I didn't want to write anything right now, but I was challenged to make an edit based on a tutorial and the outcome surprised me..I love when you start with something, but end up with something else, completely different and better than you expected.

Have I become the virus, the disease of my own self or the cure? Have I covered my eyes, to blind myself from seeing my own disintegration; and my nose, to protect me from breathing not something from the outside, not the smoke of sickness, but my own being? It has become what I feared. This is my analogy. A gasmask should protect one from inhaling deadly gas, but what if that deadly smoke has become you? What if it is not a smoke caused by a fire, but by your inner fire? What if you burned so much that you are the one that destroys yourself?

I can protect myself from danger, but you must protect me from myself. I have become the virus that I feared, the world that I sold, the hate that I fed, for you become what you resent. It's a choice and that choice becomes you.

...Or maybe I am the antibody, behaving like the virus itself, pretending I am what I cannot inhale, so I can fight it. What is the antidote for rage...?

[model: me; edit: me; credits on the photo.]


You don't know.

I don't understand how some people [especially girls, unfortunately] think that swimming is not a sport and more, when I have this conversation with them and I mention swimming amongst sports, they make the most stupid expression and ask "is swimming even a sport?".

No, dear, it's not a sport, it's totally sedentary.

What brain does she have to not consider swimming a sport? At least if she doesn't know, she shouldn't ask with a tone that suggests that I am being an idiot for considering it the way it should be. But this is off-topic.


Another thing that I resent is being judged without being known. I'm not talking about complete strangers, because I don't have expectations from them, but about people that meet me on a more or less regular basis, but give themselves the priviledge of judging my actions or non-actions in a worse manner than I'd permit a parent to do it. Their so-called morality is being force-fed and "butt-stuck" inside me and hearing them roar makes me look entirely villain, reckless and carefree.

I never understood why some people really need to make my lifestyle their own. I don't take drugs, I don't drink (anymore), I got to the point where I resent even the smell of alcohol, I work and get paid, even if how I get paid and what I work on might not be considered a "serious" job by others, but guess what? I will work all my life. They don't need to make me look like a slothy kid just because I don't work during my Masters. Just because they work doesn't mean that if I may not be in tune with the "important" matters in life, such as homework for instance, or my future job, I am carefree, spoiled and reckless. I don't get this need that some people have to place their own frustrations upon others.

If you are one of those students who don't have a job and get bullied constantly for being "careless", don't worry, your job will kick their asses and that's because when your time will come, you will know what you want to do.

As well, I am not talking about poor people here or those who have a job because they want/have to be employed, but about people who use their job as a weapon, as a plus, as an "I'm so much better and reliable than you, I am building my own life, what do you do all day?" I have a retort to that: "Oh, boo-hoo." A job is not a weapon, a job is a job. This applies as well for relationships: you don't date someone to be in tune with society, you date because you like/love/want that someone.

No matter how much some people want to seem independent and above all, using tricks like these throws them right at the bottom. They don't know what I do when they're not around, I could be training to enlist in the Marine Corps for all I care and judging me based on their ideas will only make my reality more parallel with theirs. :) [si ca bancul cu benzina]



Spring is beautiful. I often like to consider each season to be like a part of a spectacle, a rather natural spectacle. Aren't we all so fascinated by its beginning, although every beginning is a past moment, reborn into the next one; it's like it holds a fingerprint of time itself, captured in that moment of singular attention. Spring is rebirth and if there's nothing that can be reborn, it recreates, no matter how impossible that might be to create.

I always felt that when I knew that someone had just died, all my senses increased, as if drugs pumped through my veins. The light seemed brighter, the breeze felt softer, the whole life inside of me felt even more alive. The death of that person didn't just mean that a new life was born, but that my life itself was reborn somehow, in a way I couldn't really convey.


The Sex Addict and the Addiction

Yield to your sins with pride and great honor, embrace them and make them define you. Yet, no matter how pathetic this yielding may look, you still dare to consider me one of the damned.

Well, you see...there's the first case: the people who enjoy to publicly lament about their "lack" of sex; usually that abstinence lasts from 1 week to a month or two. This turns into their personal tragedy. If you need to tell the world that you're going to have such a hard time because you don't get laid for such a short period of time, I should get a pickhammer and show you the real deal. Believe me, you can survive with abstinence and to be frank with you, being so dramatic makes you a big failure. Maybe if your sex life was compromised forever due to a disease or something, then your lament would be fairly understood/approved. You know what? You don't have a sex life and complaining about its lack gives you a short ego boost, that usually makes for juicy "news".

Then there's the second case: the not-so-self proclaimed "sex addicts". Psyeah! And yes, I will pick on David Duchovny, although I like his acting. You're no "sex addict". There's no such thing as a sex addict: an addiction is more serious than this, an addiction can lead to widthdrawal shock and even death and I'm pretty sure that you don't start seizuring if you don't get "it on". You all like to put on this mask of "studness" to impress people. Just stick to your job and spare us from the "sex addict" BS. Jesse James isn't a "sex addict" either, he just likes to sleep with many women, uncontrolled and if you ask me, it's sad to not be able to control yourself. I am pretty sure that if all of you "sex addicts" out there were stranded on an island and would need to survive, not having sex would be the last thing on your mind. BUT, heroine widthdrawal would give you a hard time. You might moan a bit about the lack of cigarettes, but you'd start to starve and you'd give that up, too. You'd light up sticks and hold them like cigarettes for a while, but then you'd be too hungry and thirsty to give a shit. With alcohol there might be a problem, so you'd pray you can find some fruits and ferment them for a while, but your muscles would hurt too much and you'd start banging your head against the floor. But with sex...? You won't start fucking a tree or an animal, be sure of that. You'd probably fuck yourself, but that's not sex...isn't it? :)

So, a man who has sex all the time is a "sex addict" [which sounds scary, manly, studly, amazing], but a woman who has lots of sex is a "nympho". Really?.. And why is that exactly, because "women were created to make children and men, to spread the seed"? Then why was woman given the possibility to have an orgasm - to make better children? Yes, one could say that, biologically speaking they say that it makes for a better conception, but leave it to that. Whoever came up with such a way of describing women that enjoy sex more than "usual" is an idiot.

I said that my blog posts won't be ranting so much as before, but I've been fed over and over again with "news" about sad "abstinent" people and the most disturbing one was the huge sacrifice that some couples made the past week. One whole week without sex, who could survive?... Well, some of them abstinent people are truly survivors for lasting more than 12 months without sex and not collapsing into a terrifying seizure of...no-sex-widthdrawal-syndrome, y'know? They are truly martyrs, the children of the apocalypse, who survived the probably most "flesh-eating" pain...abstinence.

No, you cannot comment this entry. Yes, I am a coward/I like to have the last word/I am all you want me to be.



...and the words of Mark Renton echo in my mind, although the option he took is way out of my league or desire.

"Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?"

And if they do define who we are, then we are choices, so does that mean that we also went further and chose our own race? People choose every day, every move or breath is a choice, whether it is deliberate or not. We are the sum of our choices and our choices are our print.

Addiction can be so insubstantial and that's when it feels damn good.