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June 7, 2008


Over the hill

(Butterflies in the stomach)

It sounded a shot, then a sound of broken glass…

The man has fallen on the grey ground, killed by a hit on his head. It has begun the panic in the house… Nevertheless, the night was quiet and silent.

And only a man in white, coming out of the house, has broken the darkness, which was equally neutral to everything…”

I’m closing the notebook and taking it beside myself.

What was that? That noise, which has attracted my attention?

What has made my soul to tremble?

It was like your heart was perforated by a knife…PAIN…

The hurricane of thoughts was piercing my head…Butterflies in my stomach…

That sound, that melody was like music of silver bells. So pure and clear it was. So voiced was the laughter of a child.


She was sitting on the green grass, and the sun was warming her back softly. A bright butterfly might thought it was a flower. It whirled around the girl, and tried to sit on her turned up nose. The little girl was laughing. And the mirth of her laughter grew louder.

Now it made the wilde birds shut up. Heartache every moment, touched to my soul, called to my mind.

Such an amazing thing it was. Till now…..while…..

She knows nothing about….

She knows nothing about life, about its dirty tricks and disillusionments, about evil and losses… about loneliness…

If she knew she would never laugh so sincerely.

Cause most people are only hiding their faceless souls behind pretty smiles. Though, they live within all the splitting stuff of theirs. They make it up with the bright powder on the unnatural mask.

She doesn’t know her life has been already decided by all people on the Earth except her. And somebody is looking for a moment to steal her naive innocent soul. She’s not free. When she becomes grown up she will only be a bird living in a golden cage…or gilded…

Perfect by nature she would gotta hide herself, adapt to this dynamic, changing world.

To perform a play, where she’s calm, kind, soft. To appear in a mellow light, when she’s sick; to smile to show it’s allright. To pretend, saying lies because really it’s not good enough, even bad.

Everything is changing, and changes those are so rapid…

and in a year, perhaps – two, she won’t smile so innocent…


The butterfly finally sat on the girl’s shoulder. It waved with its wings, looked in her deep green eyes, which looked like large lakes on background of her pale face.

Looked and flew away terrified. What had it seen there?!

- She’ll become as others, as all – typical.

Her green eyes will lose their magic, and her pale snow-white face will become rosy – typical sound colour.

 And…she’ll laugh like grown-ups.

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comp. reading. writing poems and essays and so on ^)

reading. music . my kitten (I wish I had it) my family. GOTHIC.

IT’S MY LIFE…without fascism, communism and fucking fanatizm. Also without stupid politics and noisy companies… Always on my own) I’m said to be A Stick-In-The-Mud.

black, red


coffee, tea

Evanescence, Linkin Park, 30 Seconds to Mars, Amatory, Chester Bennington, Cradle Of Filth, H.I.M., Lacrimosa, Marilyn Manson, NIGHTWISH, Otto Dix, The Rasmus, Slipknot, Sopor Aeternus, Three Days Grace, Карна, ТОЛ, Холодне Сонце…etc. and sometimes another good music, excepting RAP

Corpse of the bridal

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