I just wrote a really good poetry piece in English

at least I find it incredible (partly just because of the fact that I'm able to write poetry in English, unimaginable)

I'm so grateful to my creative writing course rn, I would never even try without it

need to get up at 9am, can't fall asleep because I want to write more

I found out I've been eating undercooked mushrooms all this time... no wonder I had stomach cramps...

after I read the instructions for our oven for the first time, I was absolutely sure I needed to keep the oven door open on tilt while cooking

today, my flatmate said he always cooks with the door closed; I wanted to show him the instructions, aaand... it says "always keep the door closed while cooking"

how am I supposed to analyse literature if I can't read an oven instruction

my brain just decided to replace the most important word with an antonym

cooked mushrooms properly for the first time today, hopefully, no cramps

I want someone to bend me over a table and fuck me hard

cooked an enormous breakfast first thing in the morning: fried chicken filet, mashed potatoes, tomatoes, and cheese; ate everything with raw pressed juice and felt that moral satisfaction again

it's wonderful when you decide what you eat, not your budget, poor time management, or cravings for unhealthy food

finished my poetry analysis and watched a film for a film genres class (b&w, boring af)

the lecturer explained his expectations for our next assessment very clearly today, so I don't feel lost with this subject anymore

the only negative thing today so far was my classmate; she sat right in front of me and was chewing loudly the whole time

I wanted to bang her head on the table tbh

almost started to unwrap the theme of death and loss in a poem, chose a few quotations, all because of the first line "take this kiss upon the brow!"

then realised that no one kisses corpses on the forehead in the UK

it would be a very Slavic analysis of a poem

got mashed potatoes from one of my flatmates and the poem's analysis from another one (she decided to write about the same poem)

I don't really need help with this assessment and I'm definitely not starving, but it's nice to feel that people around me are ready to help anyway

received an email from my creative writing teacher just now; she assures me that the format of my writing doesn't matter as long as I keep exploring different genres

so I guess it's a hint to try to write contemporary poetry at least once, but overall my preferences shouldn't be an issue

I'm going to try this tomorrow just out of curiosity — will she like it much more than my other pieces?

slept no more then 5 hours today, drank 3 (?) cups of coffee, had my first normal meal around 6pm

seems like I didn't meet the criteria of my creative writing teacher with the stuff I worked on last night

sent her an email asking to clarify the marking criteria for me, no answer yet

my next assessment deadline is tomorrow at 4pm, it's English literature and so far this is the only subject that doesn't make me feel stupid (I literally studied literature in another country for 4 years, and I will be a complete failure if I don't pass this course with a good grade)

went to Tesco after classes, buying stuff completely without additives gives me satisfaction

sleepy and hungry

academic skills lecturers asked us for a feedback, and some people wrote "it's easier then I thought", "I'm proud of myself", "I'm eager to learn"

I wrote "I'm not as smart as I thought I was"

I have a 3 hours gap between classes, going to sleep for another 2 hours

I've done everything on the list for today (for the night)

3 hours left before my alarm goes off

but I'm very pleased with myself because I managed to write an actual poem on the base on my previous homework (prose) and ChatGPT thinks its written in iambic tetrameter and pentameter

whatever you say, AI, I want to believe you

need to finish my pieces of writing for tomorrow but I don't have any inspiration

I don't even know how to write poetry in my native languages, what am I doing here

nausea; I ate a whole bag of crisps before a nap

it was a mistake, because after refusing to eat UPF for a long time this kind of "food" doesn't sit well in my stomach

need to do laundry and shower too and only want to go sleep again

Fuck I didn't realize how much of a damaged goods I am.
This page did become a touch of depressive, and I had become rather dull and depressive myself, but every fucking time I see something that triggers this throbbing pain in me, I feel it all anew.
I'm standing at the tram stop half of my life ago and I beg the Gods of the Universe silently not to take it all away.

But they are unmoving and they undeniably don't give a damn about my wishful thinking.

Ethically ambiguous topics, they call them, huh?
People should care less about their egos and more about explaining the whys and hows -- and listening, listening, listening...

But do I follow this advice myself?
No.

Shit.
Weep and die.
It's 2010 again, and I receive a phone call from a friend.
She doesn't seem to be aware who I even am, just surprised by unknown number in recent SMS, not remembering who I was -- all amid me slowly losing my sanity, and forgetting things constantly.
I freak out.
14 years later, in my head there's about 4 versions of reality that happened that day, and I don't know which of those I live in.
6 years prior, I witness the same person forget about someone else so completely that the very reflexive behaviors that were related to him disappear.

There are chains of events I want to off myself thinking about.
This is not one of them.
Thinking about it, I wish I had never existed.

Your orders.
The plaque stares me in the face from the WQHD screen.
Your orders?
*I stand on the empty concrete, the rain is moving slowly to the southwest, the smell of burnt rubber and dust mixed with rainwater, the car is off road trailing wisps of smoke, and the lads chatting in the background*

What am I even doing here.
WHAT AM I FUCKING EVEN DOING HERE?

My game plan fucked everything up for the what? umpteenth time, and I am staring to the old photos, that remember me -- the traitor, the confused and the mortally ill.
Now, when the hair on my balls had grown white with age, I stare in the past and I curse it all.

To be happy, you need to follow yourself.
But I understood it too late.

Pain, mixed with joy, and again with pain
The hardest part of my life, internally, that had changed me, but in retrospect...
Maybe it was necessary learning.
Fuck, people, some primal part of me wants to yell "AAA BE FUCKED", but instead I consciously say silent prayers for Gods-know-whom -- "Please, be happy. Please, have it in you."
You had enough shit already, and please just live the happiest of lives possible.
I hope that's the best end of your story, c**d.
I was not there when it mattered the most for you, but I am glad that others were.

I will walk the cliffs today, and think of you, and yours. If I could bless, you would have had all my blessings.

Don't look back. Even I try not to.

Eat me alive, burn me down, erase me,
Do it in style, turn around then chase me,
Make me believe that I almost got out of this mess
End my reprieve with a crackling snap of my chest

Make me believe that I almost had it
Make me relax so I almost get it
Mock my despair, so I almost lose it
Whisper the words in my ear, "You choose it"

I am alone, and yet mad with people
They are like stone but I cannot flake them
My heart is locked, but they've got the needle
They are like gurus, I cannot fake them

Nights follow up with days, all empty.
Thoughts follow up with rage, all useless.
Anger's discounted today. I have it.
Sanity's scarce in this age. I lose it.

I see the Arrogance.
They forgot. They noticed.
They don't want to notice that The Integrity.
It is broken.

The pieces of perceptions.
The Wisdom. The Critique.
They obliviate me by ignoring me,
But only the most unwitting of fools can think
THAT I DO NOT SEE IT!!!!!

Maybe, I am paranoid.
Maybe, I always was.
But only the blind can't notice
The psychomental BLACK HOLE in your
Righteous, pure doglike eyes...

The sky rips my receptors apart.
(me, 2008)

I can't describe it, I can't describe it to this day.
It is alive inside me, I just need to look at the documents for the period and the nausea overwhelms me.
I am there again, too weak and dumb to change things.
I want to die.

It burns inside.
It still burns and all is left for me is knowing that I want to die, and that I am just unable to off myself.
My life is fucked up and miserable.
My life is a fucking paradise people would have killed for.
I want to smoke, I want to die, I want to return in time, I don't want to return in time, I want to chill for a few years knowing that I have time but time is something I have and something I have not at the same time...
I wasn't in so bad of a mental state even in 2018, or maybe that's just me not remembering. Anyway I am fucked up and miserable.
Screams that never left my throat lacerate my lungs, drifting away in puffs of the cigar smoke.
The smoke that was never there.

I collapse onto the alleyway floor and say wearily, without expression --
Every time when I try to open up, I sense only the hostility and the desire to eradicate what I am. Maybe they love "me" unconditionally, but that is the "me" they think I am... I am tired of people telling me that they love me. Their love, if left unchecked, would destroy me, and that includes getting me deprived of things that are very dear to me, including the limited freedom of communication, movement and, by consequence, thought that I have now.
Believe me, I tried. It's not for the lack of trying. It's not my maximalism.

I can't express things anymore, as the blackness inside eats me alive.

Oh. Exploring the hidden depth on my own self.

I was going to be dependable, I really was. The young dependable guy who just does it, just makes it work, just... Just lives through life.
You know, I was ready to take responsibility, be an adult, make decisions. I did it, in my own right.
The 17-year old me was so much more ready for an adult life than an 18-year old me.
I was like Nike, "just do it" -- not the hesitant silly mess that I was later.
Ah well, it's all just some water under the bridge, and the old stories of an old man nobody cares about, even himself.
I sit here in the uneven LED light, being doubtful and uncool.
The weather is really soft and crying-like and I want to die.

Слушаю Graveworm, афигенная музыка

Graveworm - I the Machine
Graveworm - Losing My Religion
Graveworm - Fear of the Dark
Graveworm - Timeless
Graveworm - See No Future

Loneliness.
Not of command, or responsibility, but the sheer inability to talk to someone senior with enough trust.
It is finally getting to me, among my life being in shambles, ongoing professional crisis, and the guilt of not contributing enough to the war effort, and things.
I honestly want to die, to just cease to exist for the first time in years.
To just end it end to hell with the consequences.

I am more privileged than most, but so what?
I remember my last "normal" days in life and I and wish I had made the different choices -- without fully understanding them even now.
But then I realize that along the privilege, I held a curse to my name.
And then I just want to quietly off myself.

Fuck me, <censored>, how do you think, would a young lad that got through years of suffering long desperately for something that would just _end_ it?
Not something that would bring happiness, normality, not something that would make things better -- just _end_ it.
A numbing symptomatic treatment, especially when there's no viable alternative, either it or trying to survive the old way.
When you burn, you don't think about mortgage plans, psychological trauma or career -- you only can think about how to _stop_ burning.

I was on my very last legs those days, I don't rightfully know how much time was left but not a lot.
I was descending into madness long before the cursed 2014.
I just forgot.

London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, falling down
London Bridge is falling down
My fair lady

What will become of this year?
I think nothing overtly good, we will be lucky if we will get past some really nasty shit like the partial foreshadowing collapse of the Western Civilization as we know it.
I try to escape as hard as I could, not able to do things, not able to change things.
My escape is turned into a curse, and my very unfortunate cold is keeping me at home, not able to see the green island world of so far lingering normality.
I want to get out and escape even more in the simple motions of driving, stillness of the winter gardens and the roar of the ocean at the cliff edge.
Another year a lot of us will be lucky to simply survive.
We made it. Now we suck because of it. Simple.

OK -- last days of December again.
What can I say?

Depressive.
Is it really the end of the second year of the war with no end in sight?
In the island capital city center, where there were the Ukrainian flags last year, now everything is riddled with the palestinian terror-state flags.
Trump is about to get presidency again and destroy the US as we know it, and it's not even Trump who is a problem as the republicans as a whole are choking Ukraine support over domestic issues.
The Western civilization and society, as it looks to me, had lost the will to live, choked down in the multiculturalist tolerance and the sense of guilt. Now, if they don't wake up, they will know the real suffering.