What's "share"?

What's "share"? 
We tried to have sex. We failed...but somehow...it didn't matter to me. Actually, I enjoyed the wedgie much better than our sex attempt. If someone would have told me a while ago that my partner would be asexual, I would feel frustrated, but with Xag I didn't...our relationship is much more than that. Though I still want to have "proper" sex with him, I'll try to go at his pace...I'm not hurry, as long as I can hold him in my arms, as long as I can kiss him...that's fine with me.We talkedHe tried to broke up with me again. I cried again...but, you know something? I didn't "hurt", I mean, of course I don't want to break up with him, but he tried to because he loves me...how can I be hurt when someone loves me that much...I cried, but I felt happy, joyful, glad to have him. I didn't cry because I was sad, I felt powerless...powerless because I couldn't make him see how much I love him, how wonderful he is how much I need him. He refuses to see it; He can't see it...that's why I told him he needs advice, professional advice. I think Xag needs someone who tells him that he has a distorted image of himself. How come he hasn't asked for professional help? I totally understand his reasons, his motivations; he says he is "sick", "broken" but it is psychologists and psychiatrist’s job to "cure", to "fix".He measures things very strictly: "this is good", "this is bad", "and this is ugly" "this is pretty" Though he has never explained to me what he uses to measure, he always puts himself in the "ugly", "bad" category. I do not see him in that way. Not at all. That makes him start questioning things about us, "what if...?", "what if not...", "would you...?", "why didn't you...', "why did you...?"...Hun, believe me I'm sure, I love you...I LOVE YOU.If you want to ask me something, if something's not clear, I want you to say it: "My Prince, I think you're selfish", "I think you're vague", "How come? I don't get it", "Explain it"...that's what I'm for.I admire him, I think sometimes I'm afraid to discuss with him because I don't have strong arguments... I'm so naive, I don't read, I don't think...I'm not intellectual as him. I just keep floating around in the world watching the clouds move by, staring at distant lights, kissing the wind that comes from the mountains, gazing at the reflection of the moonlight in wet asphalt, trying to understand the dance of the leaves in the trees....I don't know what love is, I don't know what Aristotle’s said about it, I haven't read The Marquis de Sade, I haven't read about antimatter, I don't know what Peter Pan is about...but God, I'm SO glad I have my Xag to explain it all to me...I was speaking about Xag with Marciano (Mauricio, my 17 year old best friend forever):" you know what I feel about him?I don't know how to say itHe's a thinking person...but inside the house(...)I'd like to meet him...and his sister(...)I imagine he's lived so little in the outside world that he doesn't have a happy image of his /video/"Ok, so please, don't puzzle yourself trying to understand this kid. I've hit the keyboard a la angry German kid trying to figure him out....I just want to let you know what he thinks of you.age...I don't know what to say...I'm in love....there wasn't a single second of this day that I wasn't thinking of him...I LOVE YOU XAG....what do I have to do to prove it to you?I have to share a little more....I just think: " I don't want to suffocate him" When he was watching my drawing the first time I thought: "Ok, that's enough, maybe he doesn't care that much" I know it's silly...but I'm not used to people care so much about me...when they do I make my "cool" face and that's it...It became an habit...I've thought of sending things to him, showing songs to him....but maybe he'll say: "that's an ugly song" He doesn't like my music, I know...it was clear when we were on the bus and he rejected the headphone. And I'm so weak...I'm afraid that if I show him a song he may not understand it...But hey, I planned to share a lot of things with him, I want to...it’s just...I'm so amazed by him right now...Xag, please remind me to show you the pdf. Of "Death in Venice", my favorite book. You, who like books, should read it that's the book that defines me.Please, let me teach about Paul Klee, Andy Warhol, and Marcel DuchampLet me explain you about the Surrealist RevolutionLet me tell you about indie rock...Play Final Fantasy VII (it’s in your house) Let me lend you Zelda: The Wind Waker and play a little bitLet me teach you French, Japanese and HebrewLet me teach you how to draw...lets draw togetherLets join my guys as they have a drink at the FrancesaLet’s go out with Daniel and Diego, lets watch them fightLet me introduce you to Natalia as she introduces me her new girlfriendLet's watch shotacon together....I want to do all those things with you...I'm just so thrilled learning about you that I forgot...to share, but you're right.I'm convinced I'm not good with words (English is killing me right now)...So my plan will be to post a drawing with a small caption...I'll see if its more "effective" or I’ll just try Spanish...somehow I feel I didn't make any point with this entry...Xag...you don't have to change...you don't have to be "better", but if you think you have to, let me help you...Natalia said that loving a lot someone is making an effort to be able to keep him with you...to be better for that person."Amar a alguien mucho es también esforzarse por pòderlo conservar a tu lado... por ser mejor para esa persona"I LOVE YOU XAG

I got a half liter of pesticide poison seating in the kitchen... screaming “drink me”. I just have to figure out what kind of poison it is really, so I know the lethal dose -surviving with no esophagus does not sound appealing at all- 

I just don’t know who to ask, without seeming suspicious… mmm… ill figure it out. It’s just weird, because… it’s a long weekend, so I’ll have the time to do it. Everything has come together to just do it… it’s so easy…. of course it makes me wonder… 

 They do not inspire me with disgust, but with an immense pity. Among all the mysteries of human life there is one which I have penetrated; our great torment in this existence comes from the fact that we are eternally alone -- all our efforts and all our actions are directed toward escaping this solitude.

On January 2, 1892, de Maupassant attempted suicide by cutting his throat.  He was committed to the celebrated private asylum of Dr. Esprit Blanche at Passy, in Paris, where he died on July 6, 1893, at the age of 43.

Christmas is a stupid holiday

Christmas is a stupid holiday, not as stupid as New Year’s but stupid enough.

First we must admit it’s all about the money and the presents, like one broke girl said.

“The holidays are totally about money! It’s about spending money to buy things to stuff into the giant black sucking hole in the center of each of us that reminds us life is hard and then we die.” 

It’s not about love, joy to the world, or the celebration of the birth of Christ... It’s a huge commercial complot to exploit us and taker our money.

But who am I kidding… this is not why I hate Christmas...

I hate Christmas, because it’s supposed to be perfect and never is. This time of year comes, and it’s in our subconscious that this should be a time for happiness and sharing with our families. But it’s never like that…

I personally don’t love my extended family, with whom I have been forced to share this dreadful holiday. Why you wonder? It’s a nice family… a good looking, a wealthy family, a kind family… I don’t fit. I just don’t. 

The people closer to me is the people I’m more distant emotionally, no one in my family knows me, and the only person I depended in making Christmas better is across the ocean having the time of her life. 

As I sat alone in the middle of the crowd drinking Colombiana I realized how alone and pathetic I was:

First the only person I was expecting to hear a merry Christmas from was a 60 year old in England.

Second, that the only person I could ask in a date was not very good looking 15 year old ameinian boy I met online… and knowing that if I ever meet him, he’ll be so disappointed; I’m much uglier than what you see on webcam.

Everyone else is gone… just gone… And to think this promised to be such a great Christmas season. 

(29 days late)

'blood and guts' and in living color

In keeping with Channel 40's policy of bringing you the latest in 'blood and guts' and in living color, you are going to see another first—(an) attempted suicide.

Christine Chubbuck was an American television news reporter who worked for WTOG and WXLT-TV in Sarasota, Florida. She is known for being the first person to commit suicide on a live television broadcast

Ai-je bien pu vivre deux mois et demi sans toi?

I'll kill myself tomorrow, unable to stand existence without the woman who had been my sole joy, the only happiness in my life. For the last two and a half months I have struggled; today I am at the edge. I don't have much hope to see her again, but who knows? At least I am plunging into the void where one no longer suffers. I wish to be buried (this is my formal wish) in the tomb that I have had built in the Ixelles cemetery for my dear Marguerite, the vault which I own. My body should be placed in the central resting place just above her. And never, for any reason, must I be placed in the highest chamber. I ask that her portrait and a lock of her hair, which I will have on me when I die, be placed in my coffin, which should be as similar as possible to that of my dearest Marguerite's. On the tombstone, below my dearest Marguerite's inscription, in the same characters and the same style of writing, write these words: "Georges, 29th of April, 1837 - 30th of September, 1891: Ai-je bien pu vivre deux mois et demi sans toi?"

General Georges Boulanger, who, on the verge of becoming dictator of France, relinquished his power to care for his dying lover, Marguerite. Two months after her death, he shot himself at her grave site.

In an old family album

In an old family album
Ever again you return, Melancholy,
O meekness of the solitary soul.
A golden day glows and expires.
Humbly the patient man surrenders to pain
Ringing with melodious sound and soft madness.
Look! There's the twilight.
Night returns once more and a mortal thing laments
And another suffers in sympathy.
Shuddering under autumn stars
Yearly the head is bowed deeper.

-Georg Trakl (1887-1914) "The Prophet of the West", as Heidegger called him, listened attentively to the "Songs of Death" and yielded to its spell on November 4, 1914 (others say three).

It is believed that the prophet died, as I myself would like to enter death, of a cardiac arrest consciously caused after an overdose of cocaine.

Here I am in collage... alone

Here i am, in collage... alone, yes all alone. isnt it sad?

well, ive been writing reading, everithing necesary to be somewhat interesting.... not that i diont do these just for that. I truly like to read and write and say uinteresting stuff, and i enjoy art.... i really enjoy art. anyway, I really think i might be in the worng place -like always- 

Today ive found how almost everyone u can tlk to, can be a really interesting person.... yet i havent got a chance to click with anyone.

is there something wrong with me?... am i really a bad person and i cant see it?

man, im frustrated right now, im lost, im confused, im really out of my mind. i dont know wot else to do.... i want to *be* with someone. 

Its not like im alone ina corner, but everymorning when i get to class, i have noone to si besides to.

this is confusing post, yet i need to say something.... i have a lot of things to say and no one to say them to, and it seem thet just telling them to myself, is just not enough enymore.

(134 days late)

Wanting To Die

Wanting To Die
Poem by Anne Sexton

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns. 

Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun. 

But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build. 

Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic. 

In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole. 

I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body. 

Still-born, they don't always die,
but dazzled, they can't forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile. 

To thrust all that life under your tongue!-
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death's a sad Bone; bruised, you'd say, 

and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison. 

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss, 

leaving the page of the book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.

One day like any other, October 4, 1974, Anne returned home, (she had already said goodbye to her friends), and devoted herself to drinking vodka, at some point she got up, with the vodka in hand, went to her car, turned on the radio, started the engine and waited ...

Here I am with my pants down to my ankles writing again

Here I am with my pants down to my ankles writing again, I don’t know why. 

I had this unbelievable dream, with Daniel, one of the guys I hang around in school, he is really skinny and has this tan, and well, he is not very cute, but has a very nice body built, when I see the waist band of his boxer briefs at school it just gives me this feeling. Last night I had this dream where I was at school with my 'gang', and suddenly I turn back and Daniel is kissing this other very tall guy which I don’t find very cute, kissing, passionately, I was so shocked that I turned to tell Aiacos, but he was not surprised at all, he told me that he knew Daniel was ameinian from a long time ago. I was still more shocked and then without thinking, I just went over Daniel, and whispered him I was bisexual, I’m not sure if he heard me but then suddenly James, another guy form school was now openly ameinian too. With my head spinning I just went straight to Daniel again and kneeled before him, and told him to show me his underwear. then there is some spacing because later I’m kneeled before James he has his pants to his ankles and I’m holding his orange and gray boxer briefs down to the knees and I look at the underwear a second and close my eyes, I don’t dare to look at his balls. I don’t want to, I feel kind of nauseous... then we are all sitting right beside the basket court and there is Ana Maria and another girl I know, (I think is someone I know though I’m not sure) and they are talking to each other, at my side is Daniel, he is excited and as talking me about being ameinian and Ivan is kind of supporting him, though he is quite the homophobe in real life, but I’m not listening to them, I just keep staring at Ana Maria and wish so much to join their conversation. Then he stands up and goes towards the buildings and shouts something I can’t remember right now… I just know it made sense.

God knows there are right now three cuties in my school, I can’t stop looking at, and they are all from sixth grade. The first one is the one his classmates call by the most horrible nick ever, so I call him Sebastian.  He is just so god damn good looking. He’s got blond -light brown hair, these amazing blueish eyes, perfect build, and his face is just so cute, he is always looking good. besides is kind of a bully at school, I’m almost sure he wears briefs because his underwear waistband never showing, and the other time I was walking up the stirs when I saw him coming shirtless from the corridor downstairs, I wanted to see but I was with James and Ivan, and had to remind myself not to stare (another reason why I want them to know) he is just the reason for me to go to school. The other cutie pie is the opposite, also very skinny and great body built but he is always with the big school jacket on, though that makes him such a great little god when I get to see him just wearing his shirt. He has ebony black hair and dark brown eyes (but I’m not sure sometimes they look like they are dark gray) with long eyelashes and has the most beautiful freckled face ever, his smile is just way to cute, but best of all is his voice is just so filled with childhood, Sebastian has a gorgeous voice too… but his is just spectacular. Besides unlike Sebastian he looks like one of this mature boys that I like so much. On third place is this cute boy, who has the cutest face and eyes and tiny cute nose but he is overweight I think, but he is just so cute can't help but I keep staring at him, his face is just perfect. Maybe he is not over weight but has like a kind of big boned.

I'll try to take a picture of the boys, damn they are so cute.

To end this shallow entry I’m must say that I feel lonely; I can’t even keep a cyber-bully. - If anybody is interested just contact me I just need someone close even if is just for a kiss or wedgie - (look at me! asking for someone online... pathetic).

(21 days late)

No one is alone

At this very moment 
there is a man 
who suffers, 
a man tortured
only for loving freedom. 
I ignore where he lives, 
what language he speaks, 
or what color is his skin, 
how he is called, 
but at this same moment, 
when your eyes read my small poem, 
that man exists, 
he screams, 
it is possible to hear hi harassed animal weeping, 
while he bites his lips not to denounce his friends. 
Do you hear? A single man,
handcuffed, screaming, 
exists somewhere. Did I say alone? 
Don´t you feel, like me, the pain, 
the pain of its body repeated in yours? 
Isn't your blood flowing under the blind blows? 
Nobody is alone. 
Now, at this very moment, 
You and me are handcuffed too.

José Agustín Goytisolo 

On March 19, 1999, The poet  José Agustín Goytisolo learned to fly, forever,

by jumping into the the void from the balcony of his house.

I'm all out of faith

Chanson of a Lady in the Shade.

Chanson of a Lady in the Shade. 

When the silent one comes and beheads the tulips:
Who wins?
Who loses?
Who walks to the window?
Who’s the first to speak her name?

He is one who wears my hair.
He wears it much as one wears the dead on one’s hands.
He wears it much as the sky wore my hair that year when I loved.

He wears it like that out of vanity.

That one wins.
Doesn’t lose.
Doesn’t walk to the window.
He does not speak her name.

He is one who has my eyes.
He’s had them since gates have shut.
He wears them like rings on his fingers.
He wears them like shards of sapphire and lust:
since the autumn he has been my brother;
he’s counting the days and the nights.

That one wins.
Doesn’t lose.
Doesn’t walk to the window.
He’s the last to speak her name.

He’s one who has what I said.
He carries it under his arm like a bundle.
He carries it as the clock carries its worst hour.
From threshold to threshold he carries it, never throws it away.

That one wins.
Doesn’t lose.
Doesn’t walk to the window.
He’s the last to speak her name.

With tulips that one’s beheaded.

 

Paul Celan committed suicide by drowning in the Seine river in Paris, around April 20, 1970. 

Leaping tiger gorge

The Naxi people in china...

"Couples used to plan their suicide well in advance, to take care of all the details ... [...] The lovers dressed in their best clothes and went to a nearby mountain, where they built a simple abode of branches and flowers: They spent their last moments drinking, singing and dancing. And then committed suicide by throwing themselves from the mountain, hanging themselves on a tree or ingesting poisonous substances. "

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

The idea of ​​suicide

The idea of ​​suicide has come back to mind, fortunately was defeated with the idea of ​​escape. I think it all started with The Lord of the Rings, when I read these stories I am can't help feeling unhappy with my life.

I 'm being decadent, smoking a cigarette in a corner at the table. I hate everything I am, what I think, what I like. I'm acting like a drunk depressed middle aged man when I have no reason to be, and could leave the room and watch a movie with my mom ... but I don’t feel like it, I just want to relax and clear my mind(who would say I'm on vacation) what is happening to me? For now I just want to practice my typewriting, it’s a bit slow and I need to improve it... maybe if I keep practicing…

Nocturne

Nocturne III by Silva (translated by Luis Zalamea) 

It was evening,
a night filled with perfumes, whispers, and the music of bird’ wings;
A night
when fantastic glowworms flickered in the nuptial, humid shadows,
at my side, ever so slowly, close to me, listless and silent
as if prey to premonition of the most stinging pain
that inflamed the deep secret of your fibers,
over the path filled with flowers that stretched across the plain,
you were walking;
and the full moon
in the sky, so infinite, so unfathomable, spread its light.
And your shadow,
lean and languid,
and my shadow,
by the moon’s rays silhouetted
on the path’s sorrowful gravel,
were united
and were one,
but one long and lonely shadow,
but one long and lonely shadow,
but one long and lonely shadow…
Tonight,
desolate; my soul
by your death so bitterly pained and anguished,
torn from you by time, distance and the grave
upon that infinite blackness
where our voice cannot be heard,
lone and mute,
on the path I kept on walking…
And dogs braying at the moon came to my ears,
at the pale face of the moon,
and the croaking of the frogs.
I felt cold; the same chill that in your chamber
numbed your precious cheeks, hands and brow
amidst the snow-white linens
of the funereal shroud.
It was frost out of the tomb, it was the ice of the dead,
and the chilliness  of the void…
And my shadow,
sketched out by the paleness of the moon,
walked alone
walked alone,
walked alone upon the prairie;
and your shadow, lean and graceful,
pure and languid,
as in that warm spring evening long ago,
as in that night filled with perfumes, whispers and the music of bird’ wings,
approached me and walked with mine,
approached me and walked with mine,
approached me and walked  mine… Oh embraced shadows!
Oh the shadows of the bodies mingling with the shadows of the souls!
Oh shadows that search each other in tear-filled and somber nights!

On the morning of 24 May 1896, a housemaid found Asunción Silva dead in his bed with a gun near his body; he had shot himself in the heart the night before.