"To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of Death what Dreams may come"

(Copyrights belongs to me)

If you, my dear reader, have never read any of the William Shakespeare's work, I recommend that you do. I'm currently - at least one quarter of my time - completing a course of "English" literature. Few books I need to read and I chose books I've already read at least once before. I'm trying to save up time as much as possible.

And Shakespeare's "Hamlet" is one of those books. It's a short, tragic story about a man, who has a short and tragic life. He's obsessed and haunted by the dark truth around him and in the end his path for vengeance becomes with a high cost not only for him, but for his loved ones around him. I'm sure someone with more talent for words could paint you a very attractive picture of the story, but I can still recommend the book for anyone curious enough. I can say this for sure, it's a book worth reading.

“To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.--Soft you now! 

― William Shakespeare, Hamlet

"Envious are all the people, Witches watch at every gate"

 

(Copyrights belong to yours truly)

And again I am exhausted. Work keeps piling up. I try to do many things at once now that I feel slight panic. And my head keeps worrying about future-things no matter how much I try to convince myself, that it is absolutely useless to even worry about things that haven't even happened yet. I should concentrate on this moment right here.

And this moment right here includes entrance exams for university - a local one. I don't want to move anymore, I'm sick and tired of moving and I feel like this place is my home. 
So I tried to apply to several different places although my main interest is still studying to become a teacher. And now, this year, there's no heartaches or ex's that draw my concentration. I even assigned myself into this preparation-course, that's really expensive, so that I could improve my chances into getting to the university I want. I do not have the advantages that several graduated high school-students have; they have the patience and concentration to read a lot of information, they recognize the important things in the texts that should be learned for the entrance-exams. Though I find myself acknowledging the entrance-exam reading material as very familiar, that I know those things from personal experiences, like the last years articles about bullying in schools and the income-differences affecting the students and how they learn and pretty much many of the things there are very understandable information that many probably can relate to. That's why I felt so ashamed of not passing the first test, since all the things in the reading-material was so familiar, so fascinating. I know this is what I want to do. But I also worry if I can get there. Sometimes it is tough not being academically smart. I can't seem to remember what I read. And that's why I find it ironical, that this years reading-material consists a section about work-memory; the part of people's memory that they use to learning things and how early childhood studying develops that memory. 
I guess it is too late for me to develop it further. My memory is horrifyingly short-termed. If my visual-memory wasn't as good as it is, I wouldn't know how I can even survive through life.


I buried the dream of becoming a teacher when I couldn't finish "high school" or whatever the equivalent is, since high school in other countries differs from one another. Anyway, I tried pursuing art, yet I knew I should figure out a way to do it and get money for living. I though having some insignificant education besides that would be the answer, but it only led me into a low-income-trap. Also into the point where my psyche keeps trying to prove for the rest of the world that I am not a loser or an idiot, and I have dreams and goals. Yet I keep feeling like I'm not convincing anyone of that. It feels like people only see me as a low-worker without intelligence nor talent for anything else while everyone else is studying to become something really impressive or they already have started their impressive careers. So finishing up high school would be a huge middle-finger at anyone who has thought that I'm no-good. Also getting into the university would be the same kind of middle-finger. We all have our different unique talents. And we have our weaknesses but if we would want to be great with everything; art, sports, science and so on, we would only achieve average skills with everything. When we focus on one or few talents, we can achieve greatness. So I am not ashamed for not being able to do everything. I only want to do one thing, and teaching would allow me to do it without living in the streets eating food from garbage-cans, and that is art. In some form or another that is the only thing I'm interested doing. Even though I'm still not a very good artist I have the love for it, and that is enough. That brings me happiness.

My old school-teachers and substitute-teachers are partly responsible for my desire to become a teacher. It is funny now to share those not-so-funny memories from those times you were a kid, and didn't know any better.

There were some old-generation teachers there, who weren't really violently aggressive, but they had obsessive fixations to some things, like music and math. They seemed to think that music was the most sacred thing in the world, and if you didn't sing - or sing right, you would get yelled at.
And there was also unqualified teachers, but to pick one specific thing out would be the art-teachers - who also taught P.E and all kinds of other subjects, yet they were hopeless in art. All we had was some old watercolours, A4-copypapers, pens and wax-chalk. And I remember that couple of times there was even clay to mold. But most of the time all we had was wax-chalk. So when I started studying art in vocational school, I had no knowledge about anything when my - then younger - classmates knew a whole bunch of things. They were educated in their own schools a lot better and some had taken some art-classes. So I started with nothing. My current knowledge and know-how isn't all that better even now since even in vocational school I didn't get to try out everything. But enough about complaining about that! All those things affected my desire to teach kids about art. Not to let some artistically uneducated math-teachers to make kids draw wax-chalk pictures day in and day out. No wonder the state of our countries appreciation to culture is dying. The roots of culture lies in the new generations. If you kill their curiosity, you are part of the eradication of our culture. 

One fun fact was that at least when I was a kid, the schools would hire ANYONE to be a substitute teacher or special education teacher. So that meant that couple of alcoholics from the neighborhood would teach math. It wasn't about them not knowing simple math-problems, it was the fact that they had no education or knowledge how to teach not to mention how to teach children. Back then I was scared of the "special education teachers" that smelt like tobacco and alcohol and today I just laugh at the memories. How badly can things go wrong, when our education-system allowed such things happen. Me and my siblings talked about that some time ago, and they believed the local employment agency had just picked any unemployed to work for schools. I have no facts no proof, for I was just a kid back then, but I'm just thankful that at least no matter how bad the budget-cuts are, at least the children today have better teachers.

My generation barely avoided one specific old-school teacher whose name caused terror, wet pants and uncontrollable crying. He was kind of a legend - straight out from a horror-tale. He made many of the children cry. He was strict, tough and I guess his teaching-methods were forcing, scaring and pretty much all kinds of psychical abuse. And that wasn't even that long time ago. I'm sure there are still some teachers who like to use the old ways of teaching.

(Copyrights belong to yours truly)

Never never never land

Orgasmic song.

"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send Your child unto Me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in Blood and Fear"

(Copyrights belong to yours truly)

Short ramble: I hate dreams. The times I wake up and remember the dream I had, I feel intensely distressed. I don't consider my dreams to be nightmares, but also with that logic, I wouldn't have nightmares. I just think, that nightmares should be really obvious. They should contain clear personal horrors. My dreams are just a whirlwind of all kinds of images that I usually forget when I wake up - usually because I want to forget. All I know is that my dreams make me feel ill.

And today I started feeling physically ill since I might have forgotten to take my medication yesterday. So part of this weekend has gone by unproductively.

*

I wanted to write about asexuality again. I'm not the best expert to write about it, but I like to analyze things.

Especially at this time of the year, when people are peeling out of thick winter-clothes, you can see a lot of couples all over the town. That makes me wonder about sexuality since I can only assume that most of the couples have active sexual-life, and it is a big part of their relationship. At least all these observations I've done are based on simple visual observation and also hear-say. I have no idea what the truth is and how the reality works. Thinking about that, and trying to imagine what it is like to have sex as one of the things that loving couple does. Of course sex doesn't play quite as big of a role in all relationships, but in some of them it seems to be like that. At least intercourse is as natural as hugging, even if it wouldn't hold a lot of significance.

Although asexuality can be a phase, like for people who for some personal reasons do not want to have sex for some unknown period of time, it also can be part of who you are or more clearly; how your brain functions. I feel that my brain lacks completely the property to become aroused by anyone. Like my body works just like it's supposed to, but my brains circuits that allow arousal and desire for carnal pleasures doesn't exit. There's just blankness.

I can't want for something I have never had, but I feel like I understand human nature even less being like I am. The whole human-race evolves around sexuality, and if my sexuality is nonexistent I can't ever understand some of the things about relationships. I guess it is a good thing that scene doesn't belong to my life. For me it was a drag. I was capable of love, but physical activity was forced and unpleasant. And for those reasons I cannot even understand sexual people, who are in a sexless relationship and hateful and bitter because of that. It is like they are trying to become the victims in the relationship. If they cannot have sex, or the kind of sex they want, they will act upon it with all ways imaginable. Blame, hate, bitterness and the cherry on the top; cheating. As if the unwilling party was to blame for unfaithfulness.
But that kind of problems do not involve me no more. I only wonder the odd dilemma's. As if people are forced to be together. Or forced to be in a monogamy. People are surprisingly aggressively against polyamory-relationships, although that seems to be the answer to many problems.

Odyssey

(An old blurry picture by yours truly)

Life is a journey, not a destination. Old saying, yet always as precise.

I am very happy, that my younger - and elder - siblings have found love. For the first time in our adult-lives in our mutual gatherings involve the life-companions also. At first I dreaded it, since it's been the four of us for so long, but it also warms my heart, that they have found love, and I feel that they are safer now. Like I don't have to worry about them as much. I do not know if that makes any sense, but I am glad that they are happy - it makes me happy as well.
And truly, my hand on my heart, I can admit, that I am content by being by myself. I am as content as a sleeping cat. I could not desire for anything else. I eat, I sleep and my life goes on in its own pace day after day. The significant changes are subtle, slowly forming into a larger pictures. I can't see what kind of pictures I am forming, but I have an image in my mind, what I would like to make. I can only keep hoping to achieve that image, and just concentrate on shaping my future as well as I possibly can.

Either way, I feel content right at this moment. And relieved. It's a relief to see happy, smiling siblings. I do worry about them. As if their happiness in their own lives would define in a larger manner my own happiness. Some psychologists might have some interpretations about all that, but I keep hoping for my siblings happiness to continue as long as possible. They are all I have.

The subject of journey came to mind from all this. And so I immediately thought about the story by an ancient Greek Homeros; "Odyssey". That story became known to me when I was maybe a ten years old. I saw some movie about Odysseus, and I was at the same time terrified by the monsters and also fascinated by the story and all the gods and mythological beings. It was a window to a world more wondrous than the image of wooden cross and forced graces.

Years went by, but I never forgot that film or most of all; the impression it made. Few years back I happened to bump into the book in the local used-book bookstore. The book was cheap so happily I purchased it. After I started to read it, I sadly noticed, that to understand its contents I would have to get an old-Finnish dictionary. It contained so many words that we don't use anymore. It was fascinating in a sense, but also I couldn't read it no further. So reading Homeros's "Odyssey" has to wait.

That notion about "forced graces" reminded me, that I must share with you some of the tales of my school-life, since today I got to reminisce those years and those horrifying teachers with my younger siblings. I am sure everyone has their own tales, but I cannot believe how bad errors of judgement have been made, and no one even knows about those things except all the students who have grown into adults now. I didn't even get to see some of the old "legends" that would at those times really sink terror into my mind. Today, of course, we simply laugh at the memories, but since I am interested in studying to become a teacher, I also find these experiences very enlightening.

In Praise Of Bacchus

By Type O Negative. Still a powerful song. The first song I heard and fell in love with it. Unfortunately I cannot share the song, but I'm sure that if there's even a one person who hasn't heard the song yet, they will find it.

"The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance"

(Copyrights belong to me)

I've been tired, lazy and spending a bit too much money on stuff for my apartment. Yet I found really fairly priced fake-skulls from Ebay, that I had to buy them. 
Skulls are one of the things I simply find beautiful; the shapes, the colours are just amazing. Truly one of those things that are naturally beautiful. I could admire them all day long.
If you, my reader, are interested in buying skulls (and if roaming in the forests looking for them doesn't "pay off"), just go to Ebay or Etsy. I usually prefer Ebay for the price. 
If I found reasonable priced skulls, so will you.

I have also been doing research on steampunk-computers, so I could pimp my desk computer into one. If or when succeeded I will post a photo. But I suspect that this will be a long project.

One project I manage to finish was transforming one wall into a dark green one. Not as dark as I wanted, but since I couldn't paint the wall nor put tapestry on it - for I live in a rented apartment - I did what I always do; bought a long fabric and attached it onto the wall. I dare say it's a good - and fast - option when you can't do anything permanent on your asylum-white-walls. The result isn't smooth, of course, and usually it looks really good without being smooth.

And talking about painting; since I feel like doing all kinds of projects, I also am slowly finishing up some of my unfinished paintings. I am excited about one particular work.

Perhaps these are the kind of projects that have taken my interest over studying. Although I admit, I feel that the studying should take higher priority, but what can I say. Everyone needs to take a little time off every now and then.

*

I won't talk about the studying, since I feel a bit down by the lack of it. But like I said; I have been tired and lazy. Do not know which exactly but all I know is that I can't force myself to do anything. Have tried it - never succeeded.

Since I do not have much to write about, as I seem to have been feeling well enough not to write my usual rantings, I'll keep this post short.

(Copyrights belong to me)

For friends of humour, especially dark, twisted and hilarious humour; check out the animation-series Robot Chicken. That pretty much sums up my whole week.

Bacchanalia, The Feast of my Patron

(Copyrights belongs to me)

I have been feeling real lazy and/or tired lately. Yet again. Although I don't feel depressed, still more neutral than anything, I'm trying to figure out why I'm so tired if it is not depression acting up. Could it be, that I'm just normally tired for doing physical labor 35,1 hours per week? And spending my evenings more or less actively studying? I like to think so. And I also like to think, that it's ok to rest once in a while. That I deserve this and if I feel tired, it must be my body and psyche saying; take it easy. Whatever the truth is, I'm now going with that. I get tired just by thinking about the lack of time. I should just take it easy. Dealing with things when I come to that point. Living day by day.

So now I'm about to relax.

I wanted to write something about my obsession with my home; why I'm picky about people coming here, who can and who can't come, why it's important that my home pleases me and my needs from reading to hanging up my own paintings and what not.

For some people home is just a place to relax, sleep and socialize. For me, my home is a safe-place - a haven. I spend most of my time here, inside these walls, and I feel like it's my cocoon. No evil, no horrors of reality can penetrate these walls. Even when I'm or I was feeling depressed I felt more calm and content by being at my home. Being inside here doesn't feel like I'm locked in. I just wonder how many feel this way too. At least I can figure that out when I see different homes. I know who actually spend a lot of time there, how much their interior tells about them and what they appreciate.

I've started some unfinished projects at my home. Like re-painting my kitchen table to a more natural-wood colour, and I've even planned if I could shape the legs into lion-pawns, or maybe sculpting some of the wooden parts into dragon-heads.

Another project has been to figure out some way to turn one wall into another color without painting or putting a tapestry on it, since I live in a rented apartment. My landlord is cool, but I don't think he would approve my taste, so I probably need to do what I always do, when I want a different colour wall; I buy fabric/curtains, and hang them on the wall, so they cover it up. Not the most cheapest solution, but if you want some colours, you would have to paint over with white or other more approved color. Especially black is forbidden colour. I do not know why. Black is the colour of mid-winter sky at a moonless night. It's the colour of human-pupils, and as we know the saying "you can see the soul from eyes".

*

On the top of this post is an etching-work I did few years back. Not really my kind of work that etching, although it's an experience, and all artists should at least try it.

But the thing I was portraying is Bacchus, Dionysos, who is one of my favourite gods of all of the old and new gods. Although he's an ancient Greek and Roman god, I always have had this special interest in those gods of those ancient times.

(A horrible water-colour "plan" of some painting I never got to do; 13x25cm)

The exact nature of the god changes a bit from where you read about him, but the main thing is that he's a god of wine, celebration, fertility, theater and you could say "arts". Some details differ.

I also find it fascinating, that some have compared him to the Christian Jesus Christ. That's because both are "gods" of reincarnation, both have died and reborn. Bacchus was eaten alive as a child by some monsters, perhaps gorgons, I can't remember the exact details. Only his heart was spared, and Zeus took it and recreated his son in his thigh. And also it is said that the child-Bacchus was ripped apart by Titans with the same ending. Other story says that the mortal mother of Bacchus was burned alive when seeing the real god-form of Zeus, and so Zeus took his unborn son and put him into his thigh. When Bacchus was born (again), he was at least by one story, raised by the god Hermes (step-brother in the light of relations), and to keep Bacchus safe from jealous Hera, Bacchus was raised up as a "girl". 

There are so many interesting details about Bacchus, that I recommend that the interested readers should read more about him from wherever you want.

I have many favourite things in Greek and Roman mythologies from the classical god-deities to the monsters, and I've always been inspired by the stories. I even made a painting-collection dedicated to that theme. I had a whole bunch of other ideas streaming in my head for couple of years, and the ideas exist still, even though I can't paint with the lack of time and space.

I had some Minotaurus-ideas tickling my brain, and I really hope I can someday get these pestering ideas out of my head.

(Copyrights belong to yours truly, tempera- and oilpaint on board, 100x100cm)

Yes, this seems to be my style: bright-colours and not so realistic touch with a hint of symbolism. 

I always think about how much I want to use real models for a change, and learn to paint realism before anything else, but without models I can only create from my head. Which is fine too, but I cannot help but to remember all the paintings I've started or finished with portraits of actual people. There is a night and day -difference there. With at least a face of a actual person the whole work becomes something else.

So if you, dear reader, are a painter or any kind of visual-artist, and you want to do realism or try it, all you have to do is get yourself a model. Even a really good, big picture is fine, if the final work will be on some smaller canvas or you have other means to copy the realism into your painting without frustrating re-sizing methods and you're capable of capturing the actual realistic features from a photograph into a bigger canvas.

Now that I feel more artistic again, I get these cravings to get painting. Gods, how I wish I had time, space and canvases to do that.

And old London weeps blood

"Moonlight plays upon this sunken brow, midnight ink bleeds wet mercurial clouds, By the crescent disc rising amethyst, somnambulist unharnessed storms the plough, By the crescent disc rising amethyst"

(Copyrights belong to yours truly)

I've meant to write something here, but I've been really busy and really tired. Yesterday I had some of the symptoms of depression, like anxiety, but this day has been better. So I do not know what yesterday was all about. Didn't I get enough sleep or what?

I cannot remember what kind of things ran through my mind, so I'll just write a short summary about some of the things:

I was very impressed with the first episode of Hannibal's second season. Very nice, indeed. Symbolism is one of my favourite art-forms so I really enjoy the visual aspects of the TV-show.

Studying continues with haste although there are days when I'm too tired to do anything and just rather relax and play Skyrim.

Soon the studying for entrance exams starts. I also am supposed to go through a course to help me with that. Expensive course, yet I feel like I do not really have a lot of choices. If I get into that school, I will have a future with the kind of profession I could do for the rest of my life - unlike the job I'm doing now. Under-paid and I do not have time to do any kind of art-projects.

(Copyrights belong to yours truly)

I've been thinking, why do I keep a blog, since I'm horrible writer? Blogs should be kept by people who can write. I enjoy reading well written blog-posts. It's an art-form of course to write coherent and interesting text. It's an art-form I've never mastered. That's probably why I keep getting somewhat low grades from literature-courses... I find writing difficult; the way I deliver the message, how to intrigue and what a good writing includes.

Also speaking is a skill I haven't mastered - as ridiculous as that sounds, but it's true to some degree. I "stutter" trying to find the right words and sometimes actually forget words, even the simplest words, so it is very exhausting. It's like I can think things coherently, clearly and know just the right words, but when I open my mouth or try to write down my thoughts my mind goes blank.
Lack of actual conversations is ultimately one of the main reasons for that.
Either way, I hope I will get some time at some point to try out making short comic strips about the things I want to tell about. Pictures are more easier way to tell things.

*

Lately I've been listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees, although that's one of the bands I have found hard to like. There are few songs I like, yet now that I've been listening to some of the albums after a long time, I noticed that I now like more songs than the last time I listened to them.

Some bands need a lot of listening-time to grow into; like me and  my first impressions of the great Joy Division, which didn't open up to me at first. Now I can't understand why did I find it so hard to like.

I've always liked the voice of Siouxsie Sioux. 
There are many female-singers who sound exactly the same as all the other ones, so I notice different singers and different voices. And Siouxsie Sioux has a soft yet powerful voice.
I also like the lyrics in their songs. I guess they are typical for gothic rock; dark, eloquent poetry. But I appreciate well written lyrics in all music. It's not a necessity, but I enjoy listening or reading it.
I also think that Siouxsie Sioux is one of the most beautiful women in the world. Lovely in many ways.

Amazing Billie Holiday- cover from Siouxsie and the Banshees - was here, but you can find it with the song-name "Strange fruit".

Southern trees bear a strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,

Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,

The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,

Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,

Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,

For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,

For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,

Here is a strange and bitter crop.