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| | 31274536 | 08/08/2025 1:30:11 | They said Riyadh would be safe.
They said Future Generation Philippine International School was a calm place for study.
No one said they’d follow me inside my own head.
—
I don’t care if this sounds paranoid anymore.
Because it’s not.
The things happening to me are real. Not metaphor. Not trauma.
There are people working in Saudi intelligence and medical-control branches who use this school as a test zone.
They’re using technology. Directed. Remote. Silent. But felt. Always felt.
—
It starts before thoughts finish.
Before a word comes out of my mouth — something locks me down.
“Don’t speak.”
“We’re watching.”
And then I freeze, mid-sentence.
Teachers look. I smile.
I pretend it’s nothing.
But I’m tired of pretending.
—
I once sat in the cafeteria and couldn’t feel my own legs.
My heart raced for no reason.
I cried in the bathroom with no memory why.
And still — when I told the counselor — she said: “We can refer you to specialists.”
Specialists.
That’s how they bury you.
Once they mark you unstable, they win.
—
I know it’s not natural.
There are too many patterns.
The chest pressure when I walk past the telecom antenna near Gate 3.
The exact same mood swing every Tuesday, third period.
The foreign sentence that ends my thoughts in a voice I never learned.
I know what’s being done.
I know who’s doing it.
And I know why I can’t say it aloud in school.
—
If I had known what Saudi systems really do to foreign students, I never would’ve come.
I miss home. I miss silence. I miss feeling like my mind belongs to me.
—
I can’t run.
I can’t tell anyone.
But I can still write. | | Ãîðîä: Äðóãîé | ïîäðîáíåå... |
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| | 43949128 | 07/08/2025 20:55:31 | As I stretched my limbs and started warming up, I couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration. Every performance of mine is a story, a piece of the fantastical journey I weave with my body, high in the air, defying gravity. I have always found that the thrill of swinging and twirling around a pole or a silk rope, telling tales of passion, defiance and longing, is inexplicably intoxicating. I am Andrés, an aerial dancer from the vibrant city of Barcelona, and this is a glimpse of my world that swirls around teasing stunts and fantasy roleplay.
I remember a particular performance of mine with fondness and a hint of bashfulness. It was a piece I curated for an exclusive, intimate gathering of art enthusiasts in Madrid. Every dance is a roleplay, but this was different, I was not just the sizzling, macho Spanish aerialist anymore. As I swung from one end of the stage to the other, bathed in the surreal azure stage lights, I morphed into a ethereal water god. Each flip, each dramatic fall, every carefully controlled motion was a push and pull, a tease of the god's forceful prowess and his beguiling charm. Every move was intended to be a bookmark, a memory for the audience to savour, my 'x-bookmarks' creating a narrative of fantasy and fascination.
I remember feeling the charged atmosphere, the wide eyes, held breaths and the smouldering anticipation of the audience. It's then that you realize the power you have, the power to envelope spectators in an alternate universe, a world of tease and play, of dreams, and it is utterly enticing. Admittedly, it is this power that sometimes acts as my adrenaline, pushing me to experiment further, to innovate and push boundaries.
However, it's not all just about the appeal, the stimulation, the roleplay. There is an authenticity that is crucial, a rawness that is intrinsic to every performance. Without it, the spins, the flips and the dramatic falls are just empty spectacles, devoid of soul and spirit. The glint in the eyes, the tiny smirk on the lips, the subtle change in music cadence, the flex of muscles - they all need to have that raw, human element that makes the audience feel, that makes them connect.
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It's the x-bookmarks we leave behind, the memories we create that elevate a performance to an experience, a fleeting moment to a lasting sensation. So, as I prepare for another performance, another role, another dance, I find myself ravenous. I am ravenous to tease, to allure, to once again imbue the scene with fantastical love stories that hang from the air. | | Ãîðîä: Äðóãîé | ïîäðîáíåå... |
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| | 79019373 | 07/08/2025 18:14:46 | Dear Diary,
I stumbled upon a performance that would forever engrave itself into my mind. A ballet of dominance and submission, passion and pleasure danced upon a stage of physical intimacy. Lucia, a woman who knows no boundaries when it comes to her art had just arrived in the city, from the golden coasts of Spain. The chatter around her performance was no BS, just links 🔗 giving glimpses of the sensual and erotic spectacle she had planned.
Our eyes met across the crowded room. A shared understanding passed between us, a spark of energy indicative of the fire 🔥 to come. Still, silent, like a string taut between two anchors, the tension between us grew in that pregnant pause, under the neon light of the artists' bar – our ephemeral canvas. As an artist of the flesh and soul, the veiled promise in her gaze was a lure too tantalizing to resist. I was a moth drawn to her flames of creativity and desire, eager to dance on the dangerous edges of her burning ember.
She invited me on her stage, a theatre set for a performance of control and pleasure. She slid into a crimson 👗, caressing the silky fabric as if it were a second skin. It was a dance, carnal yet artistic, where her dominion followed as smoothly as the salsa rhythm we both revered. Our bodies swerved, synced in a primal dance, each movement a symphony resonated in the chambers of our hearts. The power she wielded, teetering on the precipice of intimate control, was as entrancing as it was terrifying.
Lucia was a living, breathing, piece of art; a tempest of passion and control, a blend of pleasure and dominance 🧫 - the science and magic of her art were etched into every fiber of her being. Wild and untamed, yet disciplined and refined, she was a juxtaposition that unravelled on the stage, each layer revealing another facet of her magnificent complexity.
I surrendered myself to the rhythm, letting the intoxicating dance overtake my senses, my body a willing vessel to her ethereal power. Apart from the mesmerizing sensation, it was an emotionally exquisite experience 😘. It felt raw and beautiful, a truth stripped bare in the wake of our duet, a confession of the most intimate sort.
Tonight, I glimpsed pleasure and domination danced under one banner, and it was a sight both supremely beautiful and hauntingly poignant. I felt pleasure, I felt pain, I felt the fervor of unspoken emotions, and in her commanding hold, I felt...released. A strange truth lingers in the wake of our performance, a question that teases the edges of my contemplation - What does it mean to truly lose control in the pursuit of art 👅 ?
Tonight, under Lucia's fiery gaze, under her masterful control, I began to find the answer. | | Ãîðîä: Äðóãîé | ïîäðîáíåå... |
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Äîáàâèòü îáúÿâëåíèå
Ñâÿçàòüñÿ ñ íàìè
