Journalism As It Is

Let’s start with saying that no profession is a cakewalk. But they say we can be happy doing what we truly love to do, no matter how complicated or challenging it can get.

Journalism is considered to be one of the most interesting but at the same time the most difficult professions.

The reason why I’m writing all this is to express my negative point of view about the profession that I’m going to choose.

You are free to disagree with me but I think that journalism is too dependent. If you work for some magazine or a TV company, you are expected to consider the policy of the employee. There is no way you can do what you want when people who hire you have an individual format and they fight for it. For example, you will have to do an exactly that kind of a reportage you are expected to do. You will have to study the previous work of the institution you work for and put into practice this or that pattern. Things can go really crazy: the editor can either transform your article beyond recognition or give you his own words to write so the work could match “the pattern”. I consider this way of a journalists’ work to be wrong and irrational. First of all it excludes journalism from the list of creative professions. Obviously creative work, or art which it is, can’t exist without freedom of choice and creative individual thinking. Also there is no chance a professional writer, a journalist can grow up in his field being stuck in one unchangeable format. You can’t broaden your mind or change for better if all you do is follow strict examples and don’t change at all. You have to try yourself in different styles, you have to find your own one; a good professional should be flexible. To grow up, to change something you have to quit your comfort zone. Moreover if you want your business or your job to be successful you shouldn’t stop at some points. If you feel that you are the best or you’ve reached all the big success you should start moving to another side, try something new. If you stop you may just become a piece of shit.

Another problem is journalism being all about “write the way all people could understand it”. Writing some stupid and inelaborate stuff for stupid people who don’t want to think is overwhelming. There is a great chance that you will be made to write about such dull and unnecessary things like personal life of celebrities or the City’s Day concert. This isn’t important, you don’t help people, you don’t write about the real problems and that interesting way the planet is moving. But to my great disappointment stupid news are demanded by people, it’s just what they want. So a journalist is a bitch of the society.

Spending all the time in the water of stupid events and uncreative work can make a person be the fish of his working river. This is an opposite process of growing up and becoming better as a professional.

Sometimes when I think about the work a journalist has to do it makes me wanna puke. Just one simple example: I am to interview some famous musician. From my point of view the interview should go about music, art, thoughts, feelings and so on. How can I accomplish my own task if I have to talk about a singer’s pregnancy? How can I be a great professional if I am told the way I should write? Steve Jobs said “It doesn’t make sense to hire smart people and then tell them what to do; we hire smart people so they can tell us what to do.” There’s no need to explain how these words are related to journalism.

With all the bad things I have described I still think that you can turn journalism to an opposite side. If one wants journalism to be creative work, if one wants independence of writing and working with really interesting stuff he or she should create its own “journalism platform”. Let it be a magazine for example. But this idea will work out only when really hard work, talent, strong will, revolutionary ideas, the ability to put people together and money become a unified power.

It’s necessary to say that journalism is a great way to write stupid things out of your head and your writing style. But it’s for those who decided to go down the road where journalism is just 1 mile highway full of bricks and tricky turns.

It’s necessary to admit that being a journalist can get you some necessary acquaintances.

I think it’s great that I realized all these things so early. It means I won’t face too much disappointment in future.

This or that way you are to choose your own life. I believe that hard work, a desire and a talent can get you any type of journalism. We are to decide what to do. No one said it’s gonna be easy, but still no one said it’s impossible.

A don’t-care type of guy

I so don’t care.

I’m done with this entire round-shaped world.

The only “entire” thing left in me is the bottle of red wine.

I don’t wanna think.

I wanna thank. That this moment came.

Finally came to purify me and take some silliness away.

I don’t care about school; I don’t care about what a teacher will put me tomorrow, don’t care how big the prison of stupid tasks and work will be. I so don’t care how much I will sleep and eat. I feel nothing for almost all the people, for almost all the events. I don’t listen to what they say, I don’t feel how they try to hurt me.

I let all the feelings go. I’m empty like that entire bottle of wine. All I see is pure white. The endless infinity of white world.

I’m not scared of the future. I don’t care what I will have to do.  I’ve got everything I need. I’ve got the sense to live and my person. I’m completely indifferent what steps I will have to make to reach, I will do. I’m not afraid. Even if I don’t enter a university I will stay calm because I know that everything happens for a reason. I will take any chance to grow up and develop myself. When I let my fear go I realized that I’m able to think clearly, act naturally and understand things. While I stay calm I can go on, go up and never down.

I’m not overwhelmed. I stopped worrying about my mental problems, about my core and my… unperceived, unconditional, uncontrolled and purely natural choice.

I let my anger go. I forgave all people that ever hurt me; I forget all the bad things. Eventually the chaos in my head started turning into a slightly seen bunch of shelves. Unless this is not the impassable, inexplicable and interfering with my work eternal chaos.

I built a wal l. Made of glass. Nobody and nothing can get through it. If they can’t break the wall they can’t get me and fill with their stupidity and misery. They won’t distract me and show the wrong way.

This is my golden time to work and develop in order to become the spirit. This is only for two people in the whole world now.

I don’t care about the world I know. I mean the law, absurd, routine, boring and absoulutely hypocritical part of the World.

“If the world is so wrong then you can FUCK them all with one song!” yeah?

 

I’ll create a new world. THE ONE, my own.

Some will come, something will be gone.

Art and love are those things having sense, the first will go through time, the second one will watch me burn.

I’ll still dream on!

I will never come undone.

Amy Winehouse

This is not dedicated to her death or birthday anniversary. It’s about Amy’s art.

She was always laughed at. Paparazzi did their job well taking pictures of her drunk or “ridiculus”. But  the moment she died was the upgrade of her career. The minute ago she was the dirt, the next moment “Back To Black” is on the top of Billbord and her creative work is risen up to the skies.

Amy was a gifted girl. She has opened the sacred secret of love and feelings.

Her songs reflect pain, sorrow, not sadness, grief, tears and … humility. She wasn’t protesting, didn’t maked a big show of “words-and-no-deeds”. She sang soul songs. Painful, profound and inconsolable songs.

When I plunge her songs I fell that she loved and failed, loved so much she died. Amy burned black, died for love in all ways, ispecially physically. They said she needed rehab, drugs killed her. Of course journalists are good at overplaying and telling lies. They will raze to the ground anyone to get a great blatant story.

“Love is loosing game”. She wished she had never played this game. Life is a loosing game, Amy, yes? We all are seeking the raison d’etre even in semirandom events. We all can’t admit that we’ll die and will never care again about anything. There is nothing there. What a wonder to find your love and stop seeking because you already know the answer. How great and priceless it is. How painfully it hits.

Amy Winehouse failed. Like all of us will do. Some people will call this “the path of least resistance”. But he walked away and never came back. The grief and pain she had to face. So much was cried out and written out.

And those people and mass media. Their “Rehabilitaion”. She didn’t care. Didn’t want to go there. Because she already knew the end.

Amy Winehouse burned to ashes, she knew everything and was ready. Why suffer, why wake up alone, why suffer?

Some of us will see a crazy addict bitch, some of us wil see a girl who was killed by love.

And one more thing that irritates. 27 years old, alcohol, drugs, music, death… This is the classic Rock’n’Roll story. How much money those madmen got. But they don’t see the tragedy. This  cynicism afficts so much. Those morons trivialize music and art.

“They tried to make me go to rehab but I said no, no, no! I ain’t got the time”. Don’t go.

Do you yearn? Because I do.

New York me, please! Just do it!

2012 was a super shitty year. It was a killing-dreams-sucking-the-life-out-harsh-and-disappointing year. Life is always unfair, it brings down. Unsolved problems and unfulfilled dreams bring down. But when a new year comes we try to forget and forgive. Forget all the problems because people prone to be fed with the hope even when the fridge is empty. Forgive people and ourselves because there is no point in cherishing hatred. Even those who have a broken bottle of wine instead of a heart secretly believe in love. New Year is the summing up of all we’ve done and felt during one year. Everybody believes in what I have just written. You know why? Because we think that the next year is the next chance. One more trial, one more step and attempt and maybe our dreams will come true. Everybody is miserable, some people realized it and some of them still stay in a dark room waiting for a guiding light. Those are happy who become blind after they spend 100 years in a dark room.

As for me I have realized everything. But please don’t judge me just for dreaming.

My answer is always New York. This is the “boiling point”, “the reference point”. The place where a life begins.

Is there anything more beautiful than Times Square during New Year’s Eve or Monica Bellucci? Let’s talk about the Big Apple.

I watched the video in YouTube. That was the biggest shake of the New Year. Can you imagine? Times Square, New York City, 1 million people around counting out 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and HAPPHY NEW YEAR! The small plaza exploded with fireworks, confetti, shouts, hugs, kisses, flashes, smiles and tears! Oh I was suffering! Goosebumps could have devoured me! This video fucking tore me apart.

Now some words about how I spent the New Year Eve.

I stayed at my place, ate food and watched House M.D. That is exactly what I did the year before. It is even symbolic. With elements of pathetics and irony. If to look back on my life one can see it is a big ironic ass kick.

Why at home? You know rock stars never have friends, never ever, yeh?

I am the one who rewies different movies or series for many times. House is my favorite one. Maybe I just wanted to meet a New Year with someone I love…

I also admit that I was depressed for some period of time, the fact that I’m writing means I’m done with rehabilitation. I’m pure, virgin pure. It’s time to look for the cure!

The cure is the black and white Rock’n’Roll – the quintessence of everything. This is not about 30 Seconds to Mars, Marilyn Manson or other cheap shit. Enough!

Now I wanna show my “Inspirational Letter”. It is to help me keep on moving and breathe. This is just placebo but never mind.

Charging… Clear! He’s back. The cockroach’s back!

He knows that one day he will be there, no matter what way, doen’t matter what number, being one of the million is even better because nobody cared about psy and other “stars” who were stupidly standing in the “special star place”. Fuck them, fuck their gangnam style, all the shit is in sewage.

Brokeback Mountain Forbidden Love

You only see what your eyes want to see.

You’re frozen when youre heart’s not open.

Madonna

2 days ago I would say there is no movie to be compared with “Titanic”. I was wrong. There is another beautiful and tragic story, meaningful, covering the truth of life and love. “Brokeback Mountain” excited me the strongest way. It is a particle of light; it is art. We should consider it from the artistic point of view. This is not about gays, not about bisexuals either; it’s about the core of love and humanity. As soon as I consider this work as art my point of view becomes ultra-subjective, because everyone has the truth, the truth of art is very personal because the artist leaves only questions to be answered by those who get affected. Nothing is right and nothing is wrong. It’s all about impression and emotions. How can we judge leaves for being green?

Why is this story so grim and heartbreaking, breathtaking? It illuminates the harsh truth of modern society and eternal problems, tragedies.

Why not about gays if we can see two men having sexual experience with each other?  Because it is all about pure love. This feeling doesn’t know boundaries, limits, ages, sexes or nationalities. This movie, this book tell that love which is not a conception of some stereotypes or shapes that society has created. We can’t judge leaves for being green, you remember?

Now I’d like to say some words about homophobes who denied watching the movie despite the actors were just perfect. Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal are truly outstanding actors. People who don’t understand the main idea only see what their eyes want to see. They see two gays or bisexuals who have sex, which is just disgusting. I see another picture. This is not about my sexual orientation, I just can go deeper. Once you really fall in love you understand that the rest of people and the rest of life gets white and stays backstage.

I can see that love in this work of art was spontaneous; it was on fire for a long time. I don’t give a fuck if they were men or women or heterosexual, I can see the beauty and perfection. What makes us get up and die, get up and die… From time to time we could think that the fire stopped but it never did. This love embraced pain, tears, happiness and pureness. That passion in which rare meetings added fuel to the fire… Have you ever fell in love?

But the story broke my heart. Even not the story but the catalyzer of all bad things happened there. People… sweet beautiful people. The society, from the capitol “S”. The society which the humanity is so proud of. That is the main problem. Have you ever been miles away from your love? Have you ever had the experience of not kissing your love for a long period of time? Wouldn’t you be angry or despair? People didn’t give those characters a chance to be just happy, just to live their own lives like all we do. Do you fucking think that you are damn gods to decide what’s right and what’s not? So the influence of people is the symbol of how some representatives of humanity are being stupid and don’t know they are destroying others. And the fact the love was “forbidden” means that we are going to rot in the hole of our own prejudices, idiotic worldview and fighting for what we really don’t know anything about. The end of the story as we know is sad. The death of Jack was ambiguous, from the one hand he died accidently, from the other hand he was murdered by homophobes. This is the symbol of people’s hypocrisy. When they say “It was an accident, but in the reality it’s all a big piece of shit, because it was a murder, intentional murder, the crime against humanity, against love. This means people kill love, kill life. After Jack’s death Ennis was alone in the trailer park, he didn’t die, but he was never in this world again. The last his words we can hear were “Jack, I swear” with tears on his eyes, touching Jacks’s shirt tucked inside of Enni’s one as the symbol of eternity and immovability of love. Love can’t die, it just moves to other dimensions. “I swear” to love, to remember, to never give up on you…

There is no sexuality, no orientation, no argues, nothing, ‘cause when it’s love you gotta fly. I’m not going to waste my time on those who can’t understand this, whose “love” is limited by sex, presents, walks and sex. I’m talking about something more profound. This just is not your business. I may be not the best writer, not the best “feelings-expresser” but I can feel in my heart. My heart’s breaking when I realize how many jerks ruin other’s lives, when they try to make leaves be black. Love is so rare, so catch it, run to it, never let it go, it is so rare… Find your sense in art/love which is actually the same.

1 gloomy birthday 6

Something strange, non-understandable but that’s how I roll

I can’t believe it’s true! I am 16, I am a high school senior, I got a passport. It seems to me that all these 16 years I was waiting for something huge. Let’s be honest. All of us think that we are something outstanding, something that is in the sky, far away from such crap as money, commitment, society or words of people we don’t know and will never meet.
My life is always about something fatal. Like death, getting a brand new family which I hate, having almost only girls as friends, meeting the femme fatale who changed my life forever, falling in love, knowing how it hurts and finally making a brave face because you never want to show how much you are scared about the future.

There are two worlds in me: the valley of death and the statue of liberty. The first tries to make me die, the second one is the fire that is burning in my heart and eyes. The cruel world tries to bring me down and drag me into the abyss of death. I have to run. I have to fight. I have to fly. I have to crucify. I have to resurrect. I have to be brave and strong. The thing that I have never fallen down on my knees is just a miracle. But I believe in miracles.

The problem is that I still can’t understand myself. Who am I? Who am I living for? What am I living for? I don’t know what to choose. I am split into two. I want to be a journalist and a physician. But I realize it can’t be both. So what should I choose? I have only 15 days left. I don’t want to spend 10 years learning and after all discover that I don’t want to be a physician. But if I choose journalism I’m afraid to connect myself with something I don’ like. And it’s not about advice or money or career. It’s all about me. It’s all about what I love more, what kind of person I will become.

One of the worst things of my existence is that I live in Ukraine. I want to live and work in the USA, to be with my soul mate, just become happy. I don’t want to be miserable. The only way for me is to get education in the US which means entering a college. My stepfather is an idiot; my mother is too busy with her work so I have to think about my education myself. I can work hard, I don’t complain about it. But when I realize how much fucking aspects of getting this education I’ll have to face I understand that for me it is a very heavy baggage. I’m just sixteen, I am inexperienced, poor, I started thinking only some time ago so I don’t know how to keep all this under control. I hate the world religion. I hate paper they pray for. I want to be something more than that. What if paper and numbers will cut the head of my dream? This is so stupid! So fucking stupid! All these tuitions, governments, laws, immigration services, all those motherfuckers I mean racist, homophobic, angry people get me down. I have to fight with this abyss of ignorance before it devours me. It’s all or nothing, sink or swim.

I’m not a pessimist, I’m just a bit pensive. But keep my head high. I never give up. I promise to my music, to my person, to the emptiness that I will burn cities, I will fly if not then I will crawl, but I will never cut my fingers and build a coffin! I’m gonna build my Empire State Building, I’m gonna be on its top, I’m gonna find the biggest bullhorn and scream DREAM ON DREAM ON DREAM ON DREAM ON!!!! by Aerosmith. No matter what way I will choose I will try… Try to do everything I am told and taught. Never forget and never leave alone. I will feel! In heart!

This piece of something, I don’t really know how to name it correctly but this is some kind of confession of guy who is so lonely that has to write all this crap because there’s no one really around to hear me and understand me. My dreams are miles away. I hope that many years will pass and I will read my article again. Smiling, laughing, because I’m not alone and everything is alright. This is the period of changing, so I believe that no matter how much we all will have to suffer we will finally see our own light at the end of the tunnel. Out of darkness.

Love

Love

I said I’d never write about love. But I couldn’t help. I want to write about how painful loving the one who will never be with you is.

All of us know the feeling when there’s something wambling and wambling in your stomach. It’s like rolling from a 400 feet hill down when your suprarenal glands release adrenaline and all you can is to soundlessly scream inside and barely breath.

So the grimmest things are: the fact that you can’t say how much you love the person and that in some days you’ll have to leave and will never see this person again…

Memories:

I won’t tell the name of my love, I will just call it “this person” or “it”. It will be less painful for me. From the moment I first saw this person I could never think I would fall in love with it. It only proves that love doesn’t know any special canons or prejudices. It proves there is no perfect personality for me. The only I can say about this person is that it is married, in its twentieth, has a child and is not a person of an extraordinary appearance. But this person is clever, witty, wise, interesting, has a great sense of humor and is charming. Just in few hours I realized that I need this person around to help me keep on breathing. I spent almost all my days just being in one room and listening to Courtney Love, Placebo, Marilyn Manson, Amy Winehouse, Evanesence and Madonna waiting for the time I could see my person again. When it was around I was some kind like drunk, like in euphoria, but when my love was not around there was a clod in my throat and I felt pain in my throat and stomach. I should also mention that the place I met this person was in one city in Russia, where I came for 10 days to see my relatives. I have also to mention that the person I fell in love with is not my relative but lived in the neighboring flat and visited the place I lived often. With each passing day I realized I would have to leave for Ukraine soon. So my grief was multiplying. In some moments it hurt more than always. For example when I saw its child and saw that they had the same crystal blue eyes. Or when this person was sitting next to me and watching some stuff on my notebook and then I went to another room to have a mean and when I came back I could still feel the smell of my its body. Or when I was just walking somewhere and could feel the smell of its car. Or when I had to watch my person’s wedding video, where this person is happy not with me, where it promise to love someone else forever and you have to seem to be smiling, to be happy for them. This was just unbearable. Knowing I will never have a chance to hear those Russian notes in voice that accentuate all vowel sounds…  But anyway in the city where there are no friends of mine this person became some kind of my friend, supporting life in me. After all the doom day of coming back home was about to hug me hard. There are no words to describe how painful and… how painful it was. But I had to face it. I had to be strong all the time. Nobody had the right to see my soul, to understand my condition. I think that time is the best healer so I need some time for recovery. I came back home scary and broken.

How does it feel when your love is the biggest secret you ever happened to have. How does it feel when the person you love is your biggest fear? This is the secret you cannot even discuss with your mind. This secret makes you forget about all principles like being yourself and telling the truth. So you don’t know who you are anymore. This is the moment you realize you are being changed. Yes, people do change. Of course this is completely not about telling the truth to the person you love.

In such moment you understand that no one is going to get you, but this is my guilt only. So you make a brave face put on a smile and try to forget that no fucking philosophers’, psychologists’ and friends’ advice will even slightly come to the point of helping you. The best anyone can do is to give you a good friend hug. And the only thing to help is tequila or red wine.

Being ready is being sure in the place and in the person you are going to share your pain or anything else with. So I’m not ready and won’t be ready for a long time more.

03.07.2012

14:54

Russia

“Memories”:

11.07.2012

18:18

Somewhere in Ukraine

Never Gonna Change

Never Gonna Change

Do you know what pain is? All of us definitely know what it is. I’m going to write about people who know what pain is better. Of course they don’t, so I’m going to debunk this crap.

Saying “There’s nothing worser than…” has become a mainstream. Let it be because today I’d like to say: “There’s nothing worser than being addicted to a person who thinks he knows something better or feels something deeper than you do.”

Hey, people, don’t we know what pain is? Haven’t we ever felt so badly that all we wanted was to take a killing dose of drugs? Or at least just close all the doors and cry so hard being isolated? I think if you have ever met surgeons, directors, scientists or musicians you know how dealing with arrogant people feels. These people think that they can do whatever they want which can hurt us. But the hell is when we can’t stop loving these sons of a bitch, we cannot just dump them. I suppose we are just too good people.

Hey, cruel world, hey doctor House, hey Manson, hey Cameron, hey Einstein, we are the same as you. We all suffer, but our pain is hidden in the darkest corners of our souls. It is hidden under smiles, sunglasses and pillows at night. We don’t show it but it doesn’t mean that listening to your pain we can’t understand how deep feelings can be. So we sacrifice every time. Very often they can’t try for us.

The thing is that we love these arrogant morons too much, because they so awesome! But they can’t hurt us, can’t just play with our hearts. Of course people who save lives, create cinema masterpieces, become famous in the world of technologies or those rock stars, who have pain as their inspiration will find it difficult to understand ordinary people. We will never leave you but you should remember that someday you will lose a part of us. Your guilt will come back to bite you in your asses.

All I can wish to other people is to hold on and never let their madness suck the life out of you. Never worry about how they conquer Mariana Trench. This was never our world. Just be yourself and stay with people you love even when they bring you pain from time to time.

What else you should understand is that you have to learn how to rebuff to make sure there’s no halo around their heads. Also no information given was addressed to hurt anybody of my familiar and unfamiliar people or offence them. My article was created to express my anger, fear and insecure.

With all my love and support, just a simple future journalist,

Alex.

Sucker’s Dream

Sucker’s Dream

Six simple letters…

Once all that I had was on the floor. God only knew what I was fighting for. Who are we without principles and beliefs? Just animals crawling on the ground. Who are we when we are being made do something? Just gutless animals crawling on the ground. Who are we when all we know is rudeness and evil? Just pissed-off animals crawling on the ground that are going to meet nothing significant but eternity. We only need six simple letters.

Power. Her power and inside strength are uncountable. This is a powerful discharge reeved through us from heels to the tips of hair. It’s when all you can is to make a sip of air and cannot scream. This is when fibrillation is healed by defibrillator. This is a huge wave to cover the whole of your body and for a while there’s no way you can breathe. In the moment of death you find out that this is only the beginning and oxygen is not the only thing your lungs can breathe.

Art. The combination of arrogance and understanding how shitty things happen to be, the combination of a firm self-confidence and hard work, literature and wisdom. She is a goddess emitting piercing light and power. Her trident is the weapon of love, pain, anger, mystery, understanding, inseparability of good and evil. This is what perfection is. This is what art is. Nothing’s indestructible. Art is eternal. As soon as it touches anything living or dead; existing or not it turns things into its own core. Art is never material, it can never be seen which means its nature can’t be destroyed or counted.

Vaccine. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. You never know what can happen or be said. What do I need? I need development, I need to grow up, make the world around beautiful and lots of things more. You can never be sure in having support from the side of society. What if you could get wine from your monitor? Impossible. What if you could get just extremely big support from your monitor? Such kind of support so you can say that in the times when no one believes in you she will. If anyone could know how grateful I am and how big my desire to burn all bridges and just pace to the times when my touch will bring happiness and make ugly things beautiful again is.

Abuse. Have you ever had that one who will abuse you and you’ll be on the edge of happiness? If not it means you have never tried driving crazy drugs. Just imagine having Amber who will move her ass and let you lie next to her on a door in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. But then you’ll have to die to pay for it.

Truth. This is naked truth, never hidden by hypocrisy. The truth everyone covets and deserves. It is bitter, it is cold, sometimes harsh, sometimes just completely on the contrary. It will either destroy you or save you from yourself. It heals, it hurts, it leaves holes on your soul someday.  The pain never goes away, it can just lessen or turn into something else. What are lies? It is a latent sickness, when you temporary feel OK but after all it will devour you from inside. It isn’t worth living in fear and lies. This is always the end of the beginning of self-destruction.

Inspiration. Art needs inspiration. How would you like to be an inspiration for inspiration? This is something impossible. It’s like saying that inspiring is inspiring. OK, I think I should leave this. All I want to say is every time I feel inspiration, it feels like pain in my throat, in my stomach which is going to turn me into pink dust. Do you know what pink dust is? It is said by sappers when a person is exploded. The explosion is so powerful that you can barely find a finger. I will die and resurrect for it. But the truth is that I don’t want to die and I don’t want to live, I just want to have a chance to be with IT. This is my vicodin. This is what makes the fire in my heart keep on leaking me from inside with its incandescent tongues.

I could write something like a 21-page analyze of “American Tragedy” speaking about metaphors, trails and so on, but I just want to express my special love. Every sucker needs six letters, but only some of them one day stop being suckers.

I’ll be your lover, I’ll be forever (inspired by “The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer”)

It has always been interesting to dig in someone else’s head. You can IMAGINE different situations, not yours, feel someone ELSE’S pain, not yours, and finally get your own OPINION to situations you may read about. Let’s face it: feeling the pain of other person is more pleasant than feeling yours one. That is one of the reasons why we read books.

Recently I have read “The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer”. I have to say that this is a great book. It is well-written, interesting and some kind of unusual.

The story is about a little a girl in a cute dress in the best society. After that a reader faces the secret of Laura. This secret is her enemy. This is BOB. During reading the story you have to realize who is BOB and if he is real or not.

As to the content BOB is someone who abused Laura, humiliated her and from my point of view screwed up her mental state.

Who she became?

To answer this question we should find the answer for this question:

Who she was?

She was just a girl, who had just started her “life search” with innocent thoughts and actions. This can be said about her experience with boys in the wood. Just naked bodies, but no sex.

But she changed. BOB changed her. She became a drug addicted, sex addicted confused girl. She thought she was a bad person, dirty, stupid girl who deserves to die. I suppose she was controlled by constant fear of meeting BOB.

Laura Palmer became just nothing. She was a depth of lies, drugs, sex and criminal. She understood that life is all about being happy, really happy, but I bet Laura couldn’t find happiness in things which were appropriate for a whore.

The level of happiness was again controlled by fear. She didn’t know if she was allowed to have beautiful, innocent feelings and thoughts (like love). She knew that BOB would never allow this.

How could Laura stay in the place where the walls expressed beauty and innocence? She couldn’t, didn’t deserve it. She understood that her soul becomes having more and more holes, she was dying.

I can also analyze the character from another side. She split into two branches, one of which has dark beginning and the other one conceals the girl, who just wanted to be like others and happy. These parts of Laura’s soul were always in struggle. The second, “beautiful” part of Lora Palmer always tried to reach for light like branches of a tree reach for sun. It showed itself in communication with little Johnny, who was pure and innocent, he was her absolute opposite. Anyway she was afraid to touch something so perfect, she was too depraved. We can also see her kindness in helping old people. But every time she touched the beauty something violent was coming again. The cracks in her soul were too real.

It is necessary to mention about Laura’s pony. Once it was happy with its family, which I mean Laura, but then something happened and this pony had to be alone and struggle. Finally it was shot in the head. It does remind me someone else. I think this is a symbol of what happened to Lora.

Self-destruction always leads to emptiness, so called death. Perceive it as a metaphor or not but in the end there is nothing but emptiness and infinity. Laura died.

To understand why Lora died we need to understand why people drink. To seem cool? – No. For taste? – Hardly. To stay funny? – Doesn’t fit. To relieve pain? – Closer. Laura Palmer being a teenager felt so much pain and fear that sex and cocaine work like vicodin to a person with chronic aches in leg. But finally it didn’t work. The process could never be stopped and was accompanied by different symbols like the killed cat of a little girl or dreams where she violently died, or something like paranoid ideas, again dreams with black sky and even sex became the act of revenge. Everything she touched dried and died. To forget, to survive, to live one more day, to relieve pain, but just not to die.  That is what Laura had in her had. Sex and drugs brought her satisfaction as her dying world couldn’t get closer to something less primitive.

So who is BOB? Is it the part of Laura, her core, her mind or is this a real person who abused and scared the young girl time after time? Both. The part of fear and BOB’s impact on her became her core, where she became numb. This is the reason why Laura couldn’t hold resistance to him, couldn’t give up drugs and change. From the other side BOB was just a maniacal ass whose hobby was to abuse a young girl and make her think she was mad. Who knows how the situation would have turned out if BOB had been just a normal guy.

I sincerely feel sorry for Lora and hope that this always misunderstood girl found her eternal peace.

This is how I understood the secret of Laura’s diary. The best part of the book is that the reader is to decide. To decide who BOB was, why her world was destroyed and by whom. So there is no wrong conclusion. The worst part of the book is that you may find yourself in Lora’s first thoughts and actions, because they were always true and naked. This is about what we are afraid to confess even ourselves.

“Weep” by Reamonn

She turns she burns she feels concealed by
someone that she doesn’t know

She hopes someday he’ll find his way into
these tears that she weeps
She knows she gave she feels enslaved by
what she gave too easily

She hopes in time she waits in line for all
these things that will make her
real

I feel that she woke up feel she’s had
enough

Feel it’s time she opened up her eyes
I feel that she woke up feel she’s had
enough

Feel it’s time she opened up her eyes

She holds the cold she feels so fooled by
all this pain she has revealed

She hopes she cries she holds inside all
these things that will make her real

She screams put your hands on me
Put your hands on me put your hands on
I need to feel you touch
Put your hands on me put your hands on
I need to feel you touch

I feel she’s got to open up her eyes

Put your hands on me

P.S. Not accepting eternity I’m lying to myself again just NOT to close my eyes and never wake up. With this note I’m finishing my article, dedicated not only to Laura Palmer and my thoughts, but to that one, whose soul name will stand out in all its beauty on my body. All comes with years. With years and to eternity.