An old drunk man was sitting in a train. He was talking to himself, because no one else wanted to listen. He was being silently ignored. As if he was a wall, or just an empty space, as if he wasn't there at all. He's invisible, you know. One becomes invisible once he's a drunk, homeless, poor or anything else unpleasant for the eye. We have invisible people in our society - they are the one's we don't want to look at anymore, the one's that remind us of what we do not want to become, the slugs, the trash, the scum of the earth, thrown out of the so called normal society, politely ignored. We close our eyes, shut our ears and hearts to the ones that are suffering. We don't want to look at them, to hear them, to smell the stink and see the pain.
A drunk old man was sitting in a train, smelling like shit and probably feeling like shit too. The rest sat quietly, reading books, sleeping, having coffee... Some were watching the man walk around bumping into chairs, talking out loud, crying, laughing, spitting. We all knew he is doomed. Stuck in that state forever, with no way back. He wasn't going to save himself, and no one else was gonna try saving him.

slightly tired, slightly mellow, slightly hungover

Unreleased words

There are so many unreleased words, trapped in me. I could say it out loud. Theoretically, I could say it all, maybe even shout? Shout it all out. Scream it all out. Write it all out. I could...But I don't. What is stopping me? What is stopping us from saying all?

Have you ever been on a train, listening to a conversation of two strangers, who aren't strangers to each other? Have you ever listened and thought, that their silences say much more, than the actual words? Those long, awkward pauses of thinking what to say, of thinking how much of your mind you want to verbalize, let out, try to explain or express...

I'd like to do an experiment, and say everything that I think out loud. I mean everything. Every thought, every idea, every time I like someone or hate someone, I'd say it. I'm scared of consequences though, so I don't act that way. I know the consequences would be big, because by putting myself out there, I'd make myself an easy target to judge and criticize.

I don't know what's the point of this text really, I guess I'm just curious to find out more about us, humans, and why we are the way we are.  Are we silenced, or do we not want to say everything? Would we say everything, if we could, or would we still keep our thoughts to ourselves, for personal reasons only? Hum.

She's nuts

Was going through my old computer, and discovered some pictures. They probably are more interesting to me than to others, but who knows.

These are mostly self-portraits, but I guess I've always been able to express how I feel the best through that.

 Twenty white rabbits were jumping around in the garden. One little girl was sleeping on the soft, fleshy green grass. The scent of the grass was so strong, that she could taste it in her dream, feel it touching her body.

Her hair were long and dark, her skin was as white as the first snow in winter. With her closed eyes and motionless face, the calm silent breathing, she looked nearly like a sculpture, so peaceful and eternal.

I'm 20 and I want to shout.

Every so often I feel I wasn't born in the right place or during the right time. I mean, sometimes I feel I really don't belong where I am at the moment. I tell myself that there has to be a place for me. A place where I'd feel a little more like myself, or where I'd know that others understand me better.
At the same time, I wonder if I'd ever belong in any place at all. Maybe this feeling of standing out, not being a part of any particular group will follow me all my life, no matter where I go. Who knows really. I mean, I will change, therefore the environment I'm in will change with me. I wonder often, if it's me who shapes the world around me, or is it the world around me that shapes me. I guess that's why I don't quite know who I am. Who am I ?
I feel the urge to travel. Maybe it's because I wanna run away from something..( myself maybe ) or if I want to find something. Or if I simply want to keep on moving, constantly, permanently, till the end of my days, like those caravans, travelling across the world, unpacking their things for the night, gone with the dawn, gone with the morning light. I don't know. Sometimes I feel, that I could just pack my stuff, and head out. Walk for days and weeks. I want to step out to an unknown place, where I'm still a stranger, a passer by, an explorer. A dreamer.

All I know is routine makes me ill. It kills me little by little. It does, really.

La lune

Moonlight is often more beautiful than sunlight.

Metal blue light that makes things look as cold and wet as water, makes things look mysterious, undiscovered, blue light that makes things look like they were full of secrets, sleeping blossoms in the blue light, sleeping birds in the blue light, shiny street lamps and cars passing by, speeding, because it is night time, and all is asleep, except a few, those few swimming in the beauty of the blue light of the night, staring at the face of the moon, looking for answers in her permanent silent expression, looking up at the stars, counting them and the lives they have lived and will live after this one.

Night time is when all calms down, when all is quiet, except your own mind, whispering in the silence and the blue light of the moon.
A black cat crosses your road, and you walk in the shadows of trees, invisible like the secrets of the night. You fade, you become water, flowing without even touching the ground, a still undiscovered mythical creature, a speck of dust, a star in the sky, melted in the foreverness of the rocky moon, of the calm breathing of sleep.
Echo's of your own thoughts, echo's of your own existence, of knowing anything at all, just echo's of you, echo's of your own whispers.
You touch the blue light of the night with your finger tips, you brush off the stars, kiss the moon good night. Her beautiful cold lips, her beautiful silent being, the way she is looking at you every night, breathing deeply dreaming about the lives she has already lived and the one's that she will.

19 : nonsense that might make sense

For so many years I've been blaming all the things and people around me for my unhappiness. I thought that if I am placed, in what I called a perfect environment for me, I would change and feel good. Growing up, I lied to myself that I am too different for others to understand me. I thought I was special, too unique to be understood by the society. Now maybe it is true to some point, but I know that's not the actual reason for me feeling unhappy.

I guess there's a certain depth in every one of us. Things we do not say out loud, our dreams and visions that we do not share with others, sometimes deny it from even ourselves. I always have wondered if some people are actually as dull as they seem. For a long time it seemed impossible, I was telling myself that each one of us has something interesting lurking inside, waiting to be discovered.  Now I think... some are actually as dull as they appear to be. On the other hand, they are dull to ME, they are dull because I am looking from my point of view, presuming of course, that I am not dull myself. Everything is relative.

Every concept, every truth, every perception in this world is just a point of view.

We are placed into a reality with a fixed set of standard moral rules. These follow us through out our lives, sort of predetermined story of each one of us, living in a so called modern society. We are born, in a world run by money and business, into a lot of cruelty and so many expectations. We are too often told what's right or wrong, we are given too little chances to choose for ourselves. It's like we are born and given this instruction book about how to live our lives right. Why do we love authorities so much? Why do we trust what we are told through media, politricks, why do we follow the crowd? Is it out of laziness or out of fear? Lack of wisdom? Pure dumbness? Uh.

At the end of the day though, most of us are similar. We're human, all of us. We are of course, individuals, unique, but, we are too, the same. There are certain things that unite us all. Certain things we cannot run away from or get rid off. I suppose, there's no conclusion to nothing, except knowing, that you're born alone, and you will die alone, what you do in between the two is your choice, so do something that feels right.

10

My heart is breathing loudly. I can hear it whisper '' wake up '' once in  a while. Everyday it whispers things to me, and if I calm my mind and just listen to the silence, I can hear the whisper, that desperate voice that says '' wake up now ''. I can see my heart, colored red, pumping my blood, in the calm silence of my body,  monotonous, constant beating, which is not permanent. Listen, it's like someone's knocking from inside of my chest. Can you hear it?
And the day when that knocking will stop, where will I go?

Weekend

3 different Jack Daniel's sauce bottles.
Beer and more beer, red sweet wine, white wine, rum.
Milk for breakfast, wine for lunch, beer and rum for dinner and the rest of the night.
Duck with fried potatoes and sweet chili sauce.
Beef with fried potatoes and vegetables.

This weekend I have eaten parts of 2 animals, and drank more than I have in 3 last weeks.

What's the outcome?

Eating meat
Drinking wine
Lips red
Teeth blue
Body and blood

Eating dinner, but we didn't say a prayer.
Going to sleep without getting a kiss.
Crying without making a sound, crying but you cannot see no tears. Invisible quiet crying. Because you're not a baby anymore. They gave you a name, and counted your years, they gave you your diagnosis. Checked you out. Rated you. All sorts of scales. You're now bunch of codes, numbers, percentages. You are a percentage. A crumble in the pie.

International Brainwash Day

“Television screens saturated with commercials promote the utopian and childish idea that all problems have fast, simple, and technological solutions. You must banish from your mind the naive but commonplace notion that commercials are about products. They are about products in the same sense that the story of Jonah is about the anatomy of whales. ” 
― Neil Postman

01

Life is a paradox. Starting with simple things, like, the busier you are, the more things you get done. The more free time you've got, the more time you waste...
Paradoxes all around. Sometimes the richest person is actually the poorest one, at the same time the poorest one can be the richest. The stupid one can suddenly switch places with the smart one. You can die any moment, but you pretend you're immortal. The prettiest person can turn damn ugly, after you get to know better. Same goes other way round. Someone who, from the first impression seemed ugly, starts to glow. You never appreciate good things when they're around, but when they're gone, you cannot live without them. We always realize too late. We repeat mistakes, without learning from them. We are self-conscious, and we do realize some things are going to have bad consequences, yet, we do not stop ourselves from doing those things. Ironically, we look for happiness, freedom, love outside ourselves, when really, we should look deep inside to find any of those. We hide behind looks, style, masks, we hide our vulnerability, deep down scared of dying, of ending up lonely, forgotten, not cared about. Ah.
 Headache.

Autumn chills

I guess I feel most lonely when it gets cold outside. The colder and the darker it gets, the more I need someone. I tell myself that this need is selfish, because I want someone close next to me only so I can be hugged, held, warmed, kissed. It's a selfish need, yet, I cannot control it. Often I feel, the physical need of affection is stronger than the mental one, therefore I lie to myself that I long talks, conversations, trips on the weekends. Maybe in reality I only want to be held in someone's arms. 

smoke

at night

tonight

I miss you and I miss you some more. And more. And I think about you day and night, and this empty space next to me is for you.

60 kg thoughts

Loneliness fear loneliness fear life tranquility my melancholy it flows my mind it blows up everyone around me like they were made of gold dust, boom, and they're all over the place, dust of gold, golden dust inside our lungs and our long long intestines, my blood is golden my golden heart is pumping my golden blood through my golden veins, it's all just dust at the end, who cares, golden or not. It's all dust at the end.
Why am I walking on this road without no end no signs no one but dark silhouettes passing by, oh hi, Kotryna, whatsup? You start answering but they're gone, no one listening to you or what you want to say, they just ask, without even wanting to hear your answer. It's all opinions, points of view, but who knows the truth, in this reality warped by fucked up mindsets that make no sense, you suddenly feel like all that makes sense is often out of your reach, so you grasp and catch the dust of knowledge, dust of reality, dust of love, it's so close, but out of reach, all you grasp are the leftovers of what you wished for so bad. I know what I want, but I do not know if I will want it tomorrow, so should I live for my wishes? My God, these days with cloudy sky make you forget that the sun even exists. No one's holding you, so you hold yourself. You help yourself get up. You reach out for your own hand, and you take your hand, you get up walking holding hands with yourself, having conversations with yourself, arguing with your own mind, you fight with yourself, you even fuck with yourself, and that's the best fuck you'll ever get. How many of me are there, which one of me is talking right now, which one of me is writing, which one of me, the good, the bad, the foolish, the horny, the lonely, the sad, the crying one, the one with a big smile, the smart one or the dumbass, the sensitive one or the egoist who chooses all but caring about others. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Your mind told you once that you're a bird, once you flew away, throwing diamonds to all those staring with their heads up, all those who have noticed you flying, spitting out shiny jewels, jewels that fell on their heads and poked their eyes. Then they all turned blind, and they see nothing, they carry diamonds in their eyes and the world seems a shiny pink sugar TV channel that tastes as good as your own mothers breast milk.

shhh

           I made this so I don't forget the silly lullaby I sing for my baby when she starts crying. Uh.

Once upon a time

I was sitting in a bus yesterday, on my way to town, and a man came in. I wouldn't even have noticed him, if it wasn't his smell. Maybe it was his perfume, maybe his natural essence, maybe all together, but when I sensed this smell, I had a strong flashback of memories, hitting me hard there and then, like it all came back for a moment - me, a seventeen year old dummie completely foolish about a boy, a twenty four year old man, who was lying to me, cheating on me, and cheating with me, but I still will never forget him, never forget his smell and how much I loved sinking into it when he was holding me in his hands, I would breathe heavily so that the smell would stay in me forever. I was crazy. And Boom, here I am, after three years, more mature, more sane, more self-respectful, breathing in deeply, trying to catch every little drop of that scent in the air, hungry for it, like nothing ever changed at all. Missing those fleshy, juicy lips that used to kiss me and didn't miss a centimeter of my skin, that tongue, that body, those memories. Not even mad at him for all the bad things he did no more.

Hi.

I wake up. It's the alarm clock buzzing next to my head. I feel the dream breaking away, leaving through my open mouth, I exhale and it's gone. I can't catch it with my hands, it escapes, I can't grip it with my fingers, this dream was so real, so vivid, but at the same time so short-lived, so episodic.

         My head is spinning, it's cold in the room, the sky is clear, light blue, my eyes are foggy, grey.

Tonight

I need someone to sing me a lullaby. 

I've spent the weekend at my Grandma's. I feel so much love for this lady, I mean, if you looked at her, all you'd see is an old woman, nothing special. When I look at her, I see my life, my childhood, my memories. I see myself, all I've been and what I will be. She's no ordinary lady.

I don't like.

I don't like :

The scratchy noise a knife makes when someone's cutting the god damn PLATE instead of their food.

Guys who give me pervy looks in the metro, bus, street, public canteens, lift, shopping center, theater or anywhere else. Unless the guy is hot, then I like it, and I might even give him a pervy look back.

I don't like myself. (Often, not always)

I don't like people who spend all their time cleaning. Washing, ironing, wiping the dust, trying to keep things perfect and sterile. It makes me wanna run around and shout ''Anarchy, anarchy !!''

I don't like how women are usually bitchy to each other. I hate to be in a room full of women, knowing they all secretly hate each other, but are all smiling. I don't like the feeling of competition between women. I feel much more laid back with boys usually.
( And yeah, I'm a woman, I get bitchy sometimes, and I don't like that neither.)

I don't like bartenders who make you feel like you shouldn't be in that bar. Cause you're not cool enough, or you don't know everyone there, or he's just having a bad day letting it out on you. In these kind of cases I stay sitting by the bar, get drunk and start whispering about how rude the bartender is, whilst the more I drink, the louder my whispering gets.

I don't like people who are normal. And by that I mean, who can't go randomly crazy insane, and do fun things that might make them look silly. I like people who are at least a little bonkers sometimes.

I don't like when my ass gets itchy, but I'm in the middle of the street or somewhere public, so I cannot scratch. Very irritating indeed. I wish we were more relaxed about these things, and ass scratching wouldn't be such a big of a deal.

I don't like awkward silence.

I don't like when the person I'm sleeping next to is farting, snoring, or sleep punching. Urh. I punch them back. Twice as hard. Pow pow

Surprise Prize

I really like Latin classes. Holy bejasus. I guess once you start understanding something it gets really interesting. Latin-obsessed Kot.

I like

When you feel someone's finger tips on your lips.

When you sit in the sunshine, when you drink the sunshine, when you hear the sunshine. When it gets inside you like a warm drink, fills you up, like all your body was made out of sun rays and you feel you're heating up with light.

 When your mind is buzzing with ideas, those moments when you believe, for a day, or a second, that you're special and that you can do it.

When you walk in the street full of autumn leaves, kicking them around, looking up to see thousands of birds leaving, you breathe in to smell the autumn.

When someone whispers to your ear, kisses your neck, takes you in their arms, and you feel calm, safe, nothing else matters there and then. Life stops, like you two were the only ones left breathing, so close, sharing all you've got, vulnerable for a moment.

When you wake up in peace.

When you sit by the window watching stars and you don't feel tired, you just feel a part of it all.

When you fly in the plane during a turbulence, but you're not scared, you're not scared at all. You just watch the clouds, the peacefulness outside, and even if you fall, you won't be afraid. You would watch the ground coming closer, those seconds would extend to hours, days and years.

Had a dream again. About the lives I had lived before this one, and the lives my friends had lived. Me and my best friends are so close, because apparently, we knew each other in our earlier lives. We have met before.

Watch them.

Some movies I'd like to recommend. No bullshit, no mainstream nonsense or mind numbing crap. Please do watch.

1. ''Smoke'' by Wayne Wang.

2. ''Underground'' by Emir Kusturica

3. ''Secrets And Lies'' by Mike Leigh

4. ''Breaking the Waves'' by Lars Von Trier.

5. ''Knocking on Heaven's Door'' by Thomas Jahn

6. ''The Big Lebowski''

7. ''Ghost Dog : The Way Of Samurai'' ( one of my favorites )

8. ''Kikujiro'' by Takeshi Kitano

9. ''Raise the Red Lantern'' ( some Chinese flavor )

10. " A City of Sadness '' by Hsiao-hsien Hou

11.''Sous le Soleil de Satan''

12. ''Subway'' by Luc Beson

13. ''Women on the verge of a nervous breakdown'' by Pedro Almodovaro

14. ''Close Encounters of the Third Kind '' ( now I'm not so sure everyone's gonna like this one :)

This is madness. This world is madness. The line between sanity and madness is so thin, and a tiny spark can cause a huge fire, when things turn insane, dangerous, when people become animals, or worse than that, not even animals, they become pure madness itself.

You shout at me, I shout back at you. Did you hear what I said? Did I even hear myself, full of heat and anger, bursting out with it, ready to kill someone, yeah, that angry.

morning.

I get moments when I feel that I need someone close in my life, but then I remember all those times I've been with someone and the stress and worries it brought, so I let go and keep on doing my thing.

08

What did my heart see in all those people, who mesmerized me ? What did I feel later, when I could touch them, and lived the dream of my past, that in the presence had become just a routine, a simple, boring reality ? Maybe it wasn't boring as such, maybe it was just so real. What's real ?

Quotes

“In this pilgrimage in search of modernity I lost my way at many points only to find myself again. I returned to the source and discovered that modernity is not outside but within us. It is today and the most ancient antiquity; it is tomorrow and the beginning of the world; it is a thousand years old and yet newborn. It speaks in Nahuatl, draws Chinese ideograms from the 9th century, and appears on the television screen. This intact present, recently unearthed, shakes off the dust of centuries, smiles and suddenly starts to fly, disappearing through the window. A simultaneous plurality of time and presence: modernity breaks with the immediate past only to recover an age-old past and transform a tiny fertility figure from the neolithic into our contemporary. We pursue modernity in her incessant metamorphoses yet we never manage to trap her. She always escapes: each encounter ends in flight. We embrace her and she disappears immediately: it was just a little air. It is the instant, that bird that is everywhere and nowhere. We want to trap it alive but it flaps its wings and vanishes in the form of a handful of syllables. We are left empty-handed. Then the doors of perception open slightly and the other time appears, the real one we were searching for without knowing it: the present, the presence.” 

These days

I was just thinking.. When life pulls you into it's swirls and storms, underwater you can't hear or see much. All you think about is surviving. You stop caring about how you look, how you will spend your weekend or what party you will go to. All you think about is how to get a gulp of air, how to survive the storm, how to co me out alive. You even forget about your own madness, about your own mood swings, your own self pity. You ain't got no time for that, you just think about surviving.

Poem.

This day was a twat
I'm tired, that's that.

Squeeze a Fucking Smile day

I squeezed out a smile today. Can you?

Dream team : Alice chasing rabbit

What a morning.

I had a dream I was at someone's father's funeral but I was real happy about something else so I ended up not crying and looking like I'm feeling good, and so everyone was very angry at me the whole time. After some years we were watching a video filmed at the funeral, where everyone looked sad, and then when camera focused on me, I had this giggly smile, I looked so relaxed, full of energy, healthy, happy. I felt so guilty for looking that way, I felt that I should have pushed that happiness away from me.

The scene suddenly changed, I was in Brazil, walking in the streets of favela, looking at people's faces. They looked poor, mostly grey, but the girls were beautiful. I was checking out the girls, and whispered ''gorgeous''  to myself all the time. I reached a gas station, went to the toilet and saw myself in the mirror. My whole body, even my face was tattooed with my own paintings. It looked good, a lot like those traditional hawaiian tattoos. I came out of the toilet and started dancing, moving my hips in this circular way, and the cleaning lady was watching me smiling. I felt very strange, never the less. Also all this time I was searching for a man, this man I know, but he kept on disappearing, I saw him walking in the gas station, but he left while I was in the toilet, I could never reach him, though I wanted to see him so bad. Funny thing was that I followed road signs with his name on it and then an arrow pointing out the direction. Like he left those road signs himself, so I could find him, like he made it into a game on purpose. I could feel where he was intuitively though, I knew the sign was there before I saw it. I wanted that man, wanted to find him and kiss him, was chasing him like a predator chases his prey, and the prey is smarter, therefore ends up playing with the predator.

Two of my friends were waiting outside, sitting on a bench, we all sat down, and my friend, this girl, told me that  she saw the man I was looking for. She said he looked quite old and very sleepy, and therefore I should let go off him. He was tired from running. I could feel he was close. I was asking everyone for a phone, trying to call him, trying to reach him with my hands shaking from excitement, but the number wasn't working, I was getting so anxious, like it was impossible to catch him, but I couldn't give up. That's when I opened my eyes.

'' Reality is wrong, dreams are for real ''

R.M.

I think I've got a big ass crush on Roots Manuva. I like what he says, what he thinks, and the overall air he gives out, mysterious, but cool, crazy, but calm, spiritual, but open. I like men like him, deep, and who need someone to take care of them. 

''Audibly we oughta be
the tenement said : give the sword to thee
down crash and harassing the crew
simply done by the things we do
romance setting the trend, we study the zen
real, reveal, with wine we come again
ever more bouncy, no need to re announce me
dying and crying but they just can't denounce me''

last summer day

I'm a dreamy soul, with no middle to nothing, I'm either black or white, some days so good, some days horrible, some days I feel and see everything around me like it was crystal clear icy pictures, some days - it's all blurred out, and I'm under water, with my eyes seeing nothing, with all sounds and motions slowed down, all echos. I'm not a fool, but I pretend I'm one sometimes, cause that just makes things easier, no need explaining what's really going, right ? I'll be stupid, I'll pretend, I won't care, take me for a fool, flip me around, flick me like I'm a finished ciggy, I will be fine, you know, stupid smart girl, dreamy soul, broken so many times, but she has always gotten up and kept on moving, some days through water, some days slipping on ice, banging her head real hard, getting up again, no pain no gain, just keep on moving, keep on walking, keep on pretending, keep on living, dreamy soul. You're alone, but don't forget, we all are alone, so stand alone the best you can, dreamy soul. You think your life has sucked, cause everyone close to you has hurt you real hard, but that's okay, because you know things by now, you know so many things so early, and you know what's pain, so next time you will be prepared, actually, you always are prepared, dreamy soul stiff hands cold heart, that's how you go, that's how you live, that's how you survive.

Every time you've attached yourself to someone, you got messed up, walking out of a burning house, smelling like ash, all black, only eyes still shining through, grey eyes with so many stories and memories, like an old storage room, full of dust, secret corridors, sacred scars.

I should probably go to sleep. One of those nights, when I had to force myself to smile, ended up grinning in a silly, fake way, laughing at things that make me want to cry, laughing at life itself,  at how ironic it is. Who is a happy person? I don't know any, and I'm not one myself. I met a lady while waiting for a night bus, a homeless woman in a wheel chair. She kept on smiling, kept on talking to me about how we are all a big family living in one planet under one sun, how each one of us is endless, each one of us is an eternal being, and we all come from the same place, we all have a mission in this life, none of us is meaningless. She talked about happiness, and that each one of us can reach happiness when we complete our mission in this world. I watched her, while she was smiling, talking, believing, I was observing her energy, her strenght. My bus arrived and  I wished her a good night, having no idea where she was going to sleep or, if she had a place at all. She told me I looked like her daughter.

Each one of us is like a running river, our paths cross, then separate. We keep on moving.

Every road I take leads me nowhere. Every road I take is endless. I often wish I wasn't, but I still am.

k.

I've been thinking about my past relationships, how many of them I've had and how many of them went all wrong. Also I've realized how badly I've hurt some of my ex's. Quite a few of them, to the point where we'd never say hi if we bumped into each other, and if we said something, it sure wouldn't be something nice. Also I think I've figured out the main reason why things went that way. At least my main reason, from my point of view. I was mistaken by blaming it on my immaturity, lack of responsibility, wanting freedom and independence, lack of commitment... I feel now, that these things weren't the main reasons, even if they added up to the big picture.
I think nothing ever worked out because I wasn't living reality, imagining so many things, and involving a person who had fallen in love with me into my spider web of craziness and weirdest visions. I guess I never once loved a real person, I only loved my own created visions and versions of a real existing people. It's like trying to dream together with someone else, but that never worked. I wonder if I will ever manage to shake away this mist off my eyes and hit the reality, touch it and let it crystallize in my mind. I'm hiding from love, romance, or whatever you call it, cause all those things mean drifting even further away from reality.

midnight

I still can't get over talking about some things, and maybe I should. What happened to me will follow me all my life, especially if I never let it out, scream it out, or just tell someone about it in some way.

Tired of pretending

You know, I really really like you, and that's really silly. But I don't feel bad or embarrassed about it, because it all feels so natural and predetermined, that my feelings take over my rationality, my sense of reality. Now, I won't try to fight it cause it'll make it even worse. I won't try to deny these feelings I'm having. It's a fact that you're constantly in my thoughts, and you don't look so bad wondering around up there.

Bomb shell.

Some days I feel like I'm gonna go absolutely crazy if this world doesn't radically change anytime soon. It probably won't though, so I must change myself.

Too close.

Who am I?

What you decide to be is what you become. Well, not entirely. I still do think that there predetermined characteristics existing in each one of us.

Now, can you rip them out ? Can you get rid of them, replace them ? I don't think I could. Maybe I'm lacking will power and I'm weak.

One thing I'm sure about is that even if there are some negative things one cannot completely get rid of, with big effort one can still evolve and turn these flaws into something less evil, less dark, less extreme. Working on your own self pays off.

26

My hands can touch, and my heart can feel. If you came close enough and put your head on my chest, you would hear my heart beat. Maybe it would beat faster, if you were so close. But you see, I'm too shy to even dream about that. What if you say no? What if I get hurt? What if.

When impossible becomes possible, call me.

I'm talking to myself, only myself. I'm unaffected by my own words. They come and go, meanwhile I think to myself - who is this idiot talking? What is she trying to say? I'm learning to speak, just like a child, who's repeating the sounds surrounding him, just like a chick trying to flop it's fluffy wings. But I'm not succeeding. It's not working. These sounds coming out of me, these sounds aren't me. These sounds, these words aren't my real thoughts, merely copies of my thoughts. Copies of those copies. Not even that. It's the echo of what's really happening inside me, my head, my body, inside of who I really am. All that comes out, like an echo, is warped, reshaped by surroundings. It's like we're communicating through a broken phone, and you're receiving only half of what I've said. The visions in my head aren't connected to this world, I can't find a way to express what's inside me. I wish I had a projector in my forehead, so we could turn off the light and observe my dreams and fears and visions moving on the wall. Like a silent movie, that no one understands. I keep on trying to match my thoughts with my words, but they come out misshaped. I close my eyes. No point explaining. I shut myself. Off. I often think, what an unfair world it is that we live in. We are so limited, we are in chains. We're afraid of our own bodies, scared to get hurt, we're ashamed of our lust, we are put into these boxes, labelled, like - religion, society, norms, expectations, limits. Afraid to be individuals, exceptional, different. We are chopped up like fresh pieces of meat, and then displayed on the counter, we are used just when we are useful, other parts, that no one needs, are thrown away. They don't fit the standards, you see. No one wants those weird looking parts. They won't sell, you see. Fuck those parts. 

Well you know what, don't fucking buy me, feed me to the dogs.

Think Before You Ink

 I guess things you decide to ink on your body are things that you feel represent you and your philosophy at that certain point of life. Now I think, if I've done the mistake of making a tattoo at the age of 15, it would probably be saying ''fuck you all in the ass'' or something similar. People change. Think about it before getting a tattoo. Also, check the spelling.

26

I can do what I want 

I'm in complete control

That's what I tell myself

I've got a mind of my own

I'll be alright alone

Don't need anybody else

I gave myself a good talking to

No more being a fool for you

Now that I see you

And all I remember

Is how you make me want to surrender

damn your eyes

For taking my breath away

For making me wanna say 

Damn your eyes

For getting my hopes up high

For making me fall in love again

Damn your eyes

I get stuck into music clouds for hours..for days, months sometimes. I get stuck in music and nothing else is there for a while. Floating in sounds and noises, my head is a stereo, my heart is a drum

24

Everything comes in black and white, good and bad. Everything comes with two sides to it, like those yin and yang signs, a two piece puzzle, that you cannot separate. It's like as if you really wanted you could dig out some gold in a shit hole. If you were searching long enough. Also, you could find a golden egg full of shit. You know like, it can never be just shit or just gold. Like pure. There's no pure evil, or pure goodness. Nope.

Today I saw an old lady in a shopping mall, talking to herself, about how expensive the bread is. While listening to her endless monologue, I grinned at her, at this world, and I felt like crying. Sometimes, sad things are beautiful, distilled, real. These kind of pure, sharp images, full of sadness, loneliness, past..they fill you up with life, not ugly, not beautiful, just real life. It hits you like a sudden sharp noise in a room full of silence. Something different.

23

I wanna leave, wanna leave my body, my head, wanna leave it in pieces, little by little, I wanna forget and at the end disappear all empty, pieces of me everywhere I've been. Things I've painted, I've said, I've screamed, written out, whispered, touched, wanted and wished for. Never gotten. Left behind, misremembered. Wanna give all of me, all I've got to everyone, and I don't even care who, or why. Just take it, take as it is and try to understand it, cause I can't. I don't want to keep it to myself no more. I don't need it. For me it's useless.