A lesson never learned.

She stared at the ceiling and from time to time she closed her eyes maybe she’ll fall asleep. No victory on that front. She sat now on her bed, crossed legs and head in her hands. She thought at the past days. She thought about today. A tear ran down her cheek as she realized what she has done. Soon enough a tear became two and an insatious cry rushed over her. 

She couldn’t stop as she gave a thought to everything she did. It ripped her apart realizing that once more she threw it all away. She threw herself away. She never wanted this but something behind her screamed that it was the only way. She remembered the words her mother once told her… ‘Trust no one but yourself’. But what can she do now when of them all, the one who betrayed the most was herself. She made a promise to herself, she swore on her her father’s grave that she won’t do the same mistake again. Here she is, crying her lungs out, losing the count from the last time she said it would be the last. She began to feel like it was in her nature to break it all over again. Bits and pieces of the passed came to her mind making it hurt even more. She wanted to run, but this was the thing before she got here and before that and the list goes on and on. 

She looked at the bottle on her desk. As her nerves started to tickle in the back of her head, she got up, still crying, took the bottle and opened it. She looked at it with more disgust than she ever felt before. She opened the window and threw the bottle as hard as she could. She took a deep breath as she heard the glass shattering on the cement, but that was only a small piece of what she wanted to leave behind and it only made it worse that she had to get to this point. She felt more helpless than ever. She never wished to turn back the time than in this moment. She felt as if she was again in the 9th grade. Wrath was the only emotion she felt for a while. Again she felt it. This time not at the world, not at the people around her like she used to – it was easier to pass the guilt elsewhere – but at herself as she realized the she was the only architect of her own destruction. Long ago, when she thought that she was taking the pain away she used to say that self destruction was such a pretty little thing… she used to be the one telling herself that the only person that she needs is herself, that she wouldn’t trade her believes for anyone. Oh, how wrong she was. And this hit the hardest. The fact that she wasn’t her facade, the one she built from that dark day of June… it hit. And it was a decisive move. 

It made her feel everything at once and then nothing at all. She stared at her reflection in the window and felt nothing. She didn’t know which one was worse. Everything or nothing. She thought of how she could fix things. Until now she was successful into making it ‘right’ one way or another. This time was different. This time she knew that even a deal with the devil wouldn’t mask the truth that scratched her spine. And it felt like claws. She laid herself on the bed trying to shove the thoughts away only for one quite moment. It wasn’t the case as the sun started to pierce through her curtains. A new day was there, but unfortunately not a new life and certainly not a new her. She had to face it all over again today.

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Whisky Fever.

I’d like to stay for a chat. Not a small talk. An all night long talk. Let’s share a glass, or two, or the entire bottle. It won’t do us no harm… the talks thou… I bet they’ll get us tipsy.

I’d stay for nights to talk. I’d stay for even more to listen. I’d like to share an old good Chivas when you tell me your happiest memory. I’d tell you what was the one that made me the most content with life. And then the stories will flow.

I want to hear what made you this way. I want to know what made you change your ways. I want to descifire the puzzle that you are in between sips.

With every hint of orange dark chocolate that I swallow I want to find a new pattern in your self. With every marzipan incense I take in I want to search and create a new definition for you. With every pungent sting I want to explore the insights of your mind. With every sip I work around in my mouth I want to discover another piece – a piece of what makes you happy, a piece of what makes you tremble, a piece that makes you sail away, a piece that reminds you of you, a piece that makes you tell me about your childhood, a part that speaks about your heart, a piece describing bits of your soul.

I want to feel that peach scent in my mouth that tells me what makes your blood boil.

I want to be that powerful taste. I want to be the whisky that makes you shiver and shake. I want to be that almond spirit flavour that raves you when angry; that spirituous savor that ignates you in every single way and for every single thing. 

If this a 25 year old, I want to be The Icon.

I want to discover in you that aroma that not only will make me drink but also extract the uniqueness in scotch. I want you to make me be that genuine essence of ‘everything nice’ that can be found in the right spice.

Give me that rich gold chroma so I can be that luxurious long lingering sapor.

Ocean Soul.

I want to fade… I want for the sea to take me. I want to let the wind carry me to unseen places on the other side of the world. I want a leaf to transcend me into other realms. I want to find something else. I need to discover another side. The story ain’t over, yet closure I want. But it ain’t in a world of perish. A portal to another dimension. A portal to a life of wisdom. A door to other horizons. Wide open windows to flaming souls – is what I seek. Ephemeral ways are no longer my path. All the energies passing by… they are whispering in glasses. Purple wine overflows golden bottles. It fogs the vision of white powder. Green liquor melts stone goblets. Rain embracing blue flames. To be taken where birds are walking under flying tigers and next to swimming hyenas… that is where lost images might be and craved words might be seen. It seems like yesterday in the next season. The cold summer in the heated winter. Flowers blooming in the time of Autumn. And leaves dying in the Spring Equinox. The imprisoned Death in the suffocating arms of life. Just like a Lover dying for Love… a heart without cries but full of ideas. A brain without rationalism but full of emotions. What they seek inside, I find everywhere but around me. Alive in illusions and dead in the right hemisphere. I seem to seek the seek. I seem to forget the remembrance. I apparently crave the actions of a fervor. I crave the attention of life. A proof needed to deny oblivion. I dream about souls turned into pages, only to be able to collect them into a book. Just like a tree collecting leaves.Mythological dreams return in time to give back their own clarity. The creatures coming back only to prove themselves still capable of breathing again. A treasure captured in a royal mind, like a  warrior kept under a flaming cage.

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Let the bodies hit the floor.

Fuck.
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Fuck me and my mistakes. Fuck you. Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck him especially. Fuck all of you. Fuck my belief that it might get better. Fuck my way of holding on. Fuck all of the people who don’t like me. Fuck that bitch. Fuck the one who fucks her. Fuck that city. Fuck that city, too. Fuck your friends. Fuck what we used to be. Fuck college. Fuck those songs. Fuck the past. Fuck the games. Fuck your lies. Fuck those fake people. Fuck your opinion. Fuck that nonsense. Fuck your morals. Fuck your attitude. Fuck your weaknesses. Fuck your promises. Fuck your admiration. Fuck love. Fuck hope. Fuck my ideas. Fuck my dream. Fuck your world. Fuck their society. Fuck that damn smile. Fuck those eyes. Fuck your face. Fuck those fancy clothes. Fuck his money. Fuck her skills. Fuck his talent. Fuck the so called blood. Fuck their pride. Fuck your name. Fuck this damn world.
Fuck off.
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Type a message…

Lost in space.

The afternoon sun of a spring day is following her down the street. She walks in a calm pace enjoying the fact that she can wear her leather jacket and sunglasses again. Before she lights a cigarette while walking, she takes a deep breath to feel a light scent of rebirth in nature; only that the beautiful medieval city she lives in, doesn’t smell like that at all… it smells like Death. The smell of rotting bodies is invading her lungs now. Her face frowns as her skin trembles and for a moment her mind is taken far away, in heavier times. She tries to banish the morbid thoughts from her head, fixes her aviator sunglasses and takes a cigarette out of her pocket. She lights the Lucky Strike with her silver lighter and she continues to walk, but she is walking now as doesn’t want to disturb anything else…

She is now on her way back home. It is warm outside and she doesn’t feel comfortable with it. “I have to  wash the dishes, to clean my desk, to do laundry and write the presentation for tomorrow… Fuck!”, her thoughts are filled up with what she has to do when she gets to the dorms. These chores are not the only things running through her mind now… she has the feeling someone, something is following her. It is a creepy feeling that now surrounds her like an aura. She looks around and behind but nothing and no one is there since it isn’t such a populated shortcut in the old city.

The raven colored haired girl changes the song to blast in her earbuds with something that might be cheering her up. Surprisingly she chooses a song that she didn’t listen since the tenth grade. She remembers how she used to enjoy looking at people as they walked, she liked to observe them, to analyze them. She takes the shot to do it again as she is now on the main street and people are walking right by her. The girl sees indifferent faces, sad faces, preoccupied faces, worried faces, mad faces, insane faces, dreamy, absent but just like before only one or two faces smiling. the young woman wonders if the others can smell the macabre scent that persisted in the air; probably not. It becomes more and more annoying with every step as the gross smell now starts to sting her nostrils. She focuses on the lyrics of the song that probably is contributing to her hearing destruction and smiles at everything it reminds her of… She really is questioning everything these days.

The girl is now in the front of her dorm building and she chooses to stay only to flirt with the end of her days once again. As she lights another cigarette she takes a deep breath and is surprised by the warm smell replaced the ugly one. It smells like warm, leaves and wind. She can now shake now all the nasty thoughts out of her head; she takes the last drags and reviews once more her tasks and… “Shit… let’s get it over with.”

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Fjara.

I’ll never apologize for who I am, I’ll never fell sorry for who I’ve become and sure as Hell I’ll never be ashamed for how I behave. Nor now, not ever. Not when I look around me ans see this fucked up world with its people with their faux appearance.

I am going to breathe fire at anyone who tells me I shouldn’t be the way I am. I am living by my own code. I know what’s right and wrong; for me and by me. Many tell me I am uncommon and a lot more call me ‘psychopath’ (do you, people, know what what that even means?!). Some say I live in a world only for me and made from my own desires and others tell e I am too “on the ground” and live a little more.

I know I am wicked; I know what I do and only I know why I do things this way. For me there is no good or bad, regarding myself; it is about what I want to do and what I don’t want to. They call me a wayward for my beliefs, while some treasure the same gods as I. While my heart belongs to the north and my souls is of a Völva, my mind was forged in the depths of Hell for its rationality with a presence made from Osiris’ bones and Artemis’ eyes. I am the fusion of generations made by war and witchcraft.

If the Old Ways taught me anything in their most basic forms that is to be who I am and to embrace my “abominable” self.

May I drink with Loki tonight in my dreams and in the Great Hall later in the afterlife.

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Still counting.

Do these moments even evolve somehow or I sit here waiting for another stump to crash? I can see the snake eating itself in the same tremendous cycle… Every day, every week, every month and so on and so forth. To keep dreaming, to be daring… what for?! But if you do it… how do you do it? When do you do it? Do you just say “Fuck it. This ain’t for me.” Oh, mate… I wish I could. Compromise… that costs. It costs a lot of money, even more than the cost of a fucked up mind. Don’t you ever say “this is it” but then back down because you have no idea what’s next?! And how do you take/make the next?!

Between beers, cigarettes, a party there, a book read here… what the hell is this? Life? Hahah… funny. Not. Most of us used to watch films or TV series and thinking “Mate, college rocks. I can’t wait.” That happening somewhere in the seventh grade and then in high school we couldn’t wait to get out of there. Now we realize that college is that place where you are broke, barely alive from all-nighters spent either studying something that won’t be a priority in a “career” or drinking our brains of, a group of friends just as fucked up as us, no prince charming or a needy princess… just lectures that don’t make any sense and exam after exam… well… Fuck!

This was just my mind bursting after 48 hours of not sleeping, reminding myself that I have this thing called blog and the urge to bug other people than my roommates.Don’t you sympathize?!

“Beer you later, Bastards!”