To My Good Friend

Yes, it is June, and like it has been the last years, I'm wearing all black all month. Yesterday I was out of myself due to the news (did I mark that entry with the tag "news"? I should), so I didn't dedicate a moment to think or remark about my yearly ritual, but my dear, good friend Dragonfly didn't forget about it, and left me a sweet little comment reminding me, really, that one thing that someone in my current situation (however self imposed it is) needs the most: a silent, friendly reassurance that she's there if I ever feel like I need her. It nearly made me cry. Such sweet concern, such tender care and such gentle understanding.

I thought about writing about my day and stuff like that - basically job and such, and the usual "dude, I'm surrounded by morons" stuff I usually throw into the cyberspace day in and day out - but this touched my heart. It seems my ritual still finds "audience" for which it is a novelty, whom still take to themselves the "right" to ask and insist when my dodging replies do not get through the message: "It is private, stay out of it, please!" It kind of hurts my heart to think that I will certainly be exposed to these prying, insensitive questions all over in Hungary, though I do count with the common European culture that pulls people more into reserved attitudes.

In this month, this particular month I'm made more aware of the people that love me deepest, those that are genuinely concerned about me. A word, a touch, a smile, everybody has a different way to communicate, and somehow all my dear, dear friends have their very own, very sweet way to tell me that they are there, whenever I need it. They made me cry, but cry of happiness, because I'm so blessed to have them in my life. I wish I could hug them all really hard and really long and kiss them soundly and tell them how much I love them too.

I love you all, guys!

The End of Color

It's again that season of the year. Soon a few assholes will surface asking stupid questions about why am I wearing black. Some will think that black is my favorite color, inspite it being outrageously obvious that my favorite color is green. Others will come forwar with unwelcomed curiosity asking why, why, why, doing stupid jokes, because, honestly, it has been a long time since people respected the color of mourning, and instead of the pain of loss, the black clothes mean to most people simply some EMO outburst. If my mourning weren't so meaningful for me, my loss so sacred, I'd happily answer people that I wear black in hopes of mourning the death of all assholes that cross my path.

June is a month of up most importance for me. This year, as in many other years, it brings to my mind the idea of writing a book, a book titled "The Bride of the Dead", as working title, even though "Angel of Mourning" is another that has come to my mind. The novel would be a recount of what had happened, from the meeting in November, 1994 to the present. I feel tempted to use real names, paste his picture on the cover of the book, Hyne knows if it would ever be published, but I feel blogging about him, filling my journal with hushed desires to see him smile, filling my eyes with tears and my heart with aching sorrow just doesn't do it anymore.

It's hurtful, to realize that the only shrad of him I can find in the web are the bits I have posted through the years. Why there's nobody else keeping him alive?

This June, I've been reminded, as I woke up today and put on my dark clothes, my personal sign of respect, that there are things far stronger than death, things that can take off from life itself and fly so high only the gods can touch their wings. Sorrow, pain rolls and swirls in my chest, but amid it, I feel so proud, head up high and remember the absolute beauty, absolute humanity of the actions that have taken for ever a part of my soul to the other side of the Styx.

30 days of Black and Mourning have begun.

A Box of Books

I'm putting up a box with books I don't want. It's not like I'll give them away, but I hopr to be able to sell them at a used book store. Recently I received a package from a friend os mine in the US, with a bunch of books I'm not really interested in, and which cost me quite some money. Oh man, I'm so pissed off, I could spit fire! 40€ gone for a bunch of books of het porn of the dominance-submission type. Really, that's not my trip. Wouldn't minded it so much, if I wouldn't have to pay such an exhorbitant fee for them. I know, I know, there are countries where 40€ are just a coffee and a croissant, but here 40€ is a month's worth of lunch. I'm pissed. I would have rather used that money on a new Swatch watch, which I OBVIOUSLY deserve. Now, I did not bought the books, but a friend of mine send them to me for two reasons:

1. She has no more space in her shelves and needed to get rid of the excess
2. She thought I might like them.

Okay, I read "Claiming of the Beauty" by Anne Rice (Anne Roquelaure, as she signs those novels), and it was exciting when I had not discovered the full extent of gay literature (a passion that must be cultivated, you don't just born with it), and I would fall upon anythng containing hints of it. But now that I have seen what's out there, even if its not so good, why would I go back to books which might hint of it? Books written by amateurs in the truly "fanfic" fashion of those deprived of talent, writing to get off with words, inventing "original fanfiction" because they don't have what it takes to make a story of their own. I have read plenty of fanfiction (still read when I get the cravings) and have written my share, so I know the difference in styles, and I can say that these bound stories should have never gotten out of the Internet. Their quality is so poor they should have never been the cause of the death of trees to make a distribution on other means. Where are the editors? This kindof crap makes me think that self publishing should be prohibited.

So, since I'm thinking about hitting the used books stores, I thought I could as well get rid of my poor purchases as well. Oh yeah! There go old books gotten that I would never read again (save the one about Dracula, since I hope to have a second round with it, and then I wish to do my own resaerch, for whic I need the references in it), and some other craps. I guess the used book store owners will look at me weird by delivering almost 20 books of porn ranging from S&MB to gay sex. I do not expect to recover those 40€, but it will be good if I could at least recover 3€. That would make my day. Then again, I hope they give me money for the books, and not "purchase options". I guess this would be a hard batch to sell on Internet... from here.

Last week of June. I'm growing... so sensitive. These days I can feel him and see him in everything. I read his letters yesterday, and I felt so tempted to transcribe them here. I wish so hard to make him live here too, not only in my heart. His words are simple and beautiful, and you can't believe that this are the words of a kid who would take his life away. He's still the light of my life. I remember not only every day I spent with him, every place we went too, how beautiful, and how hot he looked, but also his letters, the feeling of receiving them, reading them... and every dream I had with him. I love him so much, so much, there's no other love in the world that could ever match this one. I love him.