Bliss

They smile and say, "It's a bright full day,"
"And blessed is all the fun!"
And the face of doom; the wretched gloom
Is imprisoned by the sun
Yet grim death glares, at he who dares
And walks upon this earth
And although you despair, of this lively air
You should not lose your mirth
In a bit you may, as well as stay
In the fiery bowls of hell
But the will is weak, and the soul is bleak
And fire… is fun as well!

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.

The Edge

He stayed near the edge
In his high storeyed home
He stayed there for months and years
He stayed far too long
And if you looked,
You'll find him where he always is
In His high storeyed home...
up at the edge, upon its ledge
Looking down on the city below.

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.

Progression

I have evolved…
I'm free…
Free from self development, free to pursue self destruction.
No…. it is the one that pursues you, and that's the beauty of it.
I lose myself in its magnificence, the thrill as you fall all the way down.
Hearing a loud thud and seeing a splash of blood just down the road, waiting for it to liberate you. And the farther you fall, the more your worries disappear.
It all sums up to one thing; only from below can one better see the heights.

My left arm will bear the corroded shield of indifference, in my right hand I will grip the dim sword of unattractiveness… and on my shoulders shall rest the unholy cloak of despair. The seeds of Satan sowed onto this very earth, but I will not plant them, I will despise them from far away, I will watch them grow, I will watch them flourish into giant trees of cruelty. Let them feed on my body.
For even the willingness to sin is so much more deserving than what I aim for.

Murder the smiles, all the genuine smiles, the fake ones I can keep… the fake ones are useful. Sacrifice all of my dreams, look down on them.
Sacrifice is the fuel of my journey, how else will my crocked tree of shamelessness bear fruit?

No time for turning back now, a pact with gravity cannot be undone, it can only be obeyed. As you fall, you view things from the bottom up, it's an interesting experience. You get to see everything upside down, Benevolence is a lie, effectiveness is a lie, passion is a lie. From that perspective they respectively equate to, malevolence, incompetence and impassivity. Consistency, forget about the damn word, it is meaningless, this is the realm of anarchy.

What is my intention in all of this, resurrection?
Maybe… if I get that far, but as they say; it's not where you are going that's important… it's how you get there that matters.
Well, I say screw them, they don't have a say in this anymore.

The process is a rapid descent, spawned from weakness?
Sure, that is the first thing you learn on your way down… to accept your weakness, to love it, it is your only reality, the only thing you can cling to.
Will I feel sorrow? Will I feel disappointment?
Unlikely, sorrow and disappointment are up where I left happiness and hope.
Observing the world through glass eyes, rain means the heavens are crying.
Experiencing a little uneasiness is possible, but it is smashed along with everything else as I hit the ground:

THUD!
SPLASH!

Doshte??

• Metro...

Beat-up guy walks in, he's not a hobo, just your average everyday under-privileged. In his right hand he's holding a handbag that has more holes than the moon , which kinda went well with the couple of small holes in his shoe.
His back is bent and as he's looking at the ground, he opens his bag a starts removing one of those little folding beach chairs that have colorful stripes on the cloth seat, only this one had decayed green and yellow for decoration.
He's not self conscious, he doesn't seem to notice the stares he is drawing, he has done this thousands of times;
open bag, remove moldy chair, place on the ground and sit down.
I look at him and i wonder, why does he have to put up with all this shit and i don't?
but god knows better, so i shut up.
And as I'm counting the holes on his bag, he reaches for it and takes out his pliers... it seemed it was time to trim his fingernails.... with the electric pliers. I wouldn't question his sanity, he seemed absolutely normal sitting there on his beach chair in the middle of the metro with the pliers in his hand, who am i to judge?

• 2:00 am - Ramadan

It's crowded like hell, it's "so7oor" rush and people are waiting for a ride home.
Scene - 1 : A "micro-bus" passes by and people run after it, but it doesn't stop. people turn back... disappointed.
Scene - 2 : A "micro-bus" passes by and the people run after it, it stops and a fierce battle ensues, usually containing a lot of pushing and elbow hitting.
Scene - 3 : A "micro-bus" passes by and the people run after it, a guy in the passenger seat of a car cruising by is yelling "ya fo2ara, ya 3allam ya fo2ara"
Scene - 4 : I frown and watch him, "interesting" i think to my self, i smile and shake my head.
Scene - 5 : I see a couple waiting for a ride, the man is holding a sleeping baby to his shoulders, they can't run after the "micro-busat" and they wouldn't do very well in the pushing and elbow hitting game, so they move back and forth with every stop.
i decide not to go home and to wait and see where all this going, i take a corner and sit down.
Scene - 6 : After a while 3 cars pull up, everybody's got his ride, they practice the pushing and elbow hitting routine some more and then they are all in, they stay some more to get more people to fill up.
Scene - 7 : On the way home, the man behind me says "el sa3a 1:30 we lessa afla?!, Allah yekhreb bet omek!"... he's speaking to the traffic light, and it's more like 2:30.

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?

Due

Pay the price you have to pay
For nothing is free
And if you try to dig your way
What a fool you will be
For when you leave the light of day
Darkness you will see

Annexation

I'm lost in a sea of dark thoughts. I cannot seem to reach a shore, not knowing if there is a shore to start with.
Although i understand that it's only virtual, it is real enough in my mind.
It's opaque and calm. How tempting to just relax and give in as it sucks you into it... drowning you, drowning all of your second thoughts, drowning all of your attempts to fight it, drowning all of your hopes.
As i lay on my back, thoughts threatening to engulf me, i can see people passing by; Some look at my lying carcass with interest, others hardly see it at all.

Some don't say a word... sometimes i see them whispering to each other.

Some just wave and move on, i smile and wave back.

Some stop and ask if I'm okay, i smile and say "I'm fine" while wondering in my head: "what do you think I'm doing here, having a bath?", I wish they would just let me be.

Some stop and tell me how their friend at work fell off the carpet and broke his damn head, i show my sympathy and say something about how horrible that must be.

Some seem very affected by my state, a minute and they are gone. but i can still see them with the corner of my eye, pointing and laughing... i can still see you morons.

Some insist on getting me out, "helping me" they call it. What would i have if i just left all my thoughts behind?.... "I'll be o.k." i tell them "go find a damsel in distress or something"

Some people tell me that i need someone beside me... Why? so we could drown together?

Some come and some go, but all in all it's just like the animation on your screen saver, the same view repeated over and over again. If you want you could lose yourself in it, it's hypnotizing... It's not helping.

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?