Author: Reader-anonymous-writer PM
It's a diary made during my one-month long abstinence from this website. Not a: list, poll, preview, challenge, author note, or script. Not interactive. Is it a story? Decide for yourself. It's continued with time, but slowly.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Poetry - Chapters: 4 - Words: 13,771 - Reviews: 1 - Updated: 11-04-12 - Published: 05-04-12 - id: 8084382
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My absence should have lasted only a week, not more, should it not?
A promise was left by me, but a longer 'leave' I have accidentally got.
I have, truly to my word, left neither reviews nor messages on website:
And I have read neither messages nor updates, as written in compact.
Literature, fiction, however, I have read a lot, of various time and genre.
Read of another Earth, of technology both advanced and out-of-date,
Of masonry and Order; of capitalism and slavery; of golfer and sniper;
Of wars, fights and plots; of secret-service agent and an office-seeker,
Hyenas and serpents, gangsters and scientists, arrogance, devil's luck,
Scum of society, rich and poor, strong and weak, in mind and body,
Deliberately primitive society armed by highly developed technology,
Camaraderie, kaleidoscope, of both rich and dull colours; of new life,
In the new lands, with new rules, of freedom, of nature unseen, wasted.
Read of our Earth, of technology antique and by now forgotten and lost,
Of stone garden and thorn apple, of azure magpie and snow white swan,
Of golden whip and aerugreen lizards, of golden hair and the blue snake,
Of stone and metal, of serpentine Andes, of stone giants and the people.
Read of our Earth, of the war past, of the morals that forever truly last,
Of scientist and professor, of pastor and general, of their brilliant mind,
Of life and death, of truth difficult to prove, of poison of voluntary kind,
Of philosophical and logical arguments, of guessing an opponent's move,
Of mind games, of tangential clues, of spy and professor of mathematics.
I hope I manage to write a chapter while travelling through thorns to stars.
I can hardly see the stars for planes' lights, heavy smoke of plants and cars.
I am tired, I am tired, I am tired... Bored and exhausted from book-running.
Classics I look for, classics I seek, classics I find which I have already read.
Some classics forgotten enough to read once again, like visiting a starry shore.
Some classics welcoming like an old trusted friend, like the man who laughs.
Ursus, lupus, homo... Even though I know the end of the book, I still absorb
Each and every detail of your life, of your travel, of your both past and present.
I have too many things which should have been done yesterday, before today,
And yet I waste myself away by allowing mind, imagination to run freely astray.
I wish to literally grow thin from worry, about lack of any exercise I am sorry...
There might be people who are duller than me, who know only one language,
Who have not received education above necessary, who had F&C at school,
Who work as automatons, accountant or secretary or or cashier, work dull...
But for me, my life seems dull without purpose, without a goal, skill or talent.
Sometimes, I suspect an obsessive-compulsive disorder: I can be a pedantist;
When given the luxury, given by myself, I tend to express my inner perfectionist.
Sometimes, I think, I have a multiple personality disorder; at any time, unfocused,
I could be a historian, looking for missing pieces in patchwork of place's evolution,
I could be a journalist, connecting similar events in different places for a picture,
I could be an explorer-biologist, indexing species new and old, the variety untold,
I could be a linguist, learning languages dead and evolving, their beauty behold,
I could engrave stone and carve from jade, forge animals with silver and gold...
I couldn't manage time, my own or somebody's else, for myself or anybody else,
I couldn't manage time for hobby, pastime, sleep and food, pleasure and business,
I couldn't be an accountant, a clerk, a manager, a legalist, a marketer or advertiser.
Sometimes, I wonder, can I reach anything, do anything, save anybody, anything,
When I hardly have focus to stay alive, to breath, to sleep, or to brush my teeth?
I am afraid of any noise, for yelling and loud noises bring only sheer destruction,
I am afraid of any voice, for situation not resolvable in silence signals desperation,
I am afraid of any choice, for with time any choice will bring regrets and sorrow.
I am afraid of myself and my own shadow; I jump like a mouse, out of my skin.
Unshed tears in my eyes, for fears forever rise; I envy snake's shedding of skin.
I may be stubborn like a wild bison, but my strength is weaker than of newborn.
These lines likely make no sense; for that, I would like to apologize, in advance.
But it's late, isn't it? I am late even when the plans are made weeks in advance.
Storm is advancing towards us, and shrouds the stars distant behind its clouds.
Like weeping willow, I have many problems, like long leaves, hanging, pendent.
Like whomping willow, I wish could be from all these problems self-protected.
If I am laughing, if I am smiling, if I am polite and charming, it means that I am sad,
Disguising, from myself and others, reality, which would otherwise drive me mad.
For my stubbornness and inability to manage the sand of time I suffer the infliction:
Sticking to my beliefs is bringing me, down the river of time, to needless conviction;
In uncertainty and confusion, I am working at what might be life-changing decision.
Don't worry about myself, even if I do; I am silent bark in the dark and no sharp bite,
I am pacifist, I wouldn't take anybody's life; I am tolerant, I hardly ever choose a side.
While my admiration of navy, duty, freedom and fighters might seem like childish naviety,
Refreshed and fortified by Fleming's James Bond and war thrillers from pen of Tom Clancy -
You would find that of James Bond I am not in the least fond, and different books I fancy:
I held Sphinx, Chimera, Sea-unicorn, Dragon, Sherlock, Vulcan, Serpent in great honour.
I do not crave - I shy and even recoil away from - others' blatant admiration, awe, or fear,
I do not want these, or any similar, emotions from others so sharply to feel, to see or hear.
There is a thin and vague line for both ailing and healthy between a medicine and a poison:
It may be crossed by drop of additive, touch of impurity, inexact dosage, imprecise timing...
So I do not want to be exceptional, to determine future of country, continent, world, nation,
To be the others' only saviour, the last hope for salvation, their only source of determination.
Management, control, administration are not a source of power, but heavy, as duty, obligation.
Trite some words are to me, like: Nightmare! Night-mares, in my humble opinion, should be.
Black stallions beautiful in their endless flight, Together they should be flying with the night,
Concealed safely under the night's long wings, While the night a duet with thunderstorm sings:
Of faraway stars and thorns, of hoofs and horns, Of approaching deaths and infants newborns.
This is a diary, and a riddle, but you, the one reading it, should both question and answer guess,
And then the riddler should reply with more hints about where the answers to your questions lie.
You can be curious as a cat, the riddler admires cats, so for your curiousity you shall not here die.
I had wished to publish the joke during first day of April, but, predictably, I am once again late,
I can only hope that this riddle, these lines shall be published soon with help of gracious May cat.
Loneliness: No human can be a god, or a sole world overlord,
for no human can ever possibly stay sane in loneliness if unmatched he does remain.
No human can ever become a demon, become villain touched by no sermon,
for no human can ever survive the loneliness's strain when not a place in his heart for people does remain.
No human can ever, without losing his soul, become an angel, without forgetting the people with his whole heart he loved,
for no human can be objective in judging those whose culture he has left, who were and still remain his native brethen,
when from his home he was suddenly detached, when he became alien to himself, and was from familiarity deprived.
No human can ever, without losing himself, repair, restore everything to perfection, for neither he, nor any other living human, would be able to be without insurrection,
for there would be nothing to change, nothing to improve, nothing to imagine, in the world where everything is already finished,
and humans, with their 'annoying' stubbornness of moving forward, would not tolerate such a 'divine' completeness untarnished.
Thus, a god, a deity, would have to be lonely and objective, in perfection still as death, would have to show to the people a continuously changing, difficult to remember face,
to avoid terminating, by complete perfection, of human progress the infinitely long race, and only a thin line, easily crossed and by eyes unseen, would separate god from demon.
Diamond: cold as ice, cold as space, fiery like a star, white blaze, not a burning torch, but a blinding glare, of the looking human soul withering stare.
Death: To which deity, to which divinity should I from within my soul pray when in my life troubles I face,
To whom should I appeal, whom should I turn to with whole heart, if not the grim and just Death?
Fate and Destiny, in my stubbornness I refuse to bow to inevitability; please, accept it with grace.
Life is the one who put me onto stage, in front of the obstacles through which I shall have to race:
Thank you, but no thanks, I don't wish to be even more obliged to the one who has given me trace.
Time waits for no human; deaf to mortal pleas, speed and direction of the time flow constant stays.
Death... might be inevitable, but death is precise, just, and allows human to fight, and win at times.
My favourite colours, views, animals: white, blue, green, black, silver; snow, night, leaf, space, star;
Owl, bat, mantis, stallion, wolf... White snow owl with black stripes, bat gracefully flying in the blue midnight,
Leaf-green mantis in the trees, black stallion galloping amidst silver starlight, and silver wolf, howling, moonlight.
Dracula: Beauty eternal, clear as crystal, fragile - frail like glass, ruby - sapphire eyes, cold akin to snow - ice...
Do not sweep aside words of people considered insane, for they might see beyond what is seen by people sane.
Do not allow prejudice and so-called common sense stand in the way of the indescribable reality you sense.
Do not attack another when you have not seen through his eyes, when you have not heard his explanation...
Do not condemn what you do not understand; who are you to judge, harshly, without any comprehension?
Do not kill the other just because you do not understand him, just because you, fanatic, bigot, are too dense.
Do not feed the bonfire of lies by pouring oil of vivid imagination on the flames of the inquisitional prejudice...
Dan: Dan, you wish to be better than a blood-sucking monster...But a bloodsucker is not - is not - a monster.
Who is? Who is? The one who kills, pain inflicting sadists, who others destroys for pleasure, whims.
Whine: Where will you run, where will you hide, where will you go, when there is nowhere to run anymore?
How will you breath, when your breath is slow poison to others? Will you ever be able to feel fine?
What will you eat, how will you feed, when the food sticks in your throat, reminding of others' famine?
By Dracula's hand, he is ruthless, cunning, wily like a true Slytherin, crediting both basilisk and bat!
Death is life's end, your thought's end, defeat and loss, which cannot be described until felt first-hand.
Vampire and spirit out of tune: What good have people done? Wars, experiments, and terracide...
Meek: We live, as the three musketeers, all for one and one for all, surviving in the jungles of our home,
Fighting not for more, but for less, and dreaming of other worlds, where people burn fats not by sports.
Isidro: I hope you are wrong, and those who do not belong with you, do not wish to stab you in the back.
Asher: How can you think about supporting the person whom Isidro asked you to find, who killed people Without reason, without regret, on coward's whim, or even worse, due to the blatantly vicious racism.
I know, as agent, you killed people to protect the Queen, Great Britain, United Kingdom, your home,
But nobody has given this human a license to attack vampires - he has no right to represent humanity,
To decide on their behalf, to declare war on vampires, who are not necessarily threat to the humans.
Desperately - who are you to judge, to decide, that they must die, to take their lives, to destroy their souls?
Viciously - who has died and made you God? What right do you have to bite the hand that begs for help?
Desperately - do you believe yourself to be the hero, the saviour who rescues the humans from monsters?
Hopelessly - are you stupid enough to attack them just for being of different kind, not understood by you?
Viciously - do you have neither honour not heart, to attack those who ask for help and did not harm you?
I would have wanted to help them, sincerely - because nobody should be attacked because he exists...
I agree, some vampires are too arrogant, thinking that a human would have no silver talisman with him...
Curious... Only a fool would have employed a human to catch a human hunter who kills vampires - thus,
The hunter, who kills vampires, is a vampire himself, who, somehow, is not killed by the rays of the Sun.
There is not enough trust in this world, and I would have liked to meet Isidro, as he is a man of honour.
Thank you, Antony... It's not a human. - We are not, either. - But you are! You think, therefore, you live.
Hunting in the night... I respect you. Don't you dare to say that you are not humans, that you are inhuman!
To play yourself during the festival created in your honour, during the half-century of your absence, sleep...
Let it be known that Russian roulette was invented by vampires, thanks to the incredible tedious boredom.
For the first time in all hell's time the music "Metallica" began to warm his heart and sooth his tired mind.
Death is not the worst choice, especially if there is afterlife, especially if Death is a sentient, wily, wise being:
The worst choice is when there is no choice left, non-existence, when you can neither think nor act at all.
In the old days, ladies travelled with killers constantly; it's quite reasonable, considering need of protection.
Instead of magniloquent and vague rounding off I prefer clear and concise mathematician formulae, mon cher.
Lydia, are you blind, cannot you at all see? Isidro isn't as immortal as he seems to be. Steady, persistent, to break oath refuses he.
Accept us as we are, not as you want us to be. A wolf, a bat cannot become a horse or a dolphin just because you wish so.
Wolf eats graceful deers; horse eats beautiful flowers. Bat hunts for butterflies; dolphin kills fish. Beauty in the eye of beholder...
Praying for the night to begin anew, for scalding sun to go down, for burning rays to disappear, for shadows and rain to heal...
Please, do not wake me up! I would like to forever sleep, and in the night to dream up the starless darkness deep.
In such a long time I have not had such a good laughter... Break, cold dead heart, break, clear open heart, break, ice crystal heart ...
Easy way falls down to evil, thorny path leads to justice, and flowers lure to faeries... I would choose to walk path through thorns.
Why? I don't believe in absoluteness of evil, but lazy sleep is not for me. And the fragrant flowers don't call me like sound of horns.
Per aspera ad astra, through thorns to stars; and I wants to visit stars of the unknown instead of flowers of overpowering illusions.
Second Life is attractive, like a death's herb, but I will not waste time on joining virtual reality with unnecessary, excessive haste.
I would prefer for it to be not a simulation, but existence after life, governed not by a human programmer, but by Death itself.
Vlad was cursing his stepbrother out, sweared thoroughly, methodically and coldly, in archaic German, with three-story structures,
When an interpreter was asked to translate the long-drawn-out monologue; the translator, wanting not to offend ears of the miss,
Managed to replace obscenities with cordial greetings, leaving only dead structure in place; even Vlad himself stopped speaking.
Do not, please, do not agree with plans of your enemy, do not allow him to bind you, and your actions, by his rules of the game!
Coward-scoundrel Radu, how mistaken are you? To live running, killing, torturing, without reason, poisoning everybody's existence,
Is not to live, but to survive, to rot away and off, waiting for griffin to clear nature of such a degenerate, for cleansing fire and flames.
I hope there is hope for Radu. I hope he has found his true love, and will live in peace. I hope Vlad will not attack him as revenge.
It would be useless. Vlad has found Lydia, and Radu should be forgotten by him. Ashes of vengeance would taste bitter on tongue.
In time, under Moon and elsewhere, amidst the stars, all will be found, lost and gone, in fire, only to rise later from the dust like ashes.
Pineapple juice was trickling, clear as of hot shining summer sun a tear... Have you lost your dear werewolf? Maybe, you are looking for A vampire who got lost, who lost his way? Or did somewhere disappear zombi, who used to be your childhood playmate? Turn to LAF!
Vampire by necessity, or by your own will, through your own choice, I shall still adore count Dracule, be thrilled to hear of vampires voice.
Vampires attack you only if you attack them first? Then anybody reasonable should ask potential enemy whether he is a vampire beforehand.
I regret that my canine teeth are not sharp enough to bite through my lip, to cause the cold blood in my veins to flow bitterly onto my tongue...
I like and respect Herman, ruthless but not sadistic, sincere and cunning, straightforward and stubborn, self-respecting but not arrogant, strong.
Don't worry, everything will be all right, they shall not see me during this night, they will only see a wandering dog who is lost and looks for way home.
I would have liked to meet Death, to speak with Death; or, at least, with three-headed dragon, this cold, fierce, and unsociable son of blood and war.
I am a wanderer caught by the web, ensnared in it, and lost; I would have liked to be a free wanderer, an easy traveller, but am I strong enough for this?
Could I become a pioneer, in this society, despite my intense dislike for people, my inner conflict of altruism and misanthropy, through clenched teeth?