Thanks

The gray people embracing apathy,
The office clones,
The self-indulgent bastards,
Bitches, Whores, Fuckers,
I am thanking you for making exile as alluring as it seems.

Sleeping Betty

deceiving

If you want to save a princess you better make sure beforehand, that it is a princess, and not a dragon.
yep

Mad

How do you know if you are mad?
You don't.
Why in the world do doctors bother asking if someone is suicidal. It's a double negative trick. If person REALLY is suicidal s/he would already be dead, or would not EVER admit it. Because suicidal means that you want to die. And if you DO actually want to die, you are not going to tell anyone, because then - there is a slight chance that you would not follow through.
God, everyone is so fucking stupid. but me. =]
of course.

Beatles For Impared

CODEy Shwartzenegger

I will always
mean what
i
say.
so just
Take this
obvious statement as my
best communication effort.
yours, j

Episode

80smthng hrs no sleep. More to continu....

e e eeeee ee e e e

HB

I <3 Remi, you will 2

&

That's why they are so damn expensive

Sweeet

Enjoy the silence

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Cant you understand
Oh my little girl

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm

Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And forgettable

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm

Enjoy the silence

Poster Redux

Answer

I finally get it!

A circus. The host comes out and calls the next performance:
-Ladies and Gentelmen, and now... long waited for... Talking Horse!
Drums. The ray of light on the ceiling. The horse is lifted high above, to the very top. The drums stop, and the drapes rip open.
The horse hits the floor with all its weight.
Silence.
In a minute it starts to move, trying to get up and says: "When am I fucking gonna die..."



That's it.
That's me bloggin.

Song2

If you stay real close, and listen to my chest,
You will hear hollow sounds - that is madness in my skull, playing Ping Pong.

Awakening

Try to wake up!

You will hit despair.
You will see misery, ride madness.
You will be hiding in the darkest corners of depression.
-
All that, for a spoonful of bullshit, called truth – that you can't even swallow.

Ah!

And just so you know

JuliaTheTerminatorGreatReturn (take15)

Poetry

I have discovered poe Poetry
And now that I discovered thee
My life is now to it devoted
completely. Because Poetry completes me.
I know it deeply in my heart
Nothing will keep us apart.
Poetry is my oasis among a thousand islands of phistashio trees, that are so beautiful when in full bloom, in spring time.


And roses are red, and violets are blue.


And friendship is my salvation
because together we stand,
and alone we do not - we fall.
Alone we fall into the darknes...............
Death!

-jl

Where Are The Poets?!

A digital painting by Tiago Hoisel:

A portrait of America, I assume....

A scene from the MOSCOW ON THE HUDSON:
The Russian and the Cuban are passing by a night club with a bunch of punks on the background:

"R:This is a goddamn insane country.
They were so young, and their eyes were cold like animals.
In Russia, I knew who the enemy was.
Here, it's too confusing.

C:You're overreacting. I always heard
that Russians overdid things.

R:Is this liberty? If it is, it's false liberty.
Where are the poets?

C:What do you want, a perfect place to live?
There's no such thing.

R:Police said, even if they catch them,
they go free.

C:They're juveniles.
They get away with a lot of crap."

Mr. Hoisel is definetly very talented to paint a portrait of a whole country like that. And just in case this introspective work is not very convincing, I would like to attach another one of his work.

I believe that he should definetly take a different look on both of these works.

Yarr!


PS: I would, however, like to ask him exacetly what the fuck does he knows about this country. And thank him for sharing his talent, of course.

:)

Epilogue

We all are going to die.
Sooner or later.
Yes, and you too. You too, are going to die.
And, in fact, as you are reading this right now your time is ticking...

tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc!



PS:
HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!

Nasty Brat

I'm just too far gone to find the littlest hope inside to keep going.
Or even to pretend to keep going just for the sake of people, who show in the most gentle way, that they care.
I am sorry.

I can't even pretend for my mother who has been talking to a corpse of her daughter once a month or so... We would hang on the phone. She - in one part of the world. And me - in the other. I can only imagine how it would feel to see a part of you, your kid slowly fade away. And she would try to find the best words, the most amazing stories, she would put on oscar-worthy masks, tricks of all sorts to call off her child, who is slowly dying inside.
And both of us are HELPLESS.
And I am trully sorry.

Synechdoche, NY

"Everything is more complicated than you think.
You only see the 10th of what is true
And there are a million of little strings attached
to Every.Choice.You.Make.
You can DESTROY your life EVERY time you choose

But, maybe, you would not know it for many, many years
And you may never trace it to it's source
You only get one chance to play it out
Just try and figure out your own divorce

And they say there is no fate!
But there is!
It's what you create...
And even though the world goes on for ..ions and ..ions
But you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second,
Most of your time you spend being dead of not yet born
But while alive, we wait in vain
Waisting years for a phone call, or a letter, or a look
From something or someone to come along
AND IT NEVER COMES
or it seems to but it doesn't really.

And so you spend your time in vague regret
or vaguer hope that something good will come along.
Something to make you feel connected,
something to make you feel whole,
something to make you feel loved.

And the truth is I feel so angry,
and the truth is I feel so fucking sad,
and the truth is I've felt SO FUCK_ING HURT, for so fucking long!

and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for.... I don't know why....... maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own.

Well, fuck everybody.

Amen."
-Charlie Kaufman

On The Day When Godot Never Comes

Chances are that you are more likely to spot me in a subway catching rats for lunch, before you are going to hear me ask for food.
I DON'T ASK FOR HELP.

Right. I don't ask for help. I beg for it.

A month before moving to NY...
I drive myself to the ER. Self-diagnosis: something is wrong with me.
I mellow out in the patient's waiting room. The noise of a TV on the background, people burried into themselves. I'm waiting to be taken care of. Soon or not, but definatly certain. I disappear in a bliss.
-Lachimova!
-Yep, I'm here.
I'm smiling at the dawn of dead, lips squized. I follow the nurse with a walk of a saint. Silently, I sit down and gently place my head on my chest.

A brief conversation with a doctor. Half awake I explain that SOMETHING is seriously wrong with me. A couple hours later with all the tests possible she sees me again and declairs: You are perfectly healthy.
I cry. I nearly roll myself on the floor.
-But, but, something IS wrong with me!!! Please, you have to HELP ME! Help me! Hey you are the doctor! I try to remember the Hippocratic Oath. I cry.
- ARE you a doctor?! I convulsevly search for identification signs on her white robe.
- How long were you a doctor?!
She patinetly looks at me. Not arguing and explains that in the ER there are a lot of patients who need URGENT care.
And as she leaves the room, I throw the last bait: But what should I do?!
She turns around ans sais:
-There is nothing wrong with you. You are physically healthy. I recommend you talk to somebody. Call you doctor.
...smart woman.

(somehow, I never read into "You are physically healthy. Call your doctor." Neither anybody else would dare to point it out to me.)

I return to my car. Lay my driver seat back. And watch the rain hit the windshield.
Case closed.

There will be another attempt that would consist of three sessions 45 minutes long, spent with a fierce attempt to humiliate my shrink.


Can one help herself?

Can someone help?

How do I convince myself that life is worth of getting out bed?


A book on shelf that I have not touched, but, it jumps at me every time I pass by: "I can't go on, I will go on." Samuel Beckett
I don't want to read it. What if I find something that would make things clear to me? What do I do then?!

my self-evaluations.

There are moments - like right now, when I understand myself and feel that I can be honest.
And I just want to track my thoughts. Commit to them.
And maybe figure out my bad patterns, somehow.

I forgot when was the last time I went to sleep.
I don't fall asleep. I pass out.
I either drink myself to sleep, watch movies, read, think or exhoust myself in some other way.

I remember the times when I enjoyed it. To be able to lay down and appreciate it.

I remember the first time I felt numb. The first time I was FINE. I picture myself standing on the kitchen popping something into my mouth casually, telling my mom and my relatives how my father nearly choked me, while drinking himself mad. I went there to pick up the books and he felt betrayed that I wouldn't stay with him.
A conflict? Sure. I felt bad that betrayed him. And I hated him. I didn't know how to deal with the situation. What is the right thing to feel. So might just avoid it all together. And so I was, showing the blue marks on my neck to my relatives, while those nearly fall of the chairs. Oh, no - I'm fine don't worry. I understand everything, auntie! And btw, this lipstick looks great on you. Yep - gotta go study, two days before the finals.

There are a lot of fucked up things that happen to us. But it's not that that screws us over - it's how we deal with it.
Sure I could have blamed my problems and cling onto the things that happened to me. But I want to change. I don't want to live unhappy.

There are slight attempts of me trying to be a normal person. Like, again, going to bed. I'd make a bed, eat a fat-free yogurt before bed, take a bath before, make it smell nice. Lay down. ......... Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. I tell myself. Then realize that I am concentrating so hard that my face looks like that of some guy from china-town trying to perform seppuku with a chop-stick. Oh no, I think. I'll have wrinkles! NEED TO RELAX. Relax. Relax. Relax. ...... This will be happening for a while, until I say fuck it all - wrinkles, health, samurais, sleep. And I open my lap-top and get to my movies.

Sometimes I forget how to breathe. Literally. Suddenly, I would be thinking about something, while cooking and would feel the need to sit down, or feeling the kitchen starting to spin. And realize that I wasn't breathing. There are times when I was with my ex, we'd be laying. I'd be pretending to be falling asleep, going deep into my thoughts, as he would say: Julia, why did you stop breathing? Ah?! What?! You are awake?! - I'll say. Did you have a bad dream?! Oh. You didn't sleep yet.. I see.. I must have dozed off... While being proud that I didn't spill out of my mouth: AH?! WHAT?! WHO IS HERE?!

alright, I bored now. So off to my movies... which I am yet to talk about soon...

Hypocrisy?

Hypocrisy is the act of pretending to have beliefs, opinions, qualities that one does not actually have.

Hypocrisy is thus a kind of lie. Hypocrisy may come from a desire to hide from others actual motives or feelings.

Nothing is more unjust, however common, than to charge with hypocrisy him that expresses zeal for those virtues which he neglects to practice; since he may be sincerely convinced of the advantages of conquering his passions, without having yet obtained the victory, as a man may be confident of the advantages of a voyage, or a journey, without having courage or industry to undertake it, and may honestly recommend to others, those attempts which he neglects himself.

-from wiki

an endless mystery of why people do what they do

or don't - what they should...

Harmless

Woe to those who commit suicide...
to those who destroy themselves!

No one is more miserable.

By damning God and life,
they damn themselves.

Timeless their consuming hunger,
their rejection of forgiveness.


They curse the God
who beckons them.


They wish annihilation on Him

and on all His creation.

They thirst after death

and the void.

-from Jesus of Montreal

I have pushed away even the furthest people in my life.

set the most clever traps for myself.
Sometimes I feel this pain that I can't really identify. And all i know is that it hurts like a motherfucker.

There are two emotions in my vocabulary:
I'm fine.
I'm mad.
Something wrong with the picture?

When somebody is reaching out to me it hurts. Seeing people being nice to me makes me cry. Secretly of course. Because I'M FINE!

I have to work through some major issues. I want to be with people who have not given up on me (which is going to be my psycho-analytical project after I am done with myself, since there IS something wrong with them if they haven't yet).

so off I am to start working through my shit.

Bukowski

As much as I nod to this poem,
some self-preservation instinct tells me that there is nothing noble about pain.

'bama

The Flame of Olympic Torch

I watch. I observe. I ache.
I grow.
I grow up.
I grow old.
I watch. I observe. I ache.

Life repeats itself for centuries.

And as the new generation is trying to catch a mad genius desease, desparate, manic, mad, angry - the old generation is too desparate not to loose that desease, also manic, mad, angry.

Painful experience of being alive, craving religion, art - the proof of life.

Something's wrong here. A link is missing. A logical connection between generations.

And from a distance they watch the youngesters in agony, catching themselves on fire. They wont come close because this new younger faces are too loud, too mouthy, too angry, too happy then they remember themselves back then.

The youth is drowning, incapable to capture their own existance.

The elders become so tragically mellodramatic that Greek Gods themselves could have borrowed ideas to write their myths and pass them on for centures to come.

Confused, I scratch my head tuning into the lyrics trying to capture the message from Gods of Rock-n-Roll. Devoted, I listen to Kurt Cobain refusing to believe that he wrote those songs while being high on drugs.

I'm writing, wondering if Rock was a result of epiphany or extasy.