Procrastinating, listening to the sad tracks, trying to find myself in the world and all.
I can't.
I am so lost I can't realistically put any role on myself.
Professional crisis that coincides with the personality one, not a black swan or a perfect storm, but a powerful combo nevertheless.
I needed to get out, fucking get out of the weird games I played back while it made sense.
Then I probably would have been dead, but happy.
That's what I always portrayed myself somewhere between 30 and 40 y.o.

I'm not the one that can live in peace with my ghosts. They will come for me, they will humiliate me, they will rip my throat and I will drown in my own blood-- only to wake up again.
And again.
And

Every time I try to stop thinking in russian forever, a little kid appears in my head.
"Please, don't kill me" -- he screams. And I would have ignored him readily, but he makes sense, because that kid is my 1x old self.
A tragic situation, truly, for that lad was not inherently bad or something, he just was there, in the wrong time in the wrong place. I spoke about the necessity to isolate and, if needed, to destroy the russians, but I faltered when my past self pleaded me for mercy.
That's why I always say about the generations needing to die. My generation needs to die off before that particular cancer is defeated.
Truly death is a tragedy to an individual but a huge benefit to societies.

Looky here.
_Those_ people are forever gone.
You would never get that chance, you would never have that conversation, you would never watch that person do the things you so much liked to observe.
It's all gone. They're all different, You're different. Life is a cruel, pitiless, vengeful bitch.
The conservative in me wants to flake stones and make ropes out of animal skins.
The progressivist in me wants to escape to the fucking space and use atomic energy to solve all the human solvable problems.

Meanwhile I procrastinate, and work shitty jobs, and try to forget about things and stave off decisions...
Now I will go to sleep and then I will try to do the boring, necessary stuff I'm so bad at.

I would've chain-smoked one after another, wanting the smoke to take it all away.
I would've drank like a maniac trying to get rid of the faces of those he coldly murdered.

It's past midnight, we're sitting on the granite porch of some building, pretty boozed, relaxed and so fecking young.
I look into your eyes and you look back at me, your eyes the pair of void pistol bores, staring into my soul.
They flash, those eyes, and I'm instantly done for.
We had pretty crazy stories, even then, at those early times before we were twisted and taken away from each other by the implacable forces or fate.
We had it in us, right, Lachesis?
Right?
The smooth rustling of the island wind is my only answer.

My friend never explained anything to me. Perhaps he thought I was like him. But, unfortunately, I cannot see sheep through boxes. Perhaps I am a little like grown-ups. I am getting old. 🐑

Weird things are going on today. Despite bad sleep quality, I have enough energy and have to literally hold myself from working my ass off. My attitude to myself has improved, there’s much less of usual tyrannizing self-treatment and concomitant fatigue.

This state resembles a maniacal stage of BPD, but I neither deem myself a second Bodh, nor imagine any Martian stone behemoths.

Anyway, I like this state, and it wasn’t arbitrarily granted to me - I was working on my self-loathing for last week or so.

A trip down the memory lane to my guilty pleasures.
Slowed down track of a traitor to things dear to me.
In 2006 there were a lot of things that seemed off. Different
We vehemently opposed those things that we later would support

I remember. I remember the weight of the knife on my hip, the heat of the June sun in the mountains, the conference center where we planned our little expedition..
It's all gone now. I would not be like those fat old farts from my childhood that were forever devastated by their world gone forever.
Mine isn't.
It's just changed, it's always, forever changing, and the gardens planted a century ago would not resemble the ones we see today.
Only the gardeners persevere.

Noticed a lightweight attitude to myself, seems to be a variant of an infantilism. I don't try to form a final opinion, I often make it clear that my opinion is not to be taken seriously, shifting the responsibility for verifying my opinion to whoever else is involved, and a blind certainty emerges that they are more qualified than me to make a decision. There's an underlying fear of being blamed and scolded for a mistake and for possible grave consequences.

Also, when someone authoritative says I'm wrong, I instantly change my mind without thinking thus remaining a weathercock.

What I now see, is that I'm concerned with anything: business, work, my self-image and what people around think of me, my perceived shortcomings... but not with my psychic comfort right now. Resembles an attitude of typical parents that perceive their child as a doll or a robot obliged to strive for fitting their conception of success, no matter how oppressed and miserable he or she feels in the process.

There’s a specific type of discontent accompanied with a certainty “Everything should be easy and accomplished from the first attempt”. It appears when unforeseen obstacles emerge. An urge to give up appears with this discontent type.

What self-loathing and self-pity have in common, is a voluntary refusal of responsibility. That's a very corrosive state of being sure that I'm not the one who has control over my perceptions and overall life.

It's tempting to think this way - if it wasn't me who ruined my life, I'm not the one to blame then. But in the same time, if I have no control, who's going to clean up the mess?

Creativity is blocked in this state of irresponsibility. It's hard to think of solutions to the problems, 'cause there's a desire to feel myself a poor, helpless child, and coming up with solutions impedes it.

There are also all sorts of vicious circles formed by self-loathing and self-pity:

- SL for SL
- SP for SL
- SL for SP

Apparently, one of the reasons to experience SP is that it provides a slight and brittle protection against SL, as it’s accompanied by a certainty “I don’t deserve to be hated so much”.

Found what might be a root hatred-producing certainty: "I must be ideal". It's behind the discontent from every mistake of mine, and the self-loathing for any shortcomings and negative traits.

With this certainty in place, I don't even allow myself to be a human: to make mistakes, to be wrong, to be silly or stupid, to have the very right to any unpleasant qualities. Hence the fear of showing my true self to anyone.

I've also noticed that the more I self-loathe, the more venomous person I become, the stronger the wish to hate, despise, be disgruntled and envious. The less self-loathing, the less there are other types of venom and the easier it is to eliminate them.

Those people didn't mean harm.
Those people did say all the right things, did try to be the right ones in the right places.
They were just so few.
Few are never remembered in history before the many.
They were overpowered by the sheer masse of pure evil, and now they're bitter exiles, like I was once upon a time, and no one sympathizes with them.

Because they said the right things in the evil tongue, and promised the future goodness of the evil race. and they didn't mean harm. but they did it in the end.
Result>intention.

But I still cannot force myself to dislike some of the songs on YT music.
I am part of this cancer myself.
And that's why I want to be alone and away, decomposing quietly.

Been watching the omnipresent background nox. At first, nox strengthens because I add nox for nox to it - a 2nd level nox of sorts. There’s an illusion of sincerity, a confidence that by self-loathing I’m soberly aware of my shortcomings. If I still don’t remove attention and go on observing despite the discomfort, a noticeable relief soon comes, nox withers greatly, and a pleasant clarity emerges: I myself choose to support this nox, it’s not something obligatory or independent from my own will. However, I still can’t grasp why do I support nox or why does it feel so attractive, it’s all covered with a strong shell of insincerity.

Here we go again
Do-si-do again
One step, two steps back and forth
It's a dance we do
I know all the moves
Three, two, one, they're back for more
I give them names
Anxiety wants to play
Panic will be here soon
We've got lots of things to do (things to do)
I make friends with all my demons
They depend on me to feed them
They follow me around
They follow me around
I don't have the heart to end it
Guess we're kind of codependеnt
With friends like thesе
Who needs enemies?

Icon for Hire - Enemies
____
Сьогодні зранку мене знову накрило. А потім - трохи розмов з Е, битовуха, й зараз....я запалила арома-свічку, відкрила вікно - трохи блакиті й сонця, та...
мені нічого не хочется

Fuck the cosmonautics day.
In the end, the Soviet space thought and school was just a dead-end, doomed to become what it had become.
Nuff said.

In the middle of the war, I picked it up.
Trying to understand who I am.
I was in pieces even before the war had started, and I was so much so that I really made a pivot in my life comparable with the ones in 2013 and 2007.
I want to be alone, lads.
I really want the world to forget about my existence, being alone, playing old and new games.
Tea, cookies and slow decomposition -- my motto from 2015 was never so on-point.

But I am caught up in the job I am starting to fucking hate, I am caught up in other things, nothing as sinister as say 2015-2018 but I'm so fucking tired, of it, dear Universe.
I slept for the whole day yesterday, stating a sick leave, and I kinda want more.
Won't get it =(

I tried to compose something but I just cannot, it isn't here in me anymore.
The 1st 9th of April in years I didn't write here about ya.
Maybe I said whatever I could, maybe it's just so long gone I cannot say anything anymore.
Maybe I'm just tired after an eventful day.
At any rate... I'm sorry for everything, c**d.

I don't wanna be stuck, I don't wanna be crazy
This is the way that my sadness made me
Better come quick, yeah better come save me
Tell me, tell me
Tell me who I'm supposed to be now
Make me better
I can't stay halfway dead forever
I fear now
There's not much left of me
When you take the sick away
Who am I supposed to be?
....
For years, this is all I've known, this has had my heart, this has been my home
And now I'm scared to lose myself, scared of letting go

Icon for Hire - Supposed to be
___
Мені просто нічого додати.
Я писала про Мелані нещодавно, але її пісні це мистецство. Тоді як Аріель - це щирість, це сповідь.

...that you've read and I know it
I'm sorry, I told them all of it.

I never ever again wrote anything completely honest from my name.
Actually, no, I did -- but only during short moments of not understanding where I was and who I was.
Guilty pleasures taking my mind again.

The best day would never return.
Those days in late May and early June were a bliss. A real bliss, the only time I really knew that for real, I have a chance to be normal. I started to look and feel as if I were normal, albeit a bit mainstream, and, first and foremost, happy.
I only recently realized that I only told about it to one person, and very recently.
After that time I was too far gone.
And now I am but a shadow.

Another night when I want to scream at my memories.
Now on more levels than ever before.
I would've liked to smoke, but I quit years ago, although I didn't even start for real. I only have one bad habit and it's coffee and energy drinks.
That and sitting at night mourning my memories.
Screaming at the silent walls of my home office.
Then I almost come to my senses, and a dry cough rips me apart.

The better days would never go back.
This song is playing loops in my head, just like the "This fucking summer" was in 2020.

I thought that one of my best achievements in life was staying alive in one of the harder periods of it.
Now I am not so sure.
You know what, the guilt would be with me forever. I was __that__ kind of man, I know it for sure.
I was that kind of man, I could do certain things better than others, but I chickened out, I was lost in conflicting loyalties, shady dealings of shady powers, career development and overcompensation, and when I emerged on the other side of it I saw that

I could have lied dead with a clear conscience now, but all I am left is a sense of guilt

Spit out those words.
Spit it out like if those were vomit.
I slept for most part of the day, then I drank some and I woke up.
I ended up in one of the bad(here I wanted to erase it all) better(here again) best (and here) situations.

I am repeating the fate of my ancestors, only on a new, somewhat crazy level.
Would anything I had ever done matter in the end?
Probably not but honest to Gods, I tried. Maybe I just tried not enough.

I was probably given a choice, after all.

Summer of 2014, we are sitting in a café, the sun kissing the black tarmac of the street.
She goes to our table and asks one simple question, that I try to answer. My date is extremely irritated of that fact.
Bullshit.

You say, I'm not so old?
You say, I have a lot of time still?
Maybe I do. But you know, old people are defined by that time they understand that they failed in life.
You know, some people are forever young, and not in death, but in life. They reach 30, 40, 50, 60, 70 -- but they know why they live and boy, do they fucking live...
I knew some of those people, and yes, at some time in my life I dreamt of being like them in my later years.
I spoke recently to one lad who had been through much more death and destruction than I had been ever in my life -- and he said he feels like he's 20 although he is my age.
I feel like I'm 80.
Because I lived this life already. Now it's just a dull sequel.