Probably won't be using this journal too much anymore. Regular one's over at LJ, entries aren't flocked and are largely in English if you're interested.

Date:	2008-09-11 16:31
Subject:	"skinhead hustlers of the fourth reich" would be a good name for a porno
Security:	Public
Mood:	blank
Music:	Гравис - Героин

I'm sick of pretending. Playing Mr. Sensitive Artist when that's not who I am.

I can't do good. I don't think I'm capable of becoming a good person anymore. So I left Mikel. Yeah, usually it's the other way around. But no, this time I left him, and this time it's for good.

So if I can't pull off good, then fine, let's see how I do with bad.

I know what I'm capable of. And now I'm gonna use it.

At least now I can do whatever I want. Take whatever I want. And what I want is money. I want clothes that fit. I want a driver's license. I want my own place. I want cocaine when I want it and heroin when I want it. I want a GED. I'm gonna go back to work. Knock over a convenience store or somethin'. Kill a guy if I have to. What I want is money and for nobody to ever fuck with me again.

Woke up around four. Bought a box of condoms, some needles, and a straight razor, to keep my head shaved. I wonder if the guys around here pay more for skinheads or if that's just a European thing.

Time to go to work.



ETA: Before I shave my head, let me show you this jacket I bought real quick. Yeah, you wish you were this fucking hot.

My reflection, dirty mirror
There's no connection to myself
I'm your lover, I'm your zero
I'm the face in your dreams of glass

Date:	2008-09-05 22:26
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	sick
Music:	Led Zepplin - Kashmir

<a href="http://www.claytoncubitt.com/commissioned/galleries.php?gid=28">cool shit - Skinhead fashion in Africa in the seventies</a>

Dude, Ilya. Where the fuck are you? Are you still pretending not to exist? Mikel and I got back together, like, a month ago. You can come out now.

meme for you all.

01. Name:
02. Birthday:
03. Where do you live:
04: What are you studying/What are you working as:
05. What makes you happy:
06. What are you listening to now/have listened to last:
07. What is particularly good/bad about my LJ:
08. An interesting fact about you:
09. Are you in love/have a crush at the moment:
10. Favorite place to be:
11. Favorite lyric:
12. Best time of the year:
13. Weirdest food you like:

RECOMMEND
01. A film:
02. A book:
03. A song:
04: A band:
05. A fandom:

FANDOM
01. Favorite Fandom:
02. OTP/OT3:
03. Icon/Fic Journal (so I can join):


01. One thing you like about me:
02. Two things you like about yourself:
03. Put this in your LJ so I can tell you what I think of you?

Date:	2008-08-31 11:09
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	amused
Music:	Rammstein - Ramstein

So, while at the hospital, I got told THE WORST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE, from this doctor named I think Vikramdeep. It was so wrong on so many different levels that I couldn't even get too mad at it, it was just hilarious.

Vikramdeep: Don't you think he's lying to you about having HIV? In order to drive you away. Obviously he is disturbed by you, because you are a woman.

And I lay there staring at him open-mouthed for a good fifteen seconds before stammering out: "Uh ... no."

Oh, maaaan, I can't believe that's actually his JOB. He got PAID FOR SAYING THAT TO A SUICIDAL PERSON. *cracks up* Oh, shit, I want access to that hospital's security footage. I could make a DVD of his greatest hits. "Why are you anorexic? Did you realize that you will never be attractive until you lose more weight?"

It's too bad I had been in triage for untold hours, it was past midnight, and I was so exhausted I was just lying there talking to the shrinks without even lifting my head. If I had been in good form I would have punched him. I should at least have gotten all up in his face about it. Shiiiit, Mikel got so pissed when I told him. He was going to call up the hospital and chew the guy out, but I promised him that I'd go up there and do his tires when I had the chance.

The thing that really gets me about it is the "obviously." Everyone knows that being in a relationship with someone like me is so unbearable that my guy will lie about being positive in order to get rid of me! Yeah, obviously.  *dies laughing*

Anyway, I wasn't in there for anything too serious. My depression was starting to affect Mikel, I was emotionally flatlining and not too interested in sex and it was hurting him a lot. And he knows I've been in a bad way lately, worn-down, weary, violent. Mikel hasn't been great either, and we decided that we both needed to go back to shrinks. He made his appointment, and I tried to make an appointment with the clinic, but it was gonna cost 112 dollars a session, which, fuck, I can't afford that. But I knew that if I went to the hospital they'd have an obligation to set me up with anti-depressants and health insurance, plus free outpatient shit, maybe even welfare, so after saying goodbye to Mikel I wandered to the hospital and told them I was gonna kill myself. They stuck me in the psych ward for three or four days before figuring out that I wasn't going to shoot myself and and kicked me out. No big deal. I spent most of my time in therapy babbling on to the doctors about Mikel and that shithead Ilya and how much I like them.

Now that I'm on anti-depressants I feel pretty much okay. Yeah, I don't know, I feel like I can deal. Sure, I miss the steppes, I don't like my life too much, and I'm a bloodthirsty little shit, but ... *shakes head* Someone said something really insightful. I don't know why it struck me so much. We were talking about the way I end up in warzones, either literal warzones or in violent situations, the way that I do better there and have kind of an instinct for it. She said, "Maybe that's just the way you are, the kind of person that you are." And all of a sudden, yeah, it felt pretty much okay. I don't have to feel guilty about it or overanalyze it. I'm a fucking natural born killer, sure, but it makes sense considering the life I've lived. I've paid my dues. And I know I'll never lay a finger on Mikel or Ilya or anyone I care about. Might as well enjoy it.

Don't think there's too much I need to go to psychotherapy for. What I need is money. Move to a city I like better. Then I'll be happy, I'll be fine. The only thing that bothers me about myself is that I'm kinda violent like I said. I think it would be a good idea to get into like bare-knuckle boxing or some shit, find a way to do something useful with that.

Fuck, man, I know anti-depressants are supposed to kill your sex drive, but it was first fuckin' thing that came back. I'm walking around with a freakin' hard-on all the time. I heard a joke somewhere that they should just give depressed people aphrodisiacs, because who could be depressed walking around with a hard-on 24/7? I would not be surprised if I found out that they had mixed up my Zoloft with Viagra or some shit. Nice to have my dick back ...

Date:	2008-08-29 13:23
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	cheerful
Music:	Gogol Bordello - Wonderlust King

Things Sevastian is No Longer Allowed To Do in the Mental Institution

- Cannot harbor perverse sexual lust for the other patients
- Definitely cannot express said lust in French in front of the nurse from Canada
- My name is not pronounced "Just ask for the little gay kid, everyone will know who you mean."
- My goal for the day is not "I'm gonna hit on Billy's sister."
- The first words out of my mouth when the nurse tells me that my HIV test came back negative should not be "So what are you doing this weekend, angel face?"
- Not allowed to stay in the shower long enough to sing the entire Patti Smithe discography
- Not allowed to answer the telephone as "Seva Face-Control."
- Cannot draw a picture of Ilya shirtless if everyone else in art therapy thinks he's my biological brother
- Definitely cannot draw him shirtless without a head and then insist that "Well, the head is the least important part of Ilya."
- The bus pass is to be used for transportation to either a relative's home or the shelter, not the hookah bar.
- My "spiritual affiliation" is not Wahhabi Islam.
- The correct response to "you can't use vodka to swallow these pills" is not "The hell I can't!"
- Nothing is ever less obscene in Russian.
- Cannot ask anyone from the adolescent ward if they are pregnant
- Cannot threaten to walk around with my seven-inch cock hanging out if people don't stop mistaking me for a girl
- Surprisingly enough, I do seem to be allowed to use my connections in the elderly Polish church lady mafia to find another patient an apartment.
- Not allowed to pass around naked pictures of my boyfriend
- Definitely not allowed to pass around naked pictures of my boyfriend as supplementary materials to anecdotes about our sex life
- Definitely, definitely not allowed to pick up the phone and yell "HEY LIZAVETA, IT'S THE GUY WHO FUCKS LIKE A WILDCAT!!"
- Especially if the caller wasn't Mikel.

Anyway I went straight from the psych ward to the aforementioned hookah bar and beyond, and I'm really just pausing before I go out again, so more on what I've been up to later after I crash.

Mikel, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die.

I just need to know that you're there.

Date:	2008-08-06 21:57
Subject:	Тело без души, body without soul
Security:	Public
Mood:	indifferent
Music:	Olympic - Slzy tvý mámy

It's strange to not want to live. It's different from wanting to die. I'm tired of having to be a new person all of the time, of having to rebuild myself up from scraps just to find out I was wrong about myself again. I don't think I can do it this time, even one more time is too much. I would prefer to go to sleep, and not wake up, so that I wouldn't have to deal with it. There's a period afterwards when I'm completely blank to everything, when I have no feelings, but this time I don't think I'm going to build myself back up again. I'll just stay like this. Nobody here, nobody home. I wonder what that will be like.

It's easier when there's something like, "I've got to pull through, so I can move to the city someday" or "I've got to pull through, I've never seen The Grand Canyon" but I have nothing like that. There's really nothing I want, so it feels like it would be superfluous effort to live more - hard work but then nothing in return, why bother? I'd be satisfied if my life ended right now, or at least I wouldn't get worked up over it. I figured that if I still had Mikel that was all I needed and I could be a person again, but he probably doesn't exist either and if he does he doesn't want me anymore, so I have nothing to go on.

Sometimes I feel like my head is caving in on me, I feel like screaming, having a panic attack or a nervous breakdown, but I never do. And after that I go back to feeling indifferent again.

What the hell, I don't know, I should go back to work. What's it to me? Clearly I'm not going to find anything else, and I didn't mind it too much while I was doing it - and I certainly wouldn't mind now that I've totally flatlined emotionally. It's not pleasant, but there's nothing stopping me from benefiting from it. It would be great to have the things that I need. Who's going to stop me? Mikel doesn't care anymore.

Well, it's early yet, I could go out tonight if I wanted to.

Maybe I'll just stay here a little while. See if he IMs me or something. Like he did the other day. Or what, that was a week ago already, wasn't it.

Date:	2008-08-05 10:18
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	numb
Music:	The Beatles - Carry that Weight

( Still sick. )

Miss Mikel. Just in case any of you are under the impression that he's not the only thing on my mind from the moment I wake up in the morning till the moment I go to bed at night. Driving me fucking crazy. I just want to talk to him. One more time.

Well, today I learned that a Russian-speaking friend of mine didn't learn Russian from his family or anything like that, but in the military - the American military - while - how do I put this. Observing the Chechnya situation. He wasn't able to say much more than that

I didn't know what to say about that. "You can understand why it's a little personally concerning," I told him carefully.

"I do. And let me say this, at least. I did nothing that would in any way aid or hinder either side. I was merely an observer. It occurs to me, though, that we may not be talking about the same timeframe. My observations were in the late nineties, nearly ten years ago. A time when you yourself would have been far too young to be involved in anything I was concerned about."

There was also the unpleasant implication of "If I were going to turn you in to any of the relevant parties, I would have done so a year ago."

I didn't like the word "involved." I felt like saying that officially I was just there for personal reasons or journalistic purposes, but decided to keep quiet.

This just confuses things.

Date:	2008-08-03 12:51
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	blank

"Why's the baby bawling, madam? Just because it's alive? So am I, and I have to put up with the fact."

- Fernando Vallejo, La Virgen de los sicarios

My body is as sore as an old man's. It's not good soreness, but from sickness. I never want to eat anything, and I never want to sleep. Fortunately, I don't have the inclination for drugs or alcohol, either, and haven't had any in weeks.

It may be psychosomatic, or where did I manage to pick up the flu in August?

It's difficult for me to concentrate on anything, which is all right because most things have been taken care of. Still, all of a sudden, I don't know what my taste in music is, or my taste in books, or in what language I should be thinking and speaking. I can't listen to serious music or read a serious book. To keep myself occupied, I've been reading lighter novels. The Watches by Lukyanenko, and a modern fantasy book called The Iron Hunt. These are things that I could read indifferently. But later, when my head was more clear, I looked through The Iron Hunt and saw that the prose was more beautiful than I had realized. I should find some other way to spend my time, or read only books that I've read before.

For no reason, I decided to read a novel from my youth. This was my favorite novel at one time. Let me tell you something. The title in Spanish is "La Virgen de los Sicarios" which in English is "Our Lady of the Assassins." This is a homage to the French novel "Notre-Dame-des-Fleurs" by Jean Genet, which in English is "Our Lady of the Flowers." This novel is also about young criminals, because Jean Genet was a criminal himself. He wrote it in prison, on stolen paper. The correct French translation of the title would be "Notre Dame des tueurs." But the French translation is titled "La Vierge des tueurs."

The Russians translated it as Богоматерь убийц, or in Latin letters Bogomater' ubiyts. Bogomater' is something like "The Mother of God", and ubiyts isn't exactly "of the assassins", but "of the killers." The Russian title of Genet's novel is Богоматерь цветов, or in Latin letters Bogomater' tsvetov. So by using the word "ubiyts" they were probably trying to find a word closer to the "tsvetov" in Genet's title.

It should have brought back relevant memories, but reading it, I didn't feel much of anything at all, although I understand on an intellectual level that the book is heartbreaking, and it did break my heart when I first read it. I'm indifferent to it.

The nights are bad. I try to go to sleep early, around nine or ten. I also try not to think of him at all. I don't want to know what he thinks about me. I don't want him to think about me. What kind of thoughts must he be having about me. I don't know if I would want to go back to him if he took me back, in the same way that I don't know what I like anymore, what my tastes are, what my language is, and so on. I don't think or feel anything, or a better, less abstract way to put it would be that I have no preferences or inclinations. I don't seem to be a human being at all, but something more shameful, fake, and this is why I don't want him to think about me. It's difficult to live after these realizations because for a long time you are stumbling around like a dead thing. Why is it that I continue living? It's not too painful, but it's confusing.

Date:	2008-08-02 16:19
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	sick
Music:	Kanye West - We Don't Care

This is my new favorite picture of me.

someday soon everything's gonna all make sense.

( умолять, умолять )

Remember how I said I needed to do something with my bank account before I killed myself? Eternal problems with red tape. Apparently there's something wrong with my social security number. (Everyone, including my own grandmother, is asking me why didn't I just use some dead one's name and number. Thanks, babcia.) I'm always having to truck up to the town hall and back to the bank, and this is worse than the Soviet Union because in the Soviet Union there was an equal measure of incompetence, but you could generally pay people to make it go away. Here, if someone says, "We're not authorized to do that," it's the word of God from down high.

Essentially,
a) The bank account needs a copy of my birth certificate
a1) mailed directly from the town hall

However,
b) the town hall isn't authorized to mail these documents, so
b1) there's no way to get my birth certificate to the bank because
b2) the bank will only accept it from the mail.

So,
c) I had the person working on my account call the town clerk, but
c1) The phone just broke so I have no way of knowing whether it went through or not, and besides
c2) odds are the town hall still won't be authorized to deliver anything regardless of who is asking.

Additionally, today my glasses are broken. They're always getting beaten up (God only knows what would have become of my face if my glasses didn't take the weight of it) but this time they were totally fucked. I have it held together with duct tape, but in the heat the glue keeps melting off and the glasses come apart again. So I went to the warehouse to get a new pair of frames. Turns out my prescription is expired. I made an appointment, but it's not until the seventh, or possibly the fifth, because the date on the business card says Tuesday the seventh, but the seventh is Thursday. I will call and confirm later on. After I have my prescription, it's going to take two weeks until I have my new glasses in. Moreover, they don't make these frames anymore. Hopefully I will be able to find frames that are this flattering.

So, there goes the last of my money. A friend of mine, he offered me about a hundred dollars, which would have been enough for the bare necessities of what I need to do. The very day he planned to give it to me, some vital piece of electronic equipment broke, and now his spare change is going towards fixing it. I don't mind this at all, in fact, I'm secretly glad. I felt bad about taking money from him.

There goes my last penny and three weeks of precious time ... it seems like God and all his angels are conspiring to keep me here, but they'll run out of ammunition soon. As long as I still have strength in my body, I'll get to where I'm going.

The other night I was thinking about going to Gotham Citi, the club. I don't know what I would have done there. I was thinking, maybe there's a possibility that the moment I enter a roomful of desirable young men I'd forget about him entirely, and spend the rest of the night getting his very name fucked out of me. But I knew the possibility was slim. I tried hard, but I couldn't even imagine it, what it would be like flirting with someone else, kissing them, fucking them. It's too soon yet. I still think I'd throw up on their shoes if someone else touched me.

Still, I was going to give it the old college try, only ninety seconds before I was about to leave - literally, ninety seconds - he IMs me out of the blue, says something like, "I know I shouldn't be doing this. But I couldn't see you online and not say anything. I just wanted to say happy birthday, even though it's a few days from now, I love you, I always will" and then leaves in a hurry before I could make any reply. Instead of going to the club I just went to bed.

The weather has become dangerous. Never in my life have I seen clouds like that. They're pointing downwards, towards the ground. Not as if they're being drawn by an irresistible force, as in a tornado, but as if (I heard someone else make this observation) they've hit an invisible wall. They've even stopped dead, not moving at all. It's like the end of the world is found there.

Whatever happens, tornado or not, the storm that is coming will be very, very bad. I can't feel him in the rain anymore. Stormy weather has taken on a menacing quality again.

Still, I will leave as decided. I have a path, nothing is going to make me leave it. That's just the way that it is. Wind, rain, hail, and lightening. None of that means anything other than that I'll have a bad night tonight. If I'm injured, even badly, I will wait until I heal. If I die, then I die, and that's the end of that.

I think all of the time about his body. His achingly beautiful body. Sometimes it's all of him, and other times I can't get one part of him out of my mind. Today it's his legs, his thighs. I want all of him, but it's easier to want someone's body than want their soul. Sexual thoughts I can have anywhere, but I don't want to think about his heart, about the way we used to talk, except in my private moments, when I'm alone.

Everything about his body seems so inviting and warm. When I think about him, I feel the exhaustion in my bones when I didn't feel it before. I want to lie with him, on top of him, and fuck him slow and heavy. I could just rest there forever, with his body, breathing him in.

Miles to go before I sleep.

Date:	2008-07-27 07:25
Subject:	move under ground
Security:	Public
Mood:	cheerful

Mikel. If you're reading this, which you're not - well, there's nothing to say. Just take care of yourself.

I love you eternally.

- Seva.

P.S. If Ilya has been bothering you, tell him I'm all right. Also, tell him he's a moron.

In order to do this I have to go up to the mountains, the deep mountains, so I will be unable to talk to any of you. I hope that nobody is worried about me. I was concerned about my legs after walking all day yesterday, but I was up at 4:30 today fully rested and today I will make good time. Things will be all right.

I think that there is nothing here that will cause much of a danger. The storms do not trouble me. The terrain will not cause problems if I am careful and do not travel at night. As for animals, the snakes are not aggressive. There are many black bears, many coyotes. Wolves, but very few, and if you ask any authority they will say there are none. These animals do not harm humans unless boundaries are overstepped and the boundaries of animals are not difficult to learn. Whereas the boundaries of a human being are secret and elusive. Who knows what will make a psychopath attack you? I should not follow the highways but the river.

Well, nothing terrible is going to happen, and if it's difficult, that's fine. I chose this. In the words of Luther: Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise. So help me God!

( Ты посмотри какая в мире тишь ...  )

( Я отказал. )

человек, решившийся на самоистребление, далек от житейских дел, и засесть, скажем, писать завещание было бы столь же нелепым, как принять в такую минуту средство от выпадения волос, ибо вместе с человеком
истребляется и весь мир, в пыль рассыпается предсмертное письмо и с ним все почтальоны и как дым исчезает доходный дом, завещанный несуществующему потомству.
И вот то, что я давно подозревал, -- бессмысленность мира, -- стало мне очевидно. Я почувствовал вдруг невероятную свободу, -- вот она-то и была знаком бессмысленности. Я взял двадцатимарковый билет и разорвал его на клочки. Я снял с руки часики, швырнул их на пол и швырял их до тех пор, пока они не остановились. Я подумал, что могу, если захочу, выбежать сейчас на улицу, с непристойными словами обнять любую женщину, застрелить всякого, кто подвернется, расколошматить витрину... Фантазия беззакония ограничена -- я ничего не мог придумать далее.

( Read more... )

( y no lloré porque mi hermano muerto era tan bello en muerte como en vida. )

Date:	2008-07-22 20:04
Subject:	The more bloodthirsty I get, the better is my American English.
Security:	Public
Mood:	predatory
Music:	Кино - Группа крови

I don't know. I thought I'd get rid of my journal. Make a new one, but fuck it, I like this name and I just got it, I don't want rid of it. So I just deleted all my posts.

Scaring myself with the shit I've been posting here lately. A lot of it's Ilya-locked so you don't know, but. Swear to God I never talk about anything else but how much I'd like to fucking - well, I thought I wouldn't talk about this shit no more. Poor Ilya has to hear it from me practically every time we talk, he has to talk me out of it like every night these days. He told you not to, there's nothing you can do.

I've been thinking about joining the military. I ... shit, you know, I can't sugarcoat it. If I can't kill him I want to kill someone. Or not kill someone. Just fight someone. Anyone. Even if it's some Iraqi I got no problem with, who I would be trying to save otherwise. How fucked up is that, ladies and gents?

Just a pain in the ass being worked up like a pit bull all of the time and nobody to turn on. All fucked up and no place to go.

No one to protect. No one I can protect.

See, I want all of this out of me before I talk to him again. All of it. Out. I don't know if I should be trying to write it all out, because that just feeds the fire, or if I should be forgetting that it exists in me. Lock it down.

Take the card you've been dealt and shut the fuck up. Mikel doesn't need this. He doesn't need this at all.

I need him. I need him so goddamn much. And being without him is hard. Gets so fuckin' bad sometimes. I got how long now. Twenty days. Twenty-one. And this shit has got to stop. All of it. I have to be a good person now. I have to be strong.

Dreamt in Chechen last night. I hate that shit.

So, for the people who are too lazy to learn Russian, I found English version of the Kino song Gruppa Krovi on YouTube. (It reminds me of Mikel, but then again, what doesn't?) Russian version, of course, is much better.