Memory

 

I haven't gone anywhere near Dir en Grey for two years now, maybe more. When I do, I remember you are gone and get depressed.

We amass knowledge and experience during our lives. Look at you. You played a mean piano, ghost-composed or contributed to the songs of countless bands I listen to, supported noble causes in so many ways, and now you are gone. All you got was 37 years of life. Your creations are still alive, yet your knowledge and talent are gone forever. The languages you spoke, the music you made, the foods you cooked, the way you made love, gone with you. There is a hole where you used to be and it can't be filled. 

I keep losing people I considered friends, either because they die, prove themselves superb assholes or just follow different ways. Every year that passes finds me with a smaller circle of friends. But if I want to be 100% honest, no-one can replace you and no-one will replace you. Some people are one in a million or perhaps one in a billion. What do I know? I don't know. You were one in a billion for me.

Lately mortality is a weight that pulls me down, it chokes me like an anchor hanging from my neck. I do the best I can, I say to myself. I do the best I can for reasons unknown. I don't know why I go on. I just do. Even when everything seems completely pointless, even though I know the knowledge and experience I amass and the effort I've put in bettering myself will be gone with me, I bite the bullet and push on. What will change if I give up? You never gave up. I won't give up either. I'll keep pushing, if only to make those who hate me cringe their teeth. I push on just to rain on their parade. One of the best reasons I had ever read was this, by the gracious Steven Barns:

"I had a student ask why, if nothing ultimately matters, we should care about anything at all. Well, that’s why no world religion will take you all the way to clarity: there’s no social benefit. However, encoded within each major religion seems to be a hidden path to dis-assembling the ego walls without turning you into a bum, madman, or wandering Saint. It seems to be the inculcation of core values at a young age, such that the residual ego shell still functions appropriately even after you’ve shed the illusions. It’s tricky stuff.

My guess is that the gate of Adulthood—responsibility for the core values held by the culture (my version of this is body-mind-spirit) MUST be passed before deeper, more secret teachings are offered. Most will try to go straight for the goodies. But religions are what Buddhism refers to as the “large boat” while direct experience of the divine is the “small boat”, not for everyone. I don’t recommend it. I just speak about it because, as I realized yesterday, this blog is my version of Literary Autolysis.

But more directly, try this: a baseball game doesn’t “matter”. But if you decide to play, you learn the rules and play hard, to the best of your ability. If you don’t want to play, you lose the right to complain about the results you get in this world.

The challenge is to be “in the world, but not of the world.” To play hard, to learn the rules, to clarify our understandings, and then to move on.

To say “it doesn’t matter” falls right back into dualistic thinking, and logic breaks down a bit. “It matters/it doesn’t matter.” They don’t exist separate from perception.

If you can’t play hard, work hard, care for your family, engage with your community, preserve your body, provide goods and services, and grasp the fact that we can know NOTHING other than the “I am”—then please, please, please don’t try this. Don’t use “nothing matters” as an excuse to ignore your worldly affairs.

Remember the chakras? Master the lower ones BEFORE you get to spirit. Otherwise, I promise you, rather than clarity, you will be lost in illusion, and feeling holy about it. Obese, broke, and lonely…and feeling smugly superior to all us idiots who act as if the world is real. And then secretly weeping at night, confused as hell: with all this wisdom, why am I so miserable?

Trust me: you don’t want to go down that road."

Perfectly put. Thank you, Mr. Barns. Taken from here:  

http://darkush.blogspot.gr/2007/10/why-even-care.html

And one more Dir en Grey song, because it soothes my soul... Like you did.

  
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Virve

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

by Mary Elizabeth Frye, 1932

 

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The Book of Life

Assassin's Creed: Syndicate

I am still angry at you. I want to make you understand. I want to shake you and yell at you. But even if I did, you wouldn't understand. You never did understand, not even when I thought we were close, let alone now. And why should I make you understand? It's not my responsibility to make anyone understand. 

Sometimes I wish that the people who mistreated me would become aware of their mistakes and sorely regret their decisions. I would love to see them looking for me and not finding me. But this is wishful thinking. Humans are too self-involved and egotistical to realise there are things beyond their self-indulging mind games and petty interests. The sad fact of this life is that we're unappreciated by others, and they never realise their mistakes. Time passes, life moves on, and none of these people have the guts to come and apologise, or say they understood, or they are sorry. If they had the balls to admit such sentiments they wouldn't have treated us so shitty in the first place. Soon the relationship or friendship is a memory, yet another page torn off the book of Life and thrown into the fire. Humans go on, as blind and ignorant as always, life goes on, nothing changes, nothing is ever lost. Except maybe for a few days, weeks, years, lives, centuries, and it's still nothing on a cosmic scale. We're ants reproducing on a speck of dust in a vast, vast universe, and it doesn't really matter, and it never will. Evolution matters and evolution has no winners and no famous authors, no celebrities and no point. Its only point is continuation of life itself, orgiastic expression in myriads of forms and countless colours, in ways I cannot begin to perceive or imagine with my humble mind.

Everything matters. Everything is completely futile. Writing here is futile. Not writing, when I can write and so many others can't, is hubris. The planet will continue, with or without me on it, with or without my writings on it. It doesn't matter to anyone except me that I am awake instead of sleeping and writing here instead of resting. It makes no discernible difference either way.

I miss Virve. I miss her fiercely. Almost two years since her passing. And still life goes on regardless of how I feel, what I do or don't do. When I am not angry, I am sad. When I am not sad, I drag my feet from one chore to the next. And sometimes, just sometimes, I am happy without needing anything besides the fact I am alive and breathing and healthy. I see a blind person, or a drowned infant, and understand how many things I take for granted.

Won't this pain ever cease? Won't this suffering end? Does it ever end? I guess it does end, when we cross over and there are no more words. But until then, I am here and I am writing. For good or for ill, and until I can no longer write.

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Special offer: buy my conscience (while stocks last!)

Three different people have asked what to get me for my birthday, which was on the 4th. I do have a public wishlist in the links section of this blog, but since they can't seem to locate it, there you go:

Amazon Wishlist

Once there, go to 'filter and sort' (right hand side, next to the social media buttons) , and choose 'priority: high to low'. You can choose any item with the 'highest', or 'high' priority indication. Yes, the list is current, and yes, I am bribable. No idea what kind of services I can offer you in exchange, but do ask, it will be fun to hear your bizarre requests. :P And no, you don't have to buy the items off Amazon; that's just where the wishlist is located. Needless to say, if I receive a crazy cat lady starter kit I will be very pissed off. :D I already have one cat in each flavour, so don't you dare.

Other than that, if you have an approaching birthday for a person who loves vampires and darker stories, why not buy my friend's Lizbeth Gabriel's collection of short stories? She's really good, dark and unconventional. Just be warned: she does NOT belong to the Young Adult genre, where everything has a happy end, vampires are fluffy and killers are in reality misunderstood chaps who need someone to love them. She is genuinely dark, and loves to probe those uncomfortable corners of the human psyche that most writers avoid. She also has kick-ass female characters, powerful and unapologetic, and a good sense of humour. If that sounds up your alley, give her a try. 

My full review for her book: 

http://mostlyamused.blogspot.gr/2016/04/promised-review-theater-of-dusk.html

You can buy her book here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HV4584Q

Come on people, let's give a new (and authentic) voice a chance. Very soon she'll publish her second book, and she needs all the reviews and sales she can get. Here, have a kiss for your efforts:

(Psst. Lizbeth darling, hur hur hur, cackle chuckle titter giggle, you are welcome to bribe me. I know you can't send ice-cream in the post, but chocolate is most welcome. Get me the Ritter Sport Jamaica Rum that I can't find here and we're even. ;) ) 
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Consequences

"We need to talk about Kevin" (2011)

The moon is yellow and not full yet, and the sky is dull and murky, like thick pearly dust stirred in inky water. The clouds are sickly white tufts and the stars are nowhere in sight.

The heavens seem to press down on me tonight.

I count stories of my life that never happened, or were interrupted before they run their course.

One, two, three, four, five, six... Maybe even more.

A night of counting wasted chances.

I embrace a book and smile at my inability to change the course of the river.

I pray to Lilith.

Second born, beloved, consort of the first born, three-natured, bridge and divider, mother and destroyer, take me by the hand. Come.

I pray to Hecate.

Goddess supreme, heavenly, earthly and chthonic, mother of horrors and magic, protectress, enchantress, she of the golden tongue, merciful one, terrible one, your horrors are no strangers to me. Come.

I pray to Kali.

Goddess of death and destruction, she of the terrible wrath, invincible, unstoppable, destroyer of the ego, blood-drinker, demon-slayer, mother supreme, fight by my side, lick my wounds and don't let me hold back from what has to be done. Come.

I pray to the Heart.

Home of my heart, heart of my home, heart of the innermost within and without, don't let me stray from your path. I serve you with everything I have; let everything I do be in your service.

I am what I am.

Everything serves the Heart.

I watched 'We need to talk about Kevin', and it was similar to the dark, oppressive, stifling night sky; a voyage through terror and delirium. The boy was a sociopath, he was insane through and through, but I know how he felt. I know why he wanted to kill. In another place, another era, such a young man would have been an invaluable warrior, but now? The only place we have for such people nowadays is prison, or an asylum built like a prison. And I smile. I don't know if I understand this character because my empathy is so high or because I see his blood thirst mirrored in me. I do know I am too much of a control freak to let that side of me roam free, and there is always the safe channel of writing about it. But I also know I understand. I fully understand, and I am not ashamed of that side. If anything, I love and embrace it.

Some nights I wish I was someone else, or even better, no-one at all.

Goodnight.

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Valentine special: Ikea cupboards and Greek extreme metal bands

As a general observation, I avoid Greek art like the plague. I am not referring to ancient Greek art or the kick-ass Greek poets we were lucky to have. I avoid reading modern Greek writers, watching Greek films and listening to Greek music. Then again, there is a Greek band called Septicflesh that I love to bits. If you enjoy the darker aesthetic and symphonic death metal, check this awesome video. It's directed by Jon Simvonis, a friend of mine. If you like your visual treats a little fucked up and still wiggling/ crawling 'fresh', you'll find this right up your alley. If not, don't watch it. It will most likely put you off your food, and maybe your grandparents as well.

(If you enjoyed the video, you can see more of my friend's work at his site here, or subscribe to his youtube channel, and you can be real darlings and like his Facebook page.)

Other than that, it's Valentine's day tomorrow. I am busy at work. Have you noticed there are days someone leaves the doors of the asylums open and the inmates are left to their own devices, to roam the earth and make the rest of the population tear their hair? I got several escapees already. They came disguised as customers. One in particular was so weird and hopelessly idiotic I wanted to ask her if she found her boyfriend before or after the lobotomy. Being a polite seller, I kept my mouth shut and my opinions to myself. Blogging doesn't count. 

Besides that, I want to refer to the fact lately I've entered a weird phase and keep ogling men like Chris Hemsworth (Thor), Chris Evans (Captain America) and Benedict Cumberbatch (in his role as Khan). Men who seem to belong to an Ikea catalogue, cupboard section. If you ask me why, I have no plausible explanation. I can only attribute it to my present age. My ovaries are probably singing the Lament of Unfertilised Eggs, and lust after man meat (=good genes for possible children, that by the way, I don't want to have). Well I never. Ever since I remember myself, I liked my men feminine. Now I stare at buffed up studs with backs like trees and thunder thighs of doom and grin absentmindedly, in an idiotic manner. Slightly disturbing, but to hell with it. I have bigger problems than my changed taste in men. Besides, the possibility of me finding such a guy is only marginally bigger than me having a relationship with the protagonist from Assassin's Creed: Unity, so I let my ovaries lament. Hey, I'm not even sure I do want such a guy as a possible suitor, OK? So I ignore this new information. Never mind the fact I lose the plot and walk into doors when a big guy near me flexes his biceps. It's under control, I swear.

Me while discretely admiring yet another buffed up hunk passing by.

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Job silliness

I have a calculator at my job. It has a button that reads 'MU'. I have no idea what that means or what it does, so my imagination rushed in, trying to offer me possible explanations.

1) The lost continent of Mu. That's where it's been hiding all this time. If I keep looking, I'll probably discover Atlantis's hiding place too.

2) As soon as you press it, it sprinkles you with milk. Hopefully cow milk.

3) If you press it, someone in your environment says "haha" because that's what follows "mu". Especially if you are a cartoon villain.

4) Mulan. She appears and kicks your ass. For no reason. She just does.

5) M(ind) U(nhinged). You press it, you go mad. If you were mad to begin with, you are teleported against your will to the aforesaid continent of Mu. You know. Meet and greet the cows. Exciting stuff. Or worse, you come back to your senses while stranded on this planet. Poor motherfucker. I hope you go mad soon, it will be a relief. :P

6) You become a cow. If you already were one (and I don't mean bovine) you get polka dots everywhere. I like polka dots. Good luck getting laid.

7) I am not working right now. I ought to be sleeping, and I'm writing blog entries instead. So tomorrow I will press that button and see what happens. If I stop updating this blog, please send help. If I upload only cow photos, don't be alarmed, they are selfies and I am looking for a boyfriend.
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Inner dialogue: an exercise in repetition.

This is what discussing with myself feels like. Source: http://duncantje.deviantart.com/art/Tea-for-two-371640506

I am learning to put up with people with some measure of success. I am re-learning to see them as humans, actually. Attempting to feel compassion. I need to do something about my constant anger. My motivating forces are anger and desire, and anger I can do without. So I am trying to see what can be done about it. 

My mind is constantly busy, more often than not going in circles around the same subjects. That's why I don't trust my thinking progress very much. I can give you an example of my inner dialogue.

Myself: I wonder if she is OK. I have called her and emailed her repeatedly and she does not answer. Then again, she never picked up her phone, so that comes as no surprise. I hope she is OK. Maybe she is mad at me. I didn't do something for her to be mad. Still I worry about her. 

Me: She chose her path a long time ago and there is nothing you can do about it. 

Myself: I don't want her to change path, but it would be nice to know she is OK. It would be even nicer to be able to communicate with those I have a good time with more often. 

Me: Stop this. You know she is not there anymore. She never was.

Myself: Why people can't understand how important it is to be human by doing simple, every day things like picking up the phone, laughing at a shared joke, discuss. 

Me: Because people are who they are and you are not here to change them. It's important enough to understand these concepts yourself and change. 

Myself: Yes, but if I have no-one to share my insights and discoveries with, what is the purpose of such a discovery? 

Me: It's not your responsibility that humans end up in a deathbed full of regrets. Stop bothering with what you can't change and isn't your cross to carry.

Myself: I wish I could make them understand. 

Me: You can understand and that's enough. 

Myself: I am tired of my loneliness. 

Me: You should be grateful you have the friends you do. 

Myself: I am grateful. I don't take anything for granted. I wonder why those who take nothing for granted are the underdogs of society. 

Me: Maybe because the reason they take nothing for granted has to do with who they are in society to begin with, and the hardship they've already been through. 

Myself: Hardship is no guarantee of a grateful person. 

Me: Nor is lack of hardship guarantee of a callous one. 

Myself: There is great callousness in ignoring whole parts of yourself because you can't deal with the pain. It is the same with that other person too, who was so close to me to grow up into a fussy, perpetually sour individual, who is looking for mistakes like there is a reward for them. She left behind everything she held near and dear because she could not deal with the pain and she secretly blames me for not giving up like she did. 

Me: Hey, are you back into the 'I wonder why people don't understand' mode? Stop this. Don't you have anything better to think about? 

Myself: I can always consider the possibility of my heroine ending with two alpha males instead of one. 

Me: Well, that sounds better than the previous line of thought. 

Myself: But you don't understand, I know and feel all those facts about others and I can't tell them! I am bursting at the seams with the things I want to shout at their faces and I can't. I can't because if I do, they won't listen. Even worse, they will deny everything and tell me I am crazy and I am making it up and I am a mean person and I don't understand shit! 

Me: So? You know what you know, it's not your responsibility to enlighten anyone else. Concentrate. Think of something else. The alpha male duo with the heroine sounds good. 

Myself: Yes, it does. 

Me: That's my girl.

See what I mean? Going around in circles trying in vain to understand why humans are being humans, and the other voice of myself trying to switch my attention to something else and stop me from considering those relationships and situations I can't change or understand. Thankfully she is persuasive.

Other than that, I have a better job now. I am no longer at the supermarket and feel great about it. Although I can't change or enlighten anyone, I can at least smile because I escaped. 

I am off to bed. That should be considered an escape too. My brain is melting from lack of enough sleep. I am afraid that if I blow my nose, I'll accidentally give myself a full lobotomy. Maybe that would be an improvement.
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Maintenance in Lala land

He never gave up either, and he didn't begin with the same chances as the rest of us. Well, look at him now.

I've been working on this blog for three days now. I'm organising my labels. Labels are useful; they categorise together same theme entries. For example, there is a label called humour. If you click on it, you'll be shown all humorous entries I've ever written, no matter how old they are. This arrangement will help readers discover entries worth reading that have been buried in the backlog of ten years of blogging. I understand that people may like my writing but not have the time or inclination to read my entire blog. Hey, I am the writer and even I can't read my entire blog in one go. So there, I hope the label system helps. I am not done yet and don't know when I'll be done. I am going back and forth between posts and labels and it takes time. After three days of work I was glad to see there are many humorous entries, a lot more than I originally thought. Humour is a good way to deal with despair.

Work is slavery. The hours and workload are exhausting. I have no good memories from Christmas anyway and now I have an extra reason I dislike it; the hordes of barbarians who want to do last minute grocery shopping. I wouldn't have guessed how vital eggplants and prosciutto are, but it turns out they are extremely important elements of Christmas. Who am I to judge the priorities of others?

I've been trying to get in touch with people without luck. Months ago I chanced upon an old boyfriend of mine, the one I was with more than ten years ago. I was very happy to see him as we had a good time together and I'm fond of him. He seemed happy to see me too. We exchanged numbers to meet again for a catch up coffee. I've rung him several times. He doesn't pick up. I honestly wonder why he gave me his number if he doesn't want to talk to me. He gave me his Facebook too. Doesn't reply to messages there either. It's really frustrating. I don't know what kind of weird ideas he has concerning what I want, but I just wanted to see him and talk about trivial stuff. You know, see how he is. Tell him where I am and what I do. His behaviour perplexes and hurts me, especially since I never mistreated him and I am the opposite of clingy. But humans in general are beyond my humble comprehensive abilities. I don't spend too much time pondering what is wrong with them or why they behave the way they do. I did it in the past and it's completely useless. He has every right not to want to see me and he's not obliged to explain why. And I have every right to consider his behaviour inexplicable, rude and hurtful. Then I eat chocolate and get some extra sleep because I am very tired and life goes on. What else to do? I mean yes, sure, I want to grab him by the lapels and shake him and yell at him "what the hell is wrong with you? I just wanted to chat!". Since he's unavailable, I shrug and move on. It doesn't have to do with me, but with him, and consequently there's nothing I can do.

Today I came across someone I liked years ago. Another 'what if' story that never took place. He moved to another city because he was accepted in university just as I was wondering if I should make a move. He looks as startlingly handsome as always. As per usual, I looked like shit. :D It's a joke how I always meet the ones I like when I look my worst. Then again, I don't know if that is the real reason I haven't had a relationship since Noah started building that boat. I don't think it is. In a similar manner to the previous subject, I shrugged and moved on. I'm tired. I don't what the real problem is. I never did and probably never will. These things are best left to chance when actual effort proves futile. Then again, chance has proved to be as futile as effort in my case. I just don't know, and it's not important. Yes, it hurts. It never ceases to hurt how I find myself as the victim or the spectator to happenings in my life, but I am trying to leave the martyrdom role behind. I want to keep myself happy. I have several books to read and stories of my own to daydream about. Since both effort and lack of effort bring the same result, I can only daydream, work hard and not think too much. Thinking leads straight into despair. 

I hope the new year will bring some long expected results of my hard work. And I hope I'll prove several people wrong. Living a good life is the best revenge one can get. I am angry enough to fantasise about not picking up my phone when I am better and they call me, but not petty enough to actually do it if it ever happens.

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Greek reality

 

I've found work in a supermarket. To say it's terrible would be an understatement. To help you understand the mentality, there is a chair behind the till because if the store doesn't have one, they are subject to a fine. However, if you sit and they see you on camera, you may get fired. They are understaffed, because the owners don't want to hire enough people and pay wages. The money you get for working six days a week without a day off is 500 euro. I know, you are thrilled. I am trilled too. I'm already sick with a cold because I didn't get enough sleep while I do work for two people. I'm a hair away from going to the headquarters of the company, finding the owner who interviewed me before hiring me and telling him what I really think of his professional ethos. It won't be pretty. I'll probably use the company shirt to strangle him. But I need the money and so I say nothing and stay where I am, though I hate it. It is not going to be easy. I'll be working every day until the end of year, including Sundays.

I have to keep reminding myself I need the money. I have to keep repeating, "remember who the real enemy is". I have to keep telling myself not to pay attention to the fact after a full year of frantically looking for a job all I managed to find was this one. I wouldn't have found this one either if it wasn't for knowing someone who knew someone else and I got special treatment. Imagine that. You need to use your connections to get jobs like this one, where you slave away for six days a week every week for the rest of your life to get paid 500 euro. I pity the ones who have to do this for the rest of their lives; they deserve a metal of valour, an honourable mention, something. Companies work them like slaves and suck them dry and they can't quit without leaving their family unfed, without risking everything they've got.

Strip a person naked, take everything away, and they can still hold onto their dignity.

Remember who the real enemy is in this game. Don't lose sight of your goal.

You need the money. You need the money. If you are going to go to UK, you need to save money. So keep working and keep looking for something else at the same time.

I am out for your blood. You can't stop me. Throw as many monkey wrenches into the equation as you want. You are only making me angrier. You are only making this worse for yourselves.

It's going to hurt so much, and when I am done with you, there will be nothing left.

Keep your head down and remember who the real enemy is.

"...Look at me.

I am pilot error, I am fetal distress, I am the random chromosome...

I am complete and total madness. I am fear.

...You are all going to die." 

The Crow