Devoided

Devoided of any inspiration or creativity, I'm still trying to find some kind of stability that will take me to new waves and forms of compatibility with the world. Needless to say... no new deviation.

... I feel deep hatred towards those who I once loved.

Is it Christmas approaching that makes the sublime smell of deep dark Tartarus so irresistible?

me, the winter lover, lives now in contradiction; for as my most natural and defining event of the year nears closer (the winter solstice) I find more and more hatred towards me and those around me.

My nature contradicts the artificial environment I've been placed. Either that or I am really helium's strayed disciple...

Has the sun and summer really been my home all along?

Can’t help but admit that I have always wondered about the light in long blonde hair and the look and taste of wet bare skin.

If summer is my real nature, I can’t help but say that my true nature in fact makes out of me feel most alien within my surroundings; for I have not felt more inadequate than under the light and heat of our systems central star.

For now I can only say that as days grow shorter, my despise of those around gets bigger... and I yearn for loneliness, snow, and northern lights almost unbearable.

I hope hell is cold, for is where I most desire to go... since in the warmth of heaven I would just feel like a smashed cockroach on the wall... disgusting, out of place, hated... and still moving my little antennas, keeping the attention of those who have murdered me, all in awe and puzzled with the mystery of how was it that without any part or limb working, I managed to keep on holding to my fragile sense... smell..

I smell the sublime dead heavy fog from Tartarus calling on to me... yet I see no entrance, or way to say good bye to those once loved and are now hated...

I repeat myself. 

(40 days late)

I thought... love would cure it... I think we all did...

I thought... love would cure it... I think we all did...

I did everything in my power to become emotionally stable, to find a cure and a fix... I confessed my darkest secrets in a park... I cried on his shoulder... my traumas, I read out loud my suicide letters, and I shared my work, my thoughts... I draw on him... I made love to him... I did all and everything I could ever think of to gain my sanity, for myself, for him... I really tried... I swear to god... I searched for  that cathartic moment where I knew I would never ever let go... because I knew I was... if not happy... at least content... that I wouldn't be seeking suicide in every corner... in every thought… 

(4 days late)

I never went for a kiss...

I never went for a kiss... I wanted to kiss girls, and a boy, then another couple of boys, and then more girls and a boy... I don’t know why I am so obsessed with girls, if I don’t even know them... I wish I was ameinian, like so fucking completely ameinian.

Now... my virgin days are close to being over... I feel like yelling. 

I’ve written so many times the final entry for my journal, it’s just absurd... how long will I keep this up?

I have million things to do and books to read, things to finish... I have book that needs to be read... I barely have started doing all those things god told me to do.

I had my first talk with the Marquis de Sade girl (whose name is actually Jessica)... it had to last like 6 minutes... and she like completely shared herself with me. Out of nowhere. I found her... brilliant... broken, but brilliant... sincerely wowed.

Right now...

Right now... I have to calm down... my heart is beating... I got my first date with the prince tomorrow ;)

Jump, Up and Away

The dream started with me being superman (I know how it sounds... but I don’t expect you to understand)...and I saved the day, I flew, kicked some ass and used heat vision to go through glass doors (I know... lame... but I love using heat vision in my dreams)

Then, of course the damsel in distress... gave me a post it so we would meet at night for a date... if you have ever read superman, then you knows he wouldn’t have accepted; he belongs to Lois. However, on the moment the date I came I was no longer superman, I was... well me... with superpowers but me... I did go to the date... I met with the girl, and I got her to fly...

I have dreamt about flying before, it’s always amazing, incredibly realistic, the feeling, the wind, the sightings... everything... it doesn’t happen often, but it does happen... there’s a vertigo that is so fulfilling. You jump.... but you don’t fall... you just fly...

As I flew with her, she asked me how far up I could go... I went up and up with her on my arms... and the vertigo increased and increased... I was very high (I had never flew that high)...till she told me to stop. Then I asked... do you want to fall?

I never knew her answer I woke up…

 

(1 day late)

God?

God? will you let me die tonight?

"I've told you before... if you really, truly wanted to die... you’d be already 

Yeah... I know... *sigh* 

All it takes is one bad date...

All it takes is one bad date... 

Unless you are me, then you need two.

Tonight I’m going to cry, not just yet, because I’m filled with anger first. And not the type of anger that makes you wants to yell and course everyone you know. I’m filled with type of anger that requires to be denounced, that feels me with energy to write this words. Today I saw the things I hate most about myself and about others. Insecurity, lack of character, lies, disrespect, lack of communication, ugliness, both physically and personality wise... I saw everything that wrong with me and my world.

I don’t want to see you again, ever, you hurt me, and you will die alone, I got myself vulnerable to you, and you, and you made me feel, embarrassed about who I was, about what I believe... and what’s worse, I let you do it to me twice.

You are faggot, and mean this in the very and most insulting way, and for that I hate you, because you made me feel bad about being who I am, you represent everything that wrong in the ameinian community... you are, a cliché! The worst kind, you make me kitsch, void, useless... I’m an idiot, and you proved me right. 

You shouted to a 10 year old girl! What kind of person does that? You had me 15 minutes dragging after you in search of cab... I hate myself, for being with you, I hate myself for even doubting if it was my fault you are so week... I’m angry, so angry, so disappointed, so filled with contempt... I hate you, not more than I hate myself...but I do... I’m so filled with... hate... I couldn’t help but laugh all the time at our situation, and I know it bothered you I didn’t say what I was laughing about... I was laughing about us, our pathetic situation, you not knowing the jerk you are, and me putting up with it, when I know I deserve better even if I die a virgin... which I am still... and I’m so proud about it, because losing it to you would have been too degrading, I would have had to killed you and shoot myself then.

(17 days late)

Non-sense

Non-sense, bad grammar and terrible syntax...

I feel can do more, so much more and somehow I just don’t. This feeling of constant auto sabotage is wearing me out... tearing my soul apart.

While I’ve managed to convince myself to stay alive, I find now that during a lot of time I’ve just accomplished this by getting myself stuck, sinking deeper and deeper in the mud until I’m not moving at all.

So many plans... and somehow they just never happened. And I know I shouldn’t complain... but damn, that’s pretty much all I can do for myself right now, it just seems wiser to get an overall look at my life and cry, than just keep on living numb to the situation. Now self-pity won’t solve any problem, I know that... what I don’t know is exactly what the problem is...

This guy offered me the chance to be in one of his clips, I kind of avoided him all week... firstly because I’ve felt really monstrous and I wasn’t  in mood of being in front of a camera, but besides that there was my recurrent fear that will somehow let down people once they know me.

I manage to spend my time imagining, day dreaming nonsense, obsessing over meaningless maters...

I've deleted so many people from my contact list... somehow I stopped emailing with all the people I was emailing with.

I am broke, and with that all that comes with it. Secondly I’m unemployed yet I’m working my ass of doing favors for absolutely nothing in return.

I’m worried my mail is not reaching me, but living in Colombia it shouldn’t be a surprise...

Gruesome news lately 11 deputies murdered by the FARC... they were probably corrupt to the bone, but still. 

Days are passing so quickly and I’m doing anything... 

(29 days late)

Ameinian

Ameinian

For a long time, I've always found some kind of linguistic injustice towards men, specially referring to homosexual men and women. 

You see, the word commonly used to denominate an homosexual woman is the word lesbian which I personally think it’s a beautiful word, it just sounds beautiful but also has this cool etymological background, the word comes for the inhabitants of the island of lesbos in Greece where the most famous homoerotic poetess lived thousands of years ago (now this sounds great for us occidentals... not sure how the people over at lesbos in Greece right now feel about it). Meanwhile men are stuck with the word Gay which, not only lacks the thousands of years in history, it is also used on girls.

The word lesbian is never used to refer to guy relationships is it? So I've been searching for a while looking for a word that would match the equivalent of "lesbian" unfortunately poets who wrote male to male relationships in ancient Greece are guys like Theognis and Anacreon who self-identify are pederasts... so taking their names would not really help the ameinian community, since pedophilia is even further away from being socially accepted.

However other more famous poet touched the subject, Homer in the Iliad mentions the myth of Ganymede (god I love that name) The young boy who was kidnapped by Zeus to make him his servant (because he was so darn beautiful) yet again... old Zeus and a young boy do give some remembrance of pederasty again. So I kept searching... along the way, I remembered narcissus that was in love with himself... now of course we couldn't call ameinian men narcissistic of course. Yet however reviewing the myth, there is this little known part.

Many were those who fell in love with the beautiful lad. Even when he was a baby his nurses swooned over him, and by his sixteenth year every man and woman in town pined for him. None of them however were good enough for him, he felt. One day his neighbor, Ameinias, could stand it no longer, and told Narcissus how much he longed for him, and asked him to be his lover. Narcissus said nothing, but merely sent a servant to deliver a dagger in response. Ameinias understood the meaning of the ' gift,' and with that dagger took his own life, calling down the wrath of the gods upon Narcissus, and cursing him to ever meet in love the same disdain that he had for others.

While most of the myth centers on the conflict of narcissus an echo, Ameinias seemed to have been somehow obscured. Ameinias' tragedy is... well... really ameinian... maybe even corny. BUT it really says much more than the word generic word: Gay... Ameinias could be the perfect word. Except for the similarity with the word Anemia which is a disease, however its use on people would not be Amienic but Ameinian - if there wasn't an already established structure for the English language that probably regulates this stuff -.

So yes... I spent my day today trying to make up a word. Imagine what I can do tomorrow…

(8 days late)

There is so much inside me bursting to get out

There is so much inside me bursting to get out. 

I've been not feeling well, I've been sick, I've been lying and lied to... don't know what to do, everything seems like this huge endless lie... but it isn't... or is it?... I've always considered myself a great liar... who in turn would make me also a great actor or, better yet, a great story teller.

Perhaps that’s why my life feels like a lie, I have this image of myself that is far from being any real sense... am I novelist' am I a writer?... it’s been months since I wrote anything for my novel.... there hasn't been a day I don't think about it, I think about it constantly, endlessly every detail, the whole plot, sometimes I think so much about it overwhelms me.

There is this contest... I could try to do something... however I know I won’t make it. I wake up with the thought that I have to straighten my hair if I want to feel good today... how empty is that? 

Then I spend the next 30 minutes looking at the guy in the mirror, who depending on the day, at random, is the most disgusting being on the planet or maybe not, so I stop, my hair half done, I look myself in the eyes and then I see it... the future, my future, I know how things will go, I know how everything will pan out, not in detail, but the overall plot.

I just keep thinking... Someone living my life should be happy…

(5 days late)

what is it about me?

I met someone, another sexually confused 15 y/o, - what is it about me?- he seems more mature than the last one, he is Emo obsessed which is a big improvement… but knows nothing about my fetishes, is it something I should tell him at first or just let him discover. He is out of town for Easter, but he seems like it could be something serious, more than a fling… am I actually considering a relationship? I’m a loner! I’ve always been a loner… I don’t even believe in love, I haven’t sustained a relationship with anyone over the years! Is it crazy to think now I can have a relationship with someone? 

I need to stay focused on the goal

“Miracle: a happy coincidence”

(33 days late)

To my mother

To my mother

I have life, I have gaps, I have what I want,

I have scars, deep wounds, immense pain,

I have my nostalgia, my questions, my affections.

You left to punish us all,

to mark your territory with the weight of your final absence,

to kill us too.

I died in you

you killed me

you evicted my life with your death,

imposed, impossible, final.

Every day every night,

every day every night,

your memory is never alone

there is always you and your death,

your hand stretched out in the empty space

so purple, so cold,

your mouth ajar,

the sound of your dead chest.

You didn't leave me alone

you just left me without you and with your death,

violent, simple, provoked.

"Only optimists commit suicide," they say.

I believe

What did you think was going to happen?

What were you going to find?

Didn't mother tell you that there is no beyond?

You condemned yourself too,

you took off,

You killed me, you evicted him, you killed them, we got lost,

You turned off your light very early.

With your last act,

sublime act of selfishness,

you gave me full hands.

Who would believe it mother?

Who would believe that you could give birth to me twice?

I hold on to the facts

your body, dead and decomposed is in a grave,

your soul does not exist.

Who do I talk to when I talk to you?

You are memory.

I have my affections, my questions, my nostalgia,

immense pains, deep wounds,

scars,

what I wish,

empty,

life.

I have life.

Maria G

My love, Today I woke up and there it was again…

My love,

Today I woke up and there it was again... that sick, ugly and talentless being... the monster on the mirror.

I wait for you to come, like spring after a deadly cold winter even though I know it doesn’t snow here in hell...

I’m in hell my dear. I’m in hell, and I can’t escape because everyone says I am the one that condemned me here... I don’t understand that.

I’m empty my dear... I’m empty of you, I can’t see you, I can’t feel you... I can’t even dream of you. Where did you go?

I don’t know how else I can say I rather die than wake up tomorrow...

I don’t know how can I express anymore the feeling of absolute emptiness my life is.

I don’t know how I am strong enough to breathe right now…

(18 days late)

Finally I got someone to help me out with a vid…

Finally I got someone to help me out with a vid… in the rain! Got thoroughly soaked. It was silly and fun, I really enjoyed it.

(7 days late)

As if things couldn’t be worse

As if things couldn’t be worse, my mom is depressed, and she doesn’t hide it. I’m depressed to, so all I can do is nod along we both just want to throw the towel, just lay on the floor stare to the sky and wait for the earth to devour us slowly and inexorably. I spend hours, that go from 5am to 7pm I haven’t accomplished anything and still feel tired and worn out. I am hopeless... I really don’t wish anything anymore, I don’t care about anything, I don’t want anything, and I don’t want to want... I just don’t care. I need nothingness, I need to fall and become nothing.

I know I have grown more beautiful, I hope it’s not narcissistic of me to say, but I think I am more attractive now, far more attractive than what I would have said I was 5 years ago..

(8 days late)

Sit down in the dark

Sit down on the dark.

Smile!

I hate you.

What?

I hate you

Why?

I just do

Stop it.

No

Stop it

No

Please.

No.

Why?

You deserve it

You think you are perfect

I know I’m not

You think you know

Forgive me

No.

...

I'll look back and laugh,

...or cry

I rather die than keep this up, it’s absurd... my life, the things I do, I’m so alone, I hate my life, I’m being the classical depressed teen... but this really goes beyond that, I’m lost, I’m so lost.... 

Writing doesn’t bring me pleasure anymore, I look at it, and it makes me nauseous. Where are you superman? come and save me, just come and fly me away, I’m just a boy, deep inside I’m just a fragile  little boy, that need to be rescued, rescued from himself.

(10 days late)

Martyr

Never give an compliment that’s not rightly deserved, it’s worse than an insult even though it sounds better.

I’m old… I feel 112 years old… I feel like my life should be ending instead of starting after some incident I rather not discuss here, my back is useless… I’m doomed to my bed, because being in a chair kills me… but my back its inn awful pain all the time, it feels like my lower back it being crushed. I remembered that pain in the back is a symptom for cancer on the spinal cord, and for a moment I wished that that was what I had.

… Maybe I like playing martyr, because I’ve been all charming today…

I would have made a great catholic, if I had found a mentor someone to guide me I would have become a priest I know it... but all the church ever saw in me, was another stubborn kid. Religion teacher never saw me as special despite my hidden devotion. I guess this is one of the things I never thought I’d share with anyone... I guess because I consider it a defeat... my faith wasn’t strong enough, to follow that path. I would have outgrown reason a science anytime if someone had showed me a less painful way.

My first communion was in deep conviction, I took it seriously as the blood and flesh of Christ, and I felt holy, receiving it with the most beautiful girl in school besides me.

I know I can do things.

Just not as good as I want them to be...

Why wasn’t I blessed with some extraordinary?

I know that I shouldn’t worry, that there is really nothing to worry about...

I should be smarter, wiser and experienced... I’m none, I shouldn’t be advising other people...

I did something I had been holding to do… I opened my old msn account, the account that I used in school. It’s not dead yet… I went there… there was none online. Like visiting an old desolate house, so many names… I don’t remember anyone, I just have some vague flashes of names, and I know I once talked to everyday.

I saw some spaces, people that have gone forward… I found an entry, Mauricio wrote it, I spend 8 hours of class every day of the week for 5 years with him, he had an entry on his blog, which I wish I could track back… he remembered his friends during his time in school… I wasn’t among them. I feel backstabbed.

I talked to Aiacos again; I talked about how sometimes I missed school, felt nostalgic about it… 

I have no clue why I dare to talk to people.

(8 days late)

Bang bang!

 "depressed . . . without phone . . . money for rent . . . money for child support . . . money for debts . . . money!!! . . . I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings & corpses & anger & pain . . . of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners . . ."  - Kevin Carter 

God I must be boring…

God I must be boring…

My mom, has been on the phone for hours yapping about this kid… teen, the poor guy is studying overseas… what trauma… and his mom has apparently messed him up by telling him how he can’t be depressed… and he is indirectly screaming for help… apparently he was a jock at school… but now he is well… just a Latino… man the world sucks…

I mean Common!!! I’m your son here! and I’m not mentally healthy either… god… 

I have been nauseous all day… I saw The Lord of the Flies… I thought… boys + shirtless + beach… But it so wasn’t like that… mankind, human beings in general are disgusting beings. Boys are something that just shouldn’t be… Piggy…. I felt so bad for him… and Simon… if I had to choose to be one of them I would take him; I would like to be him…

I feel like crying so badly tonight… I have to read this book.

I must accept I’m not perfect…. I never will be….

I must accept I’m alone… I will forever be…

I must accept… That this life is just not worth it…

I need to think this carefully again… find some poison, and do it… why poison? Because’ I’m a coward… yes… and start writing that note… I think what been keeping me from doing it for almost 10 years is that… I never had a note… I had the knife, the poison, the timing... but not the note…

“I'm a writer. If I was going to kill myself, I would've written one hell of a suicide note.”

Chloe Sullivan

(15 days late)

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Grated Carrot

 Grated Carrot

The first suicide is unique.
They always ask you if it was an accident
or a sincere proposition of death.
They shove a tube up your nose,
hard,
it hurts,
and you learn to not disturb the neighbors.
When you begin to explain that
death-actually-seemed-like-the-only-way-out
or that you did it
to-fuck-up-your-husband-and-your-family
they have all turned their backs
and are watching the transparent tube,
retrieving the parade of your last supper.
Betting on whether its noodles or fried rice.
The doctor on duty coldly tells them:
it’s grated carrot.
“Disgusting,“ says the nurse with big lips.
They disposed of me furiously
because no one won the bet.
The saline dispersed quickly
and ten minutes later,
I was back at my house.
No space to mourn
nor time to feel cold and tremble.
People are unconcerned with death that comes from loving too much.
Child’s play
they say
as if children killed themselves every day.
I looked in Hammett for this exact page:
never tell a word about your life
in any book,
if you can help it.

Miyo Vestrini, died by suicide on November 29, 1991, at 53. Cut her veins.