spite and malice

"wrap me in your trauma and I may just give you mine"... i've been meaning to write this blog for a couple of days now, i am sure i had something clever to say in the introduction, but that seems just wiped out of my mind right now... for god knows what reason (i hope he does, for i don't), i'm all introspective gain, all of a sudden. or maybe i never ever stopped. anyway, not the point.

the point is that i've taken a peek in a dark tunnel i usually avoid, called 'future'. i have some decisions to make, and they'd better be clever ones. so i laid back and considered what i truly like, what i enjoy doing, what i would like to do for the rest of my life, who i am, where i am, where i see myself in a couple of years' time. all the usual blah blah you'd expect on occasions like that. there aren't too many things i like. writing and photography are among them. and looking back on how it all started...

i've been writing for ages, but kept things to myself and maybe a couple of other people. however, i once saw a book published by an absolute moron, with absolute moronic epigramms (four liners, mocking poems). and i went steaming angry. i thought if that idiot can do it, so can i. here i am, three years and two poetry volumes later. i still don't share too much and i think them far from brilliant, but i give them to friends. and they are mine.

as for pictures... i never subscribed to the site to actually upload pics, or not to another purpose other than showing my dog to people... however, i saw so much crap on a site that is presumed to be of photography, and so much praise to them that i went point blank rage again, thinking 'hang on, fucks, i can do much better than that'... so here i am, six months and a brand new camera later. i am far from being happy with my stuff, but again, they are mine.

the sad part is, that while i am not really content with any of my 'works of art', i consider them so much better than most of the crap out there. and they both started out of sheer spite. because i knew and i wanted to prove that i can do it so much better than half of the idiots out there boasting it. while i still hold that for true, i must admit it is a sorry motivation to do something, let alone make a passion for it.

moreover, it denotes a worry-worth tendency of me defining myself in relation to others... not only others, but complete morons >:) and people i know keep encouraging me for it and don't seem to display my skepticism towards what i make out of it. well, i've been through the looking glass self over and again at the uni, erving goffman must've been my favourite author of psychosociology, but this is a bit too much for my taste.

also, it raises the tricky question of who the fuck am i anyway?. me, not me compared to x or y. what defines me and what do i like, for myself (apart from dragons). and that at an age when one would think i'm over such dilemmas, or have them at least sorted out. i'm either retarded or some weird sort of genius or suffering real personality problems to just begin to develop such issues...

but somehow it feels strange that i only delight in 'borrowed' things... like i'm living someone else's life and being better at it. or feeling that way, anyway... and suddenly the lyrics make so much more sense. yep, the blood in my veins isn't mine... but the stormy place in the mind is.

"there's a place within her mind
with rains already falling.
she's insane, this friend of mine
and she's always bawling.
...
she's preparing for the flood,
the deluge and the sliding mud
she's preparing for the flood
running on black market blood"

~ placebo - black market blood ~

from unicorn to dragon

there are two films that deeply moved me as a child - e.t. and the last unicorn (well and terminator II at some point, but that doesn't fit the clumsy picture i attempt to paint here). i have seen both a couple of times as a child and cried every time. i would like to see the movies again, but i am afraid they will lose that dear and special glow that surrounds them. maybe they belong to my childhood and shouldn't be touched. maybe i should just keep them encased in the shrine of early days and not desecrate those moments, tainting them with the slime of the present.

i found peter beagle's the last unicorn a some days ago and i have just put the book down now to write this blog because something occurred to me. it is weird how metaphors wriggle their ways into our lives and express them even if we are not aware of them.

there used to be a time when i was a lover of unicorns and pegasi, and sometimes even of the cross-breed that so called fantasy artist made of the two (woo-hoo, why not draw both wings and a horn on the same poor creature?). there used to be a time when i gathered every half-decent picture of any of them. there used to be a time when i loved to draw them (well, it was more copying, since i'm not good at drawing). there used to be a time when it broke me that someone else stole my idea of drawing silvery white unicorns on black cardboard before i got round to do it. there used to be a time when i identified those wonderful magical horse like creatures as my second nature.

for those out there unfamiliar with such beasts:
the unicorn is not merely a white horse with a horn; it's smaller, more graceful, with cloven hooves, a lion's tail and a goat-like beard. ageless and immortal creatures, their horns may cure diseases and neutralise poisons. unicorns are a symbol of grace and beauty; fierce but kind, they are the uncatchable cretures that can be tamed only by pure hearted maidens.
pegasus is the winged horse of greek mythology, mount of heroes and companion of the muses, often seen as a symbol of inspiration. he was born after the slaying of the gorgon medusa, a mere look at whom might have killed, by perseus; allegorically speaking the said medusa was a personification of paralyzing fear out of which nothing good comes. instead of looking at her directly and becoming a victim like all others before him, perseus aimed his strike while watching her in a polished shield. using another, cool-headed point of view, he overcame fear. at fear's death, inspiration was born.

i couldn't tell you when magical horses, be they winged or horned, faded from the picture :( eventually they did and what replaced them was the imagery of the dragon. dragons too populate the world of myth and lore as mighty beast, through whose veins the magic of earth (the planet, not the element) itself courses. a race older perhaps than any other, time has but little significance to them and growing age only renders them wiser, stronger, their scales thicker and more resistant and their breath deadlier and reaching ever farther. they watch, prey and hoard when offered the occasion but prefer the solace of their lair to the company of others.

while i confess to be a lover of dragons and regard them as highly misunderstood creatures... i must also confess i find the transformation sad. to be going to a happy, careless and free roaming creature of the skies and forests such as pegasi and unicorns to... well, an old, sulking reptile thing, with still the power but not the will to roam at large, hoarding to no end other than the hoarding itself (be it material or spiritual possessions), avoiding encounters and finishing them briskly if not even violently when they happen... that is not a good think.

however, if mythical creature it must be... the world is fitter for a dragon than for a unicorn these days. innocent maidens are deceiving, the hunters countless and their greed unmeasured. thick scales and deadly breath make better surviving tools than grace and playful nimbleness.

high and dry

that's how i feel :( totally happy, but totally unsatisfied. the one highlight of this miserable summer (oh yeah. i skipped the blog relating my 'wonderful' holiday. friends know and the rest shouldn't care... i spared both you and me the trouble), the year isn't showing any signs of improvement, and... it's gone in a flash.

a long expected party

the thing i'm talking about is the placebo concert this weekend in buchaerst and all things connected to it. yep, the band that souveraingnly rules my most played artist chart on last.fm ever since i've created the account came to this stupid third world country i have to call my own. a must go to event. and an excellent occasions to meet people whom i haven't seen in years and some i've never seen. and whom, i must confess, i'd gladly exchange with ones here, who i'm bored and tired and sick sometimes of being too close. :)

many meetings

hey, that was the biggest gang that ever waited for me in a train station - four people! *grin* there were six of us who eventually entered the concert venue. i will not use this blog to comment on the organising issues. or complain that i hadn't thought of taking enough cash with me to get a t-shirt, or that i wasn't bright enough to get myself a concert poster :( or that pepsi had exclusivity on selling drinks (yuck). i will just say that the event itself was worth every penny and maybe more. the opening band was ab4, one of my favourite romanian bands. this must have been the biggest crowd they've ever played, the place was full. and when placebo came on... i haven't tried weed yet, but if/when i do, i promise to tell you whether it can beat this. time seemed to be frozen, people around were frozen, all that mattered was the here and now. or the then and there. it seemed to last forever, but then again it was so short and over so soon... i was left there, in the middle of something, trying to find myself... and the way back to ground for my feet.

the breaking of the fellowship

i didn't. not for the entire night. three of us went to a club and two of us remained till... they kicked us out. and then we strolled slowly to the city at night and set on a bench, talking. and then we took a cab to the train station. and... ever had a twilight zone experiece? well... i did. when a glass door suddenly slides between you and the person you are talking to (and who wasn't standing more than two steps away, considering she was on the train platform and me on the steps)... that's a twilight zone experience. freaky. we didn't even get to say goodbye properly. the train swallowed me and kidnapped me from there, taking me away from my frozen bubble in space and time and back to... what?

the grey havens

well... there is nothing haven'ish about them... just grey. very grey. and all i'm left with is a bittersweet feeling. high and dry. am here, but am still there. tortured by the materialization in this world, unable to quite complete it, and unable to stay there... "baby... did you forget to meds?"

on tracks, trains and the slimy nature of my insides

Runaway train never coming back
Wrong way on a one way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there

... this is the song that should provide the soundtrack for this little piece of insanity. thanks Bogdan for providing the scenery. enter the theatre of my mind. watch your steps, though, there are tracks running criss-cross all over my brain, though, and trains speed passed absolutely reckless towards me. there's no reason they should be otherwise towards you.


well... here i am again. at a crossroads of sorts. multiple tracks coming and going, intersecting on the various planes of my life and me... silly little me is just standing in the middle of it all, looking around confused. i keep turning around myself, i've lost all sense of direction and i haven't yet reached any decision. i probably even won't. i got used to that by now... sooner or later, some train will pass. i'll be too chicken to jump on board and too weak to make it halt. so i'll just jump off its tracks and let it pass, looking at some idiotic kid having his nose pressed against the window and poking his tongue at me.

i have no idea what i want. i don't want anything. or i want too much. or i don't want much, but i want contradictory things. or... ah, to hell with it all. in the end i'll probably just start walking in some direction or other. i am not made to jump on passing trains. rides without tickets - that's just not my style. sides... there are so many, coming, going... i just can't choose.

i have a professional opportunity that i've longed for in some time... yet i am undecided. it's all i've ever wanted though. i think the thing that scares me is being on my own for too long. if i just retreat in my old, deserted station house... i don't know if i'll ever dare look at trains again. it took an effort to get used to being around people, to stop feeling haunted, to stop feeling watched, to stop feeling awkward. this option is just all too tempting to my old self.

in my private life... i am getting attached to people again. i guess most would see this as a positive thing. it just scares the hell out of me. it'll do nothing but get me hurt again in the end. it was a slow and painful process, extracting all that bound me, leaving gapes instead... severing all the ties. i ended up maimed. maimed, but alive and emotionally self sufficient. i guess the tendency to bond is the natural one and what i inflict upon myself is the perversion. but i do not feel i have the strength to receive all the hurt that comes through those tentacles that bind me to others. nor to get myself in a shape fit for survival in a world of relationships. i just want to stay planted just where i am, a diform mass of something, no pitiable electric impulses in the shape of feelings travelling to or from me.

i just want to lie down on the tracks... have all trains take a different route... watch the grass grow over the rail, look out along the steady metal tracks and dream where they might lead to. not go there. just dream. i want to lie down on the tracks in safety and fall into a dream of distances where nothing ever hurts.

i decided to leave this goddamned country, even if even for a while. i need a breath of fresh air. i need to get away from a place where climbing on the head of others is an ordinary event, where it is natural to be rude and reckless and when you don't seem to have some immediate material interest of sorts you are regarded as freak. where you are not allowed to step out of your role - gender, professional, agewise or whatever. it is a place for chameleons and i am not a chameleon. a train out of here would be a good idea... one to take me away from all my crossroads.

or even better... have a custom made train... on custom made tracks... the small, open wagon trains they use in the mountains, on narrow tracks, that are just their own. admire the scenery as it slowly passes by. no hurry whatsoever. speed is not what matters, neither the destination. insanity will always be there waiting... i might just as well enjoy the ride. on a special track, leading away from all others.

Bought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughin' at the rain
Little out of touch, little insane
Just easier than dealing with the pain

and then... i lift my eyes and see projected on the horizons hundreds of train and track extensions, posts and cables... indicating just as many trains passing and passengers waiting, trampling each other on the feet, hoping to get a good seat. and i get all scared again... they'll trample me... regardless of my lack of interest in their trains and danr seats. i just can't let myself be exposed like that... i feel like a snail without a shell. like a little limax, with my insides all on the outsides. limaxes are gross and slimy. all they ever do is get squished. time to get a train out of here. to anywhere. far from the madding crowd, far from all the intersecting tracks. away...


So tired that I couldn't even sleep,
So many secrets I couldn't keep
Promised myself I wouldn't weep,
One more promise I couldn't keep.

black and blue again

that's a dave gahan song. i meant to write a post entitled 'blue again' and the song just came to my mind. it has nothing to do with the actual contents. neither had blue again, but hey, indulge me, i need a title.

i've been chewing on this post long enough to bite my teeth out on it and i still find the thing hard to swallow. whenever the subject comes out in one guise or other, my blood just instantly starts to boil. of course i am only harming myself, it's not like i don't know that. but how the hell can i help it?

i'm talking about the marvellous issue of money. fuck, people, wake up. you're not all about your bank account. well, some of you are, agreed, and i feel mighty sad for you. you're a pitiable sight. and you are sub-human. and i walk a mile around you if i can. i don't do talks with mere golems when i can help it. cause that's what you are when your most striking feature is your money. or noticing other's money. or valueing everything up in money. or thinking that your fucked up money can buy you everything and everyone. and - even worse - thinking that everyone else's world revolves around (your) money.

so would please just fuck off out of my life? i have too preciously little time to be wasted on slimes like you. i don't care what car you drive, i don't care whether your mobile has the value of an appartment, i don't care where in the world you had your holiday and in what hotel you stayed, i don't care where you intend to buy your next piece of land, i don't care in what restaurants you dine. and least of all do i care how many chicks you screwed 'cause they wanted your fucking money. honestly. so please give me a break. go rattle to someone who does care. who knows, they might even be impressed.

and most and i mean most of all: fuck the hell off with your idea that everyone else is like you and the whores you get laid with. stop trying to feed me your shit, cause i'm not buying it. the moment i'm convinced that every one in this world only cares about assets, having them, getting them and flaunting them in people's faces, i make the solemn promise to hang myself. until them, do fuck off from around me. you pester the air that i breathe.

actually, i think i got the title wrong. i can't even let it bring me down. i'm not spiritually evolved enough to feel only sadness and pity for the nothingness you are. presently, it just enrages me that you dare lift up your eyes.

.... again ....

Generous Dreamer

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the flood

these are the lyrics to one of my favourite songs ever, the flood (die flut) by rammstein feat. witt/heppner. the lyrics are originally in german, they sound better like that, but i've also translated them in english. there is hardly a song among my favourites that i am not in love with the lyrics.

the flood

when i can’t feel any peace inside,
bitterness floods my dark heart,
i just wait for the next day that dawns on me.
when darkness shrouds clear vision,
no sense quenches the longing,
then i call forth the one dream, that never comes true

and you cry into the night and you pray for wonderstrength
for a better world to live in but there won’t be another

when comes the flood, when comes the flood over me?
when comes the flood, when comes the flood that touches me?
when comes the flood, when comes the flood that takes me away?
in another grand life, somewhere...

all the time, quickly passing by
blows away each trace of me like dust
unendingly far away, with an invisible hand;
isn’t there in the cold skies
a star that burns only for me
a dim light, ike a fire in the night, that never fades

and you look up to the heavens, curse the stubborn course of time,
build yourself a world of illusions but there won’t be another.

when comes the flood, when comes the flood over me?
when comes the flood, when comes the flood that touches me?
when comes the flood, when comes the flood that takes me away?
in another grand life, somewhere...

and you cry into the world that you don’t like it any more,
you want to live a better one but there won’t be another.

die flut

wenn ich in mir keine ruhe fühl,
bitterkeit mein dunkles herz umspühlt,
ich nur warte auf den nächsten tag, der mir erwacht.
wenn finsternis den klaren blck verhüllt,
kein sinn mehr eine sehnsucht stillt,
ruf ich mir herbei den einen traum,der sich niemals erfüllt.

und du rufst in die nacht und du flehst um wundermacht,
um ne bessre welt zum leben, doch es wird keine andre geben.

wann kommt die flut, wann kommt die flut über mich?
wann kommt die flut, wann kommt die flut die mich berührt.
wann kommt die flut, wann kommt die flut die mich mitfortnimmt,
in ein andres großes leben  irgendwo.

all die zeit, die schnell vorüberzieht,
jede spur von mir wie staub zerfegt,
endlos weit getrieben, von unsichtbsrer hand;
gibt es dort, am kalten firmament,
nicht auch den stern, der nur für mich verbrennt,
ein dumpfes leuchten, wie ein feuer in der nacht, das nie vergeht.

und du siehst zum himmel auf fluchst auf den sturen zeitenlauf,
machst dir ne welt aus trug und schein, doch es wird keine andre sein.

wann kommt die flut, wann kommt die flut über mich?
wann kommt die flut, wann kommt die flut die mich berührt.
wann kommt die flut, wann kommt die flut die mich mitfortnimmt,
in ein andres großes lebe irgendwo.

und du rufst in die welt, das sie dir nicht mehr gefällt,
du willst ne schönere erlebe, doch es wird keine andre geben.

bittersweet

am feeling bittersweet. and i feel like i aged prematurely. somewhere in the middle of my childhood something tore; someone pressed skip/fast forward and i feel at least twice my age.

i am just standing ashore, watching the tumult of life. of others' life. it's less and less often that i get carried away by the flood. and i have that smile upon my face that absolutely sucks to be seen. a sad, know-it-all smile. like an old arthritic dog watching pups play.

not even insolence and sheer stupidity gets to me quite the way it used to (and in case you wanna object, yeah i know i sound like an arrogant piece of shit, and yeah, i know i just used offensive language, if you don't like it just navigate away - the net is far, the net is wide). i get a bit upset, but realise there's no point. except from killing off a few neurons... nothing changes so why bother. so i just smile condescendingly again.

i once started off carving a wonderful monument statue in my head. glorifying people. i thought i was on to something. i thought i could see something in people. something good that lay hidden, but that could be brought out. i went out with the 'smile, and the world will smile with you' attitude. and... well, i hit rock bottom. the sad fate of idealists (to be read: idiots) everywhere. yeah, i suppose those are the people that give the world the occasional kick in the ass to move forward. but considering the price to pay, anyone who does, from a mercantilistic point of view is naught but a complete idiot.

so i started carving down. chopped off the marmor, adjusted my statue to fit reality. am left with a mould of clay now. oh, there still are people out there i love, appreciate, respect, admire. it's just that... i don't believe in apples without worms anymore. so i am getting ready to see a worm peak out of my precious apples. at least it won't catch me by surprise again. hope not, despair not, i guess. i've cut off love, trust, friendship, loyalty, honesty, generosity. eventually, they fall. it's not that i rise to the standards. no way. but it was nice having something to look up to and to look forward to. over the past coupleof years i've seen more relationships crumble than i know people. and i've seen such pettiness and such low malice and mischief. for what? no fucking idea.

i can't help assuming this demi-god attitude when i look at all that. i can't help realising that all those things mean Nothing. with a capital N. so all i can do is take my bitterness off the stage and leave the spotlight to those who enjoy bathing in it. in it and in dirt equally. and just smile upon them condescendingly. bittersweet.

ps: artwork by angelreich on deviantart.com

the doors of perception

the aldous huxley writing. it seldom happens to me that i would go recommend something, be it music, movie or book. i do now. go read it. i'll save you the trouble, even. you can find it here. it's only 23 pages and it's not the kind of reading that would cause an indigestion.

it's well worth the trouble, i'd say. i am not a fan of reading social or philosophical theories and i am well aware that i've had lousy teachers in the field. a wooden language will never ever entice anyone to read, study or devote time to those kind of writings. i wish they understood that. i wish they didn't try to awake awe of their petty greatness by hiding behind words. you use grand words to clad your idea only when it's not worth the consideration as such. and here i go thinking it was all about the what that should strike you, and not the swallowing of the dictionary that should impress. ah, well.

back to the doors then. it details huxley's experiment with mescaline, with excursions into philosophical, theological, psychological, sociological, philological and other -logical (perfectly conscious and intended word play here) backgrounds to help (himself and the reader) understand the nature and the impact of the altered states of consciousness that mescaline triggered. however those logicals remain perfectly understandable even if you are not the proud owner of three oxford degrees, which i find is a merit of an essay of this nature.

it's the kind of thing that makes you want to say "damn, this guy is right" and not feeling a complete moron saying it.

trolls

don't you love it when a word has two meanings? i do. i love playing with words and those with two meanings are an especially delightful toy. however, at times, moral dilemmas arise for me, as illustrated below. the word in question is troll.

trolls are originally beings of scandinavian myth and folklore, eagerly adopted by modern fantasy arts - literature, painting, movies, games: you name it. now the image i have of a troll is of a big, ugly, brawny, sturdy creature, of considerable strength and poor intellect. some may argue trolls are intelligent enough. i'd say they are rather cunning, but lack intelligence. they rely on brute force (for what else those clubs in their hands?) rather than quick thinking. the type that would easily blast their way through walls instead of losing time opening the door, if you get my point.

now, the second meaning of the word troll is that familiar to the somewhat skilled internaut: the one the mighty wikipedia defines as "someone who comes into an established community such as an online discussion forum, and posts inflammatory, rude or offensive messages designed intentionally to annoy and antagonize the existing members or disrupt the flow of discussion".

as a moderator of an internet forum, i am bound to have the one or other opposant. comes with the job. but no, i am one of those fortunate enough to have my personal retinue: i am 'blessed' with a troll. he is like a faithful pet: follows me around all topics and threads, replies to my messages, even if three other pages have been posted since it, with no hint of contributing to the discussion in any way, throwing what he probably considers subtle and pointed arrows.

usually i am past the point of annoyance and just laugh at his pathetic tries to get attention. mostly, i keep strictly to the 'don't feed the troll' direction, as i know is the safest thing to do. and it gives me the satisfaction of seing him inflate like a balloon fish in vain. at times, however, i do feel compelled to reply, since some of his posts are not only 'insulting' (though he is not important enough to be insulted by), but sheer lies that i can't feel i can let pass. and that of course, triggers responses.

coming to my dilemma now: i should probably just let the troll starve to death. but: i am a member of an animal welfare organisation. it goes not only against my every moral standard, but also against my status as such to subject animals to bad treatments.

the question now is: is a troll to be considered an animal? or does he qualify as half-way human and his feeding should thus not be any of my concern? need or need i not have processes of conscience regarding this issue? please, o thou wise reader, enlighten me.

ps: artwork from elfwood.com