Who the fuck do you think you are?

You deceive, cheat and lie
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You act as if you own the sky

So who the fuck do you think you are?

You scream, shout and cry
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You do and then deny
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You excel at being sly
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You meet your troubles with a sigh
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You are scared least you die
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You think you are big, while you are a small fry
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You mourn blood spilt, when red is your only dye
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You get hated and wonder why
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You say you are ashamed and still you try
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You say the words to justify
So who the fuck do you think you are?
You love self and think morals are high
So who the fuck do you think you are?
…
You are man…
That is who you are

Toxic

Offensive conjectures, the offering of a twisted mind, they surround us, murdering our spirit and nourishing our decay. Yet we welcome them, we welcome them all. We welcome them as they have welcomed us before. We welcome them because we must…

We are the reapers, gathering the toil of others. We are the horrid monsters that look back from your mirror. We are the magic makers, the spell enchanters, cursing you till the end of days.

We are the yoke of humanity, the chains around your neck. Deny us not our right to consume your soul. Deny us not, least you deny yourself.

They met on the golden shores of where-they said- was paradise. They ate crab legs and drank sea water. They spent their days counting the tiny grains of sand, and their nights counting the sparkling stars. They walked back and forth, hand in hand; they walked and never looked back. They spoke about nothing and everything; they spoke because they feared the silence.

The time was busy as usual, it hurried along and nobody could catch up with it. And people called but to no vain! The time was busy, yes indeed. Then one day while running to its chores, the time fell in love with a young and charming space. They stayed in each others company and forgot about the worries of the world. Until in the end, time was running short, and there was no more space.

Speak gently, whisper even, or else he might awaken. Dance on the tips of your toes, dance on the fragile tunes of silent music. Sing songs of joyful remembrance; sing while your frail limps shake from absolute terror. Caress his beautiful face in loving affection; caress the curves to remove their harshness. Drink from the cup of misery; drink without voicing a complaint.

The road that must end

The voices of the old, worn tires on the pavement speak for us, declaring that we cannot bare the load anymore.
The images from the dim, grey road portray us, showing the state of our demise.
The thick, black fumes clouding our judgment, existing because we produce them, are there to suffocate us.
The dark, deep holes in our path, do more than just cripple us, they are there to swallow us whole or deliver us to the next one.
The intense, reflected light from the mirror, it blinds our vision and leaves us impaired.
The high pitched, loud squeal of the brakes cries for us, voicing our pain and anguish.
The small, uninteresting numbers that grow with each step, they mark our journey and signal that sooner or later it is bound to run out of digits.
The sudden, impulsive turning of the wheel exposes us, reminding us of our fragility.
The unending, hungry chaos represents us, standing for our greed and indifference.
The irritating, repetitive horns, annoying to all but us, prove our vulgarity.

EX

Project #: 186452B

Medical ID #: 44378

Personnel #: 284

Type: Highly Classified

DNA Fracture tests indicate a strong tendency of the sap molecules to disintegrate under elevated temperatures (tests conducted at 45-50 C, “sapintg.doc” could be viewed for more info.)

80% of Samples started showing deep-core symptoms after 45 min. exposure. 100% of samples experienced complete breakdown after 57 min. exposure*(This rather supports the theory that last trial’s resiliency figures were unfounded)

At least 70 to 80 % of Standard regulatory nerve functions were damaged during the high-v phase of the tests.

Samples’ ability to achieve high level neural connection reached 100% synchronization ratio at 40G batched dosage.*( taking these values into account, the BVN board should consider revising the dispersion factor presented by the SiG department.)

Deformations were minimal in samples from D category, affected by stronger bone structure/composition.

Comments

1. Mortality rate: 100%

2. Outsourcing magnetic induction equipment should be considered, as the batch-run cost of operation is out of target center line by a huge offset.

3. Information concerning samples’ body function during the trial period could be found in the attachment.

4. Decreasing sample size might impact result accuracy, calibration might be required.

Recommendations:

Terminate phase II as of next rotation.

Deploy buffer relief program before commencing phase III.

Ci sono centi modi per morire

Driving into the dark void that engulfed the traffic-less road, the bends dangerously steep and narrow, there stood a tall figure shrouded in shadows. A figure resembling in shape the form of a tree, a humanoid tree, its crooked limbs falling ideally to the road. The man in the car had no time to slow down before hitting the tree shaped figure standing in the middle of the road, he chose instead to drive off the cliff and fly into the night, shouting “GERANAMO!!” as the car was diving head first into the rocky terrain below, and then just before actually hitting the ground he spoke softly and said one word only… “rosebud” he said. The tree-figure, watching all this from above, stood still for a moment, as if thinking, its poster conveying absolute wisdom, and then pursed out laughing, hysterical laughter that no doubt would have driven anybody off the cliff to escape from it. And then just as abruptly as it started, it stopped laughing and walked back towards the roadside, where another slightly smaller tree-figure was waiting for it. “Let’s grab a burger” it said to the smaller figure. They both gave their backs to the concrete road…. only their backs looked strikingly similar to their fronts.

A week earlier, a woman was screaming… she was screaming into the phone, asking it to kiss her ass, and then she slammed it down when the phone refused to do as she said. She took 17 pills from a drawer beside her bed, and slept. She didn’t wake up when her sister knocked on her door 2 hours later, and she didn’t wake up when her baby started crying after waking up from the noise… she didn’t wake up ever. On her grave is written this one word “choiCe” with a capital “C”

At the same exact moment that the woman was slamming the phone, a man was smiling…. He was smiling a big smile, a smile so big that his mouth was stretched from ear to ear. He had been smiling for almost half an hour, he will continue to smile for another 33 minutes and then he will pull a gun from under his t-shirt which has a big “bite me” written in gold font on the front of it, and he will shoot his brains out. Just before pulling the trigger he will say between his teeth as he is smiling: “snowball”

Understandingly enough, the three kids screamed when they saw a man falling from the ten storey building, and then they started crying, their cries only interrupting the screaming for small intervals. This no doubt added to the gravity of the situation, this and the siren of the car he fell on that started making a loud sound as the people stood motionless, watching the corpse of the man who seconds ago was calmly sipping his tea with his best friend. No one standing in the street knew this of course, they also had no idea that the man was a successful businessman or that he had recently suffered from a terrible loss.

The waiter suddenly lifted his eyes from the yellow notepad that he was writing so vigorously in. he looked into the eyes of the man sitting in front of him. He was wearing an expensive looking black suite and a shiny silver tie. The waiter stood speechless for a bit and then he asked the man if he wanted anything else. The man gave him a weird look, but that was only understandable, he was stuttering and he doubted the man understood any of what he said. You should be more careful next time he thought to himself. He walked away from the table and headed for the counter, watching people sitting and mostly talking in the busy café, all are potential stories he spoke in low tones, he gave the order to the other guy (he couldn’t remember his name), verbally, since he had nothing written in the yellow pad but what wasn’t really useful for making an order. He had gathered four stories, not bad for a day’s work, he could try working one more, but he was tired and he already had enough to write on, he was content.
He had the stories alright, he just had to connect them together, but that was easy, someone of his caliber could link them easy, he already had an idea how this would work: The smiling man was blackmailing the woman, not exactly blackmailing her, but driving her crazy mostly, driving her as crazy as he was. He did this until the woman toke 17 sleeping pills and then he blew his brains out, her husband; a rich businessman, went to speak with his best friend just after his wife died. He told him that he felt she was hiding something from him and that this was the reason she toke the 17 sleeping pills, he told his friend this and then he left, but instead of taking the door, he toke the balcony. His friend, after seeing him drop ten stories and his blood spluttered all over the car he fell on, thought about what he said, about what his wife was hiding, and he at that moment, not knowing the story of the smiling man, thought that he was the reason that his best friend and his wife are now dead. A week later, at Halloween, a drunk was standing in the middle of the road, wearing a costume that anyone seeing from far would think that it resembles a tree, but in truth was only a random costume made of rags and long shredded sleeves. A car came by and its driver, drunk from his own guilt, drove of the cliff and died.
Perfect, it was perfect, just needed to tweak a few things and it would be ready. He was a total genius, he knew this fact very well. Yes, he was just some waiter in a café, and not a good one at that, but he knew how to write, this day was a good example, he found out four characters while working. People looked at him as if he didn’t understand a lot of things, but there was more to him than the simple waiter uniform. He spoke 4 languages fluently, he had a bachelor degree, and he read more books than all of the people in the café combined. The job had a shitty pay, but it was decent enough when it came to digging up new stories. He was a master at doing just that, he would stand in front of his potential character, and he would look him in the eye while he is thinking about his order ,and then he would know if he had a story or not, and he would write it down on his small yellow pad. It all looked like he was innocently taking his order, while in truth he was deciding his fate. The man in the suite is a good example, he was sitting there calmly drinking his coffee. Little did he know that, on the yellow pad, he was covering all ten floors in free fall. Although he knew his limitations, as Tolstoy said: he is not the river… he is the net. And for some reason he had to look people in the eye to fish out their story. He was the ultimate performer and he was getting ready for his final act. After writing the next few lines, he was going to get up on a chair and hang his head on the rope dangling from the ceiling of his small 3x4 room. And before jumping of the chair he will say only one word: “Swing”

Ci Sono Cose Che Nessuno Ti Dira'

This seemed like just another setup, people are unique, yeah, sure… but when you are low on the rest hours the faces take these oddly similar characteristics, the same goes when you are drunk…. I think.
They say 60% of stress in adults is work related, that's probably a load of crap if you think about it…. It's ok to suck at work, but it would be unthinkable to have a shitty time at home… oh, no, that essentially means you have no way out.
The first thing you feel is you feel angry, you feel angry when people don't act the way they are supposed to. Then you remember something about different perspectives and it slips by, just this once. It doesn't really slip, you know, it is just labeled water under the bridge, so you can move on… get things done.
Other times you might feel good about someone, just an irrational feeling because they remind you of a figure from the past, or because the image somehow conforms to what ticks inside… it is just an illusion of course, we all know that, there is no actual synchronization, there couldn't be. You could deny it, call it an 'emotion' if you like, but no matter what you think of it… it won't fly for long.
This raises a question, what do you do when you meet someone for the first time?
What are you thinking while shaking that hand, other than it's got a firm grip?
This probably goes beyond different characters, trespasses cultures and ignores rank; you meet someone and start thinking
"What's in it for me?"
"How will this person help me?"
"Will he give me happiness?"
"Will he give me money?"
"Will he give me status?"
"Will he make me feel good?"
You notice his clothes, you notice how he carries himself, you notice how he speaks and you notice his hairdo, you notice a bunch of useless things and then you try to answer the questions that keep bugging you… "Will he?"… "Really?"
Then they end up being, or not being your friend. After all, what is a friend really other than someone you can't risk telling everything to? And what's a stranger other than someone you expect nothing from?
hidden meanings buried deep into the psyche, not meant to be on the front page of your daily crap paper... cover your eyes folks, and run screaming while you are at it.
that is most definitely more prudent than dancing on the edge of a razor sharp sword, and it is probably more prudent than trying to find your way.
yet... Who will show us a path… any path? Who will slay our fictional deities?
who will be our hero? even if just for once?

****

*'* *****' ******' *****!

Slay Your Fictional Deities

insomnia... such a disturbing word, ominous and threatening. sounds like the name of a disease, definitely a sickness or simply a state of being.
when you don't sleep the world is a blur, actions are far away and uninteresting, like living in a dream, there might be some irony in the fact that you are dreaming even while you are not sleeping, call it daydreaming, only it's different than daydreaming, more detached.
i have tried multiplying 20 x 10, i'm very good with numbers... it took me about 6, 7 seconds to figure out that the answer is 200. i have never had trouble sleeping.
when people died, i slept
when i had problems, i slept
when i had things to worry about, i slept
when i had people to worry about, i slept
and even when i was undecided... i still slept.

but things change i guess, the world does not stand still, stagnation is just another word for death.
maybe death is not so bad, it contrasts life like a black dot on an endless white background. but even as life carries the seeds of death, could death somehow carry the will of life? could it somehow possess all the havoc that is essential , or is a result for all that matters, of huh...life?
it could and more i suppose... it could and more, but who could say for sure?
they say the dead tell no tales, but what if they came back, will they tell?
well, all i know is that death tells you to slay your fictional deities, and life holds on to them as a cub holds to its mother. their struggle is as unending and as deep as the chasm that extends between good and evil.

Mad At Gravity

In the past I wanted to be this new member in a team of really hot self centered egoistic jerks that look down on me for being the new kid on the block or taking the holy place of their dead friend or whatever, and they would treat me like crap and all, until I show them how cool I really am and maybe save someone's ass in the process, and then they would be like: "woow this guy is awesome" and I'd give them a "you gave me nothing but shit all these past whatever… but I'm gonna be cool with you guys cuz I'm better than the whole bunch of you faggots" look, and then we'd be friends for life, you know?

I also wanted to be an astronaut, they always looked smashing in their white puffy space suites and their heads held up high and on their shoulders resting the monumental duty towards mankind which I never fully understood, and their extraordinary abilities which I can't quite remember at the moment, and their unending fame, mmm…Armstrong? to name a few.
Plus they get to leave this giant ball of dirt that we are all sticking on and give gravity a nice weightless finger.
Then it came to me, have you ever thought about how astronauts take a dump?...
Well, I have… and let me tell ya, it kept me up nights at a time, and no matter which way you think about it, it can't be pretty. They actually strap you into the toilet seat and then they turn the vacuum on. The brave spacemen have to deal with more than just having a 2x2 living room for 6 months, they have to get their ass vacuumed and then wipe in zero gravity, can you imagine how risky that is?... So I just said "thx, but no thx… good luck with you all folks" and placed a big "X" on Gagarin's picture on the refrigerator.

And I'm totally over all that now.

You grow up thinking life is all hippie and cool, then shit happens and your turtle gets killed by your best friend and your pants get torn at school or you forget your zipper open, and that's it…. Life sucks and you move on.

Mushy

Doesn't life ever get tired…. tired of being Meaningless? just for a little bit.
I'm trying to get over this dilemma, wishing for the power to act but lacking the will to act.
Power hungry, overly sympathetic or just bored?
If I'm to survive, I must bury one of them… I must ignore the pain that is sure to follow and I must bury one of them, I have to.
I'm good at ignoring pain anyway.
I'm still immature, I act as though I'm fearless, yet I hide behind my system, A system I developed over the years, it's not fool proof, but it's good enough, it mainly works because it discourages… an archaic form of deception.
Why do I hide if I'm not afraid? To be alone I said before… questioning; avoiding company because of dislike or because of fear?
I'm Diminishing every single second, I count them as they go by, it passes the time, it literally does. It's called countdown, only I count as I fall.
I'm self conscious as I write, I said the first-person singular pronoun in every single sentence, this could only mean one of two things; either I'm telling things about myself or I'm whining… and I know I'm not telling anything.

Prelude To Chocolate Pudding

You wake up… you are breathing heavily and you are drenched in cold sweat. You ignore the lump forming in your throat, you ignore your dry mouth that must smell like a herd of dead elephants… you ignore it all.

Mrs. Evon, my 5th grade English teacher, used to say that you dream about two things only; things that you want, and things that you fear.
Well, I'm sure Mrs. Evon must be long into her grave by now, but what if both were the same thing, what if both were just two faces to the same coin?

So I get to choose to flip the coin and see my trip to the house of horrors, only in frames that flip too fast for me to understand it all. I take a glimpse at my turning fate and convince myself that I've seen enough, because when you really think about it, maybe I even saw too much.
I wait till it hits rock bottom, listening to my thudding heart and observing as the coin becomes one with the ground in sickening slow motion.

People are a lot of things; people are mammals, people are doctors and 5th grade teachers, people are doormen that sit all day long lost in oblivion, but mostly people are consumers.
People are consumers because they want what they fear, and they fear what they want.
Ok, so they call it insecurity…. I call it pudding, white fluffy pudding, sweet soft pudding of the needy soul, that's what I call it. Pudding can be used to make a cake or it can be used to make cinnamon rolls, that's how different we all are.

Fine, forget about the pudding, pudding can be messy. Lets talk about your secret dreams, your juicy stash of dirty little secrets, I bet they involve pudding too, or cinnamon rolls at least, I can tell about these things.
Mine had a lot of snickers, mars-bars, and M&Ms in them…. Oh, well, not "a lot" of M&Ms, too much M&Ms and you feel gassy.

Fear has a smell to it, I'm sure I heard someone talk about this before. People have always used scents to either mask their body odour or to express and emphasize their moods or appearance. And fear, well… Fear arises in stressful situations that are subjectively perceived as threatening. Research goes back to the 1940s about fish using alarm pheromones to inform other fish of stress or fear, that's how fish are really… smelly. Yet to this day all they came up with is a "hypothetical fear pheromone" whatever that may be, it could even be pudding for I know. And that's it; a hypothetical nameless pheromone that resembles cake pudding is their best shot at it. Well, so be it, although I thought scientists had this eerie ability in dealing with jargon, I'm sure even pudding has a scientific name.

That reminds me of Mrs. Evon, because the way I remember it, Mrs. Evon had a particular scent, not of the hypothetical fear pheromone, but of something else, another hypothetical unknown pheromone I suppose.

You think about the car you bought, parked and left somewhere, and now can't remember what it looked like. You think about the cup of coffee that you went to have at 6 in the morning when in fact you were going only to see the girl that sits there reading a book everyday. You think about how you bought the car just for this reason, just to drive at 6 in the morning to go drink coffee you don't want while watching a girl that is reading a book drink her own, then you go home and forget about what the car looks like, but you don't forget about the girl. You think about these things and you sweat, strange how you sweat so much water and yet your mouth is so dry.

Considering whether to go back to your juicy stash of dreams, to go back to all the snickers and mars-bars and pudding and cars you bought and forgot and girls you saw and never talked to, or to give in to your shaking limps and just let it be.
After all, we just said that fear is a nameless pheromone that resembles pudding, how scary is that?

I'm

Who are you?
I'm no one.

What do you have?
I have nothing.

Why do you live?
To finish.

Why do you write?
Because i can.

Why do you breathe?
Because i can't stop.

Who is your friend?
No one and everyone.

Who is your enemy?
Myself.

What do you want?
Only what i can have.

What do you need?
A reason.

What do you seek?
Oblivion.

Why do you work?
Because i should.

What is your life worth?
A pack of cigarettes, an array of books, and a lot of pasta.

How do you sleep every night?
I close my eyes and wait.

Do you believe in miracles?
Yes, i believe that miracles never happen.

Whom do you love?
What is love?

Whom do you hate?
Nobody.

Where is your home?
Wherever I'm.

Where are you from?
I'm from the backwaters.

Where are you going?
I'm not going anywhere.

Why do you smile?
So that others would.

Why do you care?
I don't.

Why do you hide?
To be alone.

Why do you listen?
Because i have nothing better to do.

Why do you speak?
Sometimes i can't help myself.

Why do you go out?
People keep calling me.

Do you think you are smart?
I'm smart enough to know that it's an illusion.

Do you think you are kind?
I'm as cruel as any man.

Do you think you are free.
Can't you hear the chains?

Why not break free?
Why should I?

Do you think you are righteous?
No.

Do you think you are evil?
No.

What do you think you can achieve?
Everything.

What do you think you will achieve?
Nothing.

How do you atone for your mistakes?
I change.

What would make you complete?
Discovery.

Do you have any regrets?
Never.

What do you fear?
To hurt someone.

Why do you look up?
To see the stars.

What lies in the stars?
Hope, mystery and loneliness.

How will you end your life.
Wait, let me get my crystal ball.

Why are you special?
Because i choose to be.

What are your possessions?
Things I'm forced to carry.

When will you give up?
Very soon.

Why will you give up?
I always do.

Geometry

Would an infinite circle have an endless number of straight lines as a circumference, or just one endless straight line?
And if an infinite circle is just a straight line, would that mean we are living on one side of it?
If so, then what lies on the other side?

de'ja' vu

A crowded room,
A lot of chairs,
A lot of people.
Each waiting his fate.... Each fearing his fate, though why should they? Isn't fate the one who brought them here in the first place?

Back ranks as usual, it is always a good spot to observe, a pointless activity that is never indulged.
Repeated sounds, repeated voices.... repeated simply because there is no better substitute for silence.
The den of the familiar, once again... once more.
Waiting is the name of the game, waiting i can live with, at least waiting i can control.

He too is waiting, a white transparent t-shirt... seriously under dressed?
There is more to it. Played with the thought of walking up to him:
"Dude, your nipples are showing."

Making friends with shadows on the wall, they reveal wonders to the searching eye.
Ominous whispers, silent as the breeze. "We know what is in your soul" they seem to say.

A lapse of silence, the lax feeling of time in slow motion.
Distracting for a moment... and then you know it, you have seen all of this before.... you have lived all of this before.
There is a voice inside your head, resurrected from it's slumber.... outrunning reality by just a fraction, taunting it.
"Oh yes... i know, there will be three of them. I knew that" "how?"
"The little voice in my head just told me, why do you ask?"

It is not a revelation, it is the dullness of hindsight, the tedious soul of knowledge that murders uncertainty.
You live with it for a while and then it is gone, back to it's slumber.

A phone call:

"What's going on over there?"
"BS, just a big pile of BS"

Zeal

There is this old theme about waiting for the phone to ring;
In it you would get worried, but the phone won't ring.
And you would get depressed, but the phone won't ring.
And you would go crazy, but the phone still won't ring.
And of course it doesn't.
I'm waiting for the phone to ring, for a long time now I've been waiting, but it's very outside of the main theme, I'm not worried that it's not ringing.
I'm not hurrying it to ring, it will ring in it's own time.
I'm good at waiting, I can wait forever..... i have faith.

Mirror

I've seen him today, it's the first time. Told him i had him figured, i have no idea if he understood that, why should he.... because he's more like me?
... oh come on!
Hormones talking in place of whatever should normally be there. Chemical imbalance.
I told her once, about love and chemical imbalance, i wanted her to think i was witty.
As it turns out, all emotions are related to chemical imbalance. She had all this figured, long before i did.
A virtual node, followed by verbal confirmation and a farewell axiom, and that was it.
I think i hate him... why?
Because he shows me that I'm not unique, the next mass produced gadget in the line.
"i would like the one on the left please... no, no... the other one.... yes that's it"...."look what i bought from wall-mart daddy, for just nine niny nine"
How could i put up with that?
And yet where is that damnable capably for hatred when you need it? where is spite, cruelty and malice?
I possess non of it, the poor soul that writes what he feels but never what he wants others to read. This old curse that i seem blessed with.
Envy, red bloody envy, pure undiluted envy, piteous envy, wretched envy!
Is he the cause of my insanity? Not more than a catalyst, i blame myself for being his pawn. I'm in the shape of a child, but I'm not the child, I'm not the bastard that he would willingly endorse!
I understand him all too well, although the two flowers did not bloom from the same branch, but after all nature is our mother, the blue blue sky inspires all those who stand beneath it, and god watches over us both.
Meaningless arguments that revolve around revolving, taping on the advantage of having somewhere to go.
You meet the dead wall of a tired mind, blood refusing to stimulate the cells.
Wasted time that is readily available, just at the tip of your fingers.
So dangerous to have things so easily within reach, yet so tempting.... a trap.
Indecision about the nature of oneself, indecision about how to go on.
The marking of a weak personality?, the marking of a wuss?
So very maddening not to have a style, the endless tumbling between the conformity of others. A dark, pulp mass. In search of oneself.
Breaking dominions through bloodshot eyes, a daring adventure, an unhealthy one... a failure.
Surrendering to the unholy demands that float aimlessly in the mind..... they make claims over all of this.
They peremptorily request, if we - the words - are so corrupt, then who could possibly read us?

Reflections on my past

She was my best friend.
But it was more than that, we spent the whole day together and we spent everyday together. We did everything; study, play, eat, drink, watch t.v., hang out, build our forest shack, everything.... she was everything short of life itself.
the world seemed to stop in its tracks back then, there was nothing but our talks and walks and laughter.
We were no more than children me and her, unknowing and uncaring about what that could mean, what it implied. Two souls that found serenity in each other company, a rare thing to stumble about.
Only after a time that i think of it and realize that we were worlds apart.
we were two different creatures, totally unrelated. sometimes i look back on us and i think that the whole deal had to steam out of necessity rather than our mutual interest.
we lacked most common points, not of interest, but of essence.
But then i was different back at the time, i smile when i remember how i used to be.
i did not dwell on our shortcomings, i couldn't, i had no place for it in my heart...i did not care. It would be tempting to think that she felt the same way, free of criticism.
It is funny how i used to be the unyielding one in the relationship and she the one trying to set things on a more sophisticated level. She was my mentor, even if i didn't realize it back then.
Somethings haven't changed though; my randomness, my disregard for opportunities, the memory gaps.... my apathy.
Don't get the wrong idea about this, it was simple, as simple as it could get. No pretensions, no hiding, there was no need to, we had nothing to hide.

I can't say i remember everything, but i do remember that i didn't understand the meaning of the word "lonely", i didn't.....
My english wasn't that perfect. I read in Daniel Defoe's "Robinson Cruise", that robinson was lonely, but i couldn't figure it out. So i asked about it and after hours of explanations that included a lot of facial expressions and confusing hand gestures, all i understood about the word that it somehow was related to "alone", but couldn't quite make the connection, when is someone "alone" and when is he "lonely"?
It was a mystery and no amount of explanation could clear that up for me.
Today i understand the difference, how and when this came to be, i have no idea, i don't remember....somewhere along the way.

It came to an end like everything else, and we both had to step out of this cocoon that was rapped around us for so long, each to a different place.... each to his own life.
like travelers we were, that met somewhere to rest from the weariness of travel,their lives touched for a moment but soon were on their way.
We both hated the simple fact that we had to leave, at least she did. I sometimes entertain the notion that i did too, but i'm not so sure i was as passionate as she was. We knew in our heart that this moment would come. Even at an early age, people know that life is transient.
We parted, me with her address and she, with a promise that i would write.
But the way i used to be was the way i always am, and by the time i was starting a new life, i discovered that I've lost her address and with it, i lost her and my promise.
How ironic that it ends this way...... for everything ends, relationships faster than anything, and they don't need a reason to expire, they just do.
sometimes i think about this.... betrayal?

am i turning into a zombie?

Katatonia knows about this more than anybody i think, it's a dead house, repeated silly.
The absence of emotions is troubling, eerie and so very unhuman.
Hell is repetition, these words are said over and over again.
You blame and criticize, least you criticize yourself, but amidst your ravings you can see your own insecurity, so very revealing.
The child of boredom, a bastard that persistently calls out for misery.
Plain facades, how can beauty exist in the complete absent of ugliness?
Inaccurate exaggerations derived from lunacy incarnate, how can anyone defy this foul karma?

Think!

On my wall i have one of those wall frames that have a little piece of wisdom written on it.
Mine is an old one, it belonged to my grandfather and i found it shortly after he died.
I remember my grandfather well enough, he was the one who taught me how to play chess.
A man with many quirks but i loved him nonetheless.
It has a worn out brown wooden frame, and inside on the tainted white paper is written in bold capital letters just one word :

"THINK"
........and then in small font it says "compliments of IBM corporation"

I'm not sure why i chose to hang it on the wall when i first found it. Old, dusty and worn-out, it was something you kept in the attic.
But it was something my grandfather left behind, it was this one word that he was able to deliver to me from beyond his grave, and it seemed to be beckoning to me.
Short, unpretending and mystical....... it all but revealed the secrets of the universe.
Simply put, i thought it was a good idea at the time (......and we did not have an attic)
I would have liked to say that it has been an inspiration for me, that it has guided me through difficulties, but years it has been where i first placed it and i have hardly looked at it all that time.
Know a thing too well and you become blind, The eye does not waste time on what it already knows.
It became what it really is, a worn out frame on a wall....... Nothing more, nothing less.
Today i came home late, and as i was changing, i faced the wall like i always did and suddenly it grabbed my attention, a relic from my past attached to the wall :
"THINK" it told me boldly "THINK!....."
And i thought....... i thought about this little dirty wall frame that demanded that i think.
"Think about what exactly?" my mental voice beamed back at the word.
I stood there, waiting for some kind of answer but it simply repeated again :
"THINK"
"I AM thinking..." i thought to myself "now I'm thinking"
I thought about the power of a word, the way it could be influential, the power to change my mental state.
It stimulated my brain and a flood of thoughts came rolling into it.
Random thoughts that revolved around nothing, tiny electric charges that sparked... and the current was havoc.
Until they condensed into this one spark, this one thought that said repeatedly :
"Think, and keep thinking!"
"Think, and keep thinking!"
"Think, and keep thinking!".......

Journy to the tree of bats

I was sitting with Mohamed on the "ahwa"(cafe), arguing about a theory of degenerating back to the primitive. And while we were trying to convince a friend of ours - amidst his protests - to smash his phone so he can be better attuned with nature, Mohamed told me about a story of a tree where bats lurked in huge numbers.
Let me tell you something, when you live in cairo, it's not everyday that you come across a tree full of bats, so i was definitely giving it a try.
It was a dark quite street, and in the middle there was this huge tree that seemed so normaly innocent and still. We parked the car a few paces ahead and me and Mohamed got out and headed for the tree while our friend stayed in the car:
"There are no bats here" he told us.
"Ok, if there aren't any bats then why don't you come out of the car then?"
"Why should i, there aren't any bats afterall" he said meekly.
Arriving by the tree we whistled to nobody in particular while looking up.
There was nothing but the rustling of the leaves in the breeze .......... and then we saw it, a bat flew out of the tree and right past us, then a whole wave of bats followed it and the whole area was alive with bats.
We stood there for a while, the bats circling us like a shrine. We whistled and the bats whistled back at us, till one by one they all went back from where they came from and we stood in darkness.
"Why are bats considered scary?" I asked.
"Because they are blind, they can crash into you"
"Bats are not blind, they just don't see like me and you do, and they don't just 'crash' into people" I said, puzzled.
"You mean they can't hit us while we are standing?"
"Not of they don't want to" I replied.
"I still think they are scary"
"lets get outta here" i said, and we were on our way.