Archive for January, 2016

Prostitute, makes me think. We meet, we talk, we have sex, we talk some more, quite deep stuff. We drink and laugh, we share something special, she’s worth every dollar and more – I have a real connection with her, I’m me on a whole other level, different from my everyday, shitty life. Prostitute, makes me think of what I can be, makes me believe I can live with myself (I put away the knife).

 

Prostitute, makes me think. I see her in the street, long legs, short skirt, inviting cleavage, pretty face. She disappears for a while, another guy. She returns, then she’s gone again. The men seem to love her. They pay her to do her (from the look of her clothes, they pay her well). The men don’t look twice at me. Sad, my fingers are my only friends. Prostitute, makes me think, reminds me of how fucked my existence is.

 

Prostitute, makes me think. She reminds me of my past life on the streets. The constant fear and stress, the degradation, the compromising of everything that was me, the cuts on my palms and soles of my feet. Sure, I was an addict, but I don’t blame the drugs, they got me through. Grace of God, I reached the other side. Now I see the actress on my TV screen, she is as detached from me as I used to be. Prostitute, makes me think.

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The weirdos of NYC bring a smile to my face, a nasty kind of grin, borne of disturbed satisfaction.

Serial killers, alpha males, drug addicts, sickos, pimps, whores, Wall Street traders, beggars, rich motherfuckers, speculators, manipulators, scum, all of Danny’s sons of bitches – some don’t like their mug-shots, so they post their own selfies. Extroverts and perverts, getting their rocks off 24/7 in the city that never sleeps.

And then there’s me, the Russian girl, on the autistic spectrum, just like my nation. Some call it a disorder, a few see it as an opportunity. We hate change but we love revolutions. … Still. Still movement. No one understands us. No one wants to. Everything comes from the cunt. Our motives remain unclear. We try our best, but how can we compare to Broadway?

Sigh.

Sigh.

Memories.

I once visited a relative in Brighton Beach – it was hell. All manner of Russian scum, ex-Soviet, quasi-Jewish, totally American confusion. Everyone wanted to touch, buy or finger-fuck me. NYC indeed!

I have no inspirational tale to tell, just pain and disappointment.

Still.

Yes, still.

I’m still alive and kinda functioning. If you want to derive some message from that, be my guest.

But, tonight.

Tonight.

Another five-second power-cut. Another flashing clock to reset. Another banality and futility in this world of idiocy and supposed pride. Human existence, progression, hardly exhilarating. The more we advance, the more we obfuscate, the further we go backwards.

Insane. Drain. Brain. Gone. Tired, so fucking tired. Worn out, worn down. Depleted. Washed out. Spent fuel rod. What we could be is but a half forgotten wet dream.

Be.

Posted: 2016-01-18 in Thoughts For The Day

Nothing is ever really nothing, no matter what they say.

They may choose to see your something as nothing, but they’re wrong.

Keep going, step by step, detach yourself as much as possible from the barbs and bondage of this world.

They just don’t understand: nothing destroys humanity like humans – just ask the brain-dead medical test subjects, most recently in France, progress, lest we forget.

Nothing is something and something can seem like nothing. And life is a delusion, especially if you listen to the powers that be.

Be.

Be.

Be true to yourself and look to the sky, cold winter’s night, clear. See the stars. Aim to do no other any harm (think carefully about the inadvertent ways that you might). The Golden Rule. The Spirit within. The still, small voice. Conscience, conscious.

Your something is everything.

As the wind wafted, caressed the young tennis player’s skirt enticingly, young boys and old men smiled.

It was a scene of purity, cue soundtrack: Mozart’s Elvira Madigan.

Bliss.

Erections.

Conceptions.

The right setting…

Then an educated bimbo in the crowd shouted: “No, no, no, it’s the 2nd movement of Piano Concerto #21 in C major.”

Smart ass!

Inspired by the hatred borne of a disrupted idyll – seeing black on white, Jesus on the Cross, righteous indignation, their mothers groped by refugees – the angry mob beat the poor man to a pulp.

Through the bloodshed, it was lost, our definitions and understandings, different meanings, different realities.

“Let’s be clear,” the politician proclaimed, waving her finger to make the point, “Saudi Arabia is our ally, Russia is our adversary.”

She offered no context or explanation. … Let’s be clear?

Yes, let’s.

Where’s the money?

The money buys votes.

The votes buy power.

The power buys more money.

The perfect circle of a politician’s life, a wheel of sorts, on an axle oiled by lies. Business leaders nod their heads as they push the buttons and change the gears, on a whim. Capitalism is the religion of the hemisphere.

(Time to change one’s mind, I think. It could be said, time for a lobotomy!)

The preacher had some interesting and enticing insights, I was drawn in, I was engaged.

I am a woman of faith, after all, and I have a place. By Jesus, I am righteous.

But, after a while, it became a burden. The preacher and his show. His diatribe and hubris wore me down, his repetitiveness grated nastily, I ended up loathing him, his message and his obedient, obeisant  congregation (… still, I kinda admire his “success”, but kinda hate him as an exploiter …). So, I broke away, I “fell away”.

Funny. Life’s much the same. But the further I’ve gotten from the preacher, the closer to God I’ve come.

No Title.

Posted: 2016-01-14 in We Don't Have To Be Enemies

2016… Russians fear the USA as a warmonger. Americans fear Russia likewise. Again. Back to the future. … The politicians say stupid things, distort truth, grapple power, trample people, left and right, assholes.

Growing up in Nebraska at the end of the Cold War, then when it was over, I learned that we both fundamentally liked the same things: principally tall young women playing (indoor) volleyball in very short shorts, long legs in long socks. Uhhhh…

Satan wants you to buy a lottery ticket, apparently.

Mormons say the desire to get something for nothing is spiritually destructive. They ban the sale of tickets, they ban hope, they trample people’s souls.

Powerball. Wow. Fuck IS, those little shits can’t compare to these real emotions.

While this land floods, yet again, that land is parched, time after time.

Wasted potential.

What commonality can we claim?

We are both human,

life is unfair,

society and nature are unfair.

We struggle.

What else do we share?

What else do we need?