samedi 17 janvier 2009


"dora. [deleted] says:
what really depresses me? and if i say that sometimes i just come over so miserable, so sad... without a reason... going deep down and down... and if i say that even these moments give me pleasure, bring enjoyment... is there a reason why i'm so depressed now? why i'm veering between these depressive like moods and total elation? or maybe it's because i'm so self-centered, always in need to play a leading part and getting down when i get the role of a secondary importance?

i'm depressed 'cause i give more than i receive, 'cause i can't make my dream go on, 'cause i want to hold on to sth that will never come to my expectations...
i'm depressed 'cause the reality is much more different than i've imagined...
i'm depressed 'cause i did things i didn't want to do...
and i'm depressed 'cause i regret things i could have done but i didn't...

and i stop being depressed when i have no time to think about all these stuff.."

This is kind of copyright infrigment to take those words and use them here, but the day I saw those words at flickr around last november I felt such an echo in those words.
Somehow I could relate to Dora.
I could feel her soul. Her sorrow and I don't know who she is at all, but I hope she's feeling better off by now, though with such emotions, it's hard to find a real repose.

I loved reading her words.
she inspired me. I will surely write and paint on Dora, the Ghost Muse.

somehow easier to love to the ones who don't exist, imaginary friends,muses and all than the real ones who can cut you through & leave the most damage.

I say so but my heart is sick enough and unafraid to love more which is why I'm here.
you don't love? then you die.
easy as that.

I felt there was so much of her soul in this, I felt she was the friend who could understand me as I am with my extreme sides.
You never know where I am.
A moment I run with kisses in my arms the second after I only have cuts everywhere and I'm falling apart.

"My name is Hélène and I'm a non anonymous neurotic artist..."
"good evening Hélène!"
clap clap clap.

quietly trying to laugh.

I read somewhere a photographer saying: I'm a cynical with an idealist heart.

that's so true.
I often think cynism is ugly, hopeless and oh my , most of the time I want to turn the neck of these people.

I've had cynical friends.
I stopped being their friends.
I could not hear them anymore.
I wanted to slap their face and say shut the fuck if everything is so bitter and hopeless go die and leave us alone, let us keep finding some hopes and lights, let us do what we want to do , let us be mere humans!

I am depressed lately.very.
The more I hide it, the more it swallow me all, the more I get back to the most cynical inside of me.
It's my Adah's side.
The anger.

that's a real banshee howl.

When sebastien turned on the tv tonight I wanted to scream at the top of my voice.
I don't want to see that.
I don't want to hear that.
Fuck! how does this gonna change my life? how can I help the suffering there?
I can not.
shut this fucking box of crap off!

I try to be as much sincere as possible but sometimes I just don't know how to explain to my dearest friends how awful I feel inside of me because the day after I giggle or am elated for details, for nothing at all or everything.

I wanted also lately to be more private.
to hide my real life to people because it pisses me off how people talk about you.
I admire my friends who keep their private life for them.
I don't mind to share my happy moments. My loved ones.My family.the real me.
But I'm reluctant at talking about my winter depression...
My friends ask how I feel with such enthusiasm that I don't know what to answer.

either I ignore the question or I answer what I think they want to hear with the sound of the truth.

I believe people think you, I, are not allowed to be depressed.
No reasons.

I'm beautiful, so beautiful!
that's what I hear most everyday, yeah my ego can be licked but you know the thing with ego, the more you lick the bigger it goes...kind of cynic erotism ahah
it's past midnight I'm allowed.

ego is our male side I believe.
I have to part things, to be at peace with my sides.Siva.shakti.
destroy.rebuilt.cut through.nurture.
fall.spring again with lights.

It's so hard.

I've been crying so much in december.
some days I felt I reached the bottom of hopelessness.
This feeling. this void. this sight.
it was something stiffling.

but I'm beautiful thus unallowed to feel the way I feel right?
and if I acknowledge how sad I'm feeling inside right now that will make me be seen as week and it'll be equate to my work and I'll keep that so hard to leave label of the sullen girl.

It is true that I still can be hurt by those people's word.
I'm not just a photograph.
and beautiful? what does that mean in the end?

I love beauty myself so much that people can end up thinking I'm but vain when they love to hastily sum up my self.

I can be summed up, I can be label, I can be cut through, I can be seen as whatever the fuck people want to see me if it makes them feel good.
I don't give a shit really.

I know there will always be people who can understand and those who cannot enter your garden.

I thought I had to protect myself.
but whatever you see, I am more than this or less than that.
what you see is not me, but what you see of me, the way you look at me.

I also believe that if some people come here and read and enjoy the fact I am feeling sad then good for them, they dragged their asses here, means anyways there's interested.

I don't need your small god

We don't need your small god
Hell man go on your ego cruise and stop ruining our parade
with the boring ever heard I see through you
Watch yourself in the mirror and don't bother me with the light I lack off
Those who are they a bunch of parasite in my attic
blindfold my eyes
I don't need your crutch
I even walk much better barefeet next to the ravin with my ravens
I don't need to be stappled with your virtual paper wings flattery
why do you spend so much of your time to cut our fineries
why do you spend so much hours mocking our masks
Who knows the vacuity behind your own


I also believe that it's not depression that makes the art better.
I believe we are somehow depressed because we are artist, poets, thinker, deep souls and it's just something we can't avoid.
our brain never pauses.
thoughts run faster, moods too, everything is alive, so alive and we can feel and see everything with more acuracy that we express things with depths.

for some it's seen as intelligence, for me it's mostly emotions.
perhaps intelligence of emotions.

Or we just go play the game in the real world and fake it, many people can after , why not I?

I'm gonna feel better soon I know.
No stitch

the words that goes with this image:

dripping stains what a scene
theatre of dreams of the obscene
Now that I'm dead where do you repose your soul
where do you breathe
Non existent wistful absolute
I am crawling on the walls towards the dissolute

come on you all made of careless paper arms
I had to murder my babies to stop hearing
all the rivers poured for nothing
How could I heal more How could I bleed more

was the food for the dust creatures never enough

I don't want to read that you need to read me
I dont want to live in your book
when I rest my head on these harmful pillows where the dreams never sleep
I nightmare and I scream how much I abhorre

will my sanity keep me walking amongst the blind ghosts
To be able to feel it all in this forest of grins
sordid manor of the chains where we only hear the hands

the clock of my heart is bleeding molasses
in the room next door with the drawn tattered curtains
another one begging for kisses
my soul my hell my vision of the cliffs
my transparent dress of bruises
is it real tell me is this real
are we only this
should we belong to this void

give her another ice lake to escape
speed your infatuated poison in my veins so I can't flee no more

all this cries makes me suffocate and I keep myself warm
to the cold walls of my attic
better off in the dark
better off even stark
Everything's lost even the words
even the sound of her voice
can you scream now
can you peak me now

all the slashes won't disappear
you can cut your head off
threadbare my heart
I am so alone at 00:00

come on you all with the glaring sounds
piercing our ears
oddities of the most melancholic lust
he repeats this is adoration
with her nails on the wallpaper

My eyes in the frame
still lifeless
a well of knots with devouring words
something to make you fall
something to show how unholy I am

there's no glue strong enough to mend your pieces
after my words

my hands on the cover
feeling braille
what the hell do you want
tell me which slice which cell which particules
No doors no bars anymore
it's all for nothing at all
help yourself
eat more than you can
talk your mouthful
of my dearest darkness(...)


I believe that art will keep on saving my soul and rincing all the stains of emotions I am trying to deal with lately.

Peace & Blessings to you.

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