De prin vechituri...
[click pt. imaginea în dimensiune originală]

Depressia [part 2]

So how long has it been, my grim readers? Agh, who cares. The only thing that matters right now is the evacuation order I received yesterday. Who knew money could buy you out of your own apartment? Anyway, that's not the only good news I've received this week. Turns out I won a contest. And this is the part when you all eyeball me like I just confirmed my insanity on paper. Well, let's see... what could I possibly do with a free bikini wax and french-pedicure? Die unhappy, that is. So stop nagging me like some squeamish old hag.

Oh, almost forgot. I changed my brand of cigarettes. Now I'm on some cheap crap even my cat hates. Gotta pay the rent somehow. Sigh. Seriously, winding up like my best friend the homeless guy (gay guy, that is) isn't top on my priority list. Actually, it's right next to the bikini wax. Maybe I'll make that a donation for some poor brainless blonde. Tempting, freakishly tempting.
So, during my last hangover (which is still in progress) I came up with the most wicked idea while staring at my one-eared cat - one thing though, I can't seem to remember a fucking thing now. Oh, well.

Depressia [part 1]

Oh, crap. My usual I-don't-give-a-fuck mood is turning into I-just-wanna-slit-a-throat mood. Attractive, right? Not really. I look like a combo between Goth & Goth-er, if you get what I mean. I've been drinking coffee with rum for the past few hours and I still can't feel numb. I think it's just making me fat. Gotta lay off this shit, that's for sure.

I'm Depressia. Yep, with a name like that, no wonder I'm depressed. And no, my mother wasn't smoking pot when she gave it to me. At least, not at that moment. I think dad, oh sorry, I mean he-who-is-nowhere-to-be-found, must have come up with it on one of his out-of-body experiences. So, coming back to the most precious me, I'm a twenty-year-old ex-student, with a degree in fucking things up. Or just fucking them. Anyway, I don't have a job or a future. I only eat what's in labeled bottles and sleep during the day. My best friend (a forty-year-old homeless guy - don't laugh, we have a strong bond. Too bad he's gay, I would've asked him to be my roomie) says I'm the modern version of an alcohol-sucking vampire. Seriously, do I look tall, dark and... eh, beautiful?
Oh, fuck that (yes, I do say the f-word a lot. I think it's grown on me. I wouldn't mind if my name was Fuckia. Sounds exotic, right? That's what I thought too.). So, tonight was supposed to be just another very-common-and-alone-spent night. Well, not completely alone, I do have my cat with me. She's missing an ear, but I think it's part of her charm. I even got her tail pierced. So, like I said, it was one of those nights when I celebrated my retardyness (and if that isn't a word, it still applies perfectly to me). But unlike the other nights, it felt... wrong. More than it usually did. Depressia is in depression mode. Is that funny or what?

Sophisticated lies

Ten past eleven. The last hour as I would call it. How boring it seems to me. Or rather – how uninteresting. I never thought that as I grew out of childhood, the nearer my birthdays would be, the less enthusiastic I’d grow. I don’t feel as if I’m growing old and I don’t particularly care. My current life is under a heavy cloud of indifference and boredom. Perhaps, with a chance of ironic rain from time to time, but nothing spectacular.

I can never quite understand other people. Nor do I like them. Sure, they make an interesting study and I am still far too selfish not to want to help them. In fact, I should admit to never completely understanding myself. I often find myself questioning my own moods – are they really mine or am I just mirroring someone else? It confuses me a great deal.

To one conclusion I have come for sure: there is something of a chameleon in the human nature, or else, how would I be able to conform myself to such a multitude of situations? Nevertheless, I am a shallow being, I know that. The only thing I am afraid of is that others should discover this as well. They have yet to see through my coloured lies. They think of me as good on the inside when I am only cruel on the outside. Who is to blame for this? It’s a matter of common fault, I should say.

I have come to realize I do nothing for myself anymore. It is strange because at the same time, I do nothing for the others. I just meaninglessly continue to exist, strolling through a park of sophisticated nothings. Is this the true emptiness of the soul’s resignation? Although I wish to wake up, I am not chasing after the answer. I remain floating, floating over an abyss of dullness and shadows.

Dark soul

Scribbling my heart on stone -
This soul screams empty, all alone.

Falling each time more deeper
In this void of which I am the keeper.

Lost in my rage for years suppressed,
I beg to be by you possessed.

Just carve my soul with this dark clay
And I shall follow your evil way.

Heart of the ocean

Suflete și proiecții

E vina mea că ei nu mă văd așa cum sunt. Așa mi se cuvine dacă m-am învelit cu o pătură prea groasă atunci când ceilalți dorm dezveliți. Prefă-te că n-a fost și totul va fi ok. Prefăt-e că nu-ți pasă și vor înceta. Nu chiar. Deloc.

Nu le va păsa că tu suferi când suferința lor pare mai mare. Și indiferent cine strigă mai tare, fiecare își apără durerea sa. Să fie din instinct? Dacă da, instinctul nostru primar se pierde undeva între răutate și egoism. Poate vă întrebați de ce nu încerc să fiu mai optimistă. Vezi tu, eu știu deja că lumea e mai mult decât gri. Lumea asta există gri. Respiră gri. Oferă tot gri. Până și curcubeul nu este altceva decât mai multe nuanțe de gri. GRI. Ei, cum îți sună? Destul de gri, nu?

Nu știu dacă v-ați dat seama până acum, dar ceea ce ei văd în noi este doar o remodelare în ceea ce vor să vadă. O iluzie transparentă care totuși nu dispare. Să-i zicem proiecție. De-a lungul vieții, colecționăm mii de proiecții ale noastre, niciuna la fel. Dar spre deosebire de mulțimile de la matematică, sufletul nu se intersectează niciodată cu iluziile pe care le percep ceilalți. El plutește mereu pe granița relațiilor pe care le avem cu alții. Și da, asta înseamnă că specia umană va fi neînteleasă timp de o eternitate.