SD
Every day is a fight

Giving myself away

That night I saw the ground crumble, I saw the cities fall like dry sand castles, gushes of wind blowing away bricks and cement blocks. Like they were light as feathers. Nothing but feathers.

All light was gone. The aftershock hit the land in deep dark, shaking away the last fractures of human pride. One after another, as many as there were bombs. But people didn’t count anymore. Numbers, statistics lost their meaning. People sat in the bomb shelters, hugging anything that felt stable, their eyes glooming in the dark as mad as the world around them.

Maybe I was on the top of a hill. I heard the trees. They where mourning, crying. The trees surrounded me, then, against the odd glow in the horizon I saw their trunks bend like nothing but thin straws. I was blown away. Whirled through the air, in an endless flight.

I don’t know how I survived. I don’t remember how I landed, the next I saw the worried faces of old women and very young children in a dirty bomb shelter with cracking walls and no windows left. I was alive. They had rescued me and treated me like one of their own. Like I was meaningful, a person and not just a chunk of useless meat.


I have cold showers all over me, inside and outside. In the evening my body temperature rises and I can’t sleep cause I’m freezing. There you have another piece of text that doesn’t belong anywhere. When the one from yesterday was about my “twin” this one is a post-apocalyptic scenery.

Bought today some stuff to create postcards and make a parcel look nice. I have a box, paper with pattern and design paper, pearly light blue postcards, pink ribbon and glitter ribbon stickers and pictures of two kinds of flower fairies and some old fashioned ladies to glue on paper. Inspiring and useful material. That means I went to the hobby shop and couldn’t resist when I saw those papers. I took blue and pink of the same pattern, and then those fitting cards. Thank lord I did not go deeper into the shop, just to the postcard stuff and stickers.

Like always, I forgot what nasty effect the disinfection liquid has on my skin: it becomes forever itchy. It dries out. I should stand up at this moment and go get some moisturizer before I scratch it bloody again.

Drinking some Kriek beer. It’s made of beer and cherries. Just google it, I’m too lazy to describe. ;)

… Now there’s enough cream to rub on an entire horse… And that shit sprinkled on my gun!! Hope it just hit the rear. I did not care to check in the dark, just wiped it. I have managed to cut a scratch on my laptop, and on Thursday I got energy drink in my eye!! Lots of luck these days…

… Phew. I hate this up and down all the time. No peace. Restless thoughts that never leave me alone. Not a single day that I won’t think about murdering my fellow bus travellers. I’m not sure about my psychic condition anymore. I have been strong very long time now and I’m just waiting for the moment I start cracking like a fucking nut shell. Today I was again on Mentalzero, but it mainly got me bored. Not much new, and the comments there can drive even a blind man crazy. Should not be reading them…

I was visiting my parents during the week and just a little bit of whining from mum made me flip out. It could have been worse though. I left the room when I got enough and that seemed to solve the problem. But I noticed dad was worried. Well, he discovered my secret stash of (porn) airsoft magazine and my Sig… And he just had to warn me to hide them well from mum cause she’s go crazy. I know she would.

It’s strange but since I collected myself and talked with dad about this stuff I feel like I’ve gotten my dad back. There were seriously years that I could not trust him enough to talk about anything honestly, but lately I have used his being drunk for my advantage, and that somehow opened the sealed connection again. Well, I have decided to be more honest towards ALL people, and I truly like the look on my nurse’s or psychologist’s face when I say something that for me is just normal but for “normal” people unthinkable.

Last time my psychologist, the new one I got and who looks more like a patient from how she dresses up, put me trough some pressure test I believe by asking the same thing many times. Like she’d be testing me if I can think clearly enough to answer the same way all over again. I acted like I always do, showed very little emotion, probably I just laughed (it’s something I can’t block, if I find something funny I’ll laugh whatever the situation) and seemed completely careless about other people’s lives.

From my point of view it was no normal talk. It was interrogation. She wanted to know about me, she got what she asked for, but that same question again and again felt like some damn FBI detectives were asking it… Hehehe. ;D

Today in supermarket I noticed a bad habit has made it’s return: scanning the magazine shelf. With predator’s eyes. Crap. I must watch that. They didn’t even HAVE anything worth looking at!!!! I’m just thinking WTF?? A half year ago they still had at least ONE gun magazine there, the smaller shop even had mine, but now NOTHING?? Is it because the political atmosphere has changed? People are more careful and scared? Seriously people, you need a slap on your face to get back to reality.

Going to hunting fair on Friday… Plus those ten thousand others they have packed together in the same building… I’m going with a close friend and he’ll be nagging about it again that I stop to talk with people. I just have to ignore it like always to keep the connection to him alive. He’s my oldest friend, that’s why.

So, time to finish this and go to bed. I have soon finished cleaning this place and will post photos then. On Friday I finally get the results of the biopsy and then I’m off to Helsinki to visit a couple of tattoo shops to ask their prices. I want my P90 tattooed on my leg over my old school shitty and washed-out one.

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