June 7th, 2011


02:13 am - Shatter Me
Have you ever wondered where did all the people go?
Maybe you don't even notice, as a whole city dies. The people live on, elsewhere, but the city dies. With an echo through all its surroundings, but there isn't a soul to notice.
Empty, but not soulless. It can still scare the hell out of me. I can clearly remember my first time, when I peeled myself off a floor of a broken, crushed building, all covered in dust - a ghost in a ghost town. Aggression was first to wash over me and just then the plain curiousity - my God, how did I come to this? Since then I've learnt to hear the cry. To follow voices and history. None of it matters to anyone, except maybe just me.
Wind undressed them stone by stone. Left nothing but broken bones. And kept on shattering glass. I know what it feels like now. To be left for dead.

Abandoned cities was a passion of mine, ever since I became a sleepwalker. Perfect by nature, ruined by the human world. That's a common excuse.
Unlike other people, my sleepwalking always took me far away to a city long lost and forgotten, left to completely disappear one day. They told me it was just my imagination, but all the dust and a couple of old maps convinced them I was for real. I started looking for places like that. For aggression and pain, mostly both. And then the calm feeling of acceptance. If I should ever be lost, my sleepwalking guided me through wake. It's great to close your eyes and know that next time you open them, you will find yourself at the birthplace of your peace. You can close your eyes and just be. All true and all you. And I reached the perfect balance of nature and the human world.

They told everyone I did it to myself. Every cut and bruise on my body screamed "lies", but it's never enough. People always claim to know only what they see, but really they don't know even that. In their simple mind I did it all, by myself, to myself. You know how sometimes the profile fits and they find your suicide notes at all the wrong moments. Cries for help lost in time, found and destroyed. One time I closed my eyes and woke up in a nightmare. Frightened and lost, wandering endlessly, trying to wish myself back into the lonely comfort of one of my dying worlds. But it's like they weren't even there anymore, as wasn't the radiant calm. The dust though, there was quite enough dust. Every cut on my body screamed "run", every bruise added "away". My mind was lost inbetween.
In the end, none of it matters.

Only the last drops of blood, my liquid serenity, reminded me, what the dead cities feel when they die. And the calm of acceptance flooded me in a wave.

(komentēt)

May 28th, 2011


09:11 pm

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May 23rd, 2011


09:30 pm
Do we really break all pretty things there are?


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There is so much of NOTHING going on EVERYWHERE that I'm starting to love going to work.

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Coffee + Bailey's, by the way, the bestest thing.

(komentēt)

May 7th, 2011


12:40 pm - Going Under
Maybe I'll wake up for once.
Maybe not. But I have to try to be my own person, otherwise I will always be dragged down.
And then tonight, I'll write something. I know I will, I feel an idea.
Decisions, decisions. I hope I made mine and I hope it's right. Hope is all I've ever got.

(komentēt)

May 1st, 2011


07:33 pm
Best day ever.
After swearing and pulling tons of my hair out for daaays, I finally managed to get that database wonder working.
God help me with the writeups and stuff. Oh, and a report. And an exam. And I'm up for jury on Tuesday. Īk.

(komentēt)

April 25th, 2011


12:17 am - I don't need no education, no I don't
So I finally find out about being drunk with the kind aid of a bottle of wine. To be really honest, it's completely overrated. Head spins, walking becomes really funny sometimes resulting in random towel hanger dysfunction, but the mind is still crystal clear inside that lame cage of a drunken body. There is no light, happy or otherwise liberating feeling. But there's definitely lots of motion sickness with a hint of a headache in the morning. So - why do people do that? What's the point in it?
At this moment I am so disappointed in life I could write an essay about it (with academic references, to be more suicidal).

Off the topic - I am planning to sell some clothes in June when I'm back home. Would anyone be interested in a 24" steel boned underbust corset in great condition, a really pretty unworn black silky blouse for girls about size 36, a lace cardigan of size 38 and perhaps a blue Chinese dress? Cannot provide pictures at the moment for the lack of a decent (non-phone) camera, but I will make some as soon as I'm home. Just want to find out, whether there is any interest at all in really good quality good-looking clothes that I cannot wear, because they don't really fit me.

(14 saka | komentēt)

March 14th, 2011


02:27 pm - A bit more on math

(2 saka | komentēt)

March 10th, 2011


03:19 pm - Quote of the Day
"xxx: Сидят три ряда. Вдруг один начинает сходиться. Другие ему: "Схождение без причины - признак Даламбера"."

(3 saka | komentēt)

December 8th, 2010


06:07 pm

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November 27th, 2010


12:19 am - Irrational Minds
Being a very normal person, I have been used to very normal things throughout my life. Getting up, having ridiculous by all means amounts of coffee and zombifying my way into public transport, joining other walking dead going to work. Most people well know - the brain does not really wake up until the end of the shift, if you're lucky or, in fact, braindead. But hey, with the current levels of democracy, braindead people should be allowed to have a life too!
Returning home from work, one starts to slowly wake up to the wonders of this world such as more coffee and lots of dirty dishes in the kitchen. I always find myself wondering - why all this mess, if my girlfriend doesn't even work. I mean...she could as well get used to being a housewife, if not for me, then definitely for some other unbelievably naive, yet in a weird way lucky guy. But there she is, smiling at me over the monitor of her laptop and offering to make some tea, perfectly well knowing I am a coffee patriot. It is fairly impossible to judge her. My very own special Fey, who always knows how to render my anger useless with just one look. Maybe that is also a part of her charm, I have thought of that.
So, when we are both in kitchen at the end of the day, drinking the beverages of our absolute devotion, I manage to maintain my absolutely normal shell, while at the opposite side of the table Fey is sipping tea and raising the dead with her laptop open in front of her. Completely, doubtlessly normal...

Ironically, we met in a comic book store, as to emphasize how special such relationship can turn out. Back then I thought that we seemed to be the only two normal people in the store. Honestly, I only went in to pick up a present for my nephew. Well, allright, maybe a little something for myself. A comic book series I long wanted, whatever. But no matter how geeky I was, Fey turned out to absolutely beat me in being a freak of the social life. I don't really know what she saw in me (perhaps the possibility that I might like her for who she is), but I saw...well, her appearance. And the fact that she was a girl. Talking to me. In public. MUST have suspected something was very wrong at that point already.
So we started seeing eachother. And at one point a question of what the hell does she ever do for a living arrived at our comfortable hotel room door. "Occasionally raising the dead for the military. Sometimes for private customers. And entertainment." was really not the answer anyone in this whole damn madhouse of a world would ever think of. Not even the top-1000. After that I calmly and responsibly, like any grown man, ran away and hid in my apartment, blocking the door with a heavy cupboard, for a week or so.

How do you justify bringing dead people back to life? How do you...just live with it? Even more difficult - how do you live with someone who can make your dead grandmother dance and entertain guests at your thirtieth birthday party?
This is how I found out that humans are the most irrational beings that can ever be imagined. I missed her and I wanted to see her again, despite the fact that I still don't have the answers to the very important questions upward. It's not because I was afraid no woman would ever talk to me again, honest. I just really enjoyed her company and...she was a necromancer all along - and all along she had been perfect.
I must admit, I freaked a bit (more like a lot) when she brought her occulty mirror, introducing it as "the mirror of lost souls" or something epic like that. Yet soon enough I realized that it poses no wicked toothbrush-stealing-spirits dangers to the world I live in. Even the phrase "sorry, honey, gotta work, the military guys like their corpses fresh and on time" does not cause epileptic seizures in my system anymore.
We live in two separate worlds, both absolutely mundane for each of us. And when these worlds collide, it's absolute chaos and ultimate improbability.

"What if the mirror should break? Will the veils between the world of the living and the world of the dead be torn or something?"
"No. Nothing of such sort. I will just be very much out of business."
Current Music: Abney Park, Diary of Dreams

(1 saka | komentēt)

Mental Asphyxia

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