What's worse?

To runaway from the world that doesn't understand you and proclaim your superiority on a deserted island, feeling special in your fantasy country-of-one?

To wait for the world will ever accept you as you are, and you will find your place inside, with human peers and interaction?

To resign your own naive and silly self and become one of the many, applying the 7-steps recipe to a successful life?

To runaway and hide in your own imagination?

To accept that happiness is overrated and sign for peace and tranquillity ?

To revolt, to change the world and move the mountains to show everybody that you are right, and they are wrong, and happiness and love are the only true values in the entire universe?

Dying.

She's dying every day, a little.
She keeps trying, with despair and determination, every day.
She keeps hoping that once she does, we will all understand how much she suffered.
She dreams of the moment when she will tell us "I told you so!" ... and cannot see how absurd this is.
She wants us all to be sad for her. To feel pity for her. All she wants is for others to say "poor her, how much she suffered".

She's dying. And there's nothing I can do.
She's dying. And I don't even know if I want her to live.

She doesn't want to live. She doesn't want to be happy. She doesn't want love, warmth, joy ... She dreams of perennial sadness and bitterness ...
She wishes for pain - for the physical pain that can numb her senses and emotions from the inside. A pain that she can endure, to make her forget of the pain of loneliness and emptiness.

She has nothing to lose. She lost herself, a long long time ago, and now ... now she's just waiting. And wanting to die.
She doesn't care. Empty, sore, consumed by a life she hated for years and years, by regrets and "what ifs" ...

She's dying. And there's nothing anyone can do. We all watch, pray, beg, curse, shout, fight, cry, laugh. But nothing changes - she is dying. Killing smiles and dreams and love around her. Painting it all black. Hurting us to tears.

She's simply dying. Every day, more.
And I've already bought my black, mourning clothes. Was it rush? hope? sales?

I am.

I am disappointed. Furious. Frustrated.

I want to shout and scream, I want to trash glasses and plates to hear their breaking noise.

I am suicidal. I imagine over and over again how I drive full speed into walls and crash my car beyond recognition. And I imagine my body like the wooden mannequins that always get smashed and torn when used for driver safety tests.

I am disappointed.

I am tired. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Humble.

I am crying too much. I am running too little. I am afraid of the sunshine. I am, again, afraid of the green green grass.

I am, again, afraid of people.

Cold shower

A quote:
"
I never got used to your pessimism. The fatigue. The pessimism was only sometimes. The fatigue was constant. It distracted you. It sucked out your energy. It made you look older. It eats you from the inside. And it makes life harder for you. You strive for too much at first - and run out of hours in the day to get those things done. Set reasonable goals. Few, but get them right. I know you can. It was annoying to see you not meet a goal. You are a brilliant mind. Don't waste it by putting 10,000 bricks on it. Start with 10. Then do the next 10 later.
"
Should I feel happy? Sad? Optimistic? Pessimistic?
Is that good?
Is that bad?

Is that really who I am ?!

The complex ((number) and) schizophrenia

Yes, I've been avoiding you.

I am not ready, yet, to reconcile with myself. On what you are. To me. For some reason, I don't want to admit I have lost. I don't want to admit I want more. I don't want to play games. I don't want ... I just want you. In my life. Close to me. Really close to me.

Impossible, I know. Rejected. Not real. Imaginary? Yes. As you are mine in the alternative reality I've built on the vertical axis. The imaginary axis. The one to measure dreaming. Addictive - yes. Illegal? Not yet.

Yes, I know, I'm being hurt - again - by my own dreams. I build them in my own crystal globe - more beautiful than they will ever be. Then - smash it on the floor, in thousands of small, sharp pieces. Rub my soul with them until it bleeds to death. Beg for it to die. TO DIE. But it resurrects, with the stubbornness of spiders climbing the Empire State Building. The patience of snails traveling around the world. Imaginary. Infinite. And (de)generative.

Should I stop? Maybe. But then - what's left of zero? I am only special in my dreams. I am only alive in my own world. The one orthogonal on reality. It will never be(come?) real.
Blame it on my schizophrenia. And wish they will take me away from this world, that they call real, and let me live in my beautiful math world. No loss - it's math, everything is perfect.

But no, they'll never do it. I've been baptised by the real world, and I will have to live and die (t)here. I'm complex - yet my imaginary part only belongs to the mathematically drawn reality in my head. I'm just a complex number stuck on a graph with two orthogonal axes - a clash of worlds.

Alone

I'm sitting here, in my micro-room, staring at white walls and wishing, terribly, for someone to call. Someone to care. Someone to ask if I'm OK. But nobody cares. Nobody sees my weakness ... yes, even I, the ice presence that sends them shivers on their spine - even I need someone to care. Someone to talk to me. Someone ...

And I stare at the white walls crashing me. A new life, just to hide the old age of my body and my soul. A new beginning to run away for the bad endings of the past. A future to prevent the past for taking over.

Lies. I just miss you, I just need you. And I don't deserve you. And I shouldn't have you. But I dream of it - it's my prohibited fruit.

Someone - please - just talk to me ...

Dead or alive

Lost sight.
Voice broken by void.
A lifeless arm.
My messed-up hair.
A bloodless heart.
Me.
A shade in the mirror
Bending the light.
Fabricating sadness.
And collecting.

Dead.

I've seen you
In my mirror.
In me?
Through me?
(close) by me?
Was it my dream?
You were smiling
On the other side
Of my light.

How can the dead be dreaming?

I looked. I stared.
I fixed your eyes
With my emptiness,
With non-human desire
For your pulsating life,
For your warm blood,
For your side of light.

Ever wanted to be alive?
Again?

My heart trembled.
My arm resurrected
To unmess the hair.
The teeth bit the lip
And the blood drop,
Falling,
Turned my light red.

I saw, I saw you smiling.
Am I really dead?

Defrost.
And time is moving on
Again.
No longer in my mirror.
My lifeless arm
Is now frenetically searching
In the darkness.

Your smile was never mine.
It's hers - the one who's still alive.

Have you ever found me?

I've cut the veins
Of my left hand
With a dark piece of glass
From the mirror I broke
When I've lost your smile.

Darkness kills the details.

I lie on the stones
As cold as the blood drops
That crashed on the pavement
Sounding like rain.

I am truly dead.

Sleeping Together - the Other Way

Hello everybody!

Today is a great day! We start a new club for rejected people: "Sleeping Together - the Other Way". We would have called it "the Wrong Way", but we were afraid that some of our more religious leaders will not appreciate the joke.

You can join us any time you want - if you tell us how your passion night ended up with a candid "No" because the other(s) involved liked you too much. We grade your membership depending on how much clothes you still had on at the time of the happening: "Regular" - all underwear still on, "Premium" - socks/stockings and/or boxers/panties still on, and "VIP" - completely naked.

We're providing discounted cab rides from the "Take Me Home" company, with free vodka and chocolate icecream included in the price. Sleeping pills are prohibited - you will abuse them while replaying in your mind, over and over, the scene when "NO" became clearly obvious.

We provide next day/next week care - with self-confidence boosting seminars, napkings, comfort foods, and, for extreme cases, a well-chosen partner that doesn't know "NO".

More announcements to come on our opening gala! Please join us if you feel like crying, complaining, shouting, screaming ... or just too sad to do any of the above.

Love and kisses!

The wait

... and I still wait.
Why? Because I love him. Stupidly enough, my heart still hopes, in its twisted chambers, that things are going to be fine.

Hell, I don't even know what fine is anymore ...

I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. I cannot enjoy the bitter-sweet chocolate in front of me. I don't like grapefruit any more.

I just wait ...

And I know what's gonna be. I know what's gonna happen. and I know it's gonna hurt like crazy.

And yet, I decided to wait.

I am exhausted.
I am too tired to be angry. I am too tired for revenge. I am too tired to explain. I am too tired to even show how much this "wait" is hurting me, how selfish and painful this obvious end is and how it kills me a little everyday.

That's what he said - "Can't we wait for a few more days? This is very painful, you know?"

So I just sit on the floor, with tears in my eyes, thin blood lines on my wrist... and I wait ...

NOMIS - for oral use only

This is my newest project: NOMIS, the "no mistakes" pill. For oral use only: take one with plenty of water and stay mistake-free for 24 hours.

The effects on personal freedom are not yet predictable. Mixing with other (light) drugs, including alcohol, is also unpredictable. We recommend avoiding these occurrences.
NOMIS inhibits personal choices such as euthanasia or non-reproduction oriented sex. It also inhibits childhood, so be sure to keep it away from children.

Be aware-the pill doesn't teach you how to do the right thing - it just insures a mistake-free existence. It will not point out what you are doing right and it will not make it obvious to you what mistakes you have avoided at the end of each 24h.
Be careful - to insure continuity, a new NOMIS pill has to be taken BEFORE the 24h of the previous dose have elapsed. Even a single one second gap might allow for very big mistakes, and will not be protected by NOMIS. Furthermore, taking NOMIS after the mistake is made might aggravate issues.

NOMIS does not prevent accidents inflicted by others on you. For example, in case of travel accidents like plane crashes, taking NOMIS will not guarantee your safety.

NOMIS is not recommended for schizophrenics or double-personalities, as it might lead to increased intake. Increased intake doesn't have side effects, but abuse is not recommended, as it might lead to sanctification. But only after death. And the death of a saint is eventually a mistake, so you might be transforming NOMIS into a life elixir. Not into a youth elixir, though - getting old is not a mistake.

Finally, NOMIS is conservative: in case of doubt, the mechanism will choose for inhibiting a potential mistake. Therefore, large-scale use might lead to a decrease in marriages and an accelerated decrease of natality, as well as mortality. In the worst-case scenario, for global use, we will see, within 20 to 30 years, a large aging population of very old, wise people, with large numbers of potential sanctifications.

I still have to figure out if NOMIS is to be administered freely, with loose consumption regulation, or by prescription only. I will think of that tomorrow, on a new fresh dose of NOMIS.

It hurts.

Like only broken hearts do. It f***ing hurts.

Is it my ego that cries out "I told you so?".
Is it my mind that refuses to accept that the end has come?
Is it my fear of starting it all over again?

What have I done to you? What more than to love you with all my heart? What more than to give you all the freedom you wanted and wait for you to come to me, when you're ready? What less than to show you all my world, my fears, and all my love?

I just gave you too many choices, and I let you practice your freedom on me. I believed in you. I believed you can stop juggling, one day. I trusted your mind to put boundaries to its fears and settle down. I hoped your heart would speak louder.

I was wrong. And now it hurts. Broken promises. Dreams for sale. Wasted love. Spilled hope.

And you, quiet. Silent. In your own world, content to be alone. You, focused on whatever else than this unstable shaky troublesome love. Yes, you can live without it. Why bother? It adds nothing to what you already have. It wastes your time and your money and your energy. Makes you think. And dream. And fear. Makes you vulnerable. Makes you unsettled. Makes you want more.

Indeed. Better not. Later, when you'll be ready. Later, when you'll be fat and bored of watching cheap porn on TV. Later, when your daily life will need some excitement. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to tickle your imagination and get you hard. Maybe even give you one extra heart beat. Later, when you'll be secure enough to know the next one is just the same, and there's a lot more you can buy.

But still, one day ... at least one day, or night, or morning ... one day, when you'll be finally sober and able to look in a honest mirror... you'll finally understand that "why?" is so much more important than "why not?". And then you'll cry. And miss me. But I'll be dead. And so would be most of those that had truly loved you.

Silence

... and then life goes on.
There's no darker and quieter place than us, now. We are frozen. We are hiding. We are silently crying just because we don't know what else to do.
The tears of surrender are always quiet. How I wish, oh how I wish for the tears of anger or despair or injustice ... for the screams, for the fights, for the words ... And yet these are the tears of silence, we're crying.
We lost. Each other. Together. Apart. They have won. No, they have defeated us. And we now beg, down on our knees, for the pain to stop. Nothing more - just for the pain to stop. Limited. Pathetic. Lame. Quiet.

Silent pain.
And the silent tears of this silent pain are (dis)covered in darkness.

Tomorrow is another day. And I'll wait for the night so that I can cry again, and revolt against the silence with the sound of my tears crashing on the wooden floor.