Ten Years

[Guest guest]

Cannot imagine living.

 

In Œ94 I thought I was unhappy with my marriage. I set out to find a new

wife.

 

Biggest mistake I ever made.

 

I started crying in the first month living alone when I realized woman did

not respond to me thought they always looked at me.

 

It¹s still that way.

 

Be happy first yourself people say. Can¹t.

 

Crying still, ten years on. I saw it in my Saturn Dasha, which by my calcs

(Parallax on) is over. I¹m in Mercury. But I still cry daily.

 

I¹m wired to be loved. Can¹t live without ³the other² as seventh lord

resides inside me, in the first.

 

No will to do anything anymore. I tried so hard to ³serve God and the

world².

 

I don¹t believe in God anymore. It¹s all a bunch of words, pomp, so called

³faith² which is just stupidity, wishful thinking. There is no personal God.

 

Many genius¹s have come, done wonders, not been loved, and killed

themselves. Would it have been so hard for some woman whom Van Gough liked

to be with him? What about ALL the other HUNDREDS of manic genius¹s who

killed themselves because they were misunderstood and unloved therefore.

 

I can do much more, but I don¹t want to. If nobody whom I love is going to

love me, what¹s the point. I cann¹t live on and on and on just working hard

and feeling so isolated and alone. I know some have tried to love me. But I

have to feel it too. I have to be attracted and respect them and love them

in return. I can¹t find this. I don¹t want to live. I just cry and cry and

cry.

 

Study that if you want to.

 

Blair Lewis told me about ³After the ecstasy, the Laundry², a book about

exalted people who have real downs too. I¹m one of them. I can barely take

these downs, er, uh, I mean, my nearly ever moment. I walk in constant

awareness that I am not in love. CONSTANT. It doesn¹t leave me. Is it 7th

lord in the first?

 

I love life. I love the world. I love art, astrology, the creation, animals,

people, but I must have a wife I love. I must. I cannot be alone like this

always.

 

I want to make plans to move Americans into better cities to stop the fuel

consumption, and pollution, teach them to be peaceful, do arts, stop the

society which is so wasteful. Then, lets end wars, have a REAL ³U.N.².

 

Ending war means plenty of effort and money for education. That¹s the ticket

to a good earth.

 

I want to make many paintings. Music. Astrology software. Everything.

 

I want to live.

 

Not cry.

 

But not, I only just cry.

 

Shieze.

 

Study that. Study that Moon afflicted by Ketu and Saturn in Kumba is DEADLY.

 

GOT THAT?!

 

I see God, but through TEARS.

 

I see heaven, but through tears.

 

I see forever, but through tears.

 

I see my life, through death.

 

I feel like Nero. What an artist the world is losing today.

 

That¹s how I feel.

 

A stab in the neck (Nero) is like Ketu on moon or Lagna, which I have

(Moon).

 

I can so relate. Except the asshole OK¹d the slaughter of the Druids by

Suitonius in britain (asshole). Whatever, you really can¹t argue with 2000

years old history can you.

 

If you don¹t understand this, you don¹t know enough astrology, me, Celtic

history, and I can¹t care cuzz I¹m writing to make myself feel like I¹m with

people even though I¹m not.

 

Damn tears. How many more years. Damn woman who think a man must be ³self

winding and just fine² before he¹s loveable. Damn me for not being

attracted and in love with the few who do love me faithfully on and on

despite the fact that I don¹t reciprocate with them for want of returned

attraction and love.

 

The best brains are wasted in suicide for want of being understood and

loved.

 

And the world goes on in it¹s stupidity the next day, while burying a wasted

wonderful brain and heart. Hundreds. There¹s lists of them on the web.

So many great authors, musicians, everything, you name it, look it up, it¹s

such a waste.

 

Lord Byron wrote it too, that ³only you can save me² (the love he sought).

 

I so agree. I so know. I so understand.

 

I would probably be better off back in monastery. 1800 years ago when I was

a monk on the west coast of Ireland, we would sit on the rocks in the

pounding rain and myst, praying, together, across the rocky face, in woolen

robes soaked wet, tolerating it all, till our fires were nearly out, then we

would replenish, and go for more, praying to God on the edge on Europe. At

least that is huge. At least that is something extreme. At least it engaged

the fire of passion. I didn¹t sit around waiting for some village Celtic

chick to realize I was worth loving. I just gave myself to that God that

doesn¹t exist.

 

In time we would die, get killed, or whatever. It¹s all just about mental

and physical survival and pushing forward the envelope of understanding and

science. Thousands before that I was a Druid, who could float off the groud

to travel. The brown people, Firbold, were our people, and we just taught

them many things. Always giving, giving, giving, giving, it never ends.

 

In this life, Hare Krishna, I worked so hard. So very hard. Nothing came,

but a good wife, that I left because I thought I could do better. What a

stupid mistake. But now I can¹t stand that sitting around and chanting the

name of a God that never responds, doesn¹t exist, and is just another dream

to occupy our minds.

 

Can you believe that idiot Henry the 8th destroyed so much good stuff? The

fool had his idiots burn all the ancient relics in Ireland. If it were¹t

for him we¹d still have strange things like the heads of ancient leaders, or

art objects made thousands of years ago. Always burning and clearing, these

fools. Never cherishing the fine and good. Thank intelligence for modern

museums.

 

Well, I¹m out of words. I¹ve harmed myself in the public eye enough for

one evening. I¹m prepared for this to be ignored as it always is, as I

always am. Another night alone in pain, wondering ³what the *uck am I

doing².

 

Pain. Pain. Pain. 10 years of it. Ten years of crying. Ten years of

hoping, wishing, wanting, not getting, ten years of extreme Saturn and Ketu.

Ten years. How much can a person handle? Jesus preached for 3 and died in

a couple. That¹s NOTHING. People in wheel chairs suffer more than that

guy.

 

Year after year of pain will make you write like this too. And if not, then

it¹s not as deep. It has to be deep. DEEP PAIN. Constant crying. Hurt.

 

 

 

 

Whatever

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ree MacQuoid

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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