Passacaglia

A little warmth in the midst of cold

"Undead, undead, undead"

I'm still alive. Perhaps one day I will update something in here, but I haven't felt like writing for quite some time now. I was surprised to see that there's been 10 000 visitors in my blog, which is unnerving and interesting at the same time. I doubt there's much anything of interest in the contents yet I do like sharing blogs and such. Especially the ones where people have made things with their own hands, DIY-projects, Halloween-stuff and all kinds of things. So perhaps I will share some of my projects in the (near) future. To put some more content in this blog.

Oh, and what happens when Jill Tracy and "Bauhaus" combine musical talents: Click to youtube music video "Bela Lugosi's dead".

"I'll meet you where the moonlight falls, I'll meet you where the statues stand, I'll meet you beneath the falling walls, We await the gods to show their hand - Amongst the ruins."

Ne invoces expellere non possis

Celestial Season- Vienna

Time is a misty vortex

I haven't been thinking about the biological father- matter for weeks. I've been more concentrated on surviving from day to day, especially since my mood seems to go from one extreme to another in a steady rhythm. I don't really care who's my father, since the parents I have now are no good, and I don't need any more of the same in my life. Perhaps if I ever feel better enough I might want to get to know my biological father - if that is actually true - but as long as I can't get my head to work, it might not be a good idea to drag anyone else into this mess. I find barely any strength to keep contact with my siblings and friends. But I might change my mind. After all nothing seems to change in my mental-state it might be just the same to do things rather than wait for years or a lifetime for me to get better. I truly doubt I will ever get better. I am already accustomed to the mess inside my head that I am starting to doubt my hazy memories of normality. Was it ever true or all a figment of my imagination. I could swear I was once normal, at least to a degree, but now it is nothing but chaos.

I'm sick and tired with my head. Off with my head, I'd say.

"Into the hole again, we hurried along our way, into a once-glorious garden now steeped in dark decay."

“I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!”

- Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll.

*

When I heard the news, I was in a shock and filled with disbelief - I still am. It's not a bad news, it doesn't make me feel anything particular, but I felt like I was suddenly whisked away from the familiar reality and dropped into a hole that leads to Wonderland. Equally bizarre and sudden it was.

For the man who raised me is not - claimed by my untrustworthy mother - my biological father. After almost a 30 years of living I find about it now. So suddenly, without any kind of hints. The mental-image of dropping into a rabbits hole and falling through to another kind of world seems accurate. Thus the pictures, although some of their dark nature doesn't cascade my feelings, but when you say "Alice", I see the bony-grin of Dark Horses "Alice"-game series Cheshire cat.

This shocking bit of news doesn't make me sad. It could liberate me from the painful notion of never being able to get any kind of love nor approval from my father, so I could be free from that mess in my head. No pressure, no shame and no sorrows.

I haven't yet gotten any confirmation from someone else, so in the most extreme case-scenario I might have to cut my ties with both of my parents, unless 'tis is true and they both are willing to speak it truthfully. Otherwise, if there's any claims by either one that the other one is lying, I think I have had enough. But it will be seen soon enough, how they want to handle this.

My mother handled it bad enough already, for she told about that secret to almost everyone else before she told me. My oldest brother knew about it two years ago and my younger siblings had to keep quiet about for a year, until they were forceful enough to make our mother tell the truth to me. At first I was willing to accept that it was handled poorly, slipped (most likely not) accidentally in a conversation but after I found out that my older brother knew about it even sooner, I started to think, why do I even bother socializing with the people who are responsible for the bad state of my mental health. I am truly starting to doubt if severing all ties might be the answer to getting better. I have been too polite and too kind-hearted to continue this charade for as long as I have. I will observe what my parents do. And if there's even a hint of manipulation or lies, I would be more than happy to leave them. After all I have been without their support or help for almost all my life, and even if I would need support or help in the future, I know they would never give either of those things. All they can do is spread poison all around them, and then try to make me feel guilty for disliking them.

Alice: "Wonderland's become quite strange. How is one to find her way?"

Cheshire Cat: "As knowing where you're going is preferable to being lost, ask. Rabbit knows a thing or two, and I, myself, don't need a weathervane to tell which way the wind blows. Let your need guide your behaviour; suppress your instinct to lead; pursue Rabbit."

*

Listen to this poor Demon

He trembles in the bitter wind

Until it's time for us to speak

Whilst others here are sleeping sound

I'll slip away by floorboard creak

Upon the hill he'll hear my secrets

Shock the colours to bleach inside

Whilst others there are sleeping sound

Just we two will confide

Listen to his body moan

Make a wish and send us home

To spin the gold and silver stitches

We can turn his rags to riches

With frosty Jack on fingernail

Thro' shoe black smile he'll tell-a-tale

Come whisper thro' your lips of straw

A moment torn forever more

Listen to his body groan

Make a wish and send us home

To spin the gold and silver stitches

We can turn his rags to riches

My so-called friends say you're not alive

I'll bake their bones for telling lies

Then pull the pastry from the pie

And pour the gravy in their eye

Listen to his body moan

Make a wish and send us home

To spin the gold and silver stitches

We can turn his rags to riches

"Lay my hands on Heaven and the Sun and the Moon and the Stars, While the Devil wants to fuck Me in the back of His car."

When I was a teenager I had this feeling of "emptiness", and it was not the good kind of emptiness, for example what the Buddhist-philosophy teaches. 
It was the kind of feeling I have written about before, yet "the emptiness" is something more than that. It is like you are a ghost in this world. Or the world is the ghost, since nothing seems real; not you nor anything around you. 
When I was younger I had the feeling inside me, but now it feels like the world around me has turned into this empty abyss alongside me. Me and the world are vortexes pulling each other, trying to fill up this void.

Even though I feel like that at times, there are moments of blissful ignorance. If I just shut my eyes tight enough, fill my mind with enough noise, I can still feel my heart beat.

And now I am trying to fill up my mind with enough noise to quiet it down. Turn my eyes towards anything that wouldn't wake those thoughts from the abyss. Just be silent and act like you don't know the thoughts are there.

That reminded me of childhood-nightmares, where I was the only human, and my family had turned into monsters of some kind, and I had to act like I was one of them and be careful they wouldn't notice that I'm a human. I always woke up before they noticed. I wonder if they would have killed me, eaten me or ripped me to shreds? Child's mind is a funny thing. 

I feel like I should explain more about this feeling of "emptiness". I'm sure I'm not the only one who has felt like that, no matter what it means to each and everyone uniquely. Perhaps all the self-loathing, unsatisfactory relationships, years of loneliness and identity-crisis's have left their mark in me in such a way, that I feel un-alive, un-achieved, unloved, un-just-about-everything. I don't feel like my existence "gives" anything. I have no impact on anything, I can't change anything, be part of anything and I can't seem to create anything. I'm not writing this here to feel sorry about myself I am just explaining what I am. These things are known to me for many years and as my therapist has noted, I have had time to think about a lot of things. There are things hard to see or understand, especially being too close to them, but I still know - or knew - myself quite well. Yet lately my identity seems to have shifted and changed - or revealed more of its self. Yet I do not recognize it anymore. It might be this depression that makes thinking and observing a tad more difficult than before.

*

I still feel inspiration stirring, but it pains me not to be able to do anything about it. I'm constantly exhausted, unable to survive from the simplest of tasks, and I have to make pictures I already promised to make. Frustration creeps up. Patience is not one of my virtues.

Decadent

Heebie-Jeebies

My apartment is always "under construction". It's been months since the last time I did something to it. I have tables and shelves to re-paint, but I've been too exhausted to continue.
I should take a better - more well-lit - pictures of my home, especially the DIY-projects you can barely see here: fake-fireplace (picture above) and the steam-to-be-punk- computer in the picture below. It looks better from afar. The things I've used with making the both are plainly put "trash" and stuff that I've come across or collected at some point. Wood-pieces, paint and knick-knack's of all kind. But I still need to continue working with them. The fake-fireplace needs some kind of metal-cover(?) to add the fireplace-feel and also to stop my cats from going near any candles I might burn in it. It is highly fire-risky gadget to be had, but I am very careful with open-fire anyway, and I've always planned to invest on led-candles. For the safety of my dear possession but most of all for the safety of my cats whiskers. Nothing looks quite so sadly hilarious than a cat with burned whiskers.

*

I've been meant to get to know the music by Nick Cave for some time now, but coincidentally I was lured into this song by the album cover. After all, I am weak for the aesthetic beauty of the night-time trees:

Also the fall-time playlist of mine consists of dark cabaret, well, what can I say, the era the music rekindles really speaks to the reincarnation- and history-freak-side in me:

"Darkness that brings the choking heat. Flames render the Silence, awakening the hungry Beast. Open time's door to beckon prey."

"Hearing this, the hunter armed with bow and arrow said, "I will kill the lizard." But upon meeting his opponent, he held back, taunting, "Who's afraid of a reptile?" At this, the furious lizard hissed, "I'll swallow you up in a single bite!" Then the huge creature attacked, jaws opened wide. This was what the man wanted. Calmly drawing his bow, he shot into the lizard's gaping mouth. Effortlessly, the arrow flew, piercing the defenseless maw, and the lizard fell down dead." - Silent Hill

"What if all the world's inside of your head - Just creations of your own? Your devils and your gods, All the living and the dead, And you're really all alone?"

(Apollo - copyrights mine)

Unfortunately the depression has beginning to rise its ugly misshaped head again. I've been running away from reality and silence into the world of gaming so I could rest, but when I am at work there's not anything keeping the voices and feelings at bay.

Now the childhood-ghosts stay dormant - perhaps for all eternity - but you don't need any actual reasons for depression to rise and consume you. At least I feel that I don't have any reason to be depressed. Sure, my life is empty and there's hatred and resentment inside me, the only things that have never seized to exist no matter how much time goes by. It is true, that holding on your hate is like holding on a hot piece of coal; it burns only you. And then again none of these are the reasons why I feel like this - again. I counted that formally I've been suffering from depression for two years. Half a year I had some rest thanks to a medication but I don't know why the medication doesn't work as well anymore. Have I been sleeping enough? Lack of sleep is something that prevents the medication from working, at least that's something I've noticed. But also the medication helps you to sleep, so... all I have is questions on top of more questions.

One thing that hasn't changed is this feeling of an observer, this feeling of being inside a glass-dome, where I can only observe the life around me unable to participate. Sometimes because of this feeling I feel barely human. Like I am just a consciousness  perhaps like a ghost or some sort of invisible entity, that exists and nothing else. I eat, drink, sleep, work and the same routine repeats day after day. Sometimes I have planned on going out somewhere, but then I cancel to notice that I actually don't want to go anywhere. I just have this feeling that it might be normal or good for me or maybe this what I am doing, cooped in my apartment every day is unhealthy. Yet it feels good. If nothing else feels like anything, being by myself in my home makes me feel good and safe. I have been wondering if saving up money to travel somewhere is the same thing, that I feel like I should do it though I don't think I even feel the need (anymore) nor even want to go anywhere. It is maddening to try and figure out things especially since my head doesn't seem quite alright.

Another troubling thing is my asexuality and the confused feelings it arises in me. It's like trying to see your forehead without a mirror. I can't make it out, I can't make any sense of what I want. Am I still fine by being by myself? The thought of anything else is exhausting, I don't want to give up what I have now, and yet I get at times this craving for human company, some kind of intimacy, the things that average romantic relationship brings. But it's completely different to want something and get it in reality. One thing about asexuality is that in your head you might think that "maybe sex isn't that bad" but when you would have to go through with it in real life, you realize that "nope", it is most definitely different in theory and in real life. Perhaps the thoughts are what confuses me. Also the coming- and going feelings of bi-romanticism, which is usually hetero-romanticism for me, but sometimes it does go further than that. I don't advertise it much, since I don't want people to get stuck on the "bi/gay"-part, when all I am saying is that I possess some healthy interest on a person despite their gender. But the ratio is not even. It is more like 95% of the time I prefer the female-gender and find males unappealing, but at rare times the 5% reacts, but it is so rare, that I usually don't think about it much. This time it is just making me confused.

*

"Every Day Is Exactly The Same"

Nine Inch Nails

I believe I can see the future

Cause I repeat the same routine

I think I used to have a purpose

But then again

That might have been a dream

I think I used to have a voice

Now I never make a sound

I just do what I've been told

I really don't want them to come around

Oh, no

Every day is exactly the same

Every day is exactly the same

There is no love here and there is no pain

Every day is exactly the same

I can feel their eyes are watching

In case I lose myself again

Sometimes I think I'm happy here

Sometimes, yet I still pretend

I can't remember how this got started

But I can tell you exactly how it will end

Every day is exactly the same

Every day is exactly the same

There is no love here and there is no pain

Every day is exactly the same

I'm writing on a little piece of paper

I'm hoping someday you might find

Well I'll hide it behind something

They won't look behind

I'm still inside here

A little bit comes bleeding through

I wish this could have been any other way

But I just don't know, I don't know what else I can do

Every day is exactly the same

Every day is exactly the same

There is no love here and there is no pain

Every day is exactly the same

"Hello Darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with You again"

 (Copyrights belong to me)

I suspect smoking has started to take effect from my antidepressant medication. I need to try to smoke less if I don't want this to get any worse.

Because of this feeling of a wounded mind I can't write. I can't think.

"For the moon never beams, And the stars never rise"

(Copyrights are mine)

Yes, I am still watching American horror story- series. Starting from one and re-watching another episode at a time. But never-mind that.

*

Unfortunately there was no real clip of the angel of death, the dark cousin, so this fan-video will have to suffice, but I was reminded of the greatness of this particular season but also the personal notions about my quality of life - and death. It's amazing the way Death is portrayed in the series. She is a kind, dark essence, relieving sufferers from earthly pains with a single, gentle kiss. If Death had a form, I wish it would be such as this:

I doubt there is any more beautifully, gracefully portrayed existence of Death.

And although I keep - yet again - mentioning death and my life in the same sentence, I am simply mentioning that life has its surprises and mysteries, and one of those mysteries is death. And although I am fairly certain death brings only nothingness I do not actually crave it yet. But since we do not know out time on this mortal coil I like to think about death as much as possible to try find a friendly face in this inevitable ending. And no matter what happens afterwards I feel that death would be a sweet release. Yet life has a lot of things to see and experience, even the most painful parts, so as long as I can, I want to explore life. Feel and suffer until the day I die. 

But hopefully that day is far from this day.

"Life is a Dark chain of Events"

(Copyrights are mine)

Not a summer-appropriate picture but oh well...

Although this cloak of solitary fits me, and I have finally made my peace with it after years of struggling with it yet I have noticed some darker undertones behind it all. My medication works and things are quite fine, but I cannot seem to shake this feeling that my life is quite meaningless. I exist - and that is all. Everyone needs to feel important, to dream, to feel fulfillment in their lives in some way. To some it is a meaningful career, to some it is raising a family or traveling or volunteer work. But I have nothing. If I don't get to college to study to become a teacher I won't ever achieve the feeling that my life has some meaning. I did promise myself to go travel at least to couple of cities in this year or the next, so I would experience that, but I feel conflicted even by that idea. I'm not really excited by the idea although in some sense it would be a big thing and educational. I feel most comfortable at home. Also I think I might be afraid to get disappointed. If I have too high expectations of different places and they do not deliver, I don't know how I would feel about that. If there's no wondrous places in this world, and everything is just skeletons of the old world I don't know how to deal with that.

Reasons for living do not seem to be within us from the start, but we need to search for them. In the mean time I search, I try to keep my eyes closed - or the third eye closed if I feel tempted at looking into myself. Being aware of the gnawing need to find purpose is tough to bear. Even with the medication there still lingers the voice that questions my quality of life. The voice is more quieter and smaller, but it never goes completely away. I do wish to keep on living and hoping for something meaningful to hang on to, but I cannot completely get rid of that voice that makes me wonder would it be better to die and slip into nothingness.

(Copyrights are mine)

The only time I wasn't feeling tormented was when I was reading about Buddhism - years and years ago, about the time I was first time suffering from depression. I felt great sense of peace the more I read and learnt but I also felt that my artistic-inspiration was dying off at the same time. Suffering brings out the imagination; feeds it like some horrifying beast inside us. Peace leaves you blissfully empty; free from the chains that bound us in so many ways, we cannot ever truly see them all. 

Now I have neither of them. Torment is more intense when it keeps growing within without any way to release some of it out as paint forming into images. A cursed situation, when I need to work to survive, but at the same time the meaningless work sucks out all my energy and all my time. I feel tired all the time. Tired in some different way. Perhaps it is my soul that is tired.

Iron Butterfly

Have heard this song somewhere before. The intro is of course familiar. And the place I found this song was from American Horror Story: Coven- soundtrack.

Moon in my mind, Moon in the sky, Moon behind my eyes

While trying to find some great new TV-series to watch I re-watched the American Horror Story from the season one to season three. Have to admit, that I like the second season more than any others. Some how it had all the right ingredients in just right order. The first season lacked something although it was very nicely done. And the third season was a disappointment since a story about witches should have been more interesting. Yet it was quite mellow with the characters and a bit all over the place without any strong story-line to keep it all together. Yet I found many likable things from that season (I have a soft spot in my heart for witches), so I can recommend it to anyone who has not yet seen this series. Finally a good horror TV-show.

ночной

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)

It's been a long time since I had contact with another human being. Most of my life has been like that but even a small touch feels noticeably different now. I am reminded of what it is like to be close with another human-being. And yet even at times my heart beats a bit faster when near beauty, I just go on my way with a firm "nope". I still want to be by myself. It has been more than enough.

Now that my first summer-vacation is over, I am feeling exhausted again. Too much so, that I can't get a lot done.
And since I didn't get to college, as I probably forgot to mention here, I am planning to raise up money for couple short trips. Perhaps I should start with Paris and London. I work a demeaning job, with minimal-wage so my future-plans on-hold cannot stop me from living my life. And since I've invested on my home I should start to invest on my spirit; see the world even just a little bit. I've never had the money and although I'm not really a traveling-type, I do acknowledge the spirituality and the wisdom, the experience and the beauty that exists in many corners of this blue orb of ours. And thus I make it my goal.

It seems that the summer is over even before it started. About two months of summer is horrifyingly little. June and July are usually warm and sunny unless the global warming turns them into rainy and cold. And August is mostly sunny but it is cold in the mornings and evenings. And then there's a radical change from a bit sunny to rainy and grey and cold. Until the snow comes. Unless the global warming makes the snow into rain and you have to look at this damp, black and rainy scenery from October to January. But if we are lucky enough to get the snow and frost, it lightens up the scenery enough to make it bearable from November till March. Usually in April there are more signs of spring but the spring lasts/ends in May.
And then the cycle begins anew.

The Dark Woods lure you in

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)

(Copyrights belong to me)