I felt old.

I felt old. I fell a million years old. I saw a spark of youth I have never experienced. A naïve-ness that’s in some way repulsive… I realized… that it’s important how I look in the eyes of the prince. I won’t smoke in front of you.

I realized that I need a life away from him…

 What’s wrong....your blog was so sad???

 And I think you're beautiful

Well, thanks I've been in this mood for a while

I know exactly how you fee. I honestly do...but I think you're beautiful inside and out

It’s not a come on and I'm not into cheap flattery

And yes....I agree with your link between art beauty and sadness

But its sadness that breeds both art and beauty...so without sadness we wouldn't appreciate anything beautiful

And if we didn't experience sadness we couldn't create anything beautiful or artistic

And I think your graphics are beautiful'

Your words are beautiful and poetic

Your sensitivity that makes you so sad is the same sensitivity that lends you the perspective which allows you to write so beautifully

It’s a double edged sword

Your gifts come with a price

Just like every superhero story

This is from one sad sensitive writer to another

Xag: I had never known someone who had actually read what I write there. I don't know what to say ^^. Thanks.

Believe me I understand

The sadness

 The consuming depression

you look everywhere and see injustice, sadness, misery...and it's not fair, and you can't change it...and you think "I can’t continue on like this"...you feel like no one else sees it and you think why go on in this world...where nothing is fair...where beauty is fleeting and nothing matters anyway since it will end one day anyway

 And you think you want to just stop being sad by hurting yourself

But if you do that you'd just be contributing to the sadness and the violence of the world

and you wouldn't be able to create anything beautiful that might one day give solace to another suffering kid....the eighteen year old kid 20 years from now who needs to spend every night on the web just to escape wherever he is

Let me venture some guesses

You think it’s unfair that there are prescribed limitations and expectations based on your gender

You don't understand why you attract any extra attention if you wear a girl's tee...and you don’t understand why some guys wear baggy clothes that hide their bodies when they actually have really good bodies

You think it's unfair that anyone with a sexual fetish or preference other than the usual is looked at any differently or that anyone cares about such things one way or the other

You don't understand why heterosexuals are threatened or nervous around queer people

 You accept diversity and differences in everyone around you and you don't get why everyone else doesn't

How am I doing so far?

You are actually scaring me little bit

 Lol why

It is pretty, pretty accurate

He he...sorry...I kind ranted there for a bit...

I just told you

 I completely understand you

Because I'm EXACTLY the same way

 You’re adorable

I understand you so well...do you feel let down by people a lot cause you feel like you care a lot more about them then they care about you?

Yeah I do feel like that sometimes... but I also feel I'm so selfish for expecting people to care...

Exactly...so you alternate between feeling guilty and feeling let down?

Xag: exactly

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)

A feeling

A Feeling

I have the feeling that what I have yet to live is very little.

This head of mine looks like a crucible

Purifies and consumes.

But without a complaint, without a trace of horror,

To finish me, I want on an afternoon without clouds,

Under the limpid sun

A white viper, born from under a great jasmine,

To sweetly, sweetly,  sting my heart.

Around one o'clock in the morning on Tuesday, October 25, 1938, at 46, Alfonsina Storni left the hotel room where she was staying in Mar del Plata and went to the sea ...

The next morning two workers found, on the beach, the lifeless body of the poet who had foreseen that she would live little.

Loneliness

I was 16 months in my first school, 72 months in my second school, another 10 months in my third school and another 60 in my last school... plus the 4 months I’ve been in collage

All these are a bunch of 162 months or about 4860 days of sharing with people about 8 hours a day, every week day for more than 10 years. Want to know how many friends I’ve made?

None.

(38 days late)

What is sweet? What is light? What is love? What is happiness?

What is sweet? What is light? What is love? What is happiness?

Sometimes I close my eyes, and can get a glimpse that I can be filled with these things. With…Light… 

I’m obsessed with light, I’ve been crawling in the shadows too long, so long I’m not even sure the delicate ray of light I’m following is real.

A witch-doctor came to the house the other day, I could in his look that he noticed something in one of my sisters… he didn’t look at me. Maybe he knew I was a bit skeptic.

(10 days late)

Forever a draft

Delusional...

Delusional...

My mind does weird things to me, it plays with my emotions, I’m so angry and so sad and frustrated for no reason at all. That’s the saddest part of my life... people are unhappy because they are poor, or have physical limitations, or mental illness, or are treated unfairly, or are persecuted by society, or injured by their families or society. I keep on thinking, daydreaming, terrible things that might happen and end up wishing they do, maybe as an excuse to feel the way I do; It would be so much easier to be as sad as I am if I was blatantly mistreated, or if I could blame all to a trauma, a broken home, a child abuse experience, a bully experience, anything.
I hate myself for that, I mean, who wouldn’t, and I keep daydreaming, the death of my mom or my sisters, traffic accidents… I’ve been always so attracted to paraplegic or blind people. I guess I feel like if I should be an invalid, that way I would have an excuse... I don’t deserve what I have, not my family, not m my stuff, not even my health. I would love so much to diagnosed, to be maniac depressive or any other psychological illness, something that needed severe treatment. I’m sick, I know that.

What it feels to be me?

Well, is like when you have a big test at school which you have studied and memorized and got as ready as you could, but you still feel like you are not going to pass it. So you do everything you are supposed to do that morning and go just on time to the bus stop to wait for the bus, but the bus doesn’t arrive. So you don’t know if he passed up early or if it’s late.

Part of you wants it to come, because if not, you are going to miss that fucking test and fail it. The other part of you doesn’t want it to come, because that way you won’t have to present the test and find out how good you are, that way you don’t get qualified or worse feel a failure yourself. When the bus doesn’t come, you can always think "it was the bus fault" but if you do take the test the only thought there is, is "I’m an idiot!”

Now if the bus doesn’t show up, there is still the doubt, did I missed it, or did the bus got lost, and even if the answer was that the bus didn’t show up, you then start thinking if it’s worth a try to get to the test any other way, harder more difficult. But you don’t want the test! You don’t fell ready for it.

All this is rather disappointing, because you can’t escape the test. You’ll have to face it one way or another. I am trapped in that second. I can’t escape the bus stop. I’m sitting there, in the cold, thinking what to do and not doing anything, watching the clock every 30 seconds, partly hoping the bus will show up, partly hoping it won’t. Not daring to go away and give up, not daring to go the other way and do it in a harder way.

(6 days late)

Lo, my name is abhorred

Lo, my name is abhorred, 
Lo, more than the odour of carrion 
On summer days when the sky is hot.

Lo, my name is abhorred, 
Lo, more than the odour of crocodiles, 
More than sitting under the bank of crocodiles. 

Lo, my name is abhorred, 
Lo, more than a woman 
Against whom a lie is told her husband. 

[...]

To whom do I speak today ?
He that hath a contented countenance is bad,Good is disregarded in every place.

To whom do I speak today?Brothers are evil,A man is treated as an enemy in spite of a righteous disposition.

To whom do I speak today ?
There are none that are righteous,
The earth is given over to the workers of inequity.
To whom do 1 speak today ?
The sin that smiteth the land,It hath no end.

[...]

Death is before me today
As the odour of myrrh,
As when one sitteth under the sail on a windy day.

Death is before me today
As the odour of lotus flowers,
As when one sitteth on the shore of drunkenness.

Death is before me today
As a man longs to sec his house 
When he has spent years in captiviry.

[...]  
He who is yonder
Shall seize the culprit as a living god,
Inflicting punishment of wickedness on the doer of it.

He who is yonder
Shall be a wise man who has not been repelled,
Praying to Re [king of the gods] when he speaks. 

Thomas, Chris. “First Suicide Note?” The British Medical Journal, vol. 281, no. 6235, 1980, pp. 284–285. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25440699. 

I’m tired of me being bisexual, ugly, depressive, neurotic, ugly, sick, and numb

I’m tired of me being bisexual, ugly, depressive, neurotic, ugly, sick, and numb, rejected…. Now it seems all I need is love, from a boyfriend, from a girlfriend, from a true friend, from a loving pet, from a Tamagotchi, from a plant, from me. Could my life be anymore pathetic, guys my age doing really great stuff, and I am barely passing through high school. It’s not fair. 

But, why is not fair? It’s my fault after all. 

I met this boy. He is form my school bus, and has this strange cuteness, he is not my style, but he’s got a fine body and lovely arms, big eyes, and speaks in such a beautiful way… I had a crush on him. Today I talked to him… and… he is a jerk or at least that what I saw… I am disappointed. Maybe it was my fault… what “maybe”? It was my fault, I didn’t act as I am, and provoked the wrong behavior on him, and I was the jerk

Justo cuando pensaste que cometiste el peor error

During our school's cultural week, we had tons and tons of free time. Sounds like a lot of fun, but it really was disappointing. Just having that kind of time without having to work or study, really opened my eyes. It was so boring!!! I guess I just realized how stupid and empty they are. They just stressed me, their stupid routines, their cake face, their lack of maturity.

I realized that life is more than school and stupid jokes. Now I see, they have absolutely no compassion or interest for anything else. They are sadist; they love blood and see other people injured. And if that’s not enough then they'll make it more bloody and cruel up to a maximum point. To hear them talk like that gave me nausea. Then the same comments come again, and again, and again, and again.

How can people forget about pain? About feelings? Is just not right. Today we were on recess and I was reading when they kicked me in the eye with a ball. It really hurt, but no one noticed what had happened, so I don’t know why I needed to get attention or somebody to get worried, so I covered my eye like if blood had come out and ran. When I got to the bathroom I saw myself in the mirror, there I was, and a looser that no one cared about. I even got some red paint form my locker and tried to make like if blood had really come out. Then I realized how pathetic it was and washed it off. I came two of them asked how I was and what had happened. They didn’t laugh, but they didn’t cared either. Just like "if he dies, Ok, if he doesn’t, its Ok I guess”.

But the truth is I can't stand people who laughs about an afghan woman who gets killed on a football stadium like my "friends" do. Sorry. 

1 day late

Me cae mal