I have this horrible obsession plaguing my mind about you and her and no matter how i try to convince myself it's only in head and you're being true and honest, like you said, i know deep down it's actually happening. What's really eating away at my soul is why am i not enough or what do i need to do more so that you can be happy with me. Apparently you cannot and i can't convince you to let her go. Fine then. I won't stand in the way of your happiness...

...fast forward to 2024...4 years apart (has it really been so long? so much wasted time, such futility in trying to see how far you would venture with your deceptions and lies)

i find myself closer to the icyness once more, only a slight chip or crack here an there, but the cold will fix them soon enough, frozen merciless beauty will engulf everything again. it doesn't really occur to me to mind about you. truthfully, it's more my own shame towards myself that i find appalling how i could ever come down from my tower to a lowly miserable mortal such as you and let you darken my cold radiance. 

The precipice is far off now, the tower gates are closed, the shrill of the wind cutting through to your very bones, only a sign remains in letter of my own devise, of my own blood and tears..."love is like the plague and noone should have to suffer that much". 

As i sit here in my mind i see it all resurfacing again, the memories of my glory flooding in, the light and darkness all in one blinding everything in sight. 

Only just...only just...a bit more patience till i can cover my sheer naked body in that gown and until i can lift that crown with barely a finger. Oh such sweet sensual pleasure that will be and how i long to lose myself in myself

Not that much...

I'm sure i have a world of things to say and discuss; i'm sure just writing about them would make everything simpler and easier; i just don't know what to say right now or how to say it, for that matter. it might take some time. i haven't got much to say but i just chatting with anne rice on fb kinda makes want to smile.

Ghastly orange moon

There's this ghastly orange moon outside, like some rotten peach, festering, ready to burst, much like my soul. My own body cannot contain such blind hate, despair and agony, all at once. It seems like apart from blind i've also been rather deaf to the people around be, to my own thoughts, to my own conscience. I feel beastly tonight, i feel like ripping apart flesh and feeding off the gory insides till i throw up rivers of blood. This is not the world i live in and i have no idea how i stumbled into this, how i began to feel ache, how i let my guard down so easily, how i got horribly screwed over because of it. I knew what i was doing here at one point, but it's somewhat hazy now, like a blurry memory from a long-forgotten dream. I'm not one for running from things, but in this case the choice is obvious. If i stay, i'll lose my mind in the process and there is no call for that. There's this part of me that's starting to surface, slowly, ever so slowly...it's the ice, the level-headedness, the sheer logic, the one that take matters into her own hands and makes decisions. The moon is rotting more and more by the second; soon half of it will be putrid and the other just sweet juiciness. Funny how sweetness is so close to revultion, how dream turns into nightmare and how the road to hell is always paved with good intentions. I look into the abiss and i see betrayal, jealousy, selfishness, i see the worst in him with every breathing second.
I will be my own undoing, or at least part of me, the stupid, gullible part. I stopped seing myself in the equation at one moment, i forgot i existed, i stopped being my own greatest passion. Such a dreadful mistake. i have nothing but contempt for myself, i deserve nothing better from myself, i should vacate my own body until otherwise instructed. The prospect of becoming an emotionless, lifeless, beautiful carcass doesn't seem to be such an awful prospect. Oblivion yet again, ignorance and absolute bliss. It worked fine every other time, so why should it fail me now. The mold and the rot is slowly drifting, subsided by stacks of ice and deep marshes. The tears have faded into a sly, elegant, yet ominous smile. The peach is fully rotten, but no longer a peach, it morphed into a glistening black poisonous fruit.

Defragmenting

Tried crying today...didn't work. I tried drawing up tears from my every fibre, but...they wouldn't come. The feelings of helplessness and dread were overpowering, don't get me wrong, but... i simply couldn't do anything about it, i couldn't pull my mask off and just cry. I didn't realise it at first, it seemed like i had failed in something, like i couldn't control myself to do something, but, as i stood there, the world didn't sound like the place i was in, but something different, better, something loooooong gone. I congratulate myself at the end of this day for one harsh accomplishment: regaining my composure, my million discarded masks, my old double-edged self.
...
Red strawberry-stained fingertips, a pungent smell of decadent summer, huge 3-legged mosquito on my lamp...and it all feels so surreal, so out of place and, yet... mesmerizing. Matter-of-factly, i loathe growing up, realizing that very little of the world around me is quite how i envision it, but at least partly, here, in this bubble-gum town, everything somehow clicks and time freezes over. There's nothing different between the first paragraph and this one, just 3 days distance and geography, but this universe is like a breath of fresh air in this smoggy world.  I wouldn't go back, but i hate having to accept the unacceptable, the disappointments and ... whoever it is you are that i don't know, and never really knew. The mosquito is gone now. Hope i'm not drained of blood by the time i finish this. My keyboard is a slightly pinkish hue at the moment, the water is dripping in the bathroom since i didn't go to the trouble of closing the tap properly, my hair is a mess of golden tangles, myself is at ease and happy; i know where this is going.

Momentum of nothing

it's almost a shame, a damn shame to waste your time, to waste someone else's time, to waste time...time never to be had, time always craved and coveted, time long passed, time just passed, the past, the now, the momentum of every second you spend like you somehow own it. probably, not so often, but most of the time when you look back on things, hours are just massacred in futility and thoughts, ever so many, get lost in the process of neglect. there is somewhat of a revival in acknowledging things, there is infinite possibility in acting upon the acknowledgement, but sometimes i just yearn for things i don't truly or entirely want. getting something you didn't really bargain for leaves you with a weird metallic taste in your mouth, like chewing on too many silver coins, regardless of how nice they might be. i just want things for the sole purpose of having them without the implication of having to do something once i attain the object/person/desire in question. call me a hoarder, call me a collector, call me vain and insensitive and I'll revel in it. then again, give me time and i'll have trouble finding something to do with it. it goes without saying that i will end up doing something but just doing something is hardly time well spent, it's just a waste, and how i'd wish i'd have my own personal time with it's own flow, with a freeze here and there and a very big forward button to move me on to the next stage.

Muchness

My essence is torn to shreds while i indulge in chocolate-coated almonds and revel in my present condition. i call it condition since it's mainly of a medical nature, aka my sinuses are practically clogged up, and it's giving me a frightfully delirious headache. somehow it escapes my consciousness how events are brought about, how they unravel, how and where exactly i play a part in them. something slow has started in me and... i find i have control over very few things nowadays, which is rather unsettling in my mental agenda. i require so many circumstances, i need so many things, so many people, so many words, so ...much. i think i need so much, because, as one Mad Hatter once put it " i may have lost my Muchness". As you get older you slowly become more afraid, more thoughtful, patient if you will...patient with impatient thoughts. Patient nonetheless. I miss the days when a book or a cup of coffee in the morning was the answer to all that was inherently wrong and out of sorts with the world. One never had moods or chills or thrills, swings or tantrums or outbursts, you worked with what you got while attempting to change the universe in the process. Anything can happen once you put your Mind and Muchness to it. It usually did and it still does...but the equation for now requires circumstances, so many loose ends that it looks like a miracle if something works out for the best.
Every now and then i catch a glimpse of myself...just thinking out-loud. I'm so dependent on so many people around me, i strive to please, to humour, to soothe, to comfort, to amuse, to enlighten, to act, to... do so much i'm practically exhausted by the time i should be having my afternoon tea. This, somehow, cripples the Muchness and there is never time enough to let it replenish. it's because it all keeps swirling in your brain, and as you world expands the swirl gets louder and louder and you'd rather be living in a tiny box.
However, by then, you'd be missing out on all the fun, like getting to see Gaga in an Egg-dress which might count as replenishment enough for the Muchness. My eyes are sore from the flu and the mascara, the dust outside, the wind, the cold, exhaustion. I never did give much thought to how they might feel, Muchness or no Muchness...

morning ... very mundane

Dishevelled yawn for the better part of the past minutes, lingering to the display of the Google homepage ( i just find myself staring into it sometimes, for no apparent reason, but it does have some sort of calming, brain-debilitating, amnesic effect) trying to negociate myself over the pretentionsness of having to start over a new day. bleak, dreary and, all in all, plain boredom creeps over like so many misplaced thoughts of things i'm supposed to be doing, i.e. turning the better part of the world's tree supply to useless scrap papers for my insignifiant nerve-wrecking exams.

yoghurt and jasmine tee in hand i find myself in the same place as every morning, doing the same useless stuff, reading the obnoxious books... well this morning is a tad on the different side of things, since i'm not in bed and i've had the audacity of starting up my laptop so as to prevent myself from falling asleep ( to be quite honest, i have not the slightest idea why i need to sleep, or my body yearns it so - things would go so much smoother without it, though i do now of diverging opinions on the matter).

so... not much more that i can stand my brain dripping in slow freezing droplets onto my neck and having to partake in the whole process. i think i want to x-ray a neuron just so i could kill it in a different way.

how the hell did it....?

you were the very last exception i was willing to give the world up for...for what? For nothing. there is a single shred of smoke that slips into nothingness, sounds so shrill they tear the earth apart, one sorrowful gasp to express the ordeal, the void and mostly...the space you failed to fill. why would it matter if i trampled over my good nature, if, just this once, i was more like you... if the sky crumbled at your feet. i see not, i hear not, i smell not, i taste not, i feel not...i love not. there is nothing worth loving and the rest is all a huge disappointment. no one is entitled to such a grand display of affection, not even me. i know that much, it's just that my vision gets blurry at times, it gets "blinded" by the shining of siblings such as you, of mirrors, of...disappointments. The world is undeserving and unfortunately you're part of it with all your flaws and imperfections. i want to disappear from your life forever, so nothing could evoke a question or a thought, no memories, no years, no me.

incoherence

i cried my share in oceans yesterday, i sobbed, i sighed, i bellowed, i despaired, i stopped existing, if only for a few seconds in a hallway, collapsed on the floor, dripping mascara that stains carpets and perceptions. dark tears that stained the very fabric of my soul and its underlying reality. the experience is like being drained of any drop of life lingering in my body, like having wings chopped off with an axe...bloody feathers stuck to its blade while i shout in relentless pain and insanity the realization of the loss, the absurdity of such a state, the absence of...you. regardless of the effort i put into wording it, the more it seems impossible to convey this dreaded ambiguity of what i feel so that you might understand... i think i tore myself up in another million pieces, to add to the other millions... so much so i fail to the substance in my existence. i need a sack of pieces... could you spare some?

drunken daze of a sunburnt beat

some things in life need to be documented, for various reasons, such as: further reference or "let's not screw it up the way we did last time", fond memories or "how you promise yourself you'll never sleep in a car again" and personal notes to self or "fuck! i drank again to the point where i can't remember my own name". one such eventful and amusing experience was our weekend trip to the seaside. seemingly, we planned it down to a tee, 2 weeks in advance, but since this sort of thing never really works out, we went with the flow...and what a flow it was! mood swings from ecstasy to agony every hour, on the hour, from filthy rich to flat broke and then some, from dancing next to the trunk of the car to a literal crowd as far as the eye could see, but one thing we never missed and abundant and great it was...music. so much music, you could satisfy entire worlds for a few days, car music, beach music, after music, liberty music, kudos music, water music, optick music, sleeping music, house music... elevator music??? maybe, dunno - must have been there somewhere.

needless to say we had our share of troubles and mishaps, our string of misfortunes, but everything just slips by when you can complain about to each other about how a iron fence fell flat on your alcohol-enhanced head or how you could never find an ATM when you badly need one. frankly i miss lying on the beach and bathing in live music, i miss being so drunk i crave to eat a box of skittles, i miss getting upset and angry for a full 2 seconds... btw, were you ever going to change that t-shirt? u'r wearing it in 90% of the pictures :))

heat sweat dust plaster

a day of heat, sweat and dusty plaster, which seems to be indefinitely embodied in my lips, just as you are. no matter how i try i can never truly do anything - meaningful that this - more than a sweet calming voice. it doesn't really help, does it? how can i metaphorically put this hopelessness into words?

at times, it feels like we're worlds apart, so distinct, so far away, and yet i can almost reach you, i can almost make out your troubles...i just wish i could do something - i'd conjure a measure of perfection embodied in blue to wisk you away to what you might envision as carefree carelessness on a distant island in an alternate telepathical universe.

...in slightly emotional, undisrupted, contemplative pieces i feed my soul on the truth in your lies. neverending, this solipsistic outlook which overshadows the desire of simple unreality consumed by affixed nothingness. don't bother ...no need is fulfilled by mere presence and the blissful ignorance i solemnly preach.

what do i call thee...?

i fiddle here alone with a fragment of my own consciousness, amids secular trees, iron railings and the soft indistinct voice of a mellow corner of nature, but, one can't help but notice - faintly, that's true -, the shrill high-pitched call of a car alarm going off somewhere in the distance. and so, my solitude is drained away by a single phone call, by the presence of them... i take comfort in delusion and fascinating insanity, the kind you surrender yourself to completely, with no remorse, no regard, no trouble, no idea, devoid of reality, of rationality into, what i call, my blissful ignorance. i loathe the very idea of what escaped my lips, deflected by the crisp watery surface in the dead of night, of how i broke and bended, of how i couldn't contain that monstrous lame excuse for a soul - i keep a heavy rusted brass lock on and tie up in chain on the recessed of a would-be conformity. i don't conform, you see, i never truly use my emotions to get what i want and i'm not even sure it would work if i tried to. it just gets so tiring at times to fight atrociously long never-to-be-won battles. i take this great pleasure in trying to achieve the impossible, for i see myself as maybe more than i am, giving myself credit for something i may never do, something unattainable, something only a fool might embrak on. the fool, the arlequin, the lovely, charming, mezmerising, beautiful, gripping, humorous, perfect little character i strip off when i'm here alone. i allow myself to be selfish on a piece of paper, i can articulate how much i hate whining people, the attention seekers, the extorsioners, the ones that have to constantly remind you of what they did for you, how much they love and suffer, how wonderful they are, how much credit they deserve for listening to you. i can only see this as something so selfish, it cannot stand to be put into words, something so inherently human. so despicable, so incumbersome, something you always fall for, because i do too...stupid of us, and you know it. if i tried explaining it you, if i actually had the guts to say it to your face - how it makes sence to me - you might agree, but, then again, i know you'd hate me for it - you can't really see it. that doesn't really count for anything, it won't matter, because things never actually change for me, i never change my feelings. you can read my thoughts, but i'd love it if you could x-ray my soul and weep at the sight of its fragile deformity.

displaced, misplaced, replaced

do you have any idea what it feels like?...the very question beaming from your eyes, a question unuttered, but profoundly there, burning your every nerve, rotting away your cells, eating at your sanity - the sheer hopelessness of it all, the one moment of clarity...this too shall pass. as a matter of fact, i do. i know that pain ever so well, i've watched it morph me into a human wreck, i've suffered in despair, but no one ever knew. i masked it so well and so do you. trouble is, now, i long for you, you suffer too and this thing can't be fixed. it's elementally flawed, each of us has this little army of skeletons cramped inside a closet too small to fit such burdens, such dramas, so many things unspoken. what we wish for is the impossible, the unreachable, the destined, the perfect, the match, but that which is never to come to pass...for literally unexplainable reasons. i can never mash them up and put them into a sentence, but it all makes such crystal clear logic in my head. you see, that's the problem really, uttering the ideas strips them of their wholeness, their integrity, their structure. why can't we try for what's within our grasp each and every day and willing, but not considered? ...i'll trow the withered flowers into the garbage bin and i will have forgotten all about how much i love you by tomorrow. probably you will have gotten back to you ol'jolly self again by next morning...i'm just hoping here for the inevitable, for we all revert to the undying state sooner than later.

how easily the world is broken, how feeble the castle of cards, how absolute the reprochfulness, how distinct the way your voice trembles, the despair resounding with his every pounding on the walls of the drawbridge. she is trapped in her tower, alone in the dark, croching under every shout and bellow, useless, powerless, thoughtful... misses them, the happy bunch, the carefree, the loveable, the incomparably hillarious - which he could be a part of, he's like them. never going to force anyone into anything, undecided crystal-clear deceitfulness. craving to hear the voice, melting at the memory of it, crumbs of indistinct solitude, creeping icy heartache. i want to be left alone, but with you comforting me, i want to run away with you chasing my tracks to the ends of the world, i want to cry my heart out for you wounds, but never speak a words about it, i want to heal every broken fiber of your soul, but not knowing it was me and i never want you to love me - it would only ruin things and you'd stop being perfect.

no need to cry

middle weak coughing wednesday sunny chlorine morning. paint scorched off blood-shot byork trembling walls and how i'm seemingly so uninvolved and peaceful. sure, the swings of the pendulum are uneavenly balanced and this quaint equilibrium may crumble to fire consuming dust in your absence. that's why my consciousness dictates my permanence in the shell of this uneasy sanctum. i'll recall this time later on as a new stage, troublesome, hillarious, lively, no pretence, no need, not having to care since nothing could dissociate this slumbering memory from my future temporal lobe. jazz on the sidewalk of the table kitchen, smouldering pavement under the thumping of the unusual marching-band:me, you, you, us, they, them... saxophones, pianos, trumpets and soulful voices. like a sun won't you come...and brighten my eyes to the unreflected deflection of surreptitiousness. i unfold my smoky wings over stratospheric shouting...listen and stop pouting, infinite disapproval and remorse could clutch at your heart and expiate your sins. these rays banging on glass, curtains, your retina.

in bucatarie...

frightful damp cold weather out there, fish odour and mushroomy undertones in here... business management related disputes that contrive to induce a fragrant dissention of the profoundly incompetent underlings. so here starts the 6 PM dinner ritual, evidently backed up by a severe discontent in primal misjudgement of character. this all seems so atrociously still, like a picture-perfect statement that this should be heavily imprinted in memory.

intermission

few hours later, same location, different posture...liver thawing and slowly decomposing into maroonish meaty grains in a pile of blood-shot water. and amongst potatoe peelings, strange as it may seem, while quaffing down cherry soda, in the backround of the hitting keyboard, i find myself in the midst of a sort of quarelling "family" of dearest beings - so baffeling the concept of living with two guys: they fight, they argue, the discuss, they're logical and yet unawares of themselves, they accept and never ask questions, they inferr the obvious, but in a subtle way, they... are, somewhat, carefree.

i so wish you wouldn't stirr so madly, like life depended on chicken livers...like change is possible and doctors could show up in the most unusual places. never underestimate, never disregard, never adhere to a premise you don't intend to live up to.

abruptly with no regard for consequences

Indisputable lack of sleep adorned by the lack of your interest in me
inspires selfmorphing so as to incinerate your sences and then drown
them in a pool of my distorted consciousness. I was pondering the idea
of us and it seems to me so improbable and abstract, no matter how
much I strife to entrance you, maybe because of this huge gap in
time...we met too late, but even this is better than no meeting at
all. And you're so different from anyone else I've met before...you
don't fall for the tragedy I'm capable of or my perfect damsel act, so
you've forced me to be myself around you because you won't have
anything less than my original self.
And so you left one cold dark December morning...too early in the
morning. I was somewhere on the borderline of sleep and delusion and I
pleaded with you not to leave. It's snowing out there now, above
ground, above my frozen bewilderment. I wonder, is it snowing where
you are? Can you stand the blistering cold degrading your skin or the
snowflakes dying of the hopelessness of having met you?

i do not presume to be, i am...

difficult to say what hell's fury is compared to my own emotions... ever get the feeling you're hearing metallic sounds, like a door closing, like music out of a grain of iron, like my mind going epileptic from the insatiable lust for suffering reduced to unattainable fairlytales? i don't think i've ever told you that what i want out of life is the fairytale, the impossible, the surprise, the sweeping off my feet, the sparkle in the eyes, battling the bad guys to make me feel better, flowers for no possible reason when i wake up in the morning, my favourite songs one after the other, pick me up and dance with me in the rain or snow, romance me out of my consciousness and then pin me against a wall like you're out to destroy every bone in my body and drain life and thought from my soul.

i do not presume to be, i am... the most wonderful thing on the face of the netherworlds, i am dark and obtrusive, i am devious and scheming, i am jealous and mean, i ...well, i could do horrible things if only i didn't love everything around so much. the most horrible specter of my being is in so in love with this world, it can scorn, but never harm it. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds... it might seem ghastly presumptuous, but i have a photo of everyone when i first met them. i know the colours, i can trace the light and the shadows, i know the place and most importantly you were there... no idea where i'm going with this.

Never-changeling

the truth is that there is no absolute truth, or so we love to believe. our wretched human hearts thrive on being proven wrong, they even hope for it...the fait glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe things are not as they seem, as everyone else sees them...but different. even more so, we love to find the best parts in someone and hope they truly exist and that is why, even if they do not exist...our motto may very well be: We shall invent! So, invent we do. subsequently, we come up with such distorted notions of those close to us, we come to hold them in such high regard and, most of all, are esteemed to be in the very vicinity of their presence, that one outside might believe we are bloody mad. and so we are. Madmen so enamoured with dreams and hopes and wishes, we curtain our view of the world, we take out our own eyes being firmly convinced that empty sockets and a great heart serve the purpose of sight so much better.
so, we proceed throughout this existence blindfolded, grabbing for walls, creeks and cracks, alongside our opulently adorned ideals in the form of people. along the way we are so thrilled of what we believe we have, that we fail to notice the way we're pushed aside, shoved in a corner, disregarded, ignored, trampeled on by these elemental beauties and we, in our own turn, push aside anyone that might try to remove our blissful blidfold. (I only take pity in the form of ruby-red blood dripping eyes)
after a few such experiences, our sences leave us, our strength leaves us, our own life leaves us, but we rejoyce, for this morphed self is all the better to serve our grand illusions. we are left walking carcasses, with beating hearts and no egos, blind and barely dragging our sorry selves near the masion that now houses our beloved "mirrors" - but not simply mirror people, but mirrors of distorted reality and vision, of broken dreams, mirrors of people that will never exist and whose true reflection we may never gaze upon, since our eyes are no longer in our posession. we sold them for the gilded frame adorning our mirrors.
i posess eyes, but they are locked away in a silver box
i posess a soul, but it's locked away in your mirror
i have a voice, but it will only sing for you
i have these lips, but they exist only for the glassy surface of your mirror
so, i press their transience to the cold-cut glass and leave no marks.
i will leave you now, and take that box to serve as mine eyes
i will need no voice, for i have a quill and ink is never far away
i require no lips, for there is noone they can touch
i required no soul, for i need not anymore illusions
but, i shall first break thy image and thy mirror
never to gaze into one ever again.

posh totty...

now there's a concept worth writing about and adopting to the core. the sheer feel and sound of the words make my skin tingle and my lips bleed with excitement, as the idea is, somewhat, definitory to what i, myself, hope to achieve. nonetheless, i'm more than aware that most, if not all, of you haven't the slightest clue as to what it means sooo...you can just google it, but i thought i'd save you people the trouble:

posh totty: Male or female totty whose poshness is an essential part of the appeal e.g. well educated; mellifluous voice; charming classy manners; sophisticated conversation; expensive clothes; trendy address, etc.

there you have it. now, truthfully, isn't this worth striving for? doesn't it make you quiver and fantasize of the possiblities? and, in spite of this, many might consider this as a fancy and politically correct term for "high-class hooker", something in the area of Belle de Jour, if you're familliar. i couldn't really disagree with the idea totally, but there's still something there that prevents you from scorning it in any way, it's just to elegant and blissfully decadent in its unattainable charm.
the Americans invented the "stripper glamazone" raging into battle to conquer the masses, but leave it to the Brits to come up with something as luring as posh totty; this is not the definition for a person, it's for something with the appeal-power of the sun, the charm of a snake, and the graciousness of a cobra-lily.