sometimes its hard to comprehend why some people make you feel the way you.. I'm a firm believer that time is not a very good indicator on bond formation. There are people I've known for years, whom I still don't understand why I even talk to, and yet at the same time there are people I've met for barely an hour who have touched my heart in amazing ways.
Lately I've been feeling really alone, not in a physical sense more so emotionally and mentally. Its like my brain needs a big hug. I miss that certain unspoken intimacy. Love through gestures. Love through eye reflections. Love through warmth.

I'm reading this wonderful book right now called Bird Without Wings by british novelist Louis De Bernieres. The same author who wrote Captain Corellli's Mandolin. It's set during the fall of the Ottoman empire during the First World War. But thats not what this entry is about, rather at the beginning of the book there is this short poem by greek author Spyros Kyriazopoulos entitled The Cat.
I'm pasting the version here, because it fascinates me a great deal, and I find it quite profoundly thought provoking.
If anyone has any thoughts please share.


The Cat
She was licking
the open tin
for hours and hours
without realising
that she was drinking
her own blood.

I was going through some old things, and came across an old journal of mine, it was the one from when I was going through this deep repressed gothic-esque angst. I figured I'd post an excerpt from one of the entries, just to sort of reflect on the growth of thought processes through the ages.

Staring into the darkened abyss
Soul pried away from flesh
bodies lie naked,exposed, heaped
The flames licking swirling
Baring with translucent eyes
Daggers piercing tearing apart
Pungent and rank the foulest of smells
Perfuming the atmosphere
smothered, suffocated, stifled
Black to white, white to black
Oozing thick and bittersweet
petrified viscosity
Dead.