I don't want to say much, but I feel terrible. Yesterday, I lost a game to some punk who could barely play. I'm lower than dirt.



John was utterly miserable, wishing he could invent a time machine on the spot and take back the misguided words. He hated his two extremes, not talking or saying rubbish, because both of them hurt the people around him. He cringed at the other’s words. But he deserved them. All of them. His heart sank to the bottom of the pit. He didn’t want to spill his guts out on the airplane, but saying nothing would prove to be wrong too. Ugh, he felt like he was part of some sick twisted soap opera on a public channel, although there was no Maria.

He even winced at Sullivan’s hard clutch. The mind didn’t produce anything worth voicing. He was lost and angry and a bit in a daze. John was afraid to catch Sullivan’s gaze, afraid to be scolded so for his damn impudence. He reached for his cup of water, drinking to buy himself time, to hide the jitteriness of his jaw at the thought of talking back, trying to find a proper excuse, to alleviate the situation.

Holding the water in a deathly grip, John focused on the floor as finally words began to leave his lips. “It sounded horrible, but I can’t shake off the feeling that I’ll wake up and this is just a dream. Maybe it’s not even you lying exactly, but this whole fucking universe. Maybe I’m just going crazy because in this world no one is supposed to be truly happy. There’s always a catch.” He sighed, glancing up for the first time, cautious and meek in his manner. “No, you didn’t lie about them,” said John quietly. It was absolutely the worst for him when someone was this disappointed in him.

@настроение: I AM HAPPY.

---

There is nothing happening right now. I'm just waiting for the ACEN. That should be lots of fun.. I hope.

@настроение: What's that you say, Reverend Robinson?

---

Gotta love it. Say what you will, but yaoi is yaoi. Don't like it? Too bad.

@настроение: Long hard road out of Hell

---

I heard on the news that somebody made Jesus out of chocolate. And that got me thinking... why aren't there chocolate jesus's being sold around? Hell, I'll buy one, just as long as they make him milk chocolate. For the racists down south, make the jesus out of whtie chocolate. You can feel him with caramel or wine for communion. You can even put some inspirational bible passages on little pieces of rice paper inside of Jesus so that kids would heal their souls while their teeth are rotting.



And then.. and then my friend B came up with a brilliant idea. How about making chocolate bands? Like you know, dark bitter chocolate Marlyn Manson filled with rasberry jam for blood? Hm? I'm just drooling at the thought. Or chocolate caramel Rammstein or Led Zeppelin... or... or... Beatles? Gosh, I'd eat them all just to collect all of my favorite bands. I wish someone would make that. Personally, I'd love to have a little piece of heaven with chocolate jesus.

@настроение: голубой ангел

---

Hand at its own will left the arched back for the slim fingers to bury in the black locks of hair. It was a whim, no more. There was no love, no hate, no gut-wrenching absurdities polluting the mind. It was clean and blank, willing to take in the new boundaries designed by the new deity on top of him. I mean, what else could the crushnik be? He broke the most arrogant of creatures that dared to defy even death in its right to rule the brute’s fate. What could there be beyond the master of the food chain but not the thunderous god, wrathful yet merciful? Though the crushnik felt no different than flesh and bone of others’, the brute force that animated it could not have been of this earth. And Dimitri was willing to believe that, willing enough to conceit to his fate as the humble servant of the legendary champion of human existence if only to keep away from the burning flames of the deity’s fury. The desire to live never ebbed away.



He gave a noncommittal grunt in reply. If he’d remember, there was no doubt spite in him would speak. But if he did not, then words would be left unspoken, though they would linger behind the thin lips. But Dimitri honestly couldn’t remember any longer the language Leopold spoke. His native tongue was dominating with its rolling r’s and softly spoken s’s. The vampire’s clutch of the raven locks tightened as the other’s teeth graced his ear, yet he was no longer thinking of the present predicament. Instead the lips moved in last farewell of the old life to mouth the names of past friends, comrades, lovers. It pained to say, but they would all have to leave for him to live in peace with the cannibal. Alas, forgetting was not easy, thought Leopold was lightening his burden with the hot caresses.

@настроение: If you ain't laughing, you ain't living.

---

It is. It is unfair how people misinterpret one's own intentions. Really.



This is what my 'friend' wrote about us : http://aliencandy.deviantart.com/journal



Appearently, we are bad friends because we don't notice things. Well, fancy that. I wouldn't suppose she always noticed everything about everyone, now did she? Did she ever think that because T got hold of E, I might be a little upset? Did she? Oh no. Everyone was all too happy about T getting the love of life. Well, screw that. It worries me that she thinks death is an answer, but I am too bitter to do anything about it. Anything.

@настроение: I cant do anything but gosh dont be mean to the dog kicking emo.

---

I can't take it anymore. Everything is too much. Everything. I'm stuffed with information, gutted for achievement and I'm beginning to develop a phobia for rejection. I want it all to end. This god dam torture has to end because I can't live like this. Too many people want too many things from me.

"Why don't kids wanna work with you?"

"Why won't you study for ACT?"

"Why don't you buy that book?"

"What's this bullshit?"

It has to end. It just has to. This is hell and even I don't deserve to live so vividly. Not even I.

@настроение: Don't like the new lay out? You have no taste in drama.

---

Yeah...well I went to see another college today. I must say, I'm impressed. There are a lot of people smarter than me.

@настроение: Shoes. OMG. Shoes

---

I must apologize for my previous behaviour. It was really foolish of me to be so taken in by depression. I am young enough to still be filled with youthful glee and laugh and dream. You know? I have the rest of my life to settle for average and mediocre. And for right now I can pretend that I live in a castle with unicorns and wizards and no one would object to that.



I haven't talk to anyone from my old crowd, because honestly, I got sick of all of them. Drama has a tendency to do that to me, make me sick. For once, I just want to cut off from anything bad so they wouldn't see me as this great villain on whom they call always rip on. I can't even say 'shut up' to the bastards because that would prove them right. They are the bastards that awlays tell me that I have anger issue. It's not the anger issues, it's those little fuckers pocking me with a stick. You don't stick your head into a mouth of a lion unless you want to die. OK? I want them to stop pestering me and finding faults with me. I am the best. I am the brightest. I am the most talented. And even if I'm bitchy, well they might as well deal with it... because I'm NOT changing for their sake.





He sauntered into my office with inevitability hand in hand. He came in like the wind, without a sound yet the very air swayed with his presence. And even though, I was about to leave, determined to finish off the bottle of sake in my case at home, something compelled me to stay. I heard a crow. It was strange because it was already dark and a silver sliver of moon made itself known against the immense black fabric of the night sky. From the corner of my eyes I watched him move closer to my desk and sit down without any ceremonies of embarrassment on at the lateness of the hour.

“Well,” began I, still eyes diverted from his half-lidded tired gaze.

He ran a hand over his upper-lip, finishing the motion on the chin, lips jutting out as the brows furrowed. There was trouble abrewing. His arms fell to the side and I knew that he was finally going to speak and finally the air of mystery would be diffused in the general hum-drum of my duties.

Little surprised me anymore.

“Senorita, I have very important yob. Very important. I will need your best people for this, eh.”

I must say, my brow arched involuntarily. His thick accent penetrated the very walls of the room, making it low and growling like a voice of a demon. I was intrigued and my heart, even though I hate to admit it, was beating like a caged bird against my ribs. But I kept my game face on, concentration on the bottle in a case under my desk.

“Really?” asked I, my hand slipping over the surface of the desk as I began to drum.

Was this a matter about Orochimaru? Akatsuki? Or an entirely new threat? I didn’t know and his manner did nothing to calm down and lower my expectations of a potential drama of life and death.

“Si. I work at de Hounds o Hell-“

I interrupted him, my eyes going wide now. What? A representative of that disreputable place dared to come into my office? I was ready to throw this man of mystery through the window, aiming at the jocose moon and the lonely crow on a tree branch.

“That strip club?”

“Por supuesto. I knew you looked familiar,” he replied a little smile showing on his lips before he grew somber once again. I was appalled at his conclusion that I went there …more than once. After all, it was the best place for male strippers even if some of them were a bit too chubby for my tastes, like that Sasukitty person. I still wonder who he really is.

“Basically, senorita, this is a matter of great importance. You see, two chicas from my yob ran away. But that’s not the bad thing. They is - how do you say? – his bitches. They take care o him because he doesn’t live with his padres.”

“So?”

“You don’t understand. My boss is gay. Very very gay.”

“How gay are we talking?”

“Ryan Seacrest gay.”

I gasped.

This had to be dealt with for the security of the whole village was on the line now.

It was enough that one fruitcake like Orochimaru tried to level out their beloved Konoha. But… but… Oh god! I couldn’t even imagine the destruction and desolation that would be brought upon the heads of these, of my, good people. I shuddered at the thought and looked this man in the eye.

“Do you have any idea where the two runaway women could go?” asked I.

My mind was already calculating, guessing, where the two fugitives could head to. Perhaps they went to the village Hidden in Sand. Kazekage was quite lenient on immigrants from parts of the fire country. Or perhaps they even…

“Shitcago.”

No! There was no way those two would head to the one village where the shitiest ninjas in all nations decided to live together because they had no special traits to pass on through blood lines. All of my shinobi would stick out like sore thumbs in a dump of that magnitude.

I couldn’t risk it… I… I. But the way his brows wiggled I realized that it was village’s security that had to be my top priority rather than lives of few individual shinobi. I stifled a sigh of regret and extended my hand to the man.

“I will send a team to retrieve the two runaways. All I need is their desсriрtion, specific traits, and the like.”

“I can do better,” he said, his hand slipping over mine, leaving something in my palm. He rose from his seat and walked out of the office.

Yet, the inevitability stayed to choke the breathe out of me as I stared at my hand. In it was a clipping from Konoha’s top newspaper featuring two women with a sight of blood-curdling madness in their eyes as they slaughtered countless emoes. They were the targets.

---

I still remember a time when I had a certain insight. I remember that I once believed that my existence was important to the people and that I was that immense turtle holding on its back the elephnats and horses, and the earth itself. I would call it, for practical reasons, my age of innocence. It's hard. I must admit it's hard to finally realize that I am no better than an ant and if by sudden event I would cease to exist... life goes on. Even my friends, in whom I lost faith over the years, and even my family, who became humans rather than gods in my eyes, would move on and step over my cold dead body. Where-as before I felt sad at the notion of being forgotten, I feel that no more. I doubt I feel anything about it because I came to understand that being made of stone is better than of flesh and bone. feelings bring nother but torturous burning sensetation of jealosy for other people. But I still hate rejection and it sparks the worst in me.



This year taught me that I was never invicible. The world doesn't lei at my feet, doesn't wimper, doesn't beg me for forgiveness. I am the dog and it is the master. I will never get everything that I want and would have to cut my appetite in half because I would only get a quarter of what I believe would be enough to satisfy my hunger. It's a depression thought. I will never make anything of myself. I will be an average Joe, destined to live an average life and wake up in the middle of the night with someone in my bed with whom I tired my life in one fateful afternoon and wonder if I made the right choice. I'd have 2.5 kids and two cars per household and I would earn sixy thousand dollars a year and live in a suburban little house with a back yard and semi friendly neighbors. There would be no fireworks. No grand excitement that stifles my breaths. I will live and die in the same rhythm of an average existence and no one....yes, no one would be able to change that. Sad? Perhaps, but at least it's better to face the truth rather than aimlessly wonder in the dark.



Auf Wiedersehen, dreams. Wilkommen, reality.

@настроение: I believe it's a fairy.

---

Sickened by the other’s delight at his misery, Dimitri was powerless to change the rules. He couldn’t smite that smug look off Leopold’s face. Shackled and encaged in his own perplexing, Dimitri’s rage was sprawled out flat on the floor without anymore fight left in it. That’s it. He’d give up. He’d give in to the tingling pleasure climbing up his spine. And yet even though Dimitri’s mind was determined to raise the white flag, his body wouldn’t cease struggling.



He was biting his lip through to the blood, determined to keep the moans lodged in his throat. But they still came out like muffled groans as his back slid up and down church’s sheets. Dimitri was never the big fan of this place, though dimly, in the recess of his mind, the vampire could remember a time when he used to come and pray. Of course, that was when he was a human, before he ‘sold’ his soul to the devil for eternity. Life had a sick sense of humor, Dimitri concluded, arching against the other’s body.



The kiss surprised him, but he should have already realized that crushnik wasn’t one for timing. And because of the shock of the kiss, the vampire wasn’t quick enough to stop his voice from betraying him. Leopold was right. As soon as his brethren would find out that he tasted another vampire’s blood, he would be tortured and murderer, his pretty skin burned and scarred beyond recognition. He didn’t become crushnik’s slave only to die in the hands of his kin. Yet, it was so painful to loudly admit that Leopold was right and that Dimitri was enjoying this a bit too much. “Why me?” the vampire asked. “Why not a younger vampire?” he asked in a shaky voice, closing his eyes from the sight of that smug face.

@настроение: Spring break!

---

Howl is ending.



I find new comfort in my art. It's pathetic, but comforting.

@настроение: Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh.

---

Today, at our concert, two guys came complete high. It was funny because they were paranoid most of the time like everyone was staring at them. My friend wondered what was going through their minds. My opinion? Nothing. If you get high before a concert, there is nothing in your head. Absolutely nothing, not even a cobweb.

I hate this week. Teachers are morons and need to soemtimes talk to each other. I am not a robot. I need sleep too.

@настроение: Is that really a fairy?

---

Matter of Humanity



He trotted behind her like a puppy on a leash and she held on to that leash, half-heartedly pulling on it to remind him who the master of this relationship was. He lost the bravado, independence, assurance in one’s own god-given right to be right. She took it away as she tugged him along, through the streets of a bustling city, encouraging him to follow her way, her guide, her definitions of the crumbling world. Once, he used to laugh at the petty men carrying their wives’ purses in the plain sight of a million people. He laughed at the way their noses twitched like that of rats as the arrogant women commented, for they always had many comments, on the weather, and people, and the crippled morals of the country as they looked on through the glass at the essence of all evil, things. He used to think that this would never happen to him because he was a manly man, full of untamed ideas. But then, she found him during one of the stuffy summers. She took him in ,like a stray dog, patting him in pity. And at first he fought against that slimy touch, but soon he began to lean into the palm that ran its fingers through the wild brown locks of his hair. He could have sworn then that he was happy. She took away the troubles of existence, choosing to feed him from her open hand, not at all concerned that sooner or later he would bite her.



Then came the war. It didn’t bother him as he watched the clips of men and women dieing. But it bothered her. She sold him to the government. She sold him because her life was hers and his was his. They stripped him of the last dignity he ever possessed. They reexamined him. They whipped and shaped him into something resembling his former self. He lost the puppy air around him, becoming more of an angry mutt than anything. She didn’t write, not a letter not a postcard. Soon, her name began to decompose in his brain into strange syllables. And in the night, when sleeplessness gripped him, he tried to voice her letters, while being chained to the bed by the chorus of breathes, and couldn’t remember them at all. They left his lips with dull noise falling on the ground and shattering. They lost the beautiful tenderness with which he whispered them before when her eyes shone in the similar darkness.



He took the leash from her ghostly hands. He took the leash from the hands of the military. He took it all away in hopes of making things better. Call it spitefulness, but the dog sleeps alone, protecting the only bit of freedom it ever had, waiting for the hands that would be gentle with its leash, the hands that will show him happiness again. Call it spitefulness, but the dog wants to be a man again.



p.s. got a haircut, so now I can finally see again.

@настроение: It's a bug...

---

Knuckles rapped against the wall in sign of frustration. No, the call wasn’t particularly important, rather trivial if you will. The only problem was that John didn’t know how to end it. The other person, one of his friendlier cousins, was talking up a whole city of nonsense. Apparently, watching the weather channel made people paranoid, because the older man on the other end of the line along with his wife were becoming desperately worried that John would get snowed in. He politely smiled, but of course they couldn’t see it, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to calm down the neurotic couple. “I wonder sometimes how come I’m so sane,” Lavington thought inwardly as Becky, the wife of his cousin, for the millionth time the number of inches that would be lieing on the ground tomorrow. John grimaced, assured them that everything was fine and was about to hang up, when the pair heard the number increase by another inch or so. This made Becky practically scream in fear and fainting. Her husband put down the phone, but John could still catch bits of their muffled conversation. “Hm, would it be rude to just hang up? I’ll blame it on the weather later,” John searched for a way to escape. Finally, the demons in him won and he pressed the disconnect button. His ear was sore now.

“Sorry about that. Should have ignored it,” John said as he entered the living room. He lingered at the door, looking at Sullivan with that blanket of his. This almost made up for the mind-numbing conversation he just had. For a moment John glanced at the window. The white stuff was still falling from the sky, but he couldn’t believe that there would be a snow day. That would just be too bizarre. Maybe he should check the forecast for tomorrow… nah. John walked to the couch, sitting down beside Sullivan. “You look tired,” said Lavington, which was his way of saying ‘you look like you need sleep and a lot of it.’.

@настроение: Charlie. Charlie. Come with us to Candy Mountain.

---

There is potential. There is always potential in everything and nothing. Some people are gifted with seeing this potential, screaming out its existence on top of their lungs like a bunch of howler monkeys. I was not blessed, but I constantly hear about this potential, yet it never materializes. Where is it? Where is this all powerful potential that is said to move the mountains themselves, uproot trees, trouch the sky? Where is it? It it's so enormous I should be able to spt it from my precurious position of a cynical bystander. Yet, it escapes me. I'm as blind as a bat with its sensors out of wack. Sometimes, I'm under the impression that one has to grow into finding potential. And it's the key to success in this world. Upi just find that potential, grab on to it tight, and pray to God it lifts you off the ground. A very tricky business I might add.



It used to be that when people saw english on a russian website, they would get angry. I used to advocate the freedom of speech. And now that I won it , no one cares in what language I write, it's a bitter sweet victory. There is no pride in people for their native tongue and culture. Everyone has to be either American or European. Whatever happened to the Russian?

“Who’s your daddy,” asked I, spanking Christianity

Because the naughty priest denounced bestiality

but grunted like a wild mule for younger bloods.



Last weekend told to Catholic Church

New gods are really all the rage

Who wouldn’t test my literacy skills.

Time’s really ticking, said I to the priest

Before ka-boom goes pope and Bible

When we decide its time to clone

When we decide in love ignore

the gender of another person….



Then boom goes church and then the masses

The crosses, Jesus…. Christ and all.

Among the rubble, chuffing feet

The altar boy will loudly weep.

“Now where the hell do I get action

since yahoo outlawed good chats? “



I tell you, brothers, something’s screwy

With bondage turning hard and core,

Interrogations of sweet Jesus

And mother Mary… bless her soul.



Well, ‘til they listen to my reason

I might as well start my own church



I’ll hail the holy chair and table

The great white walls of suburb’s homes

And clear cut windows of our rooms

Oh bless the door that lets us in.

I’ll call it,”Church of Holy Sin.”

@настроение: Too much or too sexy?

---

Take on Me by A-ha



Talking away

I don't know what I'm to say

I'll say it anyway

today's another day to find you

Shying away

I'll be coming for you love O.K.





Take on me

Take me on

I'll be gone

in a day or two





So needless to say I'm odds and ends

But that's me, stumbling away

Slowly learning that life is O.K.

Say after me

It's no better to be safe than sorry.





Take on me

Take me on

I'll be gone

in a day or two.





The things that you say

Is it live or just to play

My worries away

You're all the things I've got to remember

You shying away

I'll be coming for you anyway





Take on me

Take me on

I'll be gone

in a day or two

When I was little, this song was my favorite. I just LOVED the music video. It just swept me off my feet and only recently I found it again. You know that clip, when the guy pops out of the comic book and drags the girl in? Yeah, that's the one that made me into a freak I am now. Knights don't come riding on white horses, but one can always hope, right?



Got deviant art. http://dictators-r-us.deviantart.com

@настроение: Good Vibrations.

---

Title: Complete Author: ImitationXGoth Rating: PG



Irreparably long, dark nights overtook Kaso. In the gloom two orbs glowed, disembodied, detached, mysterious like their owner. Nights overtook her in one sweep, filling and emptying at whim, but never giving what she wanted, comfort. But what was comfort anyhow? The labels on advertisements promised comfort of security, of happiness, and of family. They even sold guns under the same slogan of brining comfort of safety to the people even when people didn’t want it. Commercial business needed to grow, and grow it did on the broken backs of comfortless creatures staring into the darkness night after night. Night after night

Those nights coated the room with cryptic cobwebs of past nightmares, making her relive every one of them as the lonely eyes stared blankly at the wall. Rarely would sleep claim Kaso. Sleep, after all, was a privilege few could afford now-a-days, anyway. Earn it, by god, one had to earn the right to sleep like a child. One had to earn the right for a piece of innocence skipping down the street with her pig tails bouncing before she would be slammed against the ground, a hand clasped over the pretty rosy mouth.

Silences dominated, save for the harsh breathes and maddened beat of heart, at the sight of such truths. But she wouldn’t tell any one who still could afford to listen to other’s problems. All it was only her fancy. In the end, Kaso really did choose to be tormented so by the phantoms of the past, supplying them with faces, names, and dates. She herself was the limitless source of unexhausting raw terror. She herself chose the path of desolation and insecurity. In the end, her choice was her undoing, so why bother with saving oneself? There is no one on the top of that cliff to help her up anyway. Why bother? It is so much easier to loosen the muscles of the beat up fingers and let the rock slip with one last touching caress of regret.

Kaso was the accuser, judge, the executioner, and finally a spineless victim thrown to the mercy of her peers. Alas, the peers were shadows, night’s loyal pawns in a game of chess. And the night played a merciless game with the woman, giving her no way to escape until….

Until Imp, during rare spells of caring, noting his comrade’s exhaustion, suggested sleeping pills. “They work wonders,” said he in his usual lazy manner, single eye casually scrutinizing the worry-filled face of his companion. Obviously, words came from experience. The woman didn’t linger long on considerations what phantoms visited Imp, because now new sort of silence overtakes Kaso night after night. Far more complete than before.

---

Happy Birthday to me today. I've made this earth suffer yet another year. But really, who is the real sufferer? Is this the big cruel world, full of soulless mindless drones of men and women marching under the booming beat of words promising relief? Or is me? Am I the victim of this fairy-tale gone wrong? I can't be the villain for so long. Sooner or later the grand master of life's theater should switch the roles, audition me for the part of a breath-takingly engimatic young person with hope in the eyes and each line a witty punch line. I can't stay the way I am or else misery would swallow me whole instead of simply nibbling on the meat of my leg as a minor nuissance. I am not happy. Oh by I yearn for that happiness which I can still remember in the bright spotty vision of my past. I want to feel that childish wonder of Birthdays and pretend , if only for a moment, that the world will stop if I will it to. The whole freaking world would be under my feet because today I became part of it. I want to smile, and not the lemon bitter-sweet smile of knowing that yes... death draws nearer though with my luck the next time I cross the street would be my last. And looking back, there is disappoitment. I did nothing this year and the year after that doesn't look to bright either. People don't care. This is just another day in a sequence of equilly as dull and uneventful days.... but but I remember a time when this was a day of magic. When my mother, not the bitter bundle of flesh she is now, with a smile danced in the kitchen with the twirling fumes of freshly prepared dishes. When the people looked upon me as a flower of their existence instead of a weed. I can almost remember it if I try hard enough. I can almost grasp that wonderful dream of my existence's significance. Why must I grow up? Why? I want to go back through the golden gate of Eden's Garden from which I was so rudely thrown out of. Return me. That's all I want for my birthday. Return me.

---

Sold my soul to the devil yesterday. Must admit that no one was too surprised about that. The funny thing is that he did like to be called Luci. Go figure.

@настроение: And all you see and all you see, is legend of my thoughts.