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sobota, 15 kwietnia 2006
Does life make sense?
So much has happened. I don't feel like going into details now. The long winter is over at last. I can smell it in the air. Can you? 
sobota, 24 września 2005
Flying
It's good to be back home. I've been far away. I've been travelling to different places. Now I'm walking along the streets of my city looking for the changes and I hardly recognise the place. Not because it is so different - well, maybe a bit. I guess I'm different. I can't imagine myself the way I used to be. Little girl lost. I listen to my music - it sounds strange. It sounds great. I'm flying high above the houses. I look down - I see myself standing down there with my head up, looking at the sky. I wave to myself - I wave back. It's so silent up there. So peaceful. I'm flying away.
I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what its like to be new
Cause in my head there's a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they're far more suited than here
niedziela, 19 czerwca 2005
Encounter
A man came up to me in the street. I thought he wanted some change, it happens every day. But he said: "Hello, nice to see you again, how's your father?" When he said that, I knew he had mistaken me for someone else. I said: 'You've made a mistake, I don't know you'. He wouldn't listen. He said that my father had promised him a job. He was supposed to wait for a week for him to call. After three weeks he got impatient. He said he had paid a few hundred to "cover the costs". And he wanted his money back. And he was lucky to see me as my father's phone didn't answer. He threatened to call some guys to help him get the money back. He gave him 24 hours. The problem was I didn't know what he was talking about. I had seen the man for the first time in my life. And I last saw my father 12 years ago. I was confused. For a while I thought that he really knew my father and I would be able to find him somehow. Then I realized it was a crazy idea - it was obvious that he'd made a mistake. The only problem was how to back out safely - the guy did look rather determined. Then I thought he was just desperate, there was something in his voice - he had no job, no money and some son of a bitch had cheated him. He wasn't really dangerous.I felt sorry for him but there was nothing I could do. I said, 'OK, I'll tell him. But I must go now'. I left him standing in the middle of the street and ran for the bus. I knew how he felt. I wouldn't be surprised it really had been my father' fault. Or does it make a difference?
sobota, 11 czerwca 2005
Bruised At times sad things come to my mind. Our life, full of effort and hopes means very little. It's just a spark in the night. Is it worth trying so hard? Isn't it better to try to be happy today? But what is happiness? Isn't it only a word used in song lyrics? Or is it just the absence of pain? But then, after you die, you don't feel any pain. there's death in her room
you can probably see it
the way both her dogs
have been staring at me yeah
there's death in her room
but it probably melts down to nothing there's death in her room
where there used to be toys yeah
enough to go 'round
for the girls, for the boys yeah
there's death in her room
but it probably melts to nothing
wtorek, 31 maja 2005
viXXXen
I chose my nick, Vixen, when I was at school. In fact, it was when one of my friends called me a bitch. I didn't really feel I deserved the epithet. So I said "I'm not a bitch, I'm a vixen". After that some of my friends called me Vixen for a couple of days, but it didn't last. I was called Milla for a long time (guess what my real name is). One of the boys in my class even called me "Milla the Killa", although I had never killed anyone. ;)
When I checked how many Vixens there were in the net- I found loads of them. A very popular animal, isn't it? Then when I started this blog, I had to choose a nick - of course "Vixen" had already been taken. So I put two extra x's in the middle. Now I'm Vixxxen. Unfortunately, most people who type 'vixxxen' in the browser are looking for something totally different than a personal diary of a mentally unstable twisted little girl. I'd say they are interested in the carnal side of our human existence. When they find this blog they must feel a bit disappointed. Not that I deprecate our nature, or feign innocence. Far from it. But I hate people who try to make money on porn. I feel sick when I see the "merchandise". And as for the "brokers" - well, fuck them all.
piątek, 13 maja 2005
Here's one of my favourite poems. I first saw it in London. I was in a shitty mood then, away from home, lonely, homesick. I think it's the best love poem I've ever read. Even if your lover is non-existent, or a son of a bitch. Or whatever... Stop it. I promised myself not to indulge in self-pity anymore. Any more than necessary, that is.
Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann Duffy
Somewhere on the other side of this wide
night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of
you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This
is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot
hear.
La
lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and
this
is what it is like, or what it is like in
words.
czwartek, 05 maja 2005
There have been torrents of tears, rivers of them. And that's enough. I won't cry anymore. Life's too short to be miserable and wait for the miracle to come. I opened my eyes and saw that spring had come. The sun is painting the western sky red. There will be another day tomorrow.
wtorek, 05 kwietnia 2005
What's on the other side?
I catch myself thinking of death more and more often. What's on the other side? Sometimes I play a game and I write a question in the browser. There's always someone ready to give answers. Here is what I found yesterday (It's not very original but it must do. I've been unable to think of anything lately.) 
A sick man turned to his doctor as
he was leaving the room after paying a visit, and said, "Doctor, I am
afraid to die. Tell me what lies on the other side."
Very quietly the doctor said, "I don't know."
"You don't know?! You, a Christian man, do not know what is on the other side?"
The doctor was holding the handle of the door. On the other side
came a sound of scratching and whining, and as he opened the door a dog
sprang into the room and leaped on him with an eager show of gladness.
Turning to the patient, the doctor said, "Did you notice that dog?
He had never been in this room before. He did not know what was inside.
He knew nothing except that his master was here, and when the door
opened he sprang in without fear. I know little of what is on the other
side of death, but I do know one thing: I know my Master is there, and
that is enough. And when the door opens, I shall pass through with no
fear, but with gladness."
środa, 23 marca 2005
The Lady of Shallott 
Poor Elaine, another victim of a heartless man. You do your best, you give yourself to him unconditionally and what's the outcome? He loves another. And who? That bitch Guenevere! All you get is a curse, a broken heart, death. Lancelot, you're a jerk!
niedziela, 20 marca 2005
Ophelia's Song by Romy Tony at romy.divinest-sense.com My love is as false as my mirror is true.
Only the flowers believe what I say;
They nod to me happily all the long day.
My love is as false as my mirror is true. The sky is as black as the ocean is blue.
Now everyone's dead; to whom should I pray?
I'm sad as a spirit, like ghosts am I gay.
The sky is as black as the ocean is blue. My bridal-wreath's woven of poppy and rue.
My song is a wild and a terrible tune;
It spins through the sunlight and pierces the moon.
My bridal-wreath's woven of poppy and rue. Only the willow knows what I must do.
With roses and violets my river-bed's strewn;
I'll sleep like a butterfly in its cocoon.
Only the willow knows what I must do. I've always been fascinated by Ophelia. The most tragic character in Shakespeare's plays. There's no one left to mourn her death. Except us.
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