I think my ID photos come in two types: ‘well-fed human with dead eyes’ (meaning I’ve probably been stress eating a lot and want to murder someone, or a lot of someones, so they would leave me alone) or ‘practically a vampire with somewhat alive eyes’ (meaning I haven’t really been eating or sleeping, have a face like a panda, but my flight-or-fight instincts have been kicking me enough to get me looking at least a little bit alive).

Personally, I prefer the latter, but the formers seems to be much more common…


Finally watching Oscars. I love Queen, but…I’m sorry, I really can’t stand Adam Lambert. It’s beyond me why people let him take this place… Hell, I know a small Czech cover band vocalist who would do 3 times better job

I’m feeling like my writing impulses are validated by the fact that my grandfather is walking around telling weird stories all the time and can’t stop

Wouldn’t even notice that Nikolaj Coster-Waldau is in Kingdom of Heaven (after watching it 5 times) if I didn’t decide to watch the director’s cut. And not as ‘village sheriff’, as wiki says, but as Balian’s cousin. 

I’m not a person with much attachment to the word of living myself.
And I know the sight and the smell of the abyss that can make you end your own life very suddenly,
without actually waiting for you to make such a decision. 
So I know, when it comes to it, the truth is there is no reasoning or rationale involved in the matter.
Sometimes it’s just a matter of a second that went wrong.

And yet it’s also like a hard slap to the face.
And stings like a bitch.
Seeing someone who you somehow thought to be so much stronger than you in this,
lose to the same thing they were helping (by their existence) you fight for more than half of your life.

A piece of soul was torn out. The world is shifting to find new balance. The view is changing.

I’ve been thinking about many things, even if I did not mean to be thinking.
About words that are so familiar, too familiar, they stir the terror of ‘do we really have no chance to fight this, if it took even him’ somewhere deep inside, which I try to promptly block off.
About families. Because the thought of those left behind paralyses me. And the understanding that even that might be not enough, makes me ask ‘is there anything that really is?’
About loneliness. Because we laugh when we ask for help, and those who listen laugh back, nod, and turn away. Because, the way we live now, even the closest people are distant, we all leave in our personal bubbles. And people recognise the cries for help only in retrospect, and fairy godmothers/fathers who’ll see what’s really going on in time hardly ever exist anywhere outside fiction. 
I’ve experienced it myself, even closest people promptly dismissing my signals for help to my face, and I saw that it was not because they did not care, but because they were too afraid to believe it’s true. Perhaps I acted in a similar way to someone else? We all want to believe the person next to us is okay, especially since then we wouldn’t need to stop something we are doing and invest ourselves in someone else.