rust

you bore me
you and the sounds that come out of your mouths
the thoughts that surround your heads
with your nothings
and meaningless everythings
with petty smiles
and empty souls
with hearts cold
so cold 
as if death was killed by your own hands


with your grim grey faces
with your ashed and shattered dreams
with your void voices
your sparkless eyes
your ghosts
you ghosts
you scare me
what is to become of life itself
if all there is to life is left 
to wandering corpses?


you scare me


you
you with your halfhearted words your soundless screams your burning emptyness your spineless efforts


your insanity that rages rampant your glutony that smothers all liveliness 


your deviant laughter
your lack of remourse
your fake dry tears


lives devoid
devoured
deprived


you.. 


you bore me


you scare me


you murder me


with each and every one of your breaths 
small moans of blood tear up my body and linger towards the dirt


I depart

Break the sky

Let it out
Gonna let it all out
Let it out, when the sun goes down


I'll be coming out to just let it all out
I'm gonna let it out when the sun goes down on me.. 

Changing the way I kill by changing the way I feel..

Charles Bukowski, It's Ours

there is always that space there

just before they get to us

that space

that fine relaxer

the breather

while say

flopping on a bed

thinking of nothing

or say

pouring a glass of water from the

spigot

while entranced by

nothing

that

gentle pure

space

it's worth

centuries of

existence

say

just to scratch your neck

while looking out the window at

a bare branch

that space

there

before they get to us

ensures

that

when they do

they won't

get it all

ever.

When I listen to music...

When I listen to music time stands still in its eternal fluidity; seasons change like colours in the winter morning sky. My body is weightless; and I’m elevating, waving at passing by clouds.

I reach beyond myself. And with my mind I open doors unknown to my reflections; reflections I can clearly see through.

When I listen to music, electricity rages through my existence, escaping from my fingertips, running wild and free. This energy I can’t restrain consumes me and I, I lay motionless in utter despair.

This inability to show the turmoil of my ever-changing emotions, the certainty of this certain lack of expression, throws me at the wall, shutters me in pieces and then puts me back together again.

In this everlasting flow of events, I cry my lungs out, I push myself to every direction, I breathe the world around me; but all to no avail.

No voice echoes out of me, every direction equals none and air ignores my inside. And I’m gasping, silent and immovable, vanishing; yet, when I look at me through the eyes of darkness, I remain solid while blissfully glowing.

And this is how I feel... Every time I listen to music.

Or, maybe... This is how I feel... Every time. Every single time I...

Is it me or your eyes burn like fire?

Every time I think of your stare, I fall into a haze; my insides flame with lust and anticipation. When am I ever going to meet you? When am I ever going to touch you? It seems so long.. It feels so long. It's like I'm falling down an endless hole, leading to nowhere else but longing, craving, waiting, fearing; frustrated.. And all that in the thought of you. When am I ever going to see you? When will the day come that I'll be able to feel you? When will this blessed time be that I will fear for your absence no more? When will that day arrive, that I will rest into your soul, and banish the terror of my need for you once and for all?

I'm back.

And that's all you need to know. ;) 

Closed until further notice.

Federico García Lorca, Gacela of the Dark Death

I want to sleep awhile; awhile, a minute, a century...

I want to sleep the dream of the apples,

to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.

I want to sleep the dream of that child

who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,

that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.

I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,

nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth

that labors before dawn.

I want to sleep awhile,

awhile, a minute, a century;

but all must know that I have not died;

that there is a stable of gold in my lips;

that I am the small friend of the West wing;

that I am the intense shadows of my tears.

Cover me at dawn with a veil,

because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,

and wet with hard water my shoes

so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.

For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,

to learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth;

for I want to live with that dark child

who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas. 

William Butler Yeats, The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core. 

.

One of these days . . .

If a picture is worth a thousand words...

Then what is this sum of pictures dancing along an over-imposing tune worth? I wonder. . . . .

Stevie Smith, Not waving But Drowing

Nobody heard him, the dead man,  

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought  

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he’s dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,  

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always  

(Still the dead one lay moaning)  

I was much too far out all my life  

And not waving but drowning.

Passion .-

Do you know how it feels, when you listen to something once and then you just can't stop listening to it?

That's what this song felt like to me.. It shook my being so strongly, a ≥ 10 R earthquake could not describe the feeling inside of me.

I'm all drained out of lust for this song.

Mmmmm...

Singing in the rain

Singing in the rain by i l i a n a featuring sunglasses

Zoom just doesn't work

And who am I?

A descendent of the mighty fae I am. Pixie-like, giggling all night, playing pranks on other lunatics and throwing my magic and my fairydust to innocent bystanders.


I live in the woods, I dance with unicorns in rain, I sing all night to the sounds echoing in my mind. I swim in lakes below the moon and run with wolves in daytime. I like to trap sunlight, moonlight, clouds and stardust in little bottles, drink them all up, then lick my lips and play with my fingers until I fall asleep. And then I dream of untold fairytales.


Inside them I am a nymph, a muse, an elf, a witch; inside them I am anything I want to be. I am snow, sun and wind; I am laughter, joy and shining eyes; I am a nebula, a red giant, a white dwarf; a shooting star, a black hole, a constellation. I am the universe. I am life. I am me.
Wanna take a ride with me?

As time flies by

I totally forgot, totally, that I had to attend an ICJ hearing tomorrow. I mean today, in 10 hours I will be attending it. I really, honestly, totally forgot that the day to come is the 22nd of March. Already.. Time flies, as they say. And I felt it; that sudden wave of realisation hitting me in the face like a freaking shovel. "Eat shit, beloved human being", it said.


I will be turning 25 this July, yes I will. I always felt that time is not important, if you still feel a child inside. Well, I still do. I still feel like a child; I still am a child. At heart. Not always. Sometimes. Because the truth is, I am an adult. I may be funny, twisted, wicked, whimsical, unstable, insane, wacko, totally nuts or whatever, but I am an adult; and I feel it in my body, I see it in my mind. Twenty-five is not young anymore; it's five years before turning thirty. Thirty. More than a quarter of a century old. In five years. And I'm pretty sure that they'll pass like a blink of the eye. And I blink quiet often, might I add.


So, what else is there? Really. What is it, besides the world as we know it? Sure, it's the world as we don't know it. Countries, places, culture, nature.. Irreplaceable, each and everyone of them. But still, what I yearn for the most from time to time, is turning six again, and seeing the world through the eyes of a child. Not that I was very happy as a child. Like it or not, I was a responsible child. But I was a child. A real child. A small human under development, a small human full of unexplored potential. What am I now but a mere selfish "big" human pretending to be something that she's not? I am not a child. I am not a child. I am not a child. If I say it many times, I might even believe it at some point; but I highly doubt it. After all, I still am a child.


I remember running at my mother's bed at a time I then(by then I mean six years of age)considered to be the middle of the night, which is, probably, around 8 pm on a winter evening, and she was reading a book. I jumped on her all teary and stuff crying "Mommy, I don't want to die. Never. NEVER! And I don't want you to die, I don't want any of you to die! Why do we have to die? Why?!" (Quite an advanced statement for a six year old, don't you think? Well, it sort of sounded like that. Sort of.) and she said smiling (but I'm sure very troubled) "I don't know. I don't want to die either. But we're all going to die.". I replied to her "Don't worry mommy, I'm going to save you, you see, you won't die! Because I don't want you to die, I'll find the cure for death!" and kissed her and left her to take me to my bed so I could dream of keeping her and my family alive. Forever; like vampires.


And I guess that's what it all comes down to, the fear of death. Because it's true, none of us really wants to die. And they who do, really don't value life at all. 'Cause when I think about it, about life, about my family, I really realise what it is that scares the hell out of me. It's not the responsibility I have to face from now on, it's not the crying and the laughter and the pain of living, it's not the time you spend on trying; it simply is the fear of dying.

It's true, I don't want to die. Not yet, anyway. I will though, huh? Well, I suppose I have to deal with that.


But, no, that's not true. I don't want to die. Not yet. Not now. Not ever.