and they said nothing…

every road takes us somewhere and every experience is meant to teach us something. there is no such thing as a coincidence. every scene that we see we were meant to see and every scene that we miss we were meant to miss.

as every road has a destination, an end, so does a life. what is life, if not a road? but roads have sides, and you can crash into them and die. and if this takes place…well, it was meant to be.

today…well, the day that just passed (i am still awake, so for me it counts as today) was one full of experiences for me. i went through so many things that i cannot even begin to explain this day, this day of today. but still, i was meant to see death, and not once…but still, of only one i will write of

-two dead on the side of the dead after being pulled out of a car crash;
-two feet sticking out of a white cloth and another cloth turned red by the blood of the other son or daughter, the one it was covering. and turning the cloth red was the last thing that poor bastard ever did

…and they said nothing…

i got home after my tiresome trip and i invaded the internet, just to see what THEY said…THEY say a lot of things, don’t THEY? i know where it took place and i know the time, but, as it seems, two young, short and bloody deaths are not important or shocking enough…

THEY don’t care, why would THEY? THEY showed us how and what to eat and we took it as a benevolent act as we ate, drank and breathed what THEY gave us.

i saw at my return friends and family with candles, torn apart, shattered souls, and minds twisted into inhuman visages. like a morbid, twisted funeral masqued march into madness.

“sick!” i felt like screaming, a scream that would have made my vocal chords break, my mind shatter, my soul bleed…but who can i scream at? who would stay in front of me for me to scream at? who was the one that killed them?

well, i think that it is better this way, the fact that the flies that usually invade any dead corpse by actually swarming the torn family or/and the local law enforcement ignored this one.

-maybe for them it’s better this way. there are no media-buzzards circling around them. no over-dramatized reporter coming live from the scene of the crash. no reconstitution. no 3D animation to show us just what happened.

-if you think about it, this would be…should be a usual meal for these swarms of flies with microphones and cameras. but no, this was a private show for me, and a few others.
as i said, if you are not meant to see something, you will not, and one of those who were in the car with me saw only the clean cloth with the feet sticking out. he didn’t see the blood and he didn’t see the torn to pieces wrack…and the other one that was with me didn’t even look, well, he was the driver…

as i said, from every experience you learn something, and i know that some lesson i have learnt, but i know not what that lesson is…

the WAR is dead, long live the WAR

the war for…me…has ended,with, let’s just say, the “wrong” side winning. i find myself alone once more, even doe my circle of friends got slightly enlarged. i am here, alone in my room, and it’s been so for the last few hours, and already i am going nuts. i am almost, almost in the state where i am talking to myself. why did i grow into this…this…thing. if you would have asked me four years ago which would i prefer: alone in my room or in a crowd of people i barely know, solitude would have been my answer. but now…

four years in the company of someone who was just half-way compatible with you (or maybe less) will do that to you. will make you dependent of human contact. God, i loved her, my little muse…and hated her so at the same time. she was my muse for all those years and made my mind blank at the same time.

but still, the truth is right in front of my face: i cannot be alone, i cannot be left alone, i cannot survive alone, not even for a few hours. i do not even know how i survived this far without a…let’s just call her a “companion”. i need to love, and i need to be loved, i need a companion, i need human contact, both (lacking a better term) psychologically/sociologically and physically. and i am not talking about lust or sex, i’ve dealt with myself in that way for a long time, i know how to control those sinister urges. no, i am talking about simple human contact, like holding a hand, a simple kiss, the kind look in someone’s eyes … that kind of human contact…

as i am lacking the skills to end a post, i will simply stop here…

a little bit of war never hurt anyone

“BACK TO THE FRONT!”

after yelling at one of my friends in a pub for a few hours in a row to go back to the lady he was trying to get with, i signed a proclamation of war, but in this war, i am not a fighting side, i am the one won if one of the sides wins and the one abandoned if the other does. i can see battles in her eyes, battle after battle after battle, some won, and some lost. i am the spoil of war, i am the one who can do nothing for the war to be won, just hope, and say a few words, and a few prayers, hoping someone will hear my voice. in the same way, there is a war inside of me as well, between fear and hope, a war over my sanity, fueled by desire and my longing for happiness.

as i see it, i have to prove my worth as a wished spoil of war, as something desired, as something worthy to be taken. i have to do something i am not used to: saying good things about myself, well talking about myself is hard, but this is even more difficult. yes, i have risen out of a pool of love and compassion, i have it, i can give it, i can show it, but still, i shake every time i remember of the war insid of her, and mine starts once again, making me fall, making me shake, tormenting me.

numb from four years in a suspended animation dream, i see myself scared in the middle of something, not knowing what to do, what to say. all i have is a stock of faded memories of good times, those that fueled the presure preceding her war, and a hope that i will pull through, no matter what, but most of all, i burn in prayer that i will have the right to hold her hand.

“if you’re tearing down my world
please just try to do it gently…
there is love inside
for a dream that has to die”

(Pain of Salvation – Kingdom of loss)

skipping a beat

the song goes on on four bass drums, beating in a sequence, in a proper sequence, one after the other, around 70 beats per minute, or in my case, somewhere around 50. on each drum there is a monkey-drummer with an analog plug in the back of its head. in each of these plugs there is a wire, and each of those wires lead to other plugs, all of them in the forehead of a mental nutcase in a restraint jacket. and because his mind is weak, his only job is to focus. he has one job at hand: keeping under control 4 monkeys, each of them beating on a drum with spiky stick. and his only job is not to get distracted. but a night in an empty park with someone special to the master of the little nutcase controller will make the little bastard go out of focus. and now the monkey are behaving like monkey and each of them is beating controlled by its own puny little fucking mind, yelling FREEDOM and each of them thinking that he/she is Spartacus, William Wallace or so on. and now the building is shaking ready to fall.

“I’m in the wrong prison cell and the wrong company…”

going through this shithole one may call life, one might not notice the world that is spinning around. you may get to that point in life where you get to be loved, the food may be enough, you have a coat on your back and a half-way permanent roof over your head and maybe a pair of decent boots on your feet to carry you around, and maybe, just maybe, an occasional pack of smokes and an occasional, well deserved, beer. and if you are there, you will have no reason to look around you. you are as close to happiness as you may ever get, and for some reason, you want nothing more. this is your own version of the “American Dream”, the “Balkan Dream”. and you go on like this for about four years, without wanting more, not even wondering if there is more. and after all of this, all crashes, all fails, all burns, all…i think you figured it out by yourself. uncertainty becomes something of the everyday life. and you look around yourself and wonder, lost in the crowd, what you’ve missed. and you see around yourself new stuff, via our “mother”, the one called The Desolate One, First of The Fallen, The Spoiler of Virgins, The Master of Abortion, the INTERNET…(uuuu…uuu). and you see stuff like “Biotech Company Sued for Accidentally Growing Extra Bones In People’s Bodies”, scientists fooling around and learning how to grow penises onto rabbits while saying that by doing that they learn how to grow organs, and so on, and so on… and you get to wonder “what happened to the party while i was out taking a piss?”

scared, you look away. you think that there is something wrong with you, that’s why you don’t get it. and you look at yourself. and so, you get to the point where you do not recognize yourself while saying your own name. you see that you have the same C14 print as your favorite can of beans. you see that you have no real home. you see that your boots are falling apart on your feet. you see that you don’t belong. you see that your psychiatrist gave you some meds that make you dizzy and nothing more. you see that you are all alone. an, finally, you see that it will only get harder.

and one question comes to mind: WHAT THE FUCK?