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Chronicles of a Writer
5 min read
I cannot say that I have always written, but I have in fact written from a relatively young age. Second grade, I think I was about 7. I remember writing silly fantasy stories in class, then I was writing about cats when my parents refused to get me one. Of course they intertwined at a point and I was writing about cats in fantasy settings.
One day my grandfather asked me what I wanted to be when I would grow older, naturally I responded, with all childish naivete, that I wanted to be a writer. He immediately changed his countenance and said it was stupid, that I would never make enough money off it. I think I stopped writing after that. But fate is what it is, and it was him of all people that brought my writing back: he gave me a big yellowed notebook, saying I could write in it, or draw, whatever. I saved it for a rainy day. It was the summer of 1998, around my thirteenth birthday, that I sat before the TV in granny's house, watching as always whenever I was in Romania, Cartoon Network. One of my earliest favourites was Scooby Doo, and I was delighted they were showing it. Cartoon Network had not yet reached Israel at the time, so I was happy as a clown to be there, watching it. The name of the episode struck a chord that brought on a story of 155 paqes, in that notebook, that I never finished. The episode was named "Fortress of Fear" and I don't think that phrase found itself written down, but it's hardly the point, now is it?
I wrote like crazy. I just wrote. It was my pride and joy. Naturally, since English is not my native tongue, or even my second, the story was written badly, and the idea was horrendous. Trying to read it now would be pain, but it was the beginning that had no end.
I started writing poems too around that time, first in Hebrew and the finally moving to English. I wrote a short story with a bad ending, corny as Hell, at some English class, and I told myself I'd write another one of those. The next ended up having 28 pages and a happy ending. Then another story, and another, the ideas piled in my head.
Before I knew what metal was I was writing dark poetry, a fascination with death and evil finding a temple in me before I understood what it meant. It was silly childish awe, but the tendency was obviously there. My stories had always had a darker tone, and they went on, more or less, like that. A good day would be a day in which I wrote some pages in whatever story I was writing at the time. I'd sit in class with my notebook, and over it, pages of the story. I could never stop writing. I had the dark stories, I had the nicer stories, I had poems.
But somehow, the stories faded, and I could no longer truly write them. Every once in a while I'd get an idea, write a paragraph, and then forget about it. I was writing mainly poems, my earlier stories forgotten, my later ones lying unfinished on pages filled with my tiny handwriting.
Eventually, the poems faded as well, and I'd write one every couple of months. I wasn't truly worried because I knew how much writing means to me and that it could never die. Plus, there are always stories in my head, scenarios and words chasing themselves. I've also been writing a diary for 10 years, it's one of my OCDs. So I let it rest. Until it found me again.
Every once in a while I'd check my "Stories" folder, and read things I forgot I wrote. I found this page of something that was not really meant to be a story, just a quick silly thing, but it caught me. And so I wrote. It took me a while, but I was there, writing at home, at work, in Romania, in Israel, whenever I would want to. I finished it in early summer 2008, entirely surprised that I had actually finally finished a story; my first complete story in some ten years. I knew since, that it was back. I began another one, that I am finally posting here, finished in December, while laziness got the best of me. I started another one, but the idea was slightly off so I stopped it to focus on another, an idea I've had for an equally long period of time, ten years or so. Right now I'm blaming my awful job and studies for my lack of writing it regularly, but I am not worried. Writing is by far my life, and my first and foremost love. It makes me terribly happy. I am a woman of words. Always a story-teller, always a poet, always an edmirer of words.
And it's about time you read some of it.
One day my grandfather asked me what I wanted to be when I would grow older, naturally I responded, with all childish naivete, that I wanted to be a writer. He immediately changed his countenance and said it was stupid, that I would never make enough money off it. I think I stopped writing after that. But fate is what it is, and it was him of all people that brought my writing back: he gave me a big yellowed notebook, saying I could write in it, or draw, whatever. I saved it for a rainy day. It was the summer of 1998, around my thirteenth birthday, that I sat before the TV in granny's house, watching as always whenever I was in Romania, Cartoon Network. One of my earliest favourites was Scooby Doo, and I was delighted they were showing it. Cartoon Network had not yet reached Israel at the time, so I was happy as a clown to be there, watching it. The name of the episode struck a chord that brought on a story of 155 paqes, in that notebook, that I never finished. The episode was named "Fortress of Fear" and I don't think that phrase found itself written down, but it's hardly the point, now is it?
I wrote like crazy. I just wrote. It was my pride and joy. Naturally, since English is not my native tongue, or even my second, the story was written badly, and the idea was horrendous. Trying to read it now would be pain, but it was the beginning that had no end.
I started writing poems too around that time, first in Hebrew and the finally moving to English. I wrote a short story with a bad ending, corny as Hell, at some English class, and I told myself I'd write another one of those. The next ended up having 28 pages and a happy ending. Then another story, and another, the ideas piled in my head.
Before I knew what metal was I was writing dark poetry, a fascination with death and evil finding a temple in me before I understood what it meant. It was silly childish awe, but the tendency was obviously there. My stories had always had a darker tone, and they went on, more or less, like that. A good day would be a day in which I wrote some pages in whatever story I was writing at the time. I'd sit in class with my notebook, and over it, pages of the story. I could never stop writing. I had the dark stories, I had the nicer stories, I had poems.
But somehow, the stories faded, and I could no longer truly write them. Every once in a while I'd get an idea, write a paragraph, and then forget about it. I was writing mainly poems, my earlier stories forgotten, my later ones lying unfinished on pages filled with my tiny handwriting.
Eventually, the poems faded as well, and I'd write one every couple of months. I wasn't truly worried because I knew how much writing means to me and that it could never die. Plus, there are always stories in my head, scenarios and words chasing themselves. I've also been writing a diary for 10 years, it's one of my OCDs. So I let it rest. Until it found me again.
Every once in a while I'd check my "Stories" folder, and read things I forgot I wrote. I found this page of something that was not really meant to be a story, just a quick silly thing, but it caught me. And so I wrote. It took me a while, but I was there, writing at home, at work, in Romania, in Israel, whenever I would want to. I finished it in early summer 2008, entirely surprised that I had actually finally finished a story; my first complete story in some ten years. I knew since, that it was back. I began another one, that I am finally posting here, finished in December, while laziness got the best of me. I started another one, but the idea was slightly off so I stopped it to focus on another, an idea I've had for an equally long period of time, ten years or so. Right now I'm blaming my awful job and studies for my lack of writing it regularly, but I am not worried. Writing is by far my life, and my first and foremost love. It makes me terribly happy. I am a woman of words. Always a story-teller, always a poet, always an edmirer of words.
And it's about time you read some of it.
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Black Metal ist Krieg!
1 min read
I saw Satanic Warmaster LIVE, twice!
Everything else is meaningless.
m/
-- Fireblade Force 2008, 10-11/10/2008, Lichtenstein Sachsen, Germany.
So it doesn't really matter life sucks, works is Hell, bathroom is overrun by an invasion of roaches, friends are idiots, German trains are torture and that it is freezing cold. Because I saw Satanic Warmaster LIVE, twice! Along with Besatt, Heimdalls Wacht, Cirith Gorgor, Vargsang and others. I gloat.
All hail black metal!
11/10/2008, after the second Satanic Warmaster show (Kampfar couldn't make it),
Stein: "You know, everybody says 'Vera is so gorgeous', but I say - if you don't like food, I can't like you!"
Yet another festival silly cool quote, followed by,
Grim: "I'm cold!"
Beavis: "No, no, you're hot!"
Thank God for drunk conversations at black metal festivals.
666
Everything else is meaningless.
m/
-- Fireblade Force 2008, 10-11/10/2008, Lichtenstein Sachsen, Germany.
So it doesn't really matter life sucks, works is Hell, bathroom is overrun by an invasion of roaches, friends are idiots, German trains are torture and that it is freezing cold. Because I saw Satanic Warmaster LIVE, twice! Along with Besatt, Heimdalls Wacht, Cirith Gorgor, Vargsang and others. I gloat.
All hail black metal!
11/10/2008, after the second Satanic Warmaster show (Kampfar couldn't make it),
Stein: "You know, everybody says 'Vera is so gorgeous', but I say - if you don't like food, I can't like you!"
Yet another festival silly cool quote, followed by,
Grim: "I'm cold!"
Beavis: "No, no, you're hot!"
Thank God for drunk conversations at black metal festivals.
666
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If It Is Not In Your Blood
6 min read
You will NEVER understand.
(Printed on a Wacken cup).
Wacken and Party-San 2008:
I saw Iron Maiden, they ruled beyond dreams. I saw Gorogoroth for the second time, equally impressive, I saw Impaled Nazarene which were real cool, Behemoth that delivered an amazing show, Children of Bodom for the third time along with their usual silliness, Lordi which were real funny despite the time being 2-3 am and raining, I got to see Carcass and At the Gates, Negura Bunget, Before the Dawn, Farsot, Endstille, Bolt Thrower, a tiny bit of Sabaton and Corvus Corax and Nifelheim and Saltatio Mortis, Watain, fell asleep during Lord Belial due to the tiredness, Kampfar, Vreid, a bit of Obituary, laughed my ass off at Nightwish because she was so bad, Koldbrann, a tiny bit of Bloodbath, Tyr and Skyforger.
I bought vinyl boots, an amazing corset, a great long skirt, Shining tshirt (I swear it was made for me, with the wonderful inscription "Submit to Self Destruction), Enthroned, Gorgoroth long sleeve, old Behemoth sweatshirt, Wacken tshirt, Party-San tshirt, Endstille girlie, Deathspell Omega. Satanic Warmaster cd, Nargaroth cd, Heimdals Wacht (great band of my friends, they'll play with Satanic Warmster in the future), got a tape of theirs, and a cd of their vocalist Cultus, and another friends' band called Dark Shadow. And one very gothy calendar by Victoria Frances. Complete with 7 Wacken cups.
Met lots of new people, was adopted by a group of Germans while in Party-San alone, went to a waterpark with friends, got drunk just enough, met a metalhead who named his son Damian for the sake of "the Omen", had three nervous breakdowns in five days, which is better than last year that was three nervous breakdowns in 2 days, and made a connection with someone that I hope will last for a long time. It is carried in one song that I cannot stop listening to. The lyrics aren't about "us" but they talk greatly, if only to me, and it has been depressing me, while making me smile for two days now, at home, at work, whenever.
I can't believe it's over. I can't believe I have to wait another 351 days in a place I hate, working at a job I hate, and going on being unstable. I know the feeling will subside, because it always does, but for now, the first few days after coming back everything is Hell. I am still there but I am not, I am here but I am not, I am nowhere and everywhere in the same time and it's tearing my brain apart. I don't know how to deal. I just want to go back to Germany. To those two weeks in August when everything is possible and everything makes sense though nothing is really logical. I wrote 44 pages in my journal. That's a record even for me. No year is like the other and despite the mess and all the bad things everything is always perfect. I don't wanna wait. I don't wanna be here. All I have is the need to go to Germany and stop time in Wacken. Next year Party-San: Shining, Marduk and Satyricon have already confirmed! Nothing left to do but wait. It is the only thing I have been doing for so long. Waiting.
Next week I'm finishing the tattoo.
351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.
Official German/Canadian/BoB camping Wacken 2008 song:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqXi8W…
(be warned, it is stupid and offensive, and yet strangely ingenious).
And the other timesless song, reigning supreme in my poor sorry head:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sduv77…
So after all those one night stands
You've ended up with heart in hand
A child alone
On your own
Retreating
Regretful for the things you're not
And all the things you haven't got
Without a home
A heart of stone
Lies bleeding
And for all the roads you followed
And for all you did not find
And for all the dreams you had to leave behind
I am the way
I am the light
I am the dark inside the night
I hear your hopes
I feel your dreams
And in the dark I hear your screams
Don't turn away
Just take my hand
And when you make your final stand
I'll be right there
I'll never leave
And all I ask of you
Believe
Your childhood eyes were so intense
While bartering your innocence
For bits of string
The grown-up wings
You needed
But when you had to add them up
You found that there were not enough
To get you in
Pay for sins repeated
And for all the years you borrowed
And for all the tears you hide
And for all the fears you had to keep inside
I am the way
I am the light
I am the dark inside the night
I hear your hopes
I feel your dreams
And in the dark
I hear your screams
Don't walk away
Just take my hand
And when you make your final stand
I'll be right there
I'll never leave
And all I ask of you is
Believe
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
I never wanted to go
I always wanted to stay
'Cause the persons I am
Are the parts that I play
So I plot and I plan
And I hope and I scheme
To the lure of a night
Filled with unfinished dreams
And I'm holding on tight
To a world gone astray
As they charge me for years
I can no longer pay
I am the way
I am the light
I am the dark
Inside the night
I hear your hopes
I feel your dreams
And in the dark
I hear your screams
Don't turn away
Just take my hand
And when you make your final stand
I'll be right there
I'll never leave
And all I ask of you
Believe
(Guess I will believe in everything, then.)
(Printed on a Wacken cup).
Wacken and Party-San 2008:
I saw Iron Maiden, they ruled beyond dreams. I saw Gorogoroth for the second time, equally impressive, I saw Impaled Nazarene which were real cool, Behemoth that delivered an amazing show, Children of Bodom for the third time along with their usual silliness, Lordi which were real funny despite the time being 2-3 am and raining, I got to see Carcass and At the Gates, Negura Bunget, Before the Dawn, Farsot, Endstille, Bolt Thrower, a tiny bit of Sabaton and Corvus Corax and Nifelheim and Saltatio Mortis, Watain, fell asleep during Lord Belial due to the tiredness, Kampfar, Vreid, a bit of Obituary, laughed my ass off at Nightwish because she was so bad, Koldbrann, a tiny bit of Bloodbath, Tyr and Skyforger.
I bought vinyl boots, an amazing corset, a great long skirt, Shining tshirt (I swear it was made for me, with the wonderful inscription "Submit to Self Destruction), Enthroned, Gorgoroth long sleeve, old Behemoth sweatshirt, Wacken tshirt, Party-San tshirt, Endstille girlie, Deathspell Omega. Satanic Warmaster cd, Nargaroth cd, Heimdals Wacht (great band of my friends, they'll play with Satanic Warmster in the future), got a tape of theirs, and a cd of their vocalist Cultus, and another friends' band called Dark Shadow. And one very gothy calendar by Victoria Frances. Complete with 7 Wacken cups.
Met lots of new people, was adopted by a group of Germans while in Party-San alone, went to a waterpark with friends, got drunk just enough, met a metalhead who named his son Damian for the sake of "the Omen", had three nervous breakdowns in five days, which is better than last year that was three nervous breakdowns in 2 days, and made a connection with someone that I hope will last for a long time. It is carried in one song that I cannot stop listening to. The lyrics aren't about "us" but they talk greatly, if only to me, and it has been depressing me, while making me smile for two days now, at home, at work, whenever.
I can't believe it's over. I can't believe I have to wait another 351 days in a place I hate, working at a job I hate, and going on being unstable. I know the feeling will subside, because it always does, but for now, the first few days after coming back everything is Hell. I am still there but I am not, I am here but I am not, I am nowhere and everywhere in the same time and it's tearing my brain apart. I don't know how to deal. I just want to go back to Germany. To those two weeks in August when everything is possible and everything makes sense though nothing is really logical. I wrote 44 pages in my journal. That's a record even for me. No year is like the other and despite the mess and all the bad things everything is always perfect. I don't wanna wait. I don't wanna be here. All I have is the need to go to Germany and stop time in Wacken. Next year Party-San: Shining, Marduk and Satyricon have already confirmed! Nothing left to do but wait. It is the only thing I have been doing for so long. Waiting.
Next week I'm finishing the tattoo.
351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.351.
Official German/Canadian/BoB camping Wacken 2008 song:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqXi8W…
(be warned, it is stupid and offensive, and yet strangely ingenious).
And the other timesless song, reigning supreme in my poor sorry head:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sduv77…
So after all those one night stands
You've ended up with heart in hand
A child alone
On your own
Retreating
Regretful for the things you're not
And all the things you haven't got
Without a home
A heart of stone
Lies bleeding
And for all the roads you followed
And for all you did not find
And for all the dreams you had to leave behind
I am the way
I am the light
I am the dark inside the night
I hear your hopes
I feel your dreams
And in the dark I hear your screams
Don't turn away
Just take my hand
And when you make your final stand
I'll be right there
I'll never leave
And all I ask of you
Believe
Your childhood eyes were so intense
While bartering your innocence
For bits of string
The grown-up wings
You needed
But when you had to add them up
You found that there were not enough
To get you in
Pay for sins repeated
And for all the years you borrowed
And for all the tears you hide
And for all the fears you had to keep inside
I am the way
I am the light
I am the dark inside the night
I hear your hopes
I feel your dreams
And in the dark
I hear your screams
Don't walk away
Just take my hand
And when you make your final stand
I'll be right there
I'll never leave
And all I ask of you is
Believe
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
I never wanted to go
I always wanted to stay
'Cause the persons I am
Are the parts that I play
So I plot and I plan
And I hope and I scheme
To the lure of a night
Filled with unfinished dreams
And I'm holding on tight
To a world gone astray
As they charge me for years
I can no longer pay
I am the way
I am the light
I am the dark
Inside the night
I hear your hopes
I feel your dreams
And in the dark
I hear your screams
Don't turn away
Just take my hand
And when you make your final stand
I'll be right there
I'll never leave
And all I ask of you
Believe
(Guess I will believe in everything, then.)
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Filth and Disgrace
2 min read
My nerves look like spidery webs. I snap. I feel ok and then I feel like Hell. One bad sentence, one wrong word and I break back to hatred, to that storming helplessness against everything in this life, and to rage. This feels somewhere between what blowing my brains out would be, and smashing every glass thing in this house. Riding the borderline!
My dreams tell me I'm going to make half the people in this world zombies. My dreams tell me to throw myself at people who don't want it. My dreams are about work, about home, about people getting mixed up in my head, starting as someone, and ending as someone completely different. I guess dreams to that but sometimes they still affect me too much and make me wanna do things that never would have crossed my mind.
I dreamt about the Fly (explained in "Venus Fly Trap") and then I felt compelled to read old journal entries and see just how bad things went from the first moment they started getting ruined and to the grim ending. Everything ends badly, sometimes it's hard to follow, no one really remembers all the details. Which is why, of course, these pages remember things for me, but it's still depressing. Just how much I've lost through the years.
Lately I've been having strong urges to smash everything around me and with some pretty coloured paint scribble across the walls, and mainly across my arms "Filth & Disgrace!".
I am painfully susceptible to feeling like my mind is exploding into sulfrous Hell-bits when I come into verbal contact with my parents, whether from the next room, or through ICQ. Filth & Disgrace! Filth & Disgrace! Filth & fucking Disgrace!
"And you still think that you are God
You are nothing more than a human sculpture
made of filth & Disgrace!"
(Human Sculpture/Shade Empire)
And on top on that the place where I work is filled with creepy psychos, starting with veritably paranoid people to the kind that talk to themselves on a regular basis. Almost makes me sorry I don't have actual voices in my head, too.
My dreams tell me I'm going to make half the people in this world zombies. My dreams tell me to throw myself at people who don't want it. My dreams are about work, about home, about people getting mixed up in my head, starting as someone, and ending as someone completely different. I guess dreams to that but sometimes they still affect me too much and make me wanna do things that never would have crossed my mind.
I dreamt about the Fly (explained in "Venus Fly Trap") and then I felt compelled to read old journal entries and see just how bad things went from the first moment they started getting ruined and to the grim ending. Everything ends badly, sometimes it's hard to follow, no one really remembers all the details. Which is why, of course, these pages remember things for me, but it's still depressing. Just how much I've lost through the years.
Lately I've been having strong urges to smash everything around me and with some pretty coloured paint scribble across the walls, and mainly across my arms "Filth & Disgrace!".
I am painfully susceptible to feeling like my mind is exploding into sulfrous Hell-bits when I come into verbal contact with my parents, whether from the next room, or through ICQ. Filth & Disgrace! Filth & Disgrace! Filth & fucking Disgrace!
"And you still think that you are God
You are nothing more than a human sculpture
made of filth & Disgrace!"
(Human Sculpture/Shade Empire)
And on top on that the place where I work is filled with creepy psychos, starting with veritably paranoid people to the kind that talk to themselves on a regular basis. Almost makes me sorry I don't have actual voices in my head, too.
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This Strange Sort of Life
3 min read
In a strange burst of conviction and greed I started sending out my resume to places through ads found on the net. Even more strangely I managed to be confident enough to walk into manpower agencies and have job interviews while not being a nervous wreck. I had exactly one and half real jobs in my life, one as a cashier at a supermarket, and a very part-time freelancer job as a translator in the courthouse of Beer Sheva. I have lived in Beer Sheva 20 years of my life, but tomorrow I am officialy a Tel Aviv resident. I got the job! I got my second real job, my first actually worthwhile job! As a typist in a lawyers' office, no mental activity actually required, but for a while, like hopefully half a year if not more this thing is going to fulfill my needs. I'll have money for Wacken, for tattoos, for corsets, for anything I should want. Since I can't drive I don't need a car, one less thing to worry about, food and I are not such good friends, the net connection is shady, but there, and stupid male pride will prevent me from paying the rent for a while.
So this is me. This is me in the real world. This is me being semi-independent. This is me making a huge step forward in my life. This is me moving in with a guy who is so dear to me, but I still am who I am and I am afraid of commitment and feelings. This is me having no idea what the Hell I'm doing or how it's gonna go. This is me leaving mama alone for the first real time. This is me not seeing my cat everyday. Not seeing the canary. Not having my computer yet for a while. This is me living the life of what comes after school, after the degree, after home. This is me the mental distance away from my two best friends who have known me for ten years. This is me away from other good friends that have been there for me when everybody else did nothing by fail and disappoint. This is the greatest distance after time - duty. Beer Sheva and Tel Aviv are only 1.5 hours away on a bus, but nothing is easy when you have other obligations. I really have no idea how it's going to go. But tomorrow, at 16.00 I will start working. And I suppose I'm terrified and things are still just sinking in.
I wish I didn't have to leave mama alone. I hope maybe being really alone will make her finally take her life in her hands and do something, find someone that is not another psychotic pet, however endearing our two darlings are. Mama is chronically uhappy, the cat is deranged, the canary has OCD and I am unstable.
But as from tomorrow I'm a working girl.
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