May my death be fruitful. And force the meditation. So that those who can, learn the lesson.

From the suicide letter of Miguel Ángel Quevedo. Cuban Editor, Shot himself while living in exile  in Venezuela. 

We were all guilty. Everyone. By action or omission. Old and young. Rich and poor. Black and white. Honored and thieves. Virtuous and sinners. Of course, we still had to learn the incredible and bitter lesson: that the most "virtuous" and the most "honored" were the poor.

I die disgusted. Alone. Outlaw. Exiled. And betrayed and abandoned by friends to whom I generously gave my moral and financial support in very difficult days. [...] All dehumanized and cold abandoned me in "the fall".

May my death be fruitful. And force the meditation. So that those who can, learn the lesson. [...]And for the people to reconsider and repudiate those spokesmen of hatred, whose fruits we have seen could not be more bitter.

We were a people blinded by hate. And we were all victims of that blindness. Our sins weighed more than our virtues. We forgot Nuñez de Arce when he said:

"When people forget their virtues, it's a tyrant in its own vices."

Mourning a past that never was

Mourning a past that never was, is one of the main reasons I’ll never be happy. I can sit hours thinking and dwelling on what-if's, maybe-if-I-had’s and I-wish-I-would-have. I even day dream constantly, to the point of having to sit down an just do nothing else, about the possibility of just going back in time, with all this knowledge I have now of the things I’ve lived, and be 10 again... and just do all those things I know I should have done.

I forgot today to sign up for the subject I’m taking in collage... and I’m screwed... I’ll probably end up having a nightmare of a schedule... I don’t want to be early in the mornings again... but seems like I have no choice... I can hear already my mom’s lecture on the subject... "But if you are not doing anything! How can you forget to do something... when you have absolutely nothing else to do?”

I think bisexuality should be considered from now on as the perpetual state of sexual confusion.

I feel anxious… and anxiety goes hand in hand with depression...

I keep having dreams about people from school. Gosh, why, I don’t want to think about school anymore.

(20 days late)

The end of our elaborate plans

"This is the end, beautiful friendThis is the end, my only friendThe end of our elaborate plansThe end of everything that standsThe end
No safety or surpriseThe endI'll never look into your eyes again" 

- Marilyn Manson

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)

Seems like the only good thing to do over here is feel sorry…

Seems like the only good thing to do over here is feel sorry…

I’ve been fantasizing with death again, this time cancer or aids… anything so I can finally say I know when this will be over... 

For some reason I felt the impulse to show my blog to my mom and aunt… she saw my Jesus picture in Deviant Art… and I couldn’t explain it properly, I think she was truly offended by it, hurt. 

(8 days late)

Screwed up

no doubt I am screwed up--- nut today I think I screwed up, I spend the whole week working on that sociology working... stayed up till 3 am today... and I go to present the damn work... and they tell me that it was due Wednesday...

I messed up the date somehow, though I’m sure it was for this Friday, I was in front of him when I wrote it down... I think I really screwed 

I’m sick... yeah I’m always sick... but I suffer from iatrophobia... fear of hospitals and doctors... so I won’t,  I have a rash in my shoulder... god knows why... I hate discussing body malfunctions, because feel so incredibly humiliated...

Last night I went to see Hamlet... I really couldn’t see the actor faces clearly... it was all so blurry. I need new glasses, some with the right formula, but I don’t want to go to an eye doctor... I’m so scared.

I guess I’ve always wanted some friends that would just force health in me... like in friends, when the force the eye drops on Rachel... but my mother being a psychologist knows about respecting phobias, so I’ve never been forced to a real doctor.

(10 days late)

Psycho alert!

There are a lot of things in my mind…

I’m not sure how to start

Today I caught a special on the minds of serial killers… and well, here it goes… I was fascinated by some cases. Honestly the cases where guys around my age were murdered.

I’ve always known I’ve had a soft spot for this sort of acts on boys, I don’t know why, they appeal to me, I find them beautiful. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any contact with anyone, and I really don’t desire any… but the mental image, of torturing some… creatures… is appealing.

This woman presenting the show, the policeman and the parents of the victims and basically everyone… they were all puzzled, confused and outraged about the murders, and all it though was “I get it!” “I understand why”… I’m terrified by this… I don’t know if actually feeling this makes me one of these persons, but when I was seeing the pictures of the BTK killer victims… I understood I secretly wished to see pictures of the crime scene…. 

Oh my god, I just confessed to the world I could be a potential serial killer… But should I change this? probably not, I have a right to be attracted to whatever it is in the world. But I understand clearly that fantasies should stay in my fantasy world… in my writings, in my books… they are not to be mixed with the gray reality and all I can say is, I promise I’ll never act on it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m too afraid of skipping a red flag, I won’t be able to actually committing a crime… I think…

(9 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.

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 

Having it all

People ask me to think about those who have nothing, just so I can be thankful about what I have. But that’s such a weak statement... because people who have nothing, just want something... I have something... and that why I now will be forever doomed to want it all.

I don’t think I suffer from low self-esteem...

No, I’m not joking... ¬¬

I mean... I think I have an over estimated version of me, and I get down by my reality really often... but it’s just because I love me so much.

Still what I do need to hear is that I am sick...

I’m sick... please... tell me I’m sick...

I can’t believe the people I talk the most, don’t share my most major interests. That they are shut down and just plain boring... how can someone not like the Lord of the rings? How can someone not have enjoyed star wars!?! I mean this is crucial... how can someone have not read the Harry potter books?? How can someone not be excited about the new superman movies... how can someone not have a position on something, or don’t care about an issue?

I want to stop recording vids by myself; I want to have plans for the weekend that do not involve my grandmother...

I can’t stand nudity... I won’t deny I yearn for it... but once is there... it’s like... "Cover that!"

I blame the media, beer commercials and Calvin Klein... Killed my desire for sex...

I think it was French author Roland Barthes who said that the sexiest part of the human body was the small flash of skin seen through the breach between the skirt and the pullover.... It allows us to desire…

(6 days late)

The authentic details of the extraordinary suicide of Miss Moyes

The authentic details of the extraordinary suicide of Miss Moyes

The Times, for example, fully described the gory details of the appearance of the body but used Latinate terms like "cranium" and "integument" to sound clinical rather than sensational:

Upon examination of the body, it was found that the spine was fractured as also the back of the cranium, but the features are in no way disfigured, save by the appearance of coagulated blood forced from the nostrils, eyes, and mouth by the sudden concussion; the left arm is severed just above the elbow, and is only retained in its place by the integuments and the sleeve of the dress. (LT, 12 Sep. 1839, p. 435, col. 4)

The Observer, though an upper-middle to upper-class paper, offered its Sunday readers something far more dramatic than such dissecting-room language: [39/40]

Her left arm, near the shoulder, came in contact with the bar, and was so violently severed that the part cut off flew over the iron railings several yards into the square. After striking the bar, the body fell an a tub containing a lilac plant, which it broke in pieces, as well as several flower pots, placed on the right side of the door. Not a sign of life, except some contortions of the muscles of the legs and arms, was discernible on the body when it was picked up. (Observer, 15 Sep. 1839, p.1 col. 6)

http://www.victorianweb.org/books/suicide/03.html

Sick at Night

Sick at Night

I got a very long list of things to do... but no will to do it. I don’t know why I didn’t tell anyone I’m sick as hell... I feel weak, my throat my hair... ugh so disgusting all.

I wonder when I exactly started dying... I mean the boy inside me... when did it drop dead. Actually... I remember my teacher telling me when I was 10 that I acted like an 80 year old man... I have never been energetic, and I’ve always been depressive... I guess I was never a boy... something I’m sure I’ve talked about endlessly in other entries.

(1 day late)

Life is chewed gum on the ground

Life is chewed gum on the ground

Like a kid who believes in Santa at 14... I believe blindly, I am unreasonable, I am crazy… I believe in my soul, I believe in god, I believe in freedom… I believe in happiness… I believe above all in my loved one, my soul mate, my reason to live…

How desperate must one person be to believe in such stupid things? Especially when believing hurts as much.

(9 days late)