I'd make a good serial killer, he said.
She was amazed they thought I was quiet,
Because to her, I never shut up.

It got me thinking on Identity?
On the question of who am I?

I have so many masks.
Sometimes they get lost,
Or forgot in my absence.
I just paint a new one.
It's no bother,
A habit.

Some hide
Behind words, behind humour
Some get an image, and no longer are seen.
I don't hide.
I show everything.
Everything, you want to see.

I'd say I'm a whole person,
Got a soul, a mind and a body,
I do.
My consciousness isn't split,
It's just too vast to be one personality.
In your eyes, in your eyes it is.
When I'm alone I'm whole.
I am safe.

We evolved because of society,
It's too complicated to understand.
I evolved above all.
Or maybe with all.
I understand, so I hide.

I am no hamster, no gerbil,
To lift up by the ears and laugh.
I'm no sister, no brother, no bother.
I just fill the spaces you never knew you had.

I love you truly,
Don't take this as a confession of disdain.
I care, and I care always.
But darling let me have my secrets.
Let me fib and lie to you.
Let me protect myself from you.

Let me be.
The way I need to be.

Let me believe that too.

I'm in the mood to write. Just am. So going to write about books. (Don't look so surprised! If you're reading this you know me well enough.)

Book 1. The Mystery of the Blue Train by Agatha Christie (Finished)

"In an Empire where rats ruled, he was the king of the rats."- pg9

"It was raining, not violently, but with a quiet, well-bred persistence."-pg327

""The squirrel, my good Georges, collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity, Georges, we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good Georges, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away little fact here, and little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one particular nut, a nut that I stored away - let me see, seventeen years ago. You follow me, Georges?"" pg296

You know it's good writing when you pick bits to remember for later.

Book 2. Was Napoleon Poisoned? and Other Unsolved Mysteries of Royal History by Peter Haugen (unfinished and will probably remain so)

Sounded interesting. Got it out of the library. Haven't gotten past the introduction but currently it sound much less interesting.

Book 3. Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (unfinished)

On the First Chapter. I left it for a day. Didn't remember names. Damn. This is the type of book one needs to read in one go. Double damn. It thick and I'm not good with graphics novels. Plus Rita wants it. (Well she cant have it, it's mine for three weeks and she read it already.(I think I'll give pretty soon don't you?))

Book 4. Tales of an Urban Werewolf: Howling at the Moon by Karen MacInerney

On chapter 7 or so. 1. I likelove this author. She introduced me to 'cozy' mysteries with her first series, so I was very glad when I saw this book on the library website. So far, not as good as the first series which is a great shame. The third book in that one came out but the library is yet to get it. (This author and her first series are on my 'personal library' list).

Despite all that. It's still good on the whole-or at least so far.


Book 5. Freedom of the City by Brian Friel. (unstarted)

Ok, so yeah I haven't read it. I've been away. And you really don't want to know the amount of books I read in Russia. Lemme do and approximation count:

Ahem. Looked in my Diary Found the Following Poem:
The dark night settles,
Her frost-ridden cloak,
Crunching the armchair .
Leg over leg, hair flapping back,
She smiles at the circle around her.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Dawn, in her little silk dress,
Waves her feet in the air
and smiles her baby girl smile.
Twilight, snaps her filed sharp teeth
and flicks chapped nail polish.
"We could do with out you..."
Midday is asleep, snuffling slightly,
and the rest carry on
with their own affairs.
A day's gone by,
-and another begins.

I really should keep track of what I write. Should try the idea again.Found some other snippets of poems. Not writing them down.
So books: 15. And that's the ones I remember, and have written down + finished (and I also didn't read the first two weeks there). So school books? Not that much time.

When I go outside, and it's 46 degrees- I think I'm in hell; and nature agrees with me.
Yellowed dull grass, lifeless shrubs, and the landscapes all flat and motionless.
Falling red leaves in February. That's neither here nor there.
I wasn't made for such climates...
Mine is cold winters and cool summers. White landscapes, harshest in beauty.
Where plus 7 feels warm enough to think about forgoing the coat,
And people forget to add minus in front of the number-they are understood either way.
Of hot, passionate hearts and cold, cold logic.
People see summer as flimsy, see-through dresses,
Short bright mini-skirts and walks on the beech.
Now when I think of summer I see is death,
Heat rising from the ground, hot air refusing to fill lungs.
Mirages, and wet pavement, hot drops drying up on the eyes.
Yellowed landscape and brown people, wrinkles and less and less water.
Yellow is the colour of wall in Russian asylums,
Van Gogh painted his house yellow also.
Sunflowers, were they about death too?
The heat is unbearable and sleep elusive.
In better times, in childhood, I remember the summers worth living.
Cold lakes, early morning, fishing and scrapes.
Wars, village on village, bows -made with string - wooden swords, plant spears,
A play untheath the apple tree.
Ground cold and stomped till concrete hardness.
No communication, no phone lines. A white dog; Belka.
Those summer weren't hot. They were filled with rain-storm and
keeping a fire going inside the house, because it was damp and cold.
A hail, holes in the umbrella, hail size of white fists.
I feel nature keenly, and can't sleep when hot, wake up when cold.
Life is monotonous and yet it all changes.

Old Post - 27th April

Right,
I've got somethings to put right even if I dont want to, desire to or need to. But you see if I don't a chunk of history will be missing from you. Now that wont do any of us good. So... I'm not moving to australia. I wont go into it. Just dont ask me to.
Two, I'm planning to do a challenge. Songs of May so to say. I will for every day in may, tell a story or write a poem. Well to be truthful be very creative. I know I will probably fail, so no need to give me that look but it worth a try.
Three, I seemed to be quite lonely in my journal. No one comments and no one friends. Oh well this is as much for me as it is for you.

Here's a poem for you because I'm already regretting the challenge (mind you can I add that it doesn't mean that I'll post every day! I may write every day and post all of them once a week!)

Dark stream mixed with sorrow runs far bellow,
My heart keeps beating, not that it shows.
Its hard to remember but memories flow,
If it will happen, no-one will know.

Why don't I jump,
In waters so sweet?
Why don't I fly,
To waters so deep?
Why don't I die,
Just to forget?
Why should I live,
Just to regret?

My soul has died so long ago,
And yet I'll live at the moment I go.
I will remember and honor the past.
I'll say good bye and all shall pass.

Well my work for the day seems to be done,
Пока!