Christmas makes me depressed. Me, and half of the world's population, I think.
Today I was going through some old stationery that I have. Korean stationery, in manga style. An old pen-pal had sent it to me back in 1997. The beauty of those pieces of paper is unbelievable. The colours, the compositions, the way both sexes are depicted. That's why I have kept them for so long while I have given away so many others. I have even lost contact with the girl who sent them. It once more made realise what I am looking for when buying Asian comics and art as well as music by Asian bands. The illusion of perfection. Pretty men dressed in loose lovely clothes together with beautiful women, enjoying the sunset or spending time relaxing. But this perfection I am looking for doesn't exist. People are more stressed than ever, they don't look like this and usually run from one job to the other while their parents babysit the kids. They also smell bad, fart, get sick with diarrhea, have wrinkles, terrible taste in clothes and girlfriends/ boyfriends, extra kilos, lisps, are cross-eyed, moronic, boring, stubborn and as for the idyllic places the stationery depicts, the entire earth is polluted beyond measure.
I am getting sick of the way the human mind works. Always wanting more, more, more. Never being happy with what we have. I suppose I can understand why we're made this way; we're supposed to be continually looking for ways to improve our situation, learn more things, apply the knowledge to gain even more experience.
Yeeeeeah, RIGHT. All I see is people who refuse to grasp the basics. And though they struggle with the basics their entire lives, they whine "more, more, more" like hysterical, spoiled children. Until the day they are dying, and they are dying complaining they did not get to live. As if someone else made all the decisions for them and they weren't there when their life was happening. And I want to smack their stupid heads and bruise them "more, more, more". Hmph. My usual misanthropic mood; pay me no heed.
If I ever manage to go to Japan I'll make sure I turn my back into a fucking tapestry of tattoos. Oh, and here's the conversation I had with my mother on the matter of tattoos:
My mother: "Your tattoos are all... black."
Me: "Yeah, I know. The next ones will have more colour."
My mother on the verge of a breakdown: "What?! You are going to have MORE???"
Me: "Yeah, quite a few."
My mother: "Wait till you get married and then you have some more." (She is obviously afraid no man will marry me because I have tattoos. And unless I get married, I am not a 'proper' Greek woman. *face palm*)
Me: "You are turning into such an idiotic example of a prim and proper moron of the middle class. Who gave you any kind of guarantee that my future husband will have no tattoos?"
My mother spends a few moments considering this devastating possibility. Finally, when she manages to speak again, she tells me:
"But I don't like men with tattoos."
Me: "Well then, if he proposes you, turn him down."
ARGH! Remind me again what we need parents for?
Actual order of things happening now:
Eating pralines, writing on my blog, and sharing my bed with my two cats while listening to Dir en Grey.
Preferred order of things:
Eating pralines, writing on my blog about my two cats while sharing my bed with Dir en Grey.
Very wrong order of things:
Eating Dir en Grey, writing to my pralines about my two cats, while sharing my bed with my blog.
Surreal order of things:
My pralines eating Dir en Grey on my bed while my blog writes to my cats recipes on how to cook Japanese rock stars. (Eat the motherfuckers raw, they taste better.)