Blood

Rising with the tides, with the Moon, with swirls of dust in the air, with wolf howls. Blood rises till it drowns every other voice, breath, conscious thought. Blood brings the animal and the animal knows no mercy.

To devour another person is to possess, to own, to rip to shreds. Because Eros always goes hand in hand with Thanatos. And desire...is the beginning of the downfall of man. Visceral desire that treads on dreams, on whispers, on discrete sighs. Its vise-like grip will not loosen till blood is spilt, licked, drunk.

I am sometimes in awe as to how fragile we are as human beings. And how powerless subjects we are to instincts. Reason is of course to be developed and praised. But how little reasoning is involved in the complete abandon to another person. How the body actually becomes the mind and the flow of erotic energy carries you like a furious stream would carry a leaf.

I am thinking about the Minotaur as an archetype for masculinity. The head of a bull, the body of a man and the prowess of both combined. Fire and brimstone! How is it that such monstrosities are the epitome of sexual predation? How could they not be? And what does that say about us as people?

Hm. The beast is relentless. And blood will flow.

Drug of choice of the day

Command and conquer

I have bathed in the blood of sacrificial bulls, yet I have not found the answer to my question. What is the shape of the heart of man?

How do you conquer something that has no shape? How do you approach it, how do you encirle it, how do you starve it to the point it starts to feed on itself? How do you make it surrender? How can you even know when it surrenders, if it has no knees to fall down to?

I am the commander of my legions. I will conquer this land, even if I don't really know where I am. Because there is nothing else that I know but war. A child bred out of strife who grew up fighting demons and darkness and fear. A child at heart still, who will barge in and slash and maim and kill lest he stop and deal with his own fear of the dark.

The lesser kind are not my kind. Yet I still do not understand how to fight an enemy that you cannot describe. Subscribe. Always beating at an arms length, always close enough to hear, but too far to reach. A fist thumping in the chest of other mortals. Like myself.

I reach within me, I feel around my heart. It is bloody. Angry. Loud. Afraid. Soft. Scarred.

A half smile. Dawn brings another day filled with dirt and blood. A good day.

Somewhere over the rainbow

Sometimes I think that the greatest perversion is hope. The fact that it dies last. And it eats at your heart in the meantime, like a slow serpent carving channels through the soft flesh.

I have had my catharsis a while ago and it took me almost two years to get it. It meant the death of hope. Isn't it ironic? Deliverance came in the form of death. I cut out a part of me and killed it. In front of my eyes. I sighed in pain with its passing, but it set me free. From the bonds of slavery. And after rain comes the rainbow and the promise of another tomorrow.

And tomorrow never dies, or so the song goes. And with my tomorrow, today came to bathe in my emotions and swim within my body. "I found romance on your menu" it declared and, with an unsympathetic smile, proceeded to feast upon my dreams. "I know no yesterday, no tomorrow, no sorrow" it said beween mouthfulls. I watched in fascination as little pieces of me disappeared in it. It had blue eyes.

If time is but a gaping black hole where we lose ourselves, can space come to the rescue? Can there be a place where you exhale, where the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true? Where the sky is blue and the grass is green and drops of dew kiss you good morning. I know this place exists, I have seen it in a dream. A dream with teeth marks on it, granted, but still mine. Alive and kicking.

If happy little blue birds fly
Across the rainbow,
Why, oh why, can't I?

A world of cookies

Delicious cookies. Happy thoughts. Soft dreams.

Chocolate

Some people live just to play the game.

I live to taste it all. Dip my fingers in the chocolate that binds all of us together and... wouldn't it be cool though if we were bound by chocolate?
Hearts made of chocolate, babies made of chocolate, soft happiness. [Cue smiles.]

While you smile and reach out for a cookie, I want to tell you about one of my favorite memories: I was for one night in a theater where they played just for me. Great personae, lights and shadows, rabbits, stolen kisses and sighs, intrigue and fate, hopes and wonders and too much of it all that made my heart race in my chest. Cherry blossoms in bloom and the glimpse of what could've, would've, should've... But that is mine to keep.

Exeunt to today with me licking my fingers, sipping champagne and blissfully ignoring the nine to the two. Would I trade it for something else? Yes and no. Yes to the inner peace, no to the personal freedom that I enjoy. And this I would not trade for the whole wide world. You know, all the Ws.

I am the brave little soldier that soldiers on to his own tune. And there's so few of us left, my love.

The Messiah complex

I have always suffered from something I call "the Messiah complex", namely the belief that I can make people better. That somehow, under my influence, while feeding their positives, they will reach their full potential and become better, whatever that means for them. And the greater the challenge, the more I thought I could make it work, that somehow there is a cosmic reason why our paths intertwined.

I have learned in time that it absolutely does not work. No one ever gets better and definitely not under my influence, because it was an incredibly arrogant assumption to begin with. By no means am I a role model. I am just a person, flawed and imperfect as they come, perhaps with slightly more imagination than others. Is that in any way redemptive? I think not.

Now, if you believe that my intellectual ruminations from above stopped me in any way from continuing to manifest my Messiah complex, then you don't know human nature. We are all aware of the distinction between the intellectual side and the emotional side in man. And we pride ourselves in being cognitive beings, endowed with reason, self-awareness and all that jazz. All that is swell. However, as my friend says, I have found that most of the times, we act upon emotional drives rather than rational ones. Our decisions are based on how we feel about things, and our feelings are determined by lots and lots of networks of details that make up our personal experiential structure.

Therefore, it was with no small cost to me that I had to accept that people do not need drawings on the wall, butterflies, flowers in their hair, soap bubbles and chewing gum. And I am nobody's savior.

"The Flower Duet" from Lakme by Leo Delibes.



The flower. It is pretty. My lady.