Growing old

One day I guess I realized that I already grew old. That the years that I had expected to be the hard ones passed without the solution that I implicitly placed in them. They were hard enough. But in the end I realized, they bore no fruit. So I sit now realizing... It was all a waste. And I wonder, whom do I really live for? After all these years, a waste. I take pride in the few people who do appreciate my existence - the very few indeed. But those - I do care for. But I really don't want to go on. Not indefinitely. Maybe for a few years yet. But not indefinitely. I simply cannot bear it. And there is, in all honestly, no point at all. I am a burden for society, and not only society. It tires me and it bores me.

All I see is beauty outside. I wish I could at least properly express it. Then I would be one of those modern poets. Conveying the elaborate night to everyone who doesn't see it. Or even those who do, but only reflect on it by proxy. Even that would be worth it! But I am not. And I don't. And I'm tired. And I'm done. Or am I? I never know. Today, I will not end my life. Because I am too lazy and too caught up in the beauty of it all and the music with such depth. But one day, I will run out of excuses. And I don't think I will say goodbye.

Reflection Replaced

I find my person to be defined by my reflection in others. What they think of me, what they do to and with me. These are the most important things in me - they are what spill over into the world. Anything that is completely internalized can change nothing.

I am no stranger to identity crises, but one thing I have always been able to lean on was my reflection in the actions and words of others. Once suddenly denied these reflections, or once they become distorted, I am uprooted. I no longer know myself. Those precious things that were granted to me only by reciprocating, they are no longer. It is not a wise thing to root so closely into these few actions. But given enough temptation... There was no refusing.

Some trinkets are too shiny to pass up. Some moments are too grand, too confusing, too involving to not completely dissolve into. And once in a while, even beauty outshines every other, regular concern. But once you make either of these things yours, you set yourself up for defeat. Trinkets are but trinkets, moments are fleeting and one way or the other, beauty will be lost.

My beauty was but the reflection in the eyes of a true love. Without that, my laughter rings hollow, my eyes are clouded and my self... As fragile as love can be. Now, someone else is in the reflection. Mine is gone and I am stuck in the mirror, looking out as someone has replaced me, superceded me.

Hatred Comes Hard

When forced to completely submit to the will and whim of someone else, I find I lose myself in a shroud of unknown. I no longer recognize my own feelings, and I am unable to easily feel. It is an absurd situation. The remedy? Crank up the volume. I must recognize the feeling that I want to express. I must recognize it and then, through listening to the music, channel it. And thus, music becomes a bridge. But it is absurd. To only be able to connect with myself through an amplifier of sound. To become so complex that I can no longer understand myself but for drowning out the complexity in a shriek of anger that is not even my own.

I have become the soundtrack of the talented musicians that I so envy. Yes! Envy! I feel it because the song allows it. It is one feeling of those that are not subject to the merciless destructive interference of my choice poison. But every time it ends, I become someone else once more.

Rewind. Rewind. Rewind again and bask in -- is it anger now? And of course...

"I'm filled with violent woe. I'm filled with complex woe -- still breathing"

Cacaphony of Pain

The worst thing one can possibly experience is to lose something that you never truly realized you had. To feel that no matter how much your emotions burn true, they cannot overcome that obstacle which has been set in their way. To try in vain to preserve even a fragment of something so precious, so that perhaps it may grow again if properly nurtured this time... And then, sooner or later, to be completely fatigued. To be unable to change anything. To have spent oneself in the pursuit. To be denied. Lost. Gone.

Stating the Obvious

I've noticed a recent change of balance between the opinions of human rights organization and Western politicians. Before you'd see the organizations fighting for a more lenient approach towards different cultures and systems of government. Bring up China, however, and the roles will reverse. Suddenly democracy is the holy grail - a naive opinion if there ever was one - and tolerance is less of a problem for the human rights organization and the politicians, however unlikely, have a realistic approach towards "different" systems. Grotesque.

a composition in life
a tired meal in the evening
just waking, stretching

yawning at the city lights
obsessive thought and motion
can't see them clear yet
it's not that time yet

you go brighter with them
putting on your makeup
putting on your heels
putting on your breasts
putting on your soul

dim now clicking shoes
pavement never tells its story
bloodied and romantic
cigarettes used to draw you, femme
nah it's just for cash
to pull that rubber band closer
to have something to embrace
to buy back dreams in dreams
I sold my body to buy my soul

We're watching the stars of the day going down, Horizon

As the cheerless towns pass my window
I can see a washed out moon through the fog
And then a voice inside my head breaks the analogue
And says

Follow me down to the valley below
You know;
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul

I survived against the will of my twisted folk
But in the deafness of my world the silence broke
And said

Follow me down to the valley below
You know;
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul

My David don't you worry
This cold world is not for you
So rest your head upon me
I have strength to carry you

Ghosts of the twenties rising
Golden summers just holding you

Follow me down to the valley below
You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul

Follow me down to the valley below
You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul
Come to us Lazarus
It's time for you to go

Porcupine Tree - Lazarus

Have you ever walked through your door and pretended someone was there
Someone to sate your fear, someone to make the meaning clear

Have you ever sung a song for she who wasn't listening
Who couldn't be listening, because the world isn't.. Glistening.

But the purpose wasn't there when you walked inside your head
And the fear shook you badly and took your life to bed

To breed that feeling again.
Summers always pass.

Rockstar Games, I love you!

Amidst all the rage over Rockstar Games' "Bully", this surely should bring fire to the religious American right-wing. And oh, I so hope this gets serious media attention.

The ability to actually play the game to a boy-on-boy action scene is absolutely marvelous. I idolize it, and I haven't even played it. Go Bully!

It's past midnight, now I can blog!

Sometimes I just want to feel secure enough to write silly things. Like blaaargh. Or bubbles! And not try to just make the most linguistically perfect post, and not hit myself when I'm unable to actually do that.

And yes, this is a poor attempt to apologize/justify my last post.

Pathetic! (hush!)

The Link Disease

I have done it again. I have a swirling vortex of chaos for my thought stream, and absolutely no ability to concentrate on one matter at a time:

V for Vendetta is really great. Natalie Portman is really grea -- oh, Hugo Weaving! Should have known the voice.. Natalie Portman, hmmmhmmm.. Christina Ricci often gets the parts that Natalie (I wonder, should I really write "Portman"?) turns down. Oh yeah, Christina (/Ricci) often works with Johnny Depp. Depp! Fantastic. Classic. Timeless. Pirates of the Caribbean.

An hour spent right there, and even if it might seem quite unrewarding as this link is nothing but the end of my journey for the night, I have to say I have made quite a number of considerations from it. For instance, one day I would like to be able to say, in casual conversation, something along the lines of: "How transporting! Ha Ha!" -- and not even be laughed at. I suppose this disease has made me quite vain about language, a hunger that my actual skill, is not quite able to sate.

"V for Vendetta"

It's an awesome film in the true meaning of the word. I have read countless reviews now that label V an anarchist, and the "V" logo which is shown in the film does bear quite a resemblance to the mythical "A-in-a-circle". Now, I have not read the actual graphic novel, however I do not feel, that this label does the character justice. V is, in my eyes, a revolutionary. There's an essential difference here, and if you don't know it, you should revisit the articles and letters of Proudhon ("Oh! I understand you; you speak satirically") for a few hours.

Forgive me for a bit my attempt at magnifying this - I would not be a lesser person with some Homeric exercise - but V is, in all ways, someone who we must remember and that some have forgotten. The Orwellian regime might seem far away to some, but look above your heads, read the papers, listen to your politicians. Fear is taking a hold on all of us and we are imposing restrictions on our lives that are inimical to freedom - forgive me again - Liberty.

I know this is perhaps the most dull thing to write about, but we must not be afraid. Because fear is that which will create the situation which is most terrifying of all. And fear itself is the only thing that deserves to be feared.

There's something incredibly scary about the comic style of the 50's. I guess it's a trauma from playing the Fallout games, but there's also something else to it. In the same way that mannequins or clowns in darkness look unnatural, the not-quite-human portrayal in this style is absolute horror.

This film gave me the creeps, and it's really well-made.

I'm currently in the process of migrating my livejournal. Please stand by.

Update 1: 2004 jan-may done.
Update 2 (16th of October): Oh dear ******* ****, did I write this emo shit? Considering abandoning those posts, changing my name and moving to Peru. Yikes.

When you're out dancing
you're really out selling something you don't have

So happy laughing
Amazingly enjoying jokes you've never heard.

And then you're crying
but with no presence of mind to really know what about

Sweetheart if you only would hold those lies
If you didn't take the time to dry your eyes
If you cut your bullshit fear and disguise
Then I promise you I'd never ever say goodbyes

A Winter Night	05:20 am

It is cold and dark. The ice crystals break under my feet, the sole companion to the howling wind and my frosty breath. Silent and eerie streetlights pass over my head, stretching over me like the ribcage of some long forgotten, and long dead, mythical creature. Their declining and worn yellow glow shine down upon the snow, bringing an unreal luminosity to cloaked ground - an ominous light coming from below, not above.

The flat and demure city passes by me slowly, it's buildings disappearing into the concept horizon behind me that I cannot see, do not wish to see - an unspeakable void in my mind. Creaking trees on my right. Kindergarten on my left. Why did I choose this path, when I prefer the forest?

"Am I in a hurry? Why did I leave? Where am I going?"

Those questions are of no relevance. But others are: "Why am I stopping so soon? Why this sojourn? Why am I stopping there."

But I don't know. My feet have conquered my mind, defying it and leading it, along with the rest of me, to that dreaded place.

Stairs. I don't want to go up. "That's silly, of course you can go up these stairs, you've been here more than a thousand times." And I walk on, hood tucked down into my face. "Did I actually just stop there? I hope no one saw me."

The world retracts a bit, the street widening to a road street with parking lots on both sides. Even the threatening streetlights back away a bit - perhaps scared of the open space, not at all unlike me. They are older here, projecting wisdom and knowledge from their classical crested frameworks on their timeless wooden poles. Strength, perhaps. They are upright, even in this near-glacial night.

Right. Left. One more right. And I'm there. The white painted door on it's stony podium seems so nondescript, almost secretive of what lies behind. "Come on in, if you dare." Do I? I walk in, but I don't know if I dare.

Eyes fixed on the ground. Brown and speckled linoleum floor. Is there a mirror to the right? And maybe an open cabinet of some sorts? I don't recall. Left is easier. A coat rack, the kitchen door, a closet, and a door that leads to a humming and moaning, long-obsolete oil furnace with a visage that always seems to convey anger and dismay. I never liked looking at it. On the ceiling is a white firealarm, also nondescript. Right in a middle is an old man, leaning onto a walking aid sort of trolley. He stares at me. Disbelief?

"Hi" - in an overly confident manner, much more than what would be truthful - "hi." His face is red and swollen in one side, the skin draping down in a manner that makes is obvious - even with little difference from the other side to bring contrast - that this side could not express any emotions, even if he attempted to do so.

My "hi" is still lingering in the air. I walk left, into the angular kitchen with the wooden counter - around the corner, quickly. I open the freezer and pop in my Bacardi Breezers from my backpack.

I walk out again. He's gone. Straight forward into the living room - he's in the couch at the left end of the room. The christmas tree is still on my left, not surprising in this house, even in may. May? Why is it snowing in may? And it's not a fir - it's a Norway spruce. It was always fir.

It's uncomfortable now. Maybe five or ten minutes pass in a state where my mind is denying everything. That state where your vocal cords go into low-power mode, seemingly autonomously bluttering mindless fill into the atmosphere while you're too busy thinking. I decide to yield in dread. Something is wrong. This is wrong, even if I didn't feel like something else is wrong.

I adamantly step forward to offer him a hug - the same resoluteness that uttered "hi" just moments ago - tapped from an unknown depot of obscure and mal placed civility. He refuses. His right arm held out in front of him, blocking my way to his considerably corporeal body, and at the same time offering me to shake his hand. I shake it. Once.

My soles almost cry out on the wooden living room floor as I turn on my heels quickly, but not too quickly. I glare in despair at the wrong christmas tree, finding my way to the kitchen with solid steps. Open the freezer, grab my spirits. I can't close it again. Things keep rolling out, blocking the door. Several tries and what seems like ages later, I succeed. I find the door. I make it out. The icy gust hits my face hard; a welcome feeling of life when you've been so close to death.

I wake up with a jolt.


(Original comment "Almost scared" by dj_aguy 2004-05-31 06:51 am)
That was extremely well written. The emotion behind it almost jump out at me. But it was so melodically. I am left with a feeling of sadness and worry. Is there a reason to this dream? Is this more then a dream? It hurts to think that things like this have happened to you, even if these things happen all the time.

I Know	12:33 am

This is one of the biggest decisions in your life. It does not matter that so many seemingly smaller decisions led you here, it is not important. This is now, this is when you decide what is going to happen in your life. This is when you make a choice that will enevitably bring something bad, this is when you fail, regardless of your will and good intentions. It is not just yourself it affects - that is impossible. You will hurt many, again and again - you will bring sorrow and pain.

So the question is: How do I avoid it? How do I minimize the damage? Minimize the side-effects of life.. Or remove them all together.

I know.

I'm Sorry	02:21 am

Regretfully, I have to admit that my previous banter did little to make a point. I apologize for that. I will attempt to remedy it in the nearest future.

"In our madness evermore we rave.."



(Original comment "that's what it's for" by dj_aguy 2004-05-28 10:00 pm)
Useless banter? Dear this is what this thing is for if you want. To write what you want and what is on your mind. You need not apoligize for anything you post, it is your mind and a bueatiful one it is. Keep it coming girl I truly enjoy reading your posts.

Telling Lies	01:27 am

I just watched Telling Lies in America. It's not that special I suppose. But it was so normal, the characters so true.

Even if the morale was rather unoriginal - well you guessed it from the title - it actually made me consider how much lies are worth. And I'm not the best example, I know, but the contrast there is precious, or truth would just become another worthless word.

So is truth spoken from a liar worth more? That depends, to whom. Even a liar can be loved, and this is where it matters... It's a one time experience. It stops mattering after a while. At least as long as you stay true.

Please Let Me Fly	11:40 pm

Take this life
Shut me down
I die twice
If I drown

For my pain
And my hate
Die in vain
It's my fate

Everyday
Burn on steel
In this play
I will feel

I am trapped
Make my nuse
Or as trapped
I will lose

Let me die
Let me die
For this lie
Cannot fly

Current Mood: cynical

Current Music: Nightwish - End of all Hope

Hecate

(Original comment "My God" by dj_aguy 2004-05-27 06:12 am)
Morpheus: Your the Greek God Morpheus, of dreams. Believing there is something bigger out there, and often lost in thought. You're imaginative, and smart - not always a leader, but usually the one who came up with the plan. You often ask, What if.... and long to get out of the darkness and through the window.

Wow, that his the nail on the head.