest of the low. Anything you want. I will write it for you and make it rock your world, or even better, write it and rock my world till my titties are salsa-dancing. Just keep the job search and the CV editing away from me. I am absolutely terrified. 

I head back to my fan-fiction. I am writing this for myself, I say, and yet I can't help not share with my best friend. She is the only one who will not call me weak and stupid, will ignore my improvisations and not judge me.

Even monsters need a friend. Even gods of death need a home. Everyone needs to belong somewhere, to a person, place, or the memory of one.

By the way, I have not forgotten you. I still expect a letter from you. Then I remember you are gone. And the God of Death comes and gives to that knife stuck in my gut that charming extra twist.

I have so very, very few friends. The tiniest portion of humans manage to pass the threshold into my heart and every single one of them is not treated as a friend, but as a small miracle.

In your case, someone decided to take the miracle back.

I am patient. I will dig that little bastard out and sooner or later I'll be the one holding the knife.

The pen is mightier than the sword indeed. 

This one is for you.

An 800 year old Icelandic hymn sung in a German train station. Ancient married to modern. Circumstance married to providence. An amalgam of contradictions like you were.

I hope you can hear it through me.

Taken from here.

http://whatever.scalzi.com/

Some nice videos...

Trying to be positive. So here are some nice videos. The first one reminds me that sometimes what people need is someone to believe in them.

And a follow up video to that:

Then there is this, all about age and appropriateness:

Old but still good:

Αhhhhh, let's try to be positive, shall we?

Example of a conversation at my job.

Customer, man in his thirties: Hello, uh,  do you have any single wet hankies?

Me: Yes, I do. How many would you like?

Customer: Dunno. 3-4 I guess. They are women's stuff.

Me: Keeping your hands clean is women's stuff?

Customer: No, I mean the hankies. I wash my hands.

Me: Oh, I get it. You have a portable sink. Well done. The rest of us will just have to use hankies, I guess.

Prayer: Please Satan, Buddha, Christ, and Spaghetti  Monster, I want my next job to involve the general public as little as possible. Lighthouse keeper sounds ideal. Thank you.

Empaths suck a donkey's ass.

There are days that I seriously wonder why the hell I keep trying.

It’s one of those days.

For the good things that will come in the future?

Yeah, right. Judging by how many good things have come my way already, I should have thrown in my towel years ago.

Come on then. Bring on the good stuff. I am already out of here mentally. I might be out of here literally unless something good happens. I am not referring to dreams or swaps or reading books or meeting with friends. I am talking about something tangible, practical, happening in real life. I am one step before I collapse and decide I don’t want to get out of bed anymore, because there is no point whatsoever.

Do something. There has to be something more to life than eating, bathing and dragging myself from one meaningless chore to another.

I am sick of this so-called life.

I am sick of everyone and everything.

There must be something I am doing wrong.

Some clue I have missed.

This can’t be real.

I feel dead,

cheated,

used up,

gone.

And even as I write this I know nothing is going to change. It's personal, isn't it?

Yes it is.

Hm.

Here is some Ian Somerhalder because it's a better option than taking pills and slitting my wrists or something equally melodramatic and stupid.

 

Brain not working, hence employing soft porn.

As I said in another site, a man who dresses like that has some balls I'd like to handle. Oh, and if you have any funny comments to make concerning gayness, please refer to the previous post's picture. Thank you.

Pictures taken from here:

 https://www.facebook.com/perish.dignamiii?fref=ts 

Burning down the Heavens

Life is degrees of hard and absurd. Maybe it’s the planets. I can rephrase a famous poet’s last words and say I had a lover’s quarrel with God, not the world. 

These aren’t good days. These are days to stay indoors and avoid all electrical appliances. Psst. Wear a helmet too, just to be sure.

Life is also degrees of unfair, and the only actual source of solace and comfort are friends. You can pray all you want, light all the candles that you want, but there will be no answer. Or maybe I am persona non-grata, and the rest of you are fine with the Almighty Asshole, so don’t listen to me. Pray on. See if He gives a fuck.

I scratch my head as I am considering ways of burning down the heavens. So far I’ve disregarded three plans and I am looking for possible flaws in a fourth.

I am also considering having more tattoos and blowing my brains out, but those are just silly thoughts, the exasperation of the slave that has been a punching bag, a toilet girl, and ashtray and a mule for her entire life. Oh, did I mention free therapist/ healer as well? Write that down under everything else. Now look at the title, it has my name, my photo, and the 'mysterious' inscription ‘idiot-sucker-moron’ next to it. In impressive big red letters. With the additional information/clarification “desperate to please” noted just under that. What a CV.

I valiantly offer my middle finger and piss on the shadow of every power hungry pantheon of the planet. I am so sick of you, you fucking pushers, pimps and bullies of human despair. I shit on you. I defy you. I deny you. I’ll make you pay, Spider Jerusalem style. I swear I will, even if it takes away everything I have. I haven’t got much left to begin with, since you took it all away. Sanity isn’t compatible with the kind of life I am left with.

I refuse to live here. I want to pack my stuff and leave, go away to some plane that isn’t governed by deities with a small dick and a big opinion on themselves and their equally small-minded Renfield-like followers. Those sad idiots do the dirty work for free, they are so narrow-minded and easy to control that they create a living hell in a place that was supposed to be neutral ground aspiring to heaven. And I see these humans everywhere. Everywhere. They are the threshold keepers, always knowing better and deciding whether you are to be allowed in the ‘elite’ or not. They are the priests, or the defenders of normality in various positions, telling you what is normal and what isn’t natural and God looks down upon you and will burn you for it. They are politicians, licking the asses of each other and the asses of multinational corporations and banks and stepping on the backs of everyone else. They are even the rude person who steals your place in a queue, the neighbour that minds your business instead of theirs, the parent who raised you to be unhappy for the rest of your life.

By the curses of my grandmother, I fart in their weddings and shit on their properly mowed grass. They can go suck my fuck.

I want an exploding vagina. I want big fucking guns and ammunition. I want lethal boobs. I want to rid humanity of a few dozen deities who drink the blood of the innocents and revel in our pain and entrapment. I want to squash these bloated leeches who are feasting on our dreams, our happiness and our good fortune. I want to stomp and dance on their corpses. I want to find a way to bring down the veil and release the planet of this tyranny. First and foremost I want to release myself from their tyranny. 

They say if you want something, really want something, you might get it. I won’t leave this to chance. I'll work towards it. We’ll see. You’ll see. You have been warned.

Empty skins

I have become an outsider. I don’t know any of your friends and feel cut off for good. I loved you so much and now I am an outsider because you, the link that united us all, are not here, and I don’t know if I like any of those people. I knew you, I loved you, I cared about you, and all I have left from you are letters, emails, messages and a circle of total strangers, some of them famous, who knew you personally and I have no place among them.

At night I listen to music and you come to my mind, and the pain just blooms and withers, blooms and withers, like blood escaping from an open wound. Each heartbeat makes it expand and vanish, expand and vanish in flowers of scarlet. I feel so awkward, so isolated in my mourning because I can’t share it with anyone who knew you. I was just the random person who happened to land in your circle because you opened your arms and took me into your embrace and now you’re gone.

How the fuck am I supposed to deal with that?

Oh, I go on, don’t worry, I go on and write and breathe and brush my teeth and suffer fools gladly just like I did before you were gone. But sometimes during the day or late at night I extend my hand and touch a solid object and then once more realise you are no longer here. The indisputable reality of matter under my touch just makes your absence bigger, harder to swallow and completely irrational. I can’t, won’t wrap my head around the fact you’re no longer here. I know I could talk to you about everything and anything, I could tell you my troubles and you would understand, and even if you failed to understand you’d never judge, and then you’d say something funny or try to offer me advice or relate something from your own life. I speak of my troubles to so few people, and you were one of them, and now, you’re one of them no longer and I hit the keys on my computer and cry and nothing changes. No matter how long and how hard I cry, what I write or don’t say, what I do or don’t dare, there will never be another conversation with you, there will never be another letter from you, and no-one will understand me the way you did.

I just miss you so much my silly Finnigami.

I miss you so much it’s like time has stopped.

If I could get my hands on Time I’d strangle the living daylights out of him for the trick he pulled on us both.

Damn it.

Friends and 'friends'.

It’s been a fun week, and I guess it’s going to be even more fun as the days pass by. I have a sore back, presently on the mend. I found an abandoned kitten and I am trying to find a home for her. I have been called delusional and insane. I have also been accused of disloyalty by the same person who called me delusional and insane. Funny thing being, in the ten years that I know her, that person has never been loyal to me. I could try to explain to her, of course, or tell her my side of the story. However, in my 36 years of life here I’ve noticed that an alarming percentage of humans deny everything when you point out their own mistakes and also become enraged on top of that because they can't be anything less than perfect. Besides, maybe the notion of loyalty for me and for that person means different things. So as per usual I shrugged and let it pass. I wait and see what else will come to knock on my door.

My friend who passed over less than a month ago was very loyal to me. She genuinely cared.  In her case,  she understood loyalty the way I too understand it. She wasn’t antagonistic, didn’t ogle the ones I liked and wanted to see me happy. She did care. She didn’t care because I was doing her any favours. She never asked for favours to begin with. She understood and respected the concept of limited time and energy. My sensitive information was safe with her. She’d never use it to exploit me or gain leverage. And whenever I shared good news with her, it put a smile on her face.

I am writing, and that’s something in itself. It’s slow and a bit scary and it’s happening if I set my mind to it. For good or for ill, who knows. I draw breath too and I am not sure what, if something, comes out of it.

I need to get rid of more books as I have so many of them at the moment. I read two, I still have about 70 unread. Life goes on. Ha ha.

Why did you have to go? I know you loved me, and nowadays there are so few of those who do love me with no strings attached. Why did it have to be you? You really cared, and now that void can’t be filled and won’t be filled by anyone else. 

Why couldn’t I help you? I have helped so many others, and in some cases I didn’t care about them, at least no more than I care about everything that draws breath and has the capability to feel. I should have helped you more than anyone else. However, I couldn’t. And it bothers me.

I miss you so much and I know with the passing of time I am only going to miss you more. My pearl, my dear, my precious Finnigami. You had to go and leave me with all the eejits and the cunts. I miss you like I miss my moments of happiness. I miss your jokes, your moral code, your talents and more than anything, your kindness. People sometimes don’t understand that when I keep my mouth shut and don’t tell them what I really think, that too is a form of kindness.

It just isn’t fair to lose you from all people. It isn’t, or maybe fair means different things to different states of being. I don’t know. What I know is that it hurts.

You can't be serious.

 

You can't be gone. Not like that. We've never met. I've never held your hand. We never chatted. We never kissed. We never hugged. I haven't heard your voice.

You can't be gone. I know you will message me, email me, or write me a letter. You'll send me something, I'll send you something. I bought tea for you, I know you love that tea. You can't be gone. You never gave me an address to send you your tea.

You can't be gone. I love you so much. I need you here. I need you to stay. Your husband, your children need you to stay. You have so much more music to write, love to make, hugs to give to the ones you love. This must be a joke, and when I find out the one behind it, they will pay in blood.

You can't be gone.

You can't.

In was crying one entire day before the news of your departure arrived- how many more days, weeks, months, times will I be crying for you?

Stop this nonsense.

Stop it right now.

You're breaking my heart.

3/8/1977-12/3/2014

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2011/11/all-those-born-with-wings.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/03/hide-and-seek-and-you-may-find.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/06/seen-things-you-people-wouldnt-believe.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/06/blog-post.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2012/12/friends-from-afar.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2013/03/birth-day.html

http://indigojester.blogspot.gr/2013/05/voodoo-and-stainless-steel-panties.html

Zen

Art by http://www.benheine.com/

We walk in circles under the same stars that travel in circles above our heads.

Millions of years and still they are at the same place

Millions of years and still I am at the same place.

Blind, useless, terrified, going around in circles, doing nothing and not once realising that

We’re breathing stars ourselves, waiting to be re-united with those above.

Why so much fear?

Because I want to live and life is about pain and estrangement and confinement while it should be about joy and ecstasy and the open skies.

I miss my wings.

I miss your gentle hand on my shoulder.

I miss your kind breath waking me up.

I miss your wings around mine.

I miss you so much.

You’ve watched me die a million times and not once could you do something to stop it.

One above, one below, one in the heavens and one in flesh, walking the empty halls, walking the empty streets, and it’s all gone and gone and gone. Forever gone.

I want to die.

I want to live.

I want to be released.

I miss you.

Who dares call love unholy, when you meet people who see the other person as the living Christ or the Goddess in flesh?

All flesh is sacred

All flesh demands

All is temporary, to pass away, all is forever, all is dust, all is eternity. All is one.

And here I am.

Blind, scared, walking around in circles and never going anywhere.

No-one wants to see. No-one wants to understand. No-one wants to change.

All men must change. All men must die. All men must love.

Circles, circles, circles, circles with no beginning or end, no meaning or purpose, nothing at all.

I wish I could say that this is Zen.

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