.LOG

I've become a little bit smarter.
The sky outside is beautiful, it resembles an old torn blanket processing forth the endless tabula rasa.
I need to find my old shitty camera again and try to catch something.
I need to go to Kanonersky Island again and find some piece of mind.
I need to do away with the examination essays.
I need to establish my way of life.
I need to realize my musical thoughts.
I am finally able to need.
We are together again.

This is the third day I'm alive again, and not cosplaying a robot. There's only a laughing corpse left of it. It's in my smile that's almost always "on". Its spirit is imprisoned in the doll I got as a present from Jell [she's been to Laperanta recently]. The doll is iron and as nice as Shirley Moor, the big robot doll without arms and legs.
I feel like Chtulhu-Junior outside its shell. A rosy piece of young, tasteless meat.

I closed my LiveJournal blog for some time.

Chuck Schuldiner is love.

R.I.P.

My little piggy needed something new. (NIN)

The most obvious advantage of being single is that no one dares disturb you. No one offers you their stupid system of values, no one tries to convince you that you're wrong. No one invades your little putrid world and no one tries to cleanse it with their special supereffective means. No one annoys you with their imperfection.
Being single also means: you don't have to teach anyone to do anything. ANYTHING - behaving oneself, solving one's problems, making out, etc. No one has to trouble themselves accepting my ideal image of a partner.

But there is one huge disadvantage: now I have to carry 10 kg of cymbals alone. My back fucking hurts, and I fucking need an SUV. That's all.

Emo post.

I would like to drain myself by sleep deprivation, or by loads of work and study, or by hours of drumming practice (remember how you increased your speed when you lost in one of your games), or by walking around the city with a camera all day long and coming home with a kilo of black sand in my lungs. There are many ways.
I also gained a little result in self-programming, so everything seems goodie-goodie.

Tomorrow I'm going to have an interview, so that I could have a summer job as a tutor for American students. See my poor English? Think I can succeed?

And how are you getting on, fuckers?

It makes me feel so low.

What kind of art can be more distanced from the topic of human body than progressive metal? What can be loftier, colder, more logical or more cynical?

Acting alone is better than acting together with a person who lets you know that you're acting alone.

a long long stony day

7.00
I got up
I woke Jell (who was sleeping on the other side of the bed) up
We ate scrambled eggs
We went out swearing at the whole world

9.10
I came to Moskovskaya subway station
I found a store and bought some cigarettes

9.30
Guintaras picked me up
And we had a lot of fun

14.50
I came to school
I hated everyone I saw

15.00
I had a midterm test on philosophy
And a stomachache

16.40
I wrote another midterm test. on world music studies.

18.30
I met Tasha Trash and skipped half of the rest of the classes.
She had a depression.
And I was her psychotherapist.

23.40
I'm going to sleep.


I miss you.

Fotis Benardo is cute.

NYA NYA ^_______^

[Septic Flesh]

Yep I'm stupid.