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2/1/2024

I don't have videos, but I have Valheim friends <3

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My Secret Garden

...'s not so secret anymore.

I consider writing my thoughts about different songs. Some will be plots for stories, some pure philosophical thoughts and some - both. But I want to write something whilst listening and reading the lyrics.

My Secret Garden is a song by Depeche Mode, from their album "A Broken Frame" (1982).

Bear in mind that the usual DM songs are all about love. But this one starts with a man that had his own secret garden, unfortunately having spoken about it. So, he feels anxious about the knowledge of people about the garden.

The garden is a metaphor for being mysterious towards the women. The singer also talks about a woman he loved, but also enjoyed acting like a fool, misleading her (therefore also lying), so she will search for hours into the flowers (proof and leads perhaps). After she knows so much, she'll run with him towards the garden of memories they have together.

But there is also a book from 1973 with the same name by Nancy Friday. It is about the sexual fantasies of women, through tapes and letters. The singer might mean that all of those fantasies are safe in his hand as he had already seen all a woman could show.

That was it, thank you!

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Wreck

All mighty, you, overlooking me, I pray As a sinner, in Hell undying, just stay! I beg, digging through my earthly life. I offer you kindly, the remains of my drive. It is to tell you, like a weed I exist and miserably begging, I will persist. To surrender? Oh, I will never! As long as I keep myself together!

All mighty, bright as the sun, you still wonder, should you lend a hand to me, the dejected wreck, that has begotten all by himself disorder and begs for a chance to come new and back.

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2/1/2023

Happy Birthday to this account! Last year Prey, this year Dishonored, next year...?

This is Dishonored 1 (High Chaos, Emily dies) 

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4th December

(OST: Lacrimosa - Mozart)

...

Will he ever pay his price, to the one who throws his dice? His father, his saviour and judge. Satan, the mischievous budge, in Khaos's life and deed. Tries to put a great ordeal. And on that fateful night, he made him remember, the life lost in December. With no fear, and all might, he flew north and east, to see a house with no feast, no light and no beast to guard it.

He opened the door to a girl, and her body shivering in a curl.

Her eyes were closing and her mouth gasping.

Khaos lifted her head, looking into her eyes instead.

"These dark peepers, catch me in tears."

But will she open those eyes? Will she live to see his rise, into Heaven to save the globe, to change it all and never stop. [*they opened but for something else, and never closed*]

But alas her eyes never closed, opened they remained, sole reminder of inevitable death, her smile were with her gone breath.

The soil her body fed, and her soul flew ahead.

"And this white dress, made me digress, and show myself to dad, who had a facade, ready to make me judged, for the life I brushed."

"On this day... Oh, on this day, she will have her way, to my life, to my mind.

But I will never amend, never look at her face, it is my time to race, against our horrible curse, with my endless anger burst!

And you will stand behind, braided and kind, offering me a place to stay, but I have always been a stray, with my reasons to be from you away."

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I decided to translate...

A few months ago, I started writing about all the coincidences around me. One was how related everything was to Sweden...for some unknown reason. As if it pulled me to go there. One of the things was this story's translation I made on Wattpad where I uploaded the compilation.

Even Bulgarian poetry has its Swedish influence...*cough* Trampa *cough* Random foreigner on a holiday *cough*

This is the story of "strûk treva i tsvete" [blade of grass and a flower] (it is a literal translation, seems like the author hates the word "and" or tried to make it as if she speaks it to someone)

...

I fell in love with a Swede. One of those - tall and blond, coldly shining and sagacious. When he was kissing me, his lips were stretched, and it seemed as if he touched them with their edges. Then this enraged me. I was digging into his shoulders with my nails, scratched his hands, bitten beastly his lips yet he remained the same porcelain doll. I didn't wait until the end of the vacation and abruptly left Borovets¹.

Many days have rolled over the east and sank in the sea of my city. I stopped studying and began hating my friends because they were dark and did not look like him.

But one morning, someone called me while I was sleeping. I went out, half-naked and sleepy. I pulled the door handle shortly and the door opened to a boy that I dreamed about at night, but in the morning I stood in front of the mirror - gloomy, shaggy, looking at my black hair and thought of the blonde beauties putting their heads on his shoulders...

A wild exotic summer began. With him, we wandered, he taught me how to sing Swedish songs, one night in a blue hotel room, he made sure that I had been waiting for him all these years. Finally, he met my parents and asked to take me for a wife.

Now my [last] name is Carlsson, and I'm embroidering handkerchiefs to get paid. My higher education [aka university] and everything went to hell. Random blond faces call me a wild black cat. At night, when Per² comes back from work, and we turn off the lights, he says that my eyes glow in the dark and is scared of me. Here is cold, cold not to my bones but all the way to their insides. Even if a hundred suns rise over Sweden, it will be hard for me to get warm again.

But yesterday, I met a Bulgarian - roasted, dark, walks and smiles. I recognised him from afar by his tread, by the brave curve of his shoulders, the free movement of his arms. We stopped on the corner - we stood and stared at each other. Then I felt something familiar in my blood, my fingers convulsively clenched, and I threw myself against him with my hands spreading out.

I dug nails into his shoulders, clutching his lapel, fearing that he might leave. It was as if all of Bulgaria had come to me. We understood each other without words. As I looked up to see his face, tears rolled down from his cheekbones to his lips. 

— Let's run, let's run in Bulgaria! — I shouted. It was scary. It made me nauseous. When I regained consciousness, I was at home, and above me, Per, cold and shiny as ever. He smiled at me, and his teeth gleamed coldly. I later learned that I would have a child.

A month later I received a letter. I opened it with no strength, and inside, a white envelope lay a blade of grass and a flower. On the sheet, it was written in sharp male handwriting: "From Bulgaria". My eyes blurred. I grabbed my head with both hands and screamed, ran, snatched suitcases, clothes. They tried to stop me, but I was mad.

—"I'm leaving!" — my weeping became deep, darkened, turning into a long moan.

But suddenly, I stopped as if cut off. Something was tearing me off in ferocious pain. I fell...

My child was born dead - far from mine and its homeland. Here I am now - a ruin - travelling to Bulgaria. Cemetery behind me, in front of me...

Petya Dubarova 1979

... ₁. Borovets is the first mountain resort in Bulgaria. It is in the Rila mountain. ₂. Per is the Swede's actual name. According to her diary and letters by him and ones Petya wrote to her friends, she tried denying that she loves him. The realisation hit her when she thought about the fact he will stop sending letters when he goes back to Sweden (and wrote in her diary her frustration about the distance, wishing he was Romanian or Russian). Her mother did not help her at all, she said he probably doesn't love her because she is dark like a gipsy. (Good job, Mary!) Against the odds, they exchanged letters for a bit but eventually stopped. Maybe because the letter got stuck somewhere on the way, maybe because he lost the address (yes, Petya said that too), we will never know. I hope someone in the future figures it out...with a time machine...LOL

Just like my philosophy teacher said, even the lives of the poets are interesting...especially the Bulgarian "accursed poet" that influences and inspires many 15-17yr old girls. XD.

I felt like a stalker writing all of that. Goodbye. 

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Time for shower thoughts! August is about to end. So is another month of my 17-year-old being. Isn't that frightening to the child I used to be? Little Haitani always wanted to grow up and be an adult, to earn money and have a family. But not anymore. I feel like a combination of Happy New Year and Dancing Queen. Partying and then what? It's over - just like my childhood.

People, I beg you to enjoy every single day. Cause I just write this emotionlessly, thinking I do something right, or try to be wise and old. Well I said it - shower thoughts. Reality hurts.

Now what? Go to sleep. And then wake up, look at the sky, smile and take off for a new adventure!

Pinky promise? Good, I will do the same. Time to enjoy my last days of pure childish innocence!

Although... Although...I know everything already.

What is more pleasant than knowing it all? Yes, the correct answer is dreams.

Dreams do not kill. All they do is divine torture.

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hon älskar glass, men bet på min smörgås och åkte tillbaka till Burgas hennes mun som en gös, jag kommer inte att glömma det, i mitt minne brett, hennes leende finns kvar, levande och högljudd som en bar.

(well, that's my first poem in Swedish, thanks Google translate)

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The Sea is not a fantasy.

As you might know, I am a Bulgarian. I have lived here all my life. And so did this guy, Hristo Fotev. In my Bulgarian blog (@the-outsider), I wrote more about him, which you can translate from Google Translate or something. My apologies for being so lazy, I have been writing my things now.

But I feel awful that I did not get to know him earlier and did not remember that his birthday was in March. Again, my sincerest apologies. Now it's just nothing more than a note that he is gone, for 20 years, and I, yes, I, began reading his poetry. It is not only "love poetry" and I enjoy it! I believe he was a good guy. Though he loved a bit...too much. But recently I went to a bookshop and saw a book called "Epopeya na nezabravimite" (Epoppee of the unforgettable). There the author called Fotev one of his best friends. As for Dubarova, for her, he was a mentor. I don't know if I have found my Fotev in life. But we will see what will happen in September...

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found some old works

so fresh, i still remember writing them lol, the first one makes me think of hristo fotev (whom i at the time did not know about, i was 15yrs old after all but back then i wanted to be 17 so much that i lied to online people that I'm 17 really, it was in my bio)

and yet another one from march 20th 2020. covid made me creative?

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✨ “there in the clouds” by petya dubarova (excerpt)

from “here i am, in perfect leaf today” translated from bulgarian to english by don d. wilson.

Keep reading

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April 25th 2022

On this day, 60 years ago, a star was born. Shining one indeed, I even watched how her friends talked about her on the morning show. It's so brilliant to be able to write poems in an instant, also to speak English and write poems in English as well!! She translated songs, wrote poems and seemed like she had no bilingual problems like the majority of the world population! (miracle!)

For such people, you can say that they are God's gift to the world that had to be cherished and respected...but she was born in the wrong country at the wrong time. Being such a free soul during communism is so bizarre and incredibly brave.

Happy 60th birthday Petya Dubarova! Dead, but also alive, vividly inspiring people!

(Ever since I got to know her literature, she is been like my idol and an inspiration)

I wish that I knew you personally...I can only wish...and look at that cute smile :)

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Khaos's backstory

Always Eternal, Never External

a/n

As the title suggests, this is a chapter of Khaos reminding everyone that he is eternal, immortal, time and weapons cannot end his existence, or slow him to the slightest. I think reading Tōzoku to Seishōjo whilst having a history lesson about the fall of the Second Bulgarian Empire (and the entire Balkan peninsula) wasn't a great idea. Still enjoyed it nonetheless. Anyways, you can also read this (the link) before you begin the fiction. (OST: Reptile by Periphery, though I put it for the wild rhythm and chorus, not for a green-skinned creature.)

Additional information is that I began writing this story on November 23, 2021, the same day, when 45 Macedonians died in a bus accident on highway Struma after midnight. The fires and screams of those youthful people will be stuck in the heads of the witnesses. I saw their interviews in the morning. This is the biggest accident in the Balkan region, I have ever heard about. November 24, was a day of mourning. God, let their souls find peace for eternity and beyond.

Dedicated to my lack of motivation to learn the glorious and everlasting Bulgarian history. But more importantly, the teacher, who passionately wants to give us the entirety of it. Even if it has legends and unproven information, she writes it all to us. Legendary teacher. Just like the two others that inspired me to write more, my English teacher and my Literature teacher. Thank you for being in my life, inspiring me to continue writing. Because training makes us better.

and another a/n from January 29th, I just realised Bayezid I died on my bday so hahaha, cool.

...

y. 1168

It was November, almost the end of that year when Satan's last child was born. They named him Khaos, who had the fate of being apocalypse to the humans. But to do it as soon as humanity becomes sinful, and has no sake of faith anymore. He and Katharsis decided to take their own paths around the human world. Katharsis picked the sickness of Western Europe and Khaos went in the East, befriending the Eastern King, Ivanica. Khaos and the king were always together as if nothing or no one can separate them. Not battle, nor Byzantines, just a king and his advisor. But history never learnt the story of Khaos and how he decided to remain the biggest mystery in Balkan history. Living in the shadows and feeding off whatever he could find.

y. 1207.

Khaos was alone, once again. His head was heavy from the thoughts of what just happened.

Yesterday, his best friend, died and his soul went into another body, in a different country, far, far away. Khaos didn't want to leave Turnovo. He liked the big castle, that he sees every morning when he woke up. Unlike his older brother Katharsis, who remained in Western Europe, to follow the neverending conflicts for land. He sees how people die every day, just like Khaos used to see when his comrade fought off the Byzantine Empire for the old occupied lands. His dream was an empire of Bulgarians and Greeks on the entire peninsula, but in 1207, it all went crashing down.

"Damn it, Ivanica, how could you perish like that, you crazy dog! Not only that you got caught, severely beaten by those Byzantines, hit with a hammer in the head, but came back, leading the nation to glory, to die so miserably? Mortals will pay for it, in Hell. That's where my father controls and punishes the bodies of those with unforgivable sins."

Khaos sighed, looking at his crown. He died just like his brothers, a victim of a masterplan, created by his allies. The devil made sure, they suffer a painful death afterwards. He will not forgive the assassins. Time heals. The memories remain, the pain has its remorse, but doesn't get worse. Khaos had to carry the friendship over the centuries. Breathing in the air, filled with guilt and change. Historians write it all down, but one guy always seems to be missing from the evidence. His existence was a sweet mystery, that Khaos adored. He knew that changing the future can be a terrible mistake. He was also aware that being in history means unwanted mentions of his name as if he is deceased. Even if he had done something, he would have regretted it afterwards, so he decided to hide in the shadows, peaceful and relaxed.

...

y. 1396

Khaos wandered around, without a destination, he wanted to calm himself by walking in a forest. He was extremely relaxed and firmly believed that the pain he had was cured. Now memories don't make him weak. And it's only been 189 years. Khaos knew about the incoming danger of the Ottoman Empire but positively looked ahead, knowing that the Balkans can be united for once. Khaos decided to take part in the conflict in 1389, dressed as a Serbian aristocrat, assassinating the sultan. Then he got his head and looked carefully into his dead face as if it had to tell him something. He wanted to see his last thoughts. When a soul perishes, to find a new body, it remembers the life it had. Like the last dream, before a deep endless slumber. The memories of a person are like a maze, take a lot of time to look through, but before death, it recalls only the greatest moments. Like the birth of a child, the death of a parent or the win of a war. And now, the body was cold, but Khaos saw no great memories, just blood and pain. That's how the 3rd padishah passed away. He left the cold and lifeless head to a guy standing next to him. He didn't even flinch while seeing what he had lived through.

Khaos knew what happens next. He wanted to change it, but he understood the rage of the successive ruler. His name was Bayezid I, the Thunderbolt. More furious than ever, coming for an act of bloody revenge.

He invaded the Balkan nations, and murdered people, leaving their blood everywhere, like a butcher. Khaos hated noise and smell. They made him particularly irritated as if it triggered old memories of his.

"If you ever think, you are a God, go see your father anytime."

"You must be the one who killed him, I am a ruthless animal, but you are so neutral, do you even feel what you had done to me? You had a father too, right?", said the sultan.

"Yes, I still have, and your father met mine...in Hell."

"Son of a bitch!", Thunderbolt said with furrowed eyebrows and attacked Khaos with a knife. The devil started bleeding, but stayed still and didn't cry from the pain he received in his stomach area. Bayezid got the knife deeper into him, but the man stood tall like a pine. All of a sudden, he started laughing, reminding him that he is the immortal one. He saw the wrath in the eyes of the new leader, furiously invading in the name of God. They call it the holy war, to bring the true religion to Europe. Katharsis never faced them so close, but Khaos had the difficult task to watch a massacre. That is how an entire peninsula, with a large portion of different nations, was invaded. Their languages and culture were burning in the fires of the Ottoman Empire's glory. Screams for help, that are never heard. Children were being taught the wrongest things and suffocated by laws. Thankfully, some books were kept safe in monasteries and in Rome. Humans do mistakes, and mistakes make disasters. Disasters can lead to even worse consequences, the mortal, cannot think of yet. The devils had an unwritten law within the realms, if a creature, is under 333 years old, they cannot change the history in any way possible. When they become that age, the True Form appears. Usually, the eldest children, receiving this form become lords of the Underworld, just like Khaos's eldest brother, Kathastrophe, who was 335 years old. But still learns how to use the new powers. It can take even 1000 years to learn the full potential of such an ability.

Satan wanted his sons to learn different things but also to be ready for ruling.

But Khaos just witnessed the troubled souls of people that believed and silently helped. No traces left.

...

Personal Diary:

Rituals of life and death. Dying is necessary for human survival. Extinction is essential for the purpose of life. Fury can be both a sin and a blessing in disguise. It fogs the clear eyesight of peace and harmony. You can rule an entire peninsula, and make an empire, but still, it will fall like a tall tree with shallow roots. The souls of the dead always gaze upon their homes, before belonging to another mortal, dying human.

So, if they steal for the sake of survival, it's not a sin. If they kill for the sake of survival, it's not a sin. If they defend their children, it's not a sin.

But raping women, for the sake of making a new nation, with the blood of rage, will. never. be. forgiven. I will shed the violence, the massacre to all those unclean souls. Reaping the last gasps out of their meaningless lives. We, demons see everything, that a human feels and thinks about. I will save your soul Kaloyan. I will find you.

Even if it's 900 years later...

in the damn...

21st century.

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A day like any other. Why not, tomorrow be a day like any other?

A typical evening in a typical house.

I washed my face before I fall asleep and dream about a life that wasn't mine in the slightest. Timeless loop of trembling arms and silent weak voices whispering behind me about the opinion that no one hears. It's all in black, like the moon in midnight, shining to impress the sun. But yet so shy. Like this girl in that class. No name, no letter, just a class like any other. But with one big exception. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the heavy machinery is a brutal business. The noise makes people insane, dogs bark, cats run in fear, pigeons fly without a destination, like a graduate from university. Your road is ahead and you see the light, even if your ears fog the way, and your eyes mute the mouths.

The world consists of imagination and logic, theocracy and anthropocentrism, ancient and modern. Seems like everyone is the same, yet it's so diverse. Like the ways to solve a Rubik's cube.

But no one notices her. No one tells her anything. Numb silence, no words, but she doesn't cry. The bridge is high and the pills are strong. The sea below is so deep and she can't swim. Thoughts of ending it all, without pain. But the strongest dose makes you feel stronger than Atlas, who still carries the world on his shoulders.

Cry! Jump and cry!

Why cry? Why? Why? Why!?

Don't! Life is beautiful. People care for you.

NOOOOOOOO!

She pants and breaths heavy, sweat all over her.

- Dear, wake up, it's time for school. Happy birthday!

Her phone lit up in the dark. Her friends were saying best wishes, the dream will never be true.

For many years, Haitani...Live well. Breathe well you little child in the body of a 17-year-old. And don't become like my teacher's best friend with the sleeping pills.

[ratdm]

iii

I am nearly 30 years late for this, gosh! But my mother was young when this American TV series aired, she was just 19 back then. And now, myself being pretty close to that age too, but now, she and I watch this masterpiece. Let me talk more about Doctor Quinn: Medicine Woman from 1993.

Warning: This will contain spoilers! (I will say where!)

Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman began airing on January 1st 1993 and ended in 1998, it had six seasons in total. Similarly to a lot of the longer tv series, it's anthological, like The Simpsons. It's about Doctor Michaela Quinn, hailing from Boston into a small town in the Southwest of the USA.

According to the character named Loren Brey, it's the year 1867 at the end of season 1, because he reads a news article about the US that just purchased Alaska from the Russians for over 7 million dollars. I got very fascinated by how honest and humble everything sounded, even the sinful things Europeans did to Americans.

The main characters:

Michaela - she comes from Boston to cure people, she is the last child of her father, who was a medic too. So the girl got inspired by him to graduate university for female doctors and be hired somewhere else to help people. At first, mistaken as a guy from the telegram that got sent to the small town and read by Horace (the codex is gone) and pretty much mistreated because she is a woman, but later on, she is well respected. (Ah, yes, the sexism of the 19th century.)

+ she takes care of the three children of the only person, who accepted her and showed her around, named Charlotte.

Sully - he is mysterious, handsome, attractive (not my words, it was Dr Mike...yes), he is around the Native Americans and knows a lot of their legends, details, traditions and pretty much fights for their recognition and preservation. He is one of the kindest men in the city and pretty much respects everyone, and they all respect him too. It's fair and square.

The three kids - They are the best children ever, the eldest, Mathew even has a girlfriend, and the youngest, Brian loves Sully like a father.

+ let's not mention the middle child, Colleen and her...obsession... (Sully rage quits again.)

Some random and cool men that exist in the series (I am not simping) - Jake for instance thinks he doesn't have friends, but he does, Loren hates black people (wow, racist), Hank doesn't want to hurt either of the two and doesn't show kindness to anyone (except that one time...not Mikaela's bday, don't worry my sanity) and there's the priest, who is cool, but often doesn't want to help people because the religion won't approve it. Also, we have Horace, he is unappealing for most people, but attractive at the same time for one girl only. He is a super kind guy, with a big heart. He deserves all your attention and respect.

(It's funny how everyone is in some sort of a relationship in the series or does have a crush, it's so cute!)

The first season taught us different lessons like:

stop disrespecting women that can save your life, men. (btw, I am not a feminist, but this takes place in the 19th century)

stop screaming at the whore, damn it, she can't do what you want her to and don't blame her

stop acting like you are cheating on your girlfriends by jumping off the window, making your mom angry (just a reminder)

stop resisting...actually why, Loren?

STOP STEALING CLOTHES, COLLEEN!

stop killing the buffalo's populations...and Native Americans

stop leaving your children because of business that won't work and then come back to steal, and leave again!? but go on with the lullabies...

stop leaving your children to get inspired by non-existent relationships because of a romantic story in a newspaper and stealing the doctor's love interest, who isn't ready for a relationship because of his deceased wife and child

and last but not least

I AM IMPRESSED. DON'T STOP.

my mother literally smiled like a child the entire season 1, 5 more to go! this will be a hell of an adventure! so since the next segments are some spoilers for the ones that hadn't seen it yet...

conclusion: not your typical romance medical tv series, I recommend it a lot, you will love it, and don't forget, it's from 1993, don't even dare to try cancelling it online, retarded Gen Z kids on Twitter. I can see you.

Also, have a nice day! - 25.02.2022

Okay so here are some spoilers! -

HOW MANY EXCLAMATION MARKS TO ADD?!!!!!

First and foremost, I had a vague knowledge of the plot since I watched DQMW when I was...8? But my memories were like: it has mountains and a cool guy with long hair that was kissing the main character hahaha, rather the intro song, not that she was taking care of Mrs Cooper's children or something.

I didn't remember anyone else :(

Anyways, I'd be honest to say, that for medical tv series that according to mom is pure romance, I found it educational. Every episode talked about problems that still happen to this day, which reminded me of Verano Azul, the Spanish series from 1980 is a thing that I also watched as a kid, though I didn't even watch the last two episodes like a normal person, so I don't cry because the best character dies. :(

For example:

Father's Day - where the kids' father comes back, bringing gifts but lying where he has been, then steals money and escapes, but Sully catches him, gets the money back and writes a letter so the kids aren't sad that their biological father left.

(Sully is a good guy after all, but Mathew didn't bite, he knew his father couldn't write and read...ouch.)

Bad Water - Nowadays, we still have problems with the rivers being dirty from mining and other human activities including the air.

A Cowboy's Lullaby - Pretty much like Father's Day, but this time the father takes his child and promises to never leave it. Don't worry, different father and a little son, not anything related to the Coopers.

Happy Birthday - The doctor has a birthday, everyone talks behind her, wondering what to give her, and the men of the town act like they simp for her. Even Hank, who takes her for coffee and that is how he began calling her by her actual name, MiChAeLa. What modern problem from that, you ask?

Ah yes, the ending of that episode is awesome.

.

.

.

.

Sully comes when everyone's gone so he can be alone and give her a saddle, then she kisses him on the cheek and he pecks her on the lips.

Haitani: What about the dead wife?

Mom: OMG YESSSS, THEY KISSED!

Haitani: Eh...Fair?

But this season had one cringe episode, I forgot which one was it, but Colleen fell in love with Sully and let herself be in danger, so he can save her. The guy is being kind, he takes you to walks around, to dance, to be like a father figure to you, because you don't have a father, but nope, he is her love interest.

And she is jealous of Dr Quinn...ah yes, so reasonable. I laughed a lot about it. Seriously, falling for much older people than yourself is normal at that age. I've felt your pain, girl.

But of course, we have Sully saying he is not ready for a relationship, and rather said something that sounded serious: 'the kiss wasn't accidental', they didn't flinch. It ends with a beautiful group picture of the city's people, from Natives to Immigrants, incredible, isn't it?

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ii

Is my banner ironic or iconic? (the banner I meant, cause I’ve probably put another one instead)

It actually says some things about me and the fact that I used to HATE poetry. Quite honestly, I suck at it. (Unlike the people on the banner who were inspired by love, so writing this on Valentine’s day was absolutely fantastic.) 

[Quick edit: Though I’ve read like a few things written by these two masterminds of the later decades of the 20th century]

If you are asking why I suck? Well....my first try for poetry was in the summer after 7th grade, when I had a crush and was inspired by this fact. (I am personally ashamed by the things I wrote, even if I keep them for the sense of nostalgia, I am afraid to even open those...)

I can try to rhyme something right now:

Symbolism in disgust, is anarchism in digress, from that soul of stress and anxiety of high school, divert my precious being to you, oh holy literature legends. You give me hope, with my grades high, like my ego flying, out of the windows shining. But seriously, am I ever asking you, How you lived such harsh lives,  all unfortunate and ill-minded, have seen wars, between the thin walls, such tragic deaths, in the depths of your minds. In every thought,  in every dream, but still filled with symbols, scribbled on the walls outside, like a magic, so beautiful, but cursed, left aside, to rot in Hell.  

It’s horrible, I know. My teacher will destroy me for this. I offend his favourite part of the literature - symbolism. But, isn’t it supposed to be understood by the society? If you are like Hristo Izmirliev (aka Smirnenski), who wrote about the poverty, then most people from the lower and middle class will understand the pain of falling asleep hungry and cold. THIS IS A TRENDING PROBLEM! 

Just like hunger and water are problem in Africa, the rich people in the cities are a problem for the poor. 

It’s sickening to think there are two sides of this argument:

1. The poor shan’t breed and live at all.

2. All people, regardless of wealth have to live and prove themselves...

...Sooooo:

1. This argument quite directly came from my mother once, few years ago. But I shrugged it as useless. Even if she feels like our family is poor, we have a roof, we don’t fall asleep hungry and most importantly, I study in a great school. We have this and more. 

Then I thought deep about it, just as Platinum End came to be an anime. When Mirai and Kanade (Metropoliman) fought, the latter got asked what are his intentions after becoming God, to which he replied:

‘I will murder the poor people...they live unhappy lives.’ (well not exactly, but it’s something like that).

If you are not familiar with the series, Platinum End is made by the same people behind Death Note. But this time, the main character is the absolute opposite of DN’s MC. So, Mirai doesn’t want to kill, unlike Metropoliman. Eventually, it gets interesting, but not because of the main characters. 

‘Cliche,‘ would say my teacher. Speaking of which, Kanade really made me consider this theory about his mindset. His words are NOT cliche, it’s not common to see someone so rich to think this low about poor people. It’s very interesting he says it with anger, maybe because of hiding the deeper truth that makes him the imperfect villain, but that’s for another time. If you are willing to see me discuss it, I will. 

2. But how about this, poor people can prove themselves. 

Neymar came from a poor family, C.Ronado too. That’s it. Well, why that’s it !? Just find what you love and it will help you. Simple as that. 

*and don’t hang yourselves, take sleeping pills, drown, etc. it’s awful. thanks. bye.*

[ratdm]

i

Once I took participation in one of the most interesting world competitions ever! It was a sleeping contest, who will sleep the longest. People often failed to even sleep 8 hours, but now, in this silence of nature, everyone slept like babies. Anyways, I was on quarter finals with a grandfather, I think he was American. Old military guy, fiery patriot. I even talked to him before the sleeping began. I wondered, how did he get here in the first place? He didn’t stop smiling at me. These teeth disgusted me, but I remained silent and listened to every word he spoke. That was passion I haven’t seen in so long. I love listening to anyone’s thoughts and ideas, before they are forgotten or not realized. 

- Alright! Contestants, time to nap, for a long, long time. 

It began quietly and I don’t know how many hours passed. But all I heard when I woke up wasn’t silence. It was horror, panic, silent anger and eternal grief. 

Seeing people’s reactions made me confused. My mother took me away, hugged me and told me to stay away. I never knew if I won. I every day went there, to see the old man who still sleeps there...for 8 years already. 

A dog took one bone, a cat another one and all that was left was a watch. A very old watch, probably from the 1940s. I took it and kept it as close as my heart. This was something important for me. 

- And I did not say goodbye...damn. Just. like. always.