It's my birthday~!

And belly dancing makes me happy, so here is a very nice video. :)

Enjoy!

Moff and Flickerlee

This is so cute it should be illegal and so sad it should be posted with a warning. It made me cry. Or maybe I am too sentimental and fragile right now, I don't know.

Taken from here: http://stressedjenny.deviantart.com/gallery/41817441/Moff-and-Flickerlee

Twiddling my thumbs and shitting in my pants.

Down went the desktop due to the recent thunderstorms, effectively crippling me. Oh, I do have an ancient laptop with missing keys and a busted battery, and that's what I am using now. It's just that I want to do other, more urgent things instead of writing at my blog, and the data I need is in the desktop. I'll settle for what I can, I guess.

About an hour ago we had two earthquakes, one after the other. I decided that the best way to handle it was fill a bowl with Coco Pops and milk, place it on my altar to be consecrated and eat it. Actually the basic reason I placed it there was that there was no space anywhere else. My bed is full of cats and stuff. I shouldn't have eaten Coco Pops, because I had flossed and brushed my teeth before. But what the hell, we don't get earthquakes every day.

So what happened in my desktop-free days?

My mother is sick with a cold. I told her that if she gives it to me, I will kill her. It will probably be the first cold I am aware of that ended up in death. ;)

I finished two books, both very pleasant.

I visited a friend.

Watched three episodes of the new series Constantine and the movie Dracula Untold. The second one was very nice.

I buried two deep frozen cats and one kitten.

I disassembled and thoroughly cleaned my calligraphy pens. It involved lots of water and ink and my fingers turning black, brown and blue. But now my pens are working like a charm again. Yay.

I wonder what magic ability of the mind helps us struggle on when, for all we know, next week could bring about the earthquake that will bury us all under a ton of rubble.

I really need to get the desktop going and finish with my current work.

I also need to continue this in my diary, because the rest of my banter is not fit for public consumption. It involves deep thoughts and people in various stages of undress rubbing against quasi-naked people. Or aliens for what I know. I have some very intriguing alien species in my mind. And no, they don't have tentacles.

I am off. Before I go, just a note.

From time to time, light a candle for the lost ones you have.

It doesn't have to be in a church.

Believe me, it helps.

Not all who wander are lost

Today once more I missed two people who used to be my friends. I missed them because I remembered how funny they are. Whenever we discussed, they made me keel over with laughter. It's so rare to come across that and I miss it fiercely. But together with the jokes and wit came the rest of their personality, and I didn't get along with that bit. So our ways parted, they went one way and I went another, finita la musica, passata la fiesta. Do I miss them? Hell yes. Life is a very short affair and laughter one of the most important parts of it, at least for me. Will I try to contact them? No. It's pointless. I tried again and again. It didn't work. Do I wish there was another way? Like crazy. Does it change anything? Not really.

We spend our days chasing those made unavailable by choice and being chased by the ones we don't care about. It's funny if you think about it, but not the kind of funny that makes you laugh.

Well into the a.m.

 (The pictures have an educating purpose. Do not disregard them. It's Khan from Star Trek- Into Darkness  dressed as a French maid in the first, and about to have sex with someone in the second. Read the text below for more information. Source: http://kimeido.tumblr.com/post/91128959618 and http://kimeido.tumblr.com/post/99052818858 )

Naturally, the best time to visit my blog is well into the a.m., while my mother is asleep and the house is absolutely quiet. One of my cats is sleeping in a basket close to me, I have music on, and two candles are burning on an altar across me.

It's funny. I started spellweaving again after ten or more years. I have an altar again. I haven't had one since I came home from U.K., and now I have an altar in my room and I do spellwork, demanding nightly spellwork I never thought I'd have the patience or the guts to do again. Go figure.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures, thought there is nothing that resembles desperation in my current state of mind. Desperation isn’t only a bad advisor, but also not an inappropriate reason to do spellwork. You're most likely going to fuck up spectacularly. No, in my case, it is ‘lex talionis’, lawful retaliation. To put it simply, I am sick and tired of being every idiot’s asswipe for 36 years now. They want to screw me over using magick, fine, free will and all that. How about they get that ‘nice’ energy handed back to them on a silver platter, by a universal force/ porn star wearing a leather French maid costume and brandishing a huge erection? No? Why not? I mean, you had no qualms about sending this energy to me in the first place. It’s not like your conscience bothered you so much you couldn’t sleep at night. But if you don’t like the discovery that the one you have been throwing knives at can actually catch them in mid air, and oh shit, she’s throwing them right back at you, well tough shit, sweetcakes. Oh, it hurts? Oh, you didn’t expect it? Oh, it sucks having shit energy shoveled in your life? You poor, poor thing, maybe you should have thought twice before shoveling it in mine in the first place. Dang and fudge and ginger-pie, someone I loved had to die. 

Most of the time I am perfectly happy because I have cats, a steady supply of correspondence, a roof over my head, good music, good health, food to eat and people I call friends. I don’t go out of my way to hurt others, I steal no-one’s money or boyfriend, and I keep my mouth shut when I don’t know who I am dealing with. I treat so fucking lightly I doubt there is a single person who knows I who I am except for my circle of close friends, which is the staggering number of five people. And I treat lightly because I hate being disturbed. In the same manner, I don’t want to disturb.

You’ll be surprised to discover how many people see that not only as a weakness, but also as a reason to attack you. Why? Because you and they are so fundamentally different that a person with your mentality rubs them the wrong way. They see your lack of involvement and think you consider yourself too good to bother with them. They see you being humble, because you fucking know how easy it is to die and also because you take nothing for granted, and they perceive it as haughtiness and arrogance. They will project their sick inner landscape on you and then proceed to eliminate the threat by attacking you.

There are two ways to deal with these people. Disengage and go away, or kick the living daylights out of them. So far disengaging has not been working, so we’ll go for the killing them dead option. Not literally. Metaphorically. Let’s not forget that magick is the art of changing consciousness at will, so metaphor, symbolism and all that noisy and colourful lot are your tools and most trusted servants. Kind of the most evasive, obscure and drag-queen elements of human sciences being your homeboys. Great fun.

If you ask me, I’d choose the universal porn star with the leather French maid costume and the brandishing erection any time as my preferred pastime, but if needs must, they will eat my dust. 

:D XD :P

Turning point

When I had gone to bed at 03.00 am the heat was stifling. Then I woke up at four, because a window was banging from the air. I sat up, groggy and disoriented, and tried to understand where the sound was coming from. I deducted that it was from the rooftop and decided to get up and close it. I was in my knickers, and in spite of my sleepiness thought it would be a good idea to put on something, like a t-shirt. I doubted anyone would see this bare-breasted woman on top of a building at four in the morning, but you know what they say... Better safe than sorry. Barefoot and sleepy I went up the single flight of marble stairs that leads to the rooftop, opened the metallic door with the misspelled sticker advertisement and stepped out.

The cement under my bare heels was still pleasantly warm from the scorching heat of the day. The wind was blowing on my face, rather warm but very strong, and my hair was flying everywhere at once. I walked to the window of the elevator shaft and closed it, then looked around. It was late and except for the wind, everything was quiet. Almost all windows were dark. The cypress trees in the garden were bending with the currents of air, the branches of the large pine trees shaking and moving in disquiet. I looked at the distant stars, glittering their eternal, monotonous song, and felt utterly alone. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. It was like I was the only living soul on another world that night; maybe on the surface of the moon, or in an alien vista, on my own, scantily dressed, not a worry in the world. I was feeling alone, yes, but in a safe and exhilarating way. Those are the moments I am at perfect peace and I don't need someone to share them in order to validate them. My feet registered the uneven cement and the pieces of glass and small stones under them, the gale was ruffling my t-shirt and hair and caressing my entire body, and it felt like it carried something with it, like something had arrived together with the change in weather, riding the very currents of air that kissed me.

I stood there for a while, absorbing everything I could. My only regret was that my wings are not capable of carrying me into the night. Only in my fantasy and dreams. I would have given anything to be able to ride with the spirits that night, putting all thoughts of sleep and normality behind me. But I couldn't, and eventually I closed the door behind me and marched back into my room, where I landed in bed and slept again.

Maybe in my dreams I did ride with you.

Some nice videos...

Trying to be positive. So here are some nice videos. The first one reminds me that sometimes what people need is someone to believe in them.

And a follow up video to that:

Then there is this, all about age and appropriateness:

Old but still good:

Αhhhhh, let's try to be positive, shall we?

Stardust and immortality

There is so much you don’t understand even now.

There is nothing left of us. Nothing.

We’re stardust and we return to being stardust.

Do you want something left of you?

Teach other people what you know. It may be a simple trick to make better coffee. Or you may be able to teach them something more ambitious. Every single thing that enriches their life, every bit of knowledge you share, is your bet on immortality. It will be left behind when you’re gone.

Don’t judge. They’re doing the best they can. Make sure you do the same. It’s very tough.

Don’t compare. There isn’t another person like you, not one. Comparing is useless, it’s poison for the mind. Ask yourself what you want to do, make sure you do it for the right reasons, and try to make it happen. If it doesn’t work, try something else.

Don’t ask why. Understanding other people’s motivations or knowing why something is happening is like wanting to know why it is raining while you’re caught in the middle of a downpour. It is raining. Either open an umbrella, find cover, or start dancing and enjoying yourself. The reason it is raining won’t make your enjoyment bigger, or offer you cover. Sometimes things are that simple. Don’t waste your time speculating while you should be using it to see what you’re going to do about it.

Move on, be strong, and make sure you do something new every day. Try a new recipe. Pick up a bit of litter and throw it in the bin. Smile to that grumpy neighbor of yours. Plant a single seed in a bare patch of land and see what comes out of it. Open a dictionary and read what an elusive word means. Pet someone’s dog. Take a different route to your work. Put your cell phone aside while you drive or when you meet a friend. Don’t worry, they’ll find you. You cannot escape so easily. If only it was that easy. 

Make sure you are here before you go back to being stardust. Make sure you live.

I love you.

Exceptional

Combining talent, humor and sensational movement. Him being French is just an extra bonus for me, since I love the damn chauvinists. Anyone who doesn't like belly dancing, or deviations of the norm (like male belly dancers) can go watch something else.

Enjoy.

Jesus and the rest of them.

 (Shinya, drummer of Dir en grey, sweetness impersonate)

Today I saw two people I had not seen in a long time. One of them just got out of a stifling, dysfunctional marriage and looks better than ever. She lost weight and found herself.

The second is an old friend I had first met in UK when I was a university student. She has an almost two-year old daughter that truly is a bundle of joy. She runs around in the house and smiles. She loves hugs, asks for hugs and is such a trusting, easy going child.

I have no experience with children, but her attitude shows an unafraid, happy child. And she made me happy too. It made me happy to see what a child is like when they feel safe and loved. It also reminded me we need to have patience and kindness in our conduct with others and this actually is the most important part of our communication.

Here I will insert just a note for those people who, for some reason of their own, have a bone to pick with Jesus. It just seems utterly silly to me, for a variety of reasons. But let me begin by making some things clear.

One: I am not Christian. I grew up as Christian Orthodox, but right now I am happily irreligious. Not atheist, but irreligious, which means, I don't believe in any religion. My 'religion', if I can call it that way, is a mixture of elements, with plenty of my own unique flavour. I am perfectly and happily chaotic. I don't need ritual, but I may use ritual if I feel like it. I usually pray a lot to a multitude of entities from many different pantheons and religions. Praying often includes swearwords and threats. I like to light candles and incense because they help me concentrate and smell good, plus they cleanse the space. But I don't believe I need any kind of middle man, special place or formula to speak to the divine, like a church or an altar. If I need a church, I touch a tree. And if I need an altar, I use my heart.

Two, I don't believe in a Father, Son and Holy spirit. I believe in a Creator/ Creatrix that encompasses both male and female, to whom I refer as God/dess for more ease. I believe in the sanctity of all being, including the nasty bits. I believe in serendipity, synchronicity and providence. I also believe that we're our own worst nightmares and we can easily put demons out of business. And I don't believe that Christ was the son of God any more or less that I and all of you are.

Is it clear?

Can we proceed?

What is the matter with you people? What is your problem with Jesus?

I see those that say, "oh, the cursed Nazarene, teaching masochism and pain and being a victim as a way of existing."

Okay. Let's try to put things in some semblance of order.

You haven't got a clue what Jesus said. Why? Because you weren't there. That's why. The only way to know what someone has said was to be present when it was said, and even then, there is plenty of room for misunderstanding. Now, you want to take the words of the apostles literally, be my guest. Just keep in mind you are reading a second hand opinion that has passed through countless translations and changes to support and uphold a whole system, something very rotten called organised religion.

Jesus never wanted to begin a new religion. He spoke of love and forgiveness in an era of cruelty and turmoil. He spoke of kindness to strangers. He also attacked organised religion and its hypocrisy and the upholders of the system themselves, by words and actions. Or do you forget that because it does not add up to the profile of the masochist you have created? It was those words and actions plus the fact that he had gathered a huge following that finally got him killed. He was becoming dangerous. Potentially a new force. They did  not want that, so he was crucified. The rest is history.

I see the same people who curse the name of Jesus hug their pets, or have erotic relationships, companions, children. And I want to tell them: the love I see in your eyes, the kindness you show with your words and actions, is the very essence of Jesus energy.

And I see the same people who curse the name of Jesus scream against the rotten system of religion, the hypocrisy of priests and their fanatical followers, and I want to tell them: this, too, is Jesus energy, the very same energy you condemn. Love will not mingle with hypocrisy like water won't mingle with oil. Jesus never accepted hypocrisy. Every holy man and woman who ever walked this planet never embraced it. This is why most of them got murdered in a variety of ways, or exiled, and they never had a stitch of clothing extra than what they absolutely needed.

As for me, next time I trip and fall down like I usually do I would like someone with the essence of Jesus, Buddha or any of the great teachers in their being, to stop and help me up and ask me if I am OK. They do not have to be Christian or Buddhist; just understand in their heart that we are all connected to each other, and the next person that may trip and fall down may be themselves or someone they love. And they would like someone to stop and help them like they did it for me.

'Nuff said.

Hmmmmmm...

Because people will always mouth off stupidities and tell you what you can do... or cannot do, according to your gender.

Fuck me sideways Mr. Illan.

Human body

For me, there is nothing more beautiful than the human body and its movement.

I love to watch it. It's exhilarating. Male or female, it's the same to me. I see sheer beauty in its fluidity, in the lines, in the curves of the muscles, the ripples of movement under the skin of a dancer or an acrobat.

The moments those people fly in the air and mock gravity.

The moments those people mock death himself.

So many hours, days, months, years into perfecting your movement, into making your body the statement.

Into letting your body speak, sing and scream its defiance to any and all boundaries. 

So many refusals in order to make your body a living work of art. So much pain.

And although they know death waits for them at the end of the road like it waits for each of us, they choose the path of pain and perfection. Even though they know that their body will eventually fail them.

And yet, when those people fly in the air and forget to land on the ground,

when those people move their body in ways that remind to the rest of us too that

the impossible is nothing but a leap of faith and miracles demand only a lifetime of dedication.

I think the least we all owe them is those moments of stupefied wonder and gratitude for allowing us again a glimpse in paradise.

Here is an example:

We walk by faith and not by sight

And I walk with my eyes shut, feeling the way. I write and pray, pray and write. I have no idea what's getting out of me anymore. I just write. I try to capture in words the essence of feelings and faith. The food of gods. Feelings and faith.

I don't know where this is going. I am guided by my sense of touch. I let my mind struggle with the riddle of plot non-stop, asking questions, trying to piece together scenes, information, characters, reactions. My other part does nothing of the sort. It opens the trapdoor in the attic, extends its arm in the Collective, grabs and brings down material. It pulls down whatever it can get its fingers on. It downloads feelings, colours, fleeting images, landscapes, sounds, sensations. It's like watching a chimera giving birth. I have no idea what that writhing bundle of colours that I pulled out is. I gently but firmly push my fingers in the ripples of colour, amongst feathers, fur, scales, and I push and pull, smooth out and unfold. The process is like an origami for a dragon tamer or a mythology hero. I have no idea what I am doing anymore, I just work with my fingers involving my rational thinking as little as possible. The rational part comes in later on, when I need to give the text a more accessible form.

When God made us to their image, we were made capable of creation. Male and female is merely another stupid restriction of this plane. Nothing more or less.

Dominic

Your father never allowed you to learn the violin. "You will not," he had said, his voice dripping scorn, "learn to play that thing. My son will not play that which amuses drunkards and lowlifes in village fairs." And you had to obey, because when you didn't, he wasn't shy about making you hurt in dozens of places with his hands or his belt. So you, the marquis's son, never learned it. You never touched the instrument the relatives on your gypsy mother's side played with such skill that made it sound like a weeping human heart, or a banshee, or a storm over the distant mountains. You learned to play the piano instead. And you also learned to drive your father crazy, to laugh at his face, and weave magic with nothing but spit and a mumbled curse, while your father pored over heavy tomes written in obscure Latin and badly copied Greek.

And you grew up to become fearsome.

And you grew old, much older than any human possibly could, though your visage did not reveal it, and still you never learned to play the violin.

And one day she came into your life.

And for the first time in your very long years you found yourself yelling just like your father had. Setting rules that she broke with a laugh and ample defiance. Chasing her inside your mansion of a house swearing to God you'd strangle that brat even if it was the last thing you'd ever do. You found yourself angry again, your temper flaring. You remembered what it was like to drive someone crazy, but this time you were at the receiving end. You found yourself ambushed, surprised, made fun of.

I think this is when you actually understood and forgave your father.

And it must have been then that you realised for the first time that you never did learn the violin, not even when your father was gone. Because she had the guts to pose the question.

Will you learn it now? Or you think you're too old and tired for that, for learning to touch a new beloved when your fingers run the piano keys with such skill that make it sound like a weeping human heart, or a banshee, or a storm over the distant mountains?

I love you so much.

All those people that came to inhabit my head over the years and tell me their stories, or allowed me to see fragments.

I love you so much.

You are what will be left of me when my time comes.

“The blazing fire makes flames and brightness out of everything thrown into it.”
― Marcus Aurelius

Little things, beautiful things that make me go on

Like that video. That video is a good example of things that make me go on, because they are waiting for me to discover them. :-) And if I leave I'll never see, or taste, or hear them, and I'll be the one who's going to be poorer for that.

Watch the video. Don't be jealous of their bodies or movement. They weren't born with those muscles, they weren't born dancers. They were born just like you. What you see there is many thousands hours of dedication, practice, pain, frustration, and many many "no"s. Refusals to go out, to drink that extra beer, to spend that night partying. Dedication to any art is very much like monkhood. Nothing to be jealous of.

Look at them again.

Now, go out and make your dream come true.

Grumpy

[Art by tobiee.deviantart.com]

I am in a grumpy mood. It was not a good night. I spent two hours, from 04:00 am to 06:00 am tossing and turning on the sweat drenched sheets. Then another hour, from 06:00 to 07:00 staring at the ceiling. I finally fell asleep after 07:00 and woke up around 09:30 to 10:00. Unsurprisingly, I was in a bad mood although by now the particular routine is all too familiar to me. There are nights I cannot sleep until the sun has risen, and that's that. I miss my youth, when I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow... Haha.

I saw you in my sleep. You embraced me fondly as soon as you saw me and we chatted. It matters not. I don't care what happens in my dreams when my waking time is so different. It just adds to my bad mood when I finally wake up. I could have emailed you and told you about the other things I saw in the dream concerning you but what difference would it make? Would you listen? No, you'd probably freak out and run away even faster. Bah, I cannot be bothered anymore. I really can't. Run, knock your head on the usual walls you do, drink yourself stupid as you do anyway, take drugs, fuck around, try to escape your own self in every single kind of meaningless instant gratification you use. See what changes, what gives, what stays. And in the morning ask the stranger in the mirror what he wants from his life to receive the same shrug as a response. 

I should not be ironic, I know. I am not doing much better with my life; I would not know what meaning was even if it bit me in the arse one sunny morning. The only difference between you and I is that my body is still intact, because I respect it far too much to abuse it. Or because I am too much of a coward to dabble in the area of permanent alteration, save, of course, for my beloved tattoos. But meaning? Bah. Meaning is a lie. The only things keeping me here are untold stories and new songs I am waiting to discover and paintings to fall in love with. So decipher your life as best as you can and I'll struggle with mine. You might even be happier than I am; happiness, as I had written in my latest short story, is often found in the strangest places. So forgive me if I sounded like I was judging you. It's my disappointment speaking. I could and should do better than this.

A dear friend of mine is back from the "dead". I thought I had lost him for good but no, he's made a comeback I never expected. I am still too shocked for words, but happy. Life gives you lemons in abundance but from time to time also treats you to a big chocolate cake. I hope he stays. I have known him for so long and our qualities are so similar that he's a landmark in my existence.

I miss my heroes. I miss their qualities in my daily interactions with humans.

Next time I see Dorian I'll ask him to kill someone for me and I'll watch.

But Dorian is not part of this reality.

I am no part of this reality either.

So we're even.

I need to have more tattoos. This will solve pretty much everything. I am certain it will.

Beyond comprehension

It's so hard to explain.

It's so hard to live this life sometimes, when one has to do on a daily basis so many things that do not matter and so few of the things that really matter.

I am happy when I'm somehow involved with art. Creating it, or experiencing it on any level.

I am also happy when I touch animals or plants and have little chats with them. My energy levels have increased and the latest "trick" I do with plants is extend my energy to touch them all like invisible fingers, and caress them. I talk to them and thank them for doing what they can to the best of their abilities. Growing as much as they can, completing their cycle. How many humans can claim the same?

I love being alone. I wish I could spend the rest of my time alone and not miss human contact. But sooner or later I seek out company. Mind you, I have some good company. I have people who truly care about me. But still I wish I could somehow not need anyone on any level. The keyword is "need". I wish I could be self-sufficient to the point of seeking out company only when I want to. Working towards that. It's a very difficult and demanding path, loving yourself enough to be content in your own company. If I manage to move, the next months will be a step to that direction. Same goes with a possible companion. I will not get in another relationship unless I know what I am doing. And this takes time, effort and a clear mind. Things not available when attraction is involved. Well, it's up to me and no-one else, isn't it?

I want to become better. It's the hardest thing ever. Sometimes, I am certain it is killing me. But it's only killing those parts I don't need, so I guess that's okay. Even if it hurts like a bitch most of the time.

Not a circle but a spiral...

Is the circle I am about to re-open appropriate?

Is this circle right?

It appears so.

November 2003 to November 2005. Two full years, eleven notebooks. An entire book. Still in my hands and I am incapable of using it due to copyright matters. Should I revisit that story/time? Would that be wise?

There is never any way of knowing, any guarantee that our actions are correct. What I do know is that I love those characters more than I love my breath, more than I love my blood. They are my breath and blood. I have kept them in my heart all these years the same way I have kept a dead pet and cried over it. Time heals, and yet their absence still hurts me like it was yesterday I lost them. I need to go back. I need to reclaim that world, to revisit and reshape it according to my desires. It will be mine now, fully mine, and no-one will be able to stop me.

I owe that much to them. That I can tell.

I owe that much to me.

[Insert random sounds of distress here]

Some people have a gift they should be shot for. Or deified. And yet they're humble...

I just finished watching the Mist, based on a novel by Stephen King.

The part that really spoke to my heart was an old "friend" of mine.

Let me introduce you...

Her voice resembles a raging hurricane, the Ocean before Time giving birth to existence. The end of the world and the beginning of Worlds.

Enjoy (?)

The one who put "ass" in "Christmas".

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 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. *facepalm*)

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?

PS:

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.)