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 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

I’m destroying myself for him.

Right now I feel I’m destroying myself for him... I’m writing love letters to him... and as they go on and on...  I am more and more convinced that I don’t love him or that he doesn’t love me... I’m falling out of love... and I will go back to being doomed...

I should be telling him how much I love him, how much I want him, how much I wish he will be happy. How much I don’t want to hurt him, how much I wish I was his confident, how much I wish I did not make a video of everything we discuss.

He needs someone that would make him smile, not exasperate him, he needs someone who he can make love to every so often... someone that can invite him over his apartment all the time. Who can drive him to school.... ok maybe he doesn’t need to... maybe he just deserves to. Someone who can spoil him. If I was him... that’s what I would aim for, he deserves it... and he can get it...

I’m doing it his way, I’m going to have random sex today, for the very first time in my life, I just called someone for sex... someone I don’t really have feelings for. Just someone for sex... get it over with. Just not be passionate, not be in love... don’t make a video out of it. Why do I wish the prince the will call me and say... no Xag, don’t do it... or better yet... here: take this advice...?

Alone now

Ok, I’m alone now, me with me and me……….

……….… I feel if my blog was a real space… it would be like a cathedral a huge empty cathedral with scattered paper on the floor… and now it’s deserted… I feel I could hear my echoes…….

ECHO!!!

………………………… (Echo!!)

……………………………………………….. (Echo!)

………………………………………………………………… (…echo…)

I’ve been bleeding through my nose all afternoon… he asked me what do you need… what can I do?, should I cut myself?, should I get wet?… 

(1 day late)

I was waiting for you to tell you I don’t want to talk to you.

I have been waiting all my life for me to fall in love... to painfully realize that I really suck at it.

What was the use of all the daydreaming? Of all the waiting? Yearning... if in the end my ability to love is so helplessly handicapped.

what was the use of my pain, of my loneliness... what was the use of my art, of every wasted breath and word... if in the end… there is someone I love telling me they have been waiting online to tell me they are not going to speak.

December starts

December starts, people are celebrating… the prince and I are crossing the bridge, the light reflected on the smooth water… fireworks are going off… all colors, they are awesome, some in shape of hearts…. the price says: look Xag… look where we are going. The air was moist, it was going to rain soon and the street is damp from rain earlier… Xmas lights from all the houses nearby and their reflection on the dark damp streets. Suddenly, there’s this need… this scene… someone has to kiss there, it just makes sense. I stop dry, turn him around, and go for it. We kissed. I need to remember this; I need to write it, not looking for beautiful words, just stating the facts for my broken memory. Because it actually happened. Things like this actually happen… and I replay them out. Then I read him my love letter, most of it was rambling, but well that’s what love letter are… rambling on and on for what are just three damn words… I love you. 

I love you my prince. Just as you are, I don’t know if my love letter was clear on that point… I love you with the prince costume, the costume that shows who you really are. I’m finally in vacations; it’s sort of a relief… to know I can just sleep for hours and hours on end… I am depressed. The prince once asked and I said no. but I am my prince… I think I’ve always been.

I was born crying, lived crying… and probably die to let someone else to cry. I was born in a small little country in one farfetched corner of the world… a place devastated by war… where no one really does anything. 

I know what my role in the prince’s life is. I… am the angel of death. He knows it… I break his soul… “Xag… you are killing me” he says.

My prince, what were you doing today? Did you breathe? Did you blink? Did your blood pulse through your veins? Then everything is ok.

I’m 13 again am I 13 for good?

I’m 13 again am I 13 for good?

I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful 

So unloved for someone so fine 

I can feel so boring for someone so interesting 

So ignorant for someone of sound mind

I was going to say today I couldn’t ever love him if I didn’t love myself… I was going to break up with him, because of irreconcilable differences… he liked me… but I didn’t like myself… I felt like I had to say good bye because I feared we were just going to get bored of each other… and that was the problem really:  fear;   I was completely and utterly afraid of him… of us… 

Why was I so scared? He had complete access to my dirty laundry and he liked it… but he hasn’t given me any access to his… why? What was the sick game we were entering? And if he saw the worse of me and liked it… today I tried to flirt with him… he hated it; I stopped… he then asked what I hated about myself…. I answered my body… which to what he had a moderate polite reply… and all I could think was… god I’ve had more passionate replies from YouTube freaks!

Maybe I am not much into self-loathing and more of a diva…

Maybe I put this entire thing out on line, because I deep down know… even my dirty laundry s worth for the world to see? 

Nonsense, I write because I have to… the same way I breathe, I have to write… and I publish it online, because I need to… because I need help… because I need to connect to the world in some way… because I know I can’t bottle this inside without hurting the people I care about…. I need to blow off some steam, so I can smile every morning, wear my masks calmly… I need to say all of this now because tomorrow I have to see the prince and I want him to see someone that’s not case of charity… but someone he can learn from… if he wants to… god I don’t know… he says so little about himself if I’m not asking…

(3 days late)

Take a deep breath…

Take a deep breath… I said I had never been satisfied about anything with my life… well I’m just happy I met the prince… it was great… he showed me that there’s like people worth living for… that there are in fact people hat make the world a special place by just being in it… 

How often you come across people that make you feel better than what you think you are? How many people come along and make you feel you might be remotely valuable to someone? 

… he has been offline for 3 days now… today (this is going to be so embarrassing to say) I repeated his voice mail message on my cellphone , over and over till the battery died… every time I listened to it, its meaning varied… was he satisfied? Tired? Was he sad? Was he disappointed? Was he fed up? why did he call?.. Did feel he had to do it? did he wanted to? Was that simple calling a way of saying goodbye? I keep replaying our date on my head… sometimes I think it went great… sometimes I think it had to be the worst thing for him ever…when I judge it by my actions, when I dated Daniel (the really bad two dates) I lied a lot to Daniel to try to make him feel comfortable… I’m afraid he did the same thing to me, I said awful things… he said the most wonderful… I just was so focused trying to hide the cuts on my wrists while we ate… now I have the urge to cut more. I wouldn’t blame him; maybe I was his bad date… He did say he was a detached person.

I don’t dare try calling him on his cellphone … I don’t even know if it is his… I’m not that desperate… mmmm… ok maybe I am a little… probably, the biggest act of self-sabotage is this… writing this, because I know he’ll read it (hiya!!^^) … but all I think of is him… and I don’t know if that’s good or bad… but I just need to let it out somewhere… here… in the screaming room…

 I just hoped through the day as a voting juror he would show up... for some reason… it was… so… psychotic… so pathetic…. I’m so damaged and despaired… I try to keep myself from just calling him and telling him all those things… damn phone phobia!

I never thought I could be like this, thinking about someone for such long periods of time… I just like… I want to be with him…. god

I don’t even know him… I spoke to him once, this is sick… this is… self-sabotage… I’m tired of sabotaging myself; I’m my worst enemy… I don’t know if I want to be with him or be him… or maybe a bit of both… I am just so  incredibly happy I actually met him… even if it was just to see him once… and also I’m in so much pain now after (the good kind)… I feel so alive… all thanks to him… to him… I have to visit some historic places and museum here in Bogotá… I mailed him asking him to come… if he doesn’t… well… I can always ask Ana to come, I really wish he does… but again, I’m too scared to just call … me and my damn phone phobia…

Either leave him... or change myself...

Either leave him... or change myself...

I had never, ever, stayed with someone outside till 1am talking... and we talked... my biggest fear is that… we are going to say everything that there’s to say to soon... and we will eventually run out of things to say...

I know he needs someone better than me, he won’t admit it, I just wish I could do something for him... but he is like... so grounded, smart... , and I don’t feel like I’m really giving him anything... he doesn’t need anything I have...

"If someone doesn’t love you at your worse... they don’t deserve you at your best"...

But what if he doesn’t like me at my best? 

Right now... I just feel like making lists.

Right now... I just feel like making lists... lists about things I have to do... things that I want... things that I need...

For example....

I need courage to change my life

I need hope to stay alive

I need to buy a lot of antidepressants so I can commit suicide

I need to lose weight

I need to find someone to exercise with

I need someone to help me do... YouTube vids.... or at least someone who will lend their shower to record that stupid vid

I need wisdom to handle my relationships better

I need knowledge to pass my school tests

I need to find a way of getting out of this country... out of my home...

I need someone who would give me wedgies everyday

I need a lot of underwear for the mentioned above...

I need god to let roaches become extinct... they are disgusting

I need... I need a car... or learn how to drive... or someone to drive me around... or someone to teach me how to...

Most of all... I need my dreams... I miss them...

I have to... ask the prince about his life... I don’t want to question him... I hate interrogatories...

I have to stop thinking about my past

I have to do the literature essay

I have to study for Virtual Communications test

I have to organize my priorities

I have to re-design my site

I have to stop writing such a depressive journal

I have to read all of my economy copies and the damn book

I have to stop being so careless and unorganized

I have to learn how to use flash properly

I have to stop thinking how I could have made my past better

I have to stop daydreaming about being younger

I have to remember to be thankful for my crappy life

I have to be a better person than I am...

I want... not to want anything... but just be happy... and enjoy my shortcomings and my virtues...

A voice that makes sense

A voice that makes sense

"There is really no doubt you are a very sick person. And if this diary has been online so long and been read as much as you claim and there are still no changes, it is very clear that either no one really cares about you or that you are indeed beyond any kind of help. Suicide is your best option, it really doesn’t sound your life is worth living at all. I live near you, I will be glad to be of assistance. Stop torturing yourself with this diary and most importantly stop torturing people online who deceived by your videos and other works come into this depressive world of yours. I’m not blaming you, it’s not your fault, you are just very sick. Please stop, and if you are not able to do it by yourself, let me help you end it. For your own sake and for everyone else’s."

(3 days late)

Yesterday, I was going to definitely end things with Joshua, he knew it and then out of nowhere… I just told him I loved him. I’m insane, completely acting at random, not being coherent with my mind… perhaps that’s love, and not being coherent… so I just said it... I don’t think I had ever said this to a guy… anyway, after I said it… I was still going to get done with him... I said good bye… and I was going to block him… and I just started at his nickname on msn… my mouse over it… it must have been like 15 minutes… and I couldn’t make up my mind.. And then he talked to me… and he KNEW… he knew I was going to delete him… I don’t know if I’m that obvious or he just reads me to well… but he knew… and then I couldn’t block him at all.

 The refusal to accept love, the refusal to respond to it, that precisely is the meaning of Hell. Hell is not a place where God puts us; it’s a place where we put ourselves. The doors of Hell, insofar as they have locks, have locks on the inside. - Kallistos 

(4 days late)

Writing a suicide letter is much more difficult than it sounds ...

 "Writing a suicide letter is much more difficult than it sounds ... I know this because I have written many."

FINAL from José Luis Montesinos. Director on Vimeo.

God?

 Yeah?

 I have problem

No! Really?! 

No need to be sarcastic.

... The girl I like talks to you…

 But I think you tell her something different than you tell me so... l, are you lying?

 Of course not.

Lying would imply saying something that is not true, and everything is true.

 She thinks I am a sinner 

You are sinner

You told her you spoke to god.

She asked me what you answered me back when I spoke to you... I lied 

What did you say? 

I said you always replied the same thing: yes.

 Well, you certainly omitted my neat sense of humor and sarcasm. 

I know... I don’t know why id did it.

 You don’t believe it’s me anymore

I do.... I do believe this is you

 Then why didn’t you tell her. 

I don’t know... 

I guess I was afraid I would come out as a raving lunatic, I told her... I was god. 

Which is true? 

Yeah, for you and me who understand it? 

But for her... must have sounded insane... 

Can you talk to her? 

I will 

Thanks she is bit stubborn

 I know

\(4 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

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 

Interior

Interior                      

It sheds a shy solemnity,
This lamp in our poor room.
O grey and gold amenity,--
Silence and gentle gloom!
Wide from the world, a stolen hour
We claim, and none may know
How love blooms like a tardy flower
Here in the day's after-glow.
And even should the world break in
With jealous threat and guile,
The world, at last, must bow and win
Our pity and a smile.

1926

The legend tells that:

At noon on April 26, 1932 Hart Crane yelled, "Goodbye everyone," and jumped off the deck of the S. S. Orizaba to voluntarily submit to death in some undetermined point off the Florida coast.

In this way he put the end to the most heartbreaking of his texts his own life.

I can see it so clearly

I can see it so clearly, in 2 or three years, right after finishing collage... I am going to be so lost; I’m no journalist, but that’s my career… and people will ask me "why don’t you change? Why don’t you change your career? Why don’t you make new friends? Why do you finish your book?" 

And I’ll have to answer something lame like 

"It’s like being lost inside a forest, a thick forest, and I’ve been shown a path, not a clear path but like the trace someone left behind, and I’ve been following it for ages and it hasn’t got me anywhere, now, impulsive, decided and strong people would notice that and would leave the path and make their own way, but me, I’m not smart enough or brave enough to leave the path I’ve been shown, even if I know it’s only going in circles... I just can’t"

(1 day late)

Inexpressibly Melancholic

The desire to rid himself of depression—and the loneliness, the despair, and the fears that were part of it—was the most powerful force that motivated Vincent to become an artist and incited the intense energy that was so vital to this end. His pictures became his companions, his mistresses, and his children. "The work is an absolute necessity for me," he wrote. "I can't put it off, I don't care for anything but the work; that is to say, the pleasure in something else ceases at once, and I become melancholic when I can't go on with my work."  He observed at another time that hard work was the way to avoid "that melancholic staring into the abyss."  "I feel inexpressibly melancholic without my work to distract me, as you will understand, and I must work and work with facility. I must forget myself in my work, otherwise it will crush me."  

-  Vincent Van Gogh (Found on: Stranger on the earth; a psychological biography of Vincent van Gogh by Lubin, Albert J - Page 22. )

Imaginary Suicides

Imaginary Suicides

They turn the key in the door, take out
their old, well-hidden letters,
read them quietly, then drag
their feet a final time.
Their life has been a tragedy, they say.
God! people’s frightful laughter,
and the tears, the sweat, nostalgia
of the skies, the landscape’s solitude.
They stand there by the window, gazing at
the trees, the children, all of nature,
at the marble-workers hammering away,
the sun that wants to set forever.
It’s over. Here’s the note —
appropriately short, profound, and simple,
full of indifference and forgiveness
for whoever’s going to weep and read it.
They look in the mirror, look at the time,
ask if it’s madness maybe, a mistake.
“It’s over now” they murmur;
deep down, of course, they’re going to put it off.

On July 20, 1928, in Preveza, Kostas Karyotakis ended his

"short life of a sick and aged child"

with a shot that resonated alone under an eucalyptus. Earlier the same day, he had tried unsuccessfully to drown it in the Mediterranean.

Maybe Karyotakis was only able to "Offer a bullet to his youth and to others a few sore poems."