Nikita Kapernaumov - 2019: The most obsessive diary of a rejected Martin Eden in agony

One of the guy on the wall looks younger than me, even prettier, another man sits with his penis revealed and hanging, the uzbekistan has the nickname cunni, they all have nicknames, the one croaching is «straponer’, another just «psihushka» and all. all their photos make me feel nasty, i do not want to have anything to do with all this, i am intelligent, i read shakespeare and i like robert burns and want to tenderly caress a lassie in my youth, as do millions of men in the world. A lassie like the one i just now saw in the subway. Wanted to spoonfeed a lass with strawberries on a summer’s afternoon and playfully kiss her ruddy smiling cheeks. And yet i am here, is going to take place among these men as a terrorist-fillicide, which is even worse than what this guy straponer perhaps did, or that cunni, who is probably just a raper. I turn a couple of times to the wall behind me, or i watch the tv on the other wall, all trying to look like as if couldn’t care less, although to be honest i am caring as fuck, i do not want to go to any clinic, not today at any rate, not this year or this life.

The intelligent is typing the explanatory, some fussing with cables was before it, then i am just sitting now and then answering yes or no in as much neutral and not everwheingh intonation as possibe. Asks me something, i tell it’s all about trying to get some pity and thus maybe somebody would meet with me. Asks if any girl has agreed to after i had begun this activity. I lie one has (imaginign that 19yo one as if she had met with me after i had gun threatening). Asks «Fucked her?». i hadn’t expected such a rude phrase from the guy. But as they are men from the real life, they don’t hold sex as such a big matter and can talk on the subject quite easily. He adds «What, you hadn’t pressed her up?». I wanted to enter into a selfpitying explanation that i wanted merely to see a cunt and to hug, but i decide not to. Then he asks if i had a community on vk, i had, how was it called, and actually i say hochuobnimat. Sounds so angellically innocent in this room.

Asks how i got the account, kazahstan number i say i bought, 20 rubles. Asks why i wasn’t changing IP, i use the opportunity once again to lie that i didn’t think that i was doing anything unlawful. I also lie i’d written threats from my real account. Asks if id seen any «their clients» on the forums i’ve been to. I say no. I also at one moment put in the information about one girl from saratov with whom i’ve been having 7years of an interesting affair, and that while i do not threat anybody personaly, one guy a friend of hers did threat me.

I do not nevetheless believe that they are going to let me free, now he prints, i sign, ask whether can photo the paper, no i cant. Says for the last time, nikita, stop doing that okay? Okay. I feel i will be free soon. He does appear to belive, although i do not believe that he does. I think whether it is my acting’s merrit, or they in either case had intended to let me free ultimately and needed only to bait me to them to close the case. Asks if mum knows again, i say yes, but ask once more if he told her just the loan story. He seems honest and answers yes which is consquently sounds honest. At the stairway ask why then We are going along the exit corridor, i expect getting taken by the elbows from the sides every second, we are closing the door and he says wait a sec. I imagine they had called the ambulance and he is going to check with the video cams whether they’ve arrived outsude, i fucking panic, gin typing a sos sms to dad, but he returns and says as he opens the door, well, bye. I and my bloody pimple on the cheek bone are free and at large, i almost slip on a piece of shit, turn round a house, then the intelligent one calls, i’d forgot the passport. Return, take and go free again. But maybe the ambulace is due in the morning, next day. Don’t know. It’s of course a life full of stress, mine.

Went bought the strings at kolontay. Went home, saw many lassies.

Cut my hair today, guess by the finishing my first albums i will be in the right shape.

Ive of course had a very narrow escape. But as i said, maybe in a few hours, in the morning they will be knocking at my door and everything shall not have been quite finished. But i hope they wont, i really don’t feel like going to any clinic. I don’t want it so bad that i would ask dahsa or even the irina to help me escape it.

had the conversation with mum. Had had planned to tell her in full, to mention first eye and dasha, and complain and all, but as it goes with putting something into practice, i spoke in quite another intonation, quite another manner, an quite other things. Never once said anything bout dasha or even lassies. If anything, only about the planned filicide and terrorism, nothing more. Says trying to convince me «do you still not understand that i do not think you shizophrenic. But belive as you like». At one point she kind of asked to explain to me the difference between shizophrenia and neurorosenes, hinting so at the full story of my problems, i guess, but i was stubborn and said she wouldn’t understand. If pressed more i would have told more, i need pressing when talking on such subjects with mum. But she didn’t press so i spoke nothing of which i had so planned to tell.

I want to sleep bad as fuck. I’ll go. God how i want to have sex with a lassie, how i want a lassie, god, damn you.

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05 03 19 day – сон про доверености и скоттство, продрочился, все люди мне враги

Remembred all of them become silent and dull when on a bus. It’s like some tendency. Lynx, the pedofile, the girl i kissed. ( – я имел ввиду целуйтаня, таня-рыс и педофил они все замолкали и типа не смотрели даже в мою сторону когда мы ехали в автобусах – )

Had a dream, another leader has poped up in the ugra business, was gathering PoAs to be a representative of us fools at asv meetings, met with him at chapayeva/moscovskaya in saratov, he was writting much of text in his posts on his communities, like as if it’s i would write (i always write lenghty posts), and when we met him in person he was speakking good scots english, and he used words like «ilka’ ( – every – ), i tried to get closer to him to get aqcauinted more intimately, tried to hint to him at my also deep interests in scots, but he was the optimistic type, like everybody whom i’ve felt link-minded in reality, they are always optimistic and their getting to all these weirdo interests was more natural than mine, mine was always artifical, mine was always about showing off and, ultimately analyzing, trying to get girl’s attention. His wasn’t, he was just speakig scots, someway had picked it up, without particular goals, that’s all. he was like that man artyom ( – я уже не помню кто это – ), and he, according to my feel of him in the dream, also like these idiotic dogs and all. not my type.

Masturbated after yesterday’s abstinence. Shit wouldn’t stop, so to hell with it, gan fucking a plastic bag, got all sweaty, couldn’t come too long. The prick wouldn’t keep on being hard when fucking the normal way. And of course now, and even when having fucked, became all depressed for my being old, not like that 11yo lad when i lay on mums bed and was imagining being fucked by that experienced 13yo red haired juliet from our section in the house. Youth’s passed. Even maccrimons lament text which i remade now is not relevant anymore. I say in it youth’s passing, whereas it’s already passed.

Yes, i take people as enemies. They want me to think rationally, for there is no evidence that strange people are enemies, so no reason to take them so. And yet i take them so. Why. Because my psychology has formed so. I think rationally. But my psychology, all the tendencies of my psychologies think otherwise. I should come to feeling people not enemies through experience. But nobody gives me such experience. I can come to feel sex not a horrible thing only through experience. But nobody gives it to me. They fucking do not give me the means to arrive at the result they want me to be at. They just fucking want me to get the result they want me to without anything. Just so. Fuck them. They want too much.

Damn, maybe she’s stopped answering me because i had added elliot rodger’s videos to alexey petrovich then. Maybe it’s about that.

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09 03 19 night – про югру вспомнил

The Ugra business was, after all, about my being fooled. I had been wearied of endless running between banks always worrying not to over limit 1400, and always seeing how others risk and get profit, and i was undervaluing with my money, the fucking inflation. Decided to do as everyone did, just for once. That’s that. No point denying. I hoped and risked as others for once and was fooled.

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10 03 19 noon – даша не спит, я темболе, песни дерьмово звучат

Dasha is not sleeping till early in the morning. Now has 295 friends which is one less compared to a few days ago. I think I’m going to compare somehow her actual friend list with previous ones, which i saved. Maybe new and lost friends will tell something to me, i mean their location for instance. Maybe she lives in spb.

My sleeping is a mess. Took a pill yesteday slept 12 hours, but all the night this last sat sleeping in the chair, hardly able to work. Forby that, and most important, i got depressed in the night and now it’s only worse. The thing is i watched fucking youtube videos and read articles on sound mixing and listened to samples, and i just fucking hate what i am making. My sound is complete shit. Applying such a mixing to my songs i sponch all the work i’ve done. Tried to fucking install all those prgrams but i just fucking can’t they do not work, this fucking guitar rig. It wont work dammit. And i fuckign hate it all.

At the beggining of everything i do everything just right, just as the instruction says. Take a sound program. Everything goes fine, i do according to the instruction. But then there happens some fucking nuance which prevents me from doing according to the instruction. It may be some error, just like that, i sit working and then a fucking error. i solve it somewhow (now there is no instruction) and proceed to work accroding to the instruction. But then i see i cannot do it so, because of that error and the way i solved it. Thus i begin to act on my own, according to no instruction. And thus i end up bbeing what i am. And why that fucking error happned in the first place? Because, dammit, i previously had done something not in accordance with the way i should have done, for instance i’d bought the programm at a gorbushka, something i shouldnt have done. It all begins at the very earliest. And why had i gone to the fucking gorbushka? Because i have no means to get legal soft. Why i had no means to get legal soft..and so on. It’s the fucking chain of events, the fucking chain of chance.

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11 03 19 early morn – ненавижу какими получаются песни, сильное страдание по даше

Had a severe fit of the desire of dasha. To gin with, hadn’t slept for 24 hours yesterday, went to sleep at 23 yesterday. As i was going to sleep i was severely frustrated by the fucking fawytg song, which is a hopeless disaster. For i’d hoped that a harmony line will mend the intro solo, but i tried yesterday and it failed, the last fucking hope. I have to leave it as it is, and so i decided and this i was thinking as i was going to bed, i am to leave everything as it is, even the fucking line in ipprv «peace of my heart tae gain», which is idiotic and a cliche, but i just can’t afford to spend years on composing a few fucking songs. Nobody will listen to the songs at all, let alone read and think on the lyrics. Mine is a musical project, and although it has conceptual lyrics, it is conceptual as the whole, it is the whole conceptuality which does the thing. The collective idea of all the songs on an album. Not these tiniest fucking nuances of each particular song. And they too of course, but i mean whether i leave that line or substitute it with something more meaningful, it wouldn’t matter much, the concept will remain the same. I also was and am frustrated over my now perceivably failing vision, and me spending it on the fucking songs which i mostly do not like. And then i thought as i was going to close the window to on the balcony, that i just have to do it and then there shall be peace, i shall end it all, it’s all getting boring and stupid, living like this and suffering all this. It’s all not hopeless after all, as long as i can kill and can die. So, in a few, although i was frustrated, but felt more or less pacified as i went to sleep. Sleep i didn’t much. Already at about 1 o clock i awoke by a strong desire to fuck me in my ass with my toy. The salive in the mouth at this stage of sleep turned out to be particulary slimy, so i got up, took the toy and fucking fucked me right and there without any spreading of plastic bags. Was lucky, had no shit except a wee bit on the tip of the toy. So washed and went to sleep again. Then i awoke at about 5 from thirst. Gan thinking on dasha. Gan fucking crying and stroking the air. She is the collective image, a composition of all the girls i ever liked and the things pertaining to the most interesting aspects of woman. But chiefly, I’m thinking of late, she has in herself much of Anya, that girl my neighbour at frunze. That ellusive, intelligent, and just a wee bit haughty type of girl. Damn how would i love to just be in her presence. fuck. And if i could only touch her and make her kind to me, make her look smilingly on me. life would be worth living. Just to stroke her head, her cheek and so not get any angry look from her, but instead a kind, warm and smiling look. I lay for 1.5 hours like this. Was crying as aye would i think again on how to write to her, what to write, how to persuade. I’ve used every means to persuade her to talk to me. At the end i was even imagining get myself paralyzed only to maybe thus would she stop being affraid of me, if she be so now, and maybe would visit me as i lay bedfast. And suppose she is not what i imagine her? i would have gotten paralyzed for a girl i didn’t really like. Yes, it’s all stupid, it’s all a mess. To be loving a girl whom I’ve even never spoken with. But what remains? I have nothing more. She’s the only one i was interested in in my youth, i so wanted to get more closely acqainted with her. to learn, to know her. to explore. I would have been able to explore her even by just watching her at various situations, not even exactly having to speak to her. only i shouldv been in her company, among all those people, who i have nothing in common with. I’ve been lately cursing my interests, all this my interest in idiotic music. yesterday watched a video with this guy glen flicker or somthing, who is a sound engineer, he doesn’t have a chin just like the last bass player in death, and it reminded me of death once again, about the band i mean, and their concert which i bought on dvd and would watch often as i would get home for a weekend exactly 12 years ago. This their song with the word «flesh» in its title, it has a couple of chords which is similar to these mine in dgpzsp, and as i was recorded it the other day i was hardly able to stand it. It reminded me of that time, brought me back there, there to michurina street, to this part of michurina street near rahova, up which i walked to the gorbushka, and bought, as i remember, the idiotic band vommitory that day and went on a bus home to zavodskoy. That time, those streets, that snow, that fucking feel of everything yet to happen. Bolshaya kazachya, dasha probably having passed by me dozens of times in those streets and at all those crossroads. I was so close. That’s so fucking precious time to me.