Nothing's happening, besides a lot of healing. Oh and I joined new role-playing web-site : http://www.sobella.proboards66.com/index.cgi. Looks like fun.
понедельник, 29 января 2007
Tennis always makes me happier. Too bad after it, I can only crawl.
воскресенье, 28 января 2007
Yesterday I went to this awesome German place with B. We had way too much fun, dancing tango and the chicken shuffle or whatever. We embarassed ourselves to no end. But it was fun in the process, so who cares? The food was excellent. I never had such delicious German food before. I was pretty much stuffing it down my throat. Mmmm. And then on the ride back from downtown, we listened to some random songs.. er, Metalica "Enter Sandman" and a lot of Marlyn Manson. B told me his marriage is kaput. Can't say I'm sad. That man is too damn sexy to settle down. I mean, if I ever met him I'd probably would have jumped him and fucked him til he saw white. But alas, that's only my sick fantasy world. -sigh-
Er, today was ok... parents dragged me to shop with them. Gah, the horror of it. I don't like Macy's. I just don't like it. Oh well, the prices were good. And then with my whole crazy family we went to down town pizza place. The only thing I can say is that it was very interesting tasting pizza, wasn't really worth the price. But who am I to judge? The atmosphere was great.
And I also worked my history fair project with T. It's kinda hard to keep focused.. especially after the 'insident'. It still hurts. A lot. I don't know when the scab would form, but for now it's just this big gappingpulsating blood-sputtering gash. I actually thought of hurning myself. You know, like sticking a pencil into the weak point of my throat and bleeding to death. Too bad I'm so logical. I'll live through this... and besides when I go to hell I'd rather be in the burning fields with blood-thristy beasts tearing me to pieces than a suicidal on a tree. That's just lame.
Er, today was ok... parents dragged me to shop with them. Gah, the horror of it. I don't like Macy's. I just don't like it. Oh well, the prices were good. And then with my whole crazy family we went to down town pizza place. The only thing I can say is that it was very interesting tasting pizza, wasn't really worth the price. But who am I to judge? The atmosphere was great.
And I also worked my history fair project with T. It's kinda hard to keep focused.. especially after the 'insident'. It still hurts. A lot. I don't know when the scab would form, but for now it's just this big gappingpulsating blood-sputtering gash. I actually thought of hurning myself. You know, like sticking a pencil into the weak point of my throat and bleeding to death. Too bad I'm so logical. I'll live through this... and besides when I go to hell I'd rather be in the burning fields with blood-thristy beasts tearing me to pieces than a suicidal on a tree. That's just lame.
суббота, 27 января 2007
A brow rose as Sullivan’s story progressed. John didn’t understand what ‘some boyfriend’ had to do with him. Yes, perhaps he didn’t have the dark tortured past to prove himself a strong individual, but he has walked on a sharper edge of life. He was twenty-seven years old and for that many years he had looked into the face of the world. He had seen the good and the bad and the ugly. How else could he then so calmly regard murder committed before his very eyes? No, John couldn’t understand how Sullivan could ever compare him to some one else. Did he say a minute ago that the two shared more similarities than John cared to admit? Didn’t then, following that logic, John would be open minded to whatever happened with this mysterious ‘Z’ person? He knew death and tragedy and pain, so why then oh why was Sullivan so determinate to belittle his experiences as a human being? John didn’t know, but he craved to know the reason. He craved it so that his confusion grew into an angry orange bitterness before words left his lips. “ I don’t care what happened before and if you never tell me I’ll never ask it of you. Don’t you see? We’ve been given an opportunity to forget the past. We can live new lives in each other’s eyes without really lieing,” John said with breathlessness of an idealist. “Sullivan, I’m not just some random guy, sheltered all his life. Maybe my life wasn’t as….revealing as yours, but I’m sure that I can handle anything you can tell about yourself. I’ll be a bloody hypocrite if I think less of you.” The little outburst drew to an end, leaving John ready for some good-natured bashing. He wasn’t a romantic but sometimes he was an idealist. And that idealist in John Lavington wanted more than anything to discard the false fears from the universe they managed to create.
The other’s strong grip was a surprise, but Lavington held his gaze, unwavering. He saw anger in those sapphire eyes, anger which perhaps he really did deserve. But he daren’t think of himself in the wrong. He was right. He must be right because he didn’t want to believe that he was a monster in making. “Understood,” he answered back, with his light gray eyes still focused on Sullivan. John was unwilling to let it go like that, but feared a conflict. This was such a nice time. It didn’t deserve to be broken by meaningless confrontations. Instead he turned to the matter of the movie, pondering on it in attempt to block out any other involuntary thoughts. “No, I’m good. I’d rather not watch a romantic comedy,” the man confessed, shrugging. There the anger was gone and John was glad of it. “Unless, of course, you’re up for listening to me complain for an hour.” He smirked.
The other’s strong grip was a surprise, but Lavington held his gaze, unwavering. He saw anger in those sapphire eyes, anger which perhaps he really did deserve. But he daren’t think of himself in the wrong. He was right. He must be right because he didn’t want to believe that he was a monster in making. “Understood,” he answered back, with his light gray eyes still focused on Sullivan. John was unwilling to let it go like that, but feared a conflict. This was such a nice time. It didn’t deserve to be broken by meaningless confrontations. Instead he turned to the matter of the movie, pondering on it in attempt to block out any other involuntary thoughts. “No, I’m good. I’d rather not watch a romantic comedy,” the man confessed, shrugging. There the anger was gone and John was glad of it. “Unless, of course, you’re up for listening to me complain for an hour.” He smirked.
пятница, 26 января 2007
Well, I'm curshed or maybe more like crashed into the wall of misery. But even though I'm shocked out of my wits, gapping for air, I still remember my promise. I will not intereven even though jelousy monster is nibbling on my insides as I write this. As a friend, I will do nothing to upset. Never, not even to make the dull pain go away.
I know I’m an idiot thinking of this
That things could be different than what they have been.
I’m ignorant, stupid, and blinded by hope
That what I imagined was not all a hoax
But as I step closer and gaze into depth
Of abyss of my masochistical brain
I will realize that I turned an addict
An addict to suffering, burning, and pain.
And if I didn’t know, I’d most likely step.
I’d fall into darkness and never look back.
But the voice in my head, that of logic and reason
Will not let me cure my full-blown obsession.
It locks up my tears with the petty of lies
Telling me that in the end things are all right
That I’ll outgrow this fed of starvation
That I wouldn’t need to sing to sad faces.
But the demon of old will not let me be.
Perhaps it was I who side-stepped in the end?
Was it I who had sealed fate of morbed reminiscence?
Was it I who had turned from the road to salvation?
All the want in the world will not answer my questions
Neither will mirrored image of sublime and you.
You will laugh as I tell you, “I’m wounded lost soldier
Of the battle I fought for the sake of my love.”
That things could be different than what they have been.
I’m ignorant, stupid, and blinded by hope
That what I imagined was not all a hoax
But as I step closer and gaze into depth
Of abyss of my masochistical brain
I will realize that I turned an addict
An addict to suffering, burning, and pain.
And if I didn’t know, I’d most likely step.
I’d fall into darkness and never look back.
But the voice in my head, that of logic and reason
Will not let me cure my full-blown obsession.
It locks up my tears with the petty of lies
Telling me that in the end things are all right
That I’ll outgrow this fed of starvation
That I wouldn’t need to sing to sad faces.
But the demon of old will not let me be.
Perhaps it was I who side-stepped in the end?
Was it I who had sealed fate of morbed reminiscence?
Was it I who had turned from the road to salvation?
All the want in the world will not answer my questions
Neither will mirrored image of sublime and you.
You will laugh as I tell you, “I’m wounded lost soldier
Of the battle I fought for the sake of my love.”
четверг, 25 января 2007
too tired to type up anything worth reading.
вторник, 23 января 2007
E ate my cheesecake today. I mean, sure I offered a piece but I didn't tell E to eat the whole thing. Grrr, took away my few sweet moments of a sugar high. Shameless.
Yesterday's performance of Capital Steps has finally let go of my jaw. Damn, it never hurt so badly before. This is what laughing does to one, pain and suffering. Anyway, S is still saying I made a scene during the performance with my 'obnoxious' behaviour. Sure, I yelled. I admit it, but it's not like I was making a habit out of it. She should learn to chill and not be so ashamed to be with me in public. I may misbehave, but at least she laughs.
Oh and A and I made a rule that no one has a right to tell us about their sexual encounters. Why? Because I'm tired of saying every single time "Yeah, thanks, fat head." I have my limits you know. So there, just because we write a story bordering on pornography, I'd rather not scar myself with my over active imagiantion while listening to narrations of how you did it and with whom.
Yesterday's performance of Capital Steps has finally let go of my jaw. Damn, it never hurt so badly before. This is what laughing does to one, pain and suffering. Anyway, S is still saying I made a scene during the performance with my 'obnoxious' behaviour. Sure, I yelled. I admit it, but it's not like I was making a habit out of it. She should learn to chill and not be so ashamed to be with me in public. I may misbehave, but at least she laughs.
Oh and A and I made a rule that no one has a right to tell us about their sexual encounters. Why? Because I'm tired of saying every single time "Yeah, thanks, fat head." I have my limits you know. So there, just because we write a story bordering on pornography, I'd rather not scar myself with my over active imagiantion while listening to narrations of how you did it and with whom.
воскресенье, 21 января 2007
Опиум для Hикого Агата Кристи
Я крашу губы гуталином,
Я обожаю черный цвет
И мой герой, он соткан весь
Из тонких запахов конфет.
Напудрив ноздри кокаином,
Я выхожу на променад,
И звезды светят мне красиво,
И симпатичен ад.
Давай вечером с тобой встретимся
Будем опиум курить-рить-рить.
Давай вечером с тобой встретимся
По-китайски говорить.
Не прячь музыку - она опиум
Для никого, только для нас.
Давай вечером умрем весело,
Поиграем в декаданс.
Убей меня, убей себя,
Ты не изменишь ничего:
У этой сказки нет конца
Ты не изменишь ничего.
Накрась ресницы губной помадой,
А губы лаком для волос
Ты будешь - мертвая принцесса,
А я - твой верный пес
Я крашу губы гуталином,
Я обожаю черный цвет
И мой герой, он соткан весь
Из тонких запахов конфет.
Напудрив ноздри кокаином,
Я выхожу на променад,
И звезды светят мне красиво,
И симпатичен ад.
Давай вечером с тобой встретимся
Будем опиум курить-рить-рить.
Давай вечером с тобой встретимся
По-китайски говорить.
Не прячь музыку - она опиум
Для никого, только для нас.
Давай вечером умрем весело,
Поиграем в декаданс.
Убей меня, убей себя,
Ты не изменишь ничего:
У этой сказки нет конца
Ты не изменишь ничего.
Накрась ресницы губной помадой,
А губы лаком для волос
Ты будешь - мертвая принцесса,
А я - твой верный пес
суббота, 20 января 2007
Neon Cure
Steps should be cautious, but not enough to prove oneself a slave of the past and stepping on the lit up domain of dancing phantoms, one’s coyness, one’s insecurities were pecked at by hundreds of shining eyes. So when Imp took his first step, head buzzing with a fix of street prescribed solution to his many problems, the old cat-like soft-footed manner diffused like the smoke on the end of a cigarette of a particularly old-fashioned club goer. His eye swept over the reign of chaos. Its subjects wove into one fabric of endless motion. Governed by the beat of neo-modern techno, revived after the war tried to stifle the rebellion of electrical impulses, these people knew nothing but her majesty Disorder. Neon lights fell on their heads making white shine with tint of gas flame’s blue. Limbs twisted. Eyes locked and mouths no longer could communicate because they were busy memorizing new tastes. He felt someone’s hand slip around his waist, fingers falling to stroke the hipbone. “Whatcha doing, handsome?”
Imp didn’t turn. He smirked, more to himself than the stranger. Was it a man or a woman? Involuntary question, it didn’t particularly matter in the end. Names, genders, motives, they all faded away like illusion of immortality once he left the dance floor with someone clinging tightly to his neck, feeding off his warmth and drugged brain. “I was waiting for you,” he replied, eye catching a sight of a girl, a bit too young to be dancing here, much less offering a good time to someone twice her age.
Sweat ran down from the hairline, making the pale skin glow. He wasn’t her first. He wouldn’t be last. Lights lit her square in the face. He saw little to nothing, not that it mattered because she was laughing, with a fine hysteria and she knew she wouldn’t escape. Imp wondered if this was the way things were meant to be in the end. He fought the war to end chaos, to end techno, to end young prostitution, only to have them all be his only medicine against the viral horrors of past battleground epicenters. He would lead her into the heart of the dance, to save himself. She would say her name was Marion and he would kiss back that name so that he would never hear it again. That was the only cure Imp knew for his madness. It was the only way to block out the dead faces, to walk
Steps should be cautious, but not enough to prove oneself a slave of the past and stepping on the lit up domain of dancing phantoms, one’s coyness, one’s insecurities were pecked at by hundreds of shining eyes. So when Imp took his first step, head buzzing with a fix of street prescribed solution to his many problems, the old cat-like soft-footed manner diffused like the smoke on the end of a cigarette of a particularly old-fashioned club goer. His eye swept over the reign of chaos. Its subjects wove into one fabric of endless motion. Governed by the beat of neo-modern techno, revived after the war tried to stifle the rebellion of electrical impulses, these people knew nothing but her majesty Disorder. Neon lights fell on their heads making white shine with tint of gas flame’s blue. Limbs twisted. Eyes locked and mouths no longer could communicate because they were busy memorizing new tastes. He felt someone’s hand slip around his waist, fingers falling to stroke the hipbone. “Whatcha doing, handsome?”
Imp didn’t turn. He smirked, more to himself than the stranger. Was it a man or a woman? Involuntary question, it didn’t particularly matter in the end. Names, genders, motives, they all faded away like illusion of immortality once he left the dance floor with someone clinging tightly to his neck, feeding off his warmth and drugged brain. “I was waiting for you,” he replied, eye catching a sight of a girl, a bit too young to be dancing here, much less offering a good time to someone twice her age.
Sweat ran down from the hairline, making the pale skin glow. He wasn’t her first. He wouldn’t be last. Lights lit her square in the face. He saw little to nothing, not that it mattered because she was laughing, with a fine hysteria and she knew she wouldn’t escape. Imp wondered if this was the way things were meant to be in the end. He fought the war to end chaos, to end techno, to end young prostitution, only to have them all be his only medicine against the viral horrors of past battleground epicenters. He would lead her into the heart of the dance, to save himself. She would say her name was Marion and he would kiss back that name so that he would never hear it again. That was the only cure Imp knew for his madness. It was the only way to block out the dead faces, to walk
I have to admit. I'm not happy. I'm not happy at all because I realized that this world doesn't work on principle of fairness. No. It just likes to kick you in the stomach when you're already suffering from a hit on your knee cap and rolling on the ground from pain. It's a very beautifully engeneered mechanism. I admire it,even as it keeps hitting my liver with the point of its shoe. I mean, no one possesses as much cruely and visciousness as that thing at the top that decides what's going to happen next. I laugh, because yesterday after so many years I prayed. Yes, I actually prayed to god. How silly of me! What's next? I'm going to write a letter to Santa Clause? Bravo, world. Bravo. You are truly a worthy opponent. Yes you are.
пятница, 19 января 2007
I began to miss my friends, especially when I look at photographs. I have to wait a whole year, whole 365 odd days of them being only ghosts in my head. I begin to blame myself for not spending enough time with them because when I come back... nothing will ever be the same. It's like the time actually does move instead of how it sluggishly trudges along here. Even injections of loud music and cursing and obsene content won't bring it to life, how it was two weeks ago. It's been already two weeks. Two weeks less to live and laugh and point.. but mostly laugh. I cringe at the thought of mortality.
On the positive note, my finals are OVER. I had my last two today and now I'm d-o-n-e. A told me an amusing dream of hers yesterday. She dreamed that she transmutated her brother's soul into a hotdog. I had a good laugh over that. A should really stop watching FMA so much. it's poisoning her already poisoned brain.
On the positive note, my finals are OVER. I had my last two today and now I'm d-o-n-e. A told me an amusing dream of hers yesterday. She dreamed that she transmutated her brother's soul into a hotdog. I had a good laugh over that. A should really stop watching FMA so much. it's poisoning her already poisoned brain.
среда, 17 января 2007
Suffocation by old and new people. I need my space.
Oh...and it snowed yesterday. Yay!
Oh...and it snowed yesterday. Yay!
понедельник, 15 января 2007
I think I'm becoming sick. Food makes me guilty, but headaches remindme that I have to eat to sustain life within this flesh. Is this anorexia? I hope not. Last thing I need is an eating disorder. I have enough drama in my life without that piled up on top of me. I'm tired and yawn a lot. But I can't exceed the 2000 calorie norm. Besides, when the war starts it's not like food would drop from the sky. I might as well get used to. I might as well.
Сентябрь 29 2004
by hip_hop_guy
Поневоле волок по земле ворох слогов
Скомкав в кулак ломоть, нервы слопав
По тропам, дорогам к порогам -дорого
Плоды пробовал, хлебал весомую злобу я
Вряд ли будем в прятки играть отрядами
Хавать цитаты пачками руки не пачкая
Тачки, моторы - люди умом тронулись
Иронии формула поддалась злобным помыслам
Грезы, как грозы в минорном облике
Грозные фразы бросали в памятники
В памяти лишь жалкие обрывки слов колких
Даже толику счастья не выразить словом.
В потемках жалкие тени из проволоки
Головы забитые толстым мыслей слоем
Правда ли настанет конец этим мукам
или слух подвел меня, когда я сердце
слушал?
I'm sad that I never learned his real name. Where is he now? Who is he? What has become of him? I don't know, but his poetry saved on my computer makes me feel more human and sad. I wonder if he still writes because his talent is one in a million.
Сентябрь 29 2004
by hip_hop_guy
Поневоле волок по земле ворох слогов
Скомкав в кулак ломоть, нервы слопав
По тропам, дорогам к порогам -дорого
Плоды пробовал, хлебал весомую злобу я
Вряд ли будем в прятки играть отрядами
Хавать цитаты пачками руки не пачкая
Тачки, моторы - люди умом тронулись
Иронии формула поддалась злобным помыслам
Грезы, как грозы в минорном облике
Грозные фразы бросали в памятники
В памяти лишь жалкие обрывки слов колких
Даже толику счастья не выразить словом.
В потемках жалкие тени из проволоки
Головы забитые толстым мыслей слоем
Правда ли настанет конец этим мукам
или слух подвел меня, когда я сердце
слушал?
I'm sad that I never learned his real name. Where is he now? Who is he? What has become of him? I don't know, but his poetry saved on my computer makes me feel more human and sad. I wonder if he still writes because his talent is one in a million.
воскресенье, 14 января 2007
Things went... good. Yes, let's go with good. Her neighbors are very charming people and so was this guy Ralph or something. The food was excellent and if not for the fact that I had a huge migrane the everning went smoothly. When I came home... let's just say I'm glad I got home in time. Anyway, some times I'm so glad I don't have an annoying younger brother. Well, he's not that annoying all the time, but he has his really bad moments.
Vitamin E is a mirecle drug. I feel better already.
Fuck, how can people draw this good?
Vitamin E is a mirecle drug. I feel better already.
Fuck, how can people draw this good?
суббота, 13 января 2007
Today I'm going to Sa's B-day dinner with her parents, relatives, and family friends. I'm kind of nervous because I just know I'll make a complete fool of myself. Oh well, they already know me as the raging Commi. What can be worse?
I hope Sa will like her present. Two political books ain't cheap but I'm sure they'll be to her liking.
I hope Sa will like her present. Two political books ain't cheap but I'm sure they'll be to her liking.
четверг, 11 января 2007
Cheer me up. Something has to cheer me up. I don't want to be the silent sufferer any longer. I want change. Anything but the sour disappoitment that's coating my tongue with bitterness. Anything. I don't pray. I'm sorry. I see no point in it, but I can request and ask and turn the hidden wheels of my mind into the right direction. I want to tear down the cobwebs of the old and embrace the new, no matter how raw that new is. I will stop saying 'emo'. I won't swear and I will work hard. Personal life? It can kiss my low fat ass for all I care. If no one is ready to accept me as I am, then screw 'em all. I'm not going to change they want me to, but I will change the way I want to. I will conquer this world. It's as good as mine. Yes it is.
Anton's story about medical examinations for the army is horrifying me. How dare they do that! It's so... wierd.
Anton's story about medical examinations for the army is horrifying me. How dare they do that! It's so... wierd.
среда, 10 января 2007
In Search of Happiness
They’re tall and young and beautiful.
They know the things they want.
Their steps in rhythm and tragedy
Will echo through the years.
In search of something wonderful
They trod in shadowed world.
Their high heels pinning down again
New ashes, garbage, dirt.
And even though they know of other
Of other ways to fill themselves
With warm sensation of sublime,
The butterflies of night will not
End search until they proudly burn.
They’re tall and young and beautiful.
They know the things they want.
Their steps in rhythm and tragedy
Will echo through the years.
In search of something wonderful
They trod in shadowed world.
Their high heels pinning down again
New ashes, garbage, dirt.
And even though they know of other
Of other ways to fill themselves
With warm sensation of sublime,
The butterflies of night will not
End search until they proudly burn.
вторник, 09 января 2007
I'm falling back into the old ways and actually I'm very glad of it. Why? Because before I felt like fish out of water. I was an animal on display in the zoo and now I'm one of the million. I don't have to pretend. I don't have to burst with the knowledge that I'm foreign. On the other hand, I'm split between two loyalties. Where is my home? Where are my people? Who are my people? And really, what for do we need to associate ourselves with anyone? I don't know, but it's crushing the inside of my rib cage.
B wrote new song. We still have to get tune to it. S and A were asking me about their presents. Note to self: Don't be so lazy to wrap presents. Anyways, I feel my old confidence. That's wonderful, right? Of course it is because usually I would be depressed, planning to lash out at the world instead of skipping like a ten year old down my street. Oh well...
B wrote new song. We still have to get tune to it. S and A were asking me about their presents. Note to self: Don't be so lazy to wrap presents. Anyways, I feel my old confidence. That's wonderful, right? Of course it is because usually I would be depressed, planning to lash out at the world instead of skipping like a ten year old down my street. Oh well...
понедельник, 08 января 2007
I think it is proper to point out that on december 30, 2006, I witnessed a step in a new direction of world history, execution of Saddam Hussein. There are infinitly many possibilities where this would lead, but a certain truth is certain. War is inevitable. I stare, along with the world, into a barrel of a smoking gun. When it will go off? I don't know, but I'm certain that my life would never be the same. Neither will it be the same for billions of others. God have mercy on us all.
Few days later...
The more they try to be American, the farther they are from the truth.
And now for the meat. No, my mind and my body will never reunite. Why? Because my head is in the past while my body is in perpetual motion of forward. Time doesn't end, doesn't stop, and won't wait for my mind to catch up. I ask only to give me few days to catch a breath and think. You know, thinking is becoming a luxury. I have no fear, but a faint feeling of melancholy that I hope won't grow into a full blown whimpering depression which I experienced last time I was hit to taste the ground. Let me tell you, it doesn't taste pleasent. Not in the least bit. On the positive side, I bought enough CD's to last my reward-for-good-behaviour system will work for yet another year. Hurray, comrades! Hurray!
Few days later...
The more they try to be American, the farther they are from the truth.
And now for the meat. No, my mind and my body will never reunite. Why? Because my head is in the past while my body is in perpetual motion of forward. Time doesn't end, doesn't stop, and won't wait for my mind to catch up. I ask only to give me few days to catch a breath and think. You know, thinking is becoming a luxury. I have no fear, but a faint feeling of melancholy that I hope won't grow into a full blown whimpering depression which I experienced last time I was hit to taste the ground. Let me tell you, it doesn't taste pleasent. Not in the least bit. On the positive side, I bought enough CD's to last my reward-for-good-behaviour system will work for yet another year. Hurray, comrades! Hurray!
суббота, 23 декабря 2006
Finally my mind and my body will reunite.