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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
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Tapping at my chamber door

In 2008, I'll Get Me A Shotgun

I will also:
2. Get closer to
Job hunt some more.
4. Get closer to my
5. Learn a new language.
Finish at least one screenplay.
Lose the extra weight.
8. Get a
driver's license. I will not buy a car.
9. I will
rule my world.
10. I will have my

Saturday, May 31, 2008

The space underneath my skin

I am back to the word pad. My shortcut’s back on. I spent the day finding new things to do, old things to do. But then again… I do find my pleasure in the weirdest things after all.

I tend to deal with matters that hurt alone. I do not like the pat on the shoulder ordeal. I am not a fan of its going to be alright. Be it with voices in my head or with absolute silence, with age, I’ve found unorthodoxed ways to deal with myself. I know when the bell tolls for the next chapter to begin. I know when it’s time to move on; but like books that I’ve half read and enjoyed, I find my book rather stunning, too stunning that it has to end. I never travelling for personal pleasure, I never sang out loud in public, never kissed a girl, never got a public applause. Not to say that I’m against any of those, but I do tend to substitute what brings life to my joy buds with other things. No… masturbation is not on the list.

Here and now, sitting in my room, realizing that the only thing that has not changed about me is the font that I prefer using as I liquidize my heart and pour it out on a digital pad.

Stop whining and move on, you tiny little fuck.

I met some friends last night; friends whom I haven’t seen in months. We went for a ride in the city past midnight. I was not prepared for it. In the midst of the ride, I realized that everything hit a button. That bridge with its wrong turn when I went to buy that train ticket, that train ticket stand that was closed for maintenance, the photo place, the mall map, the concert hall, the road, the lake, the jazz bar. I never saw it coming. I never thought it would end. My list of surprises still stands unseen like a concert playing behind closed curtains in a theater. Like my blog, it plays for its very own pleasure, mine, and no one else’s. Story of my life.

I rolled down the car window and embraced the wind as it hit my face. It hit hard I felt merged with the air for a few minutes as I closed my eyes and pretended that I was flying as I mentally witnessed all the headlights in the world reflecting over my shut eyelids.

Dear one, it’ll get better. Life will roll your dice again and have you forget. You will find your perfect someone. You will find someone whom being in love with makes you happy. It will get better. I wouldn’t tell my soul differently.

My jigsaw pieces don’t fit each other anymore. I’ve made sure they don’t with my continuous self criticism. And even though I have become one with all but myself, all I feel is seclusion. Nauseating beats of a random pulse run through me and all I’m left to do now is to pull out my drawers and open my closets doors wide to let my imaginary friends back out so they can talk to me about revenge, about rage, about screaming, about throwing out things that once mattered. But I’m not weak anymore. I won’t be angry. I won’t give into the short term gratification.

All I do is smile as I feel them crawl back into me… and listen closely to the deafening tolling bells, waiting for them to stop ringing in my ever good-listener ears.

Too much closet space to fill now. If only I was five again so I could crawl in there and hide from the ghosts that visit my dreams still.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Folie de Grandeur

All of yous with your pinkish hues, your gun happy nerves, and your bubblegum syndromes are now invited.

So the audit party is over. Three of them auditors hit us Monday through Thursday. We did fine. It’s funny how you act differently when you know somebody’s watching; how you tend to pick your words, lock your screen, empty your drawers, keep your keys in your pocket, squeeze all the diseased blood into your heart so they couldn’t see it, and leave all the pending work back home. To them, we were clean. It was a hectic week. One wrong word and we would have been screwed big time, enough for them to shut down the branch where I work.

Nevertheless, we passed ingloriously.

Now that I’m off the hook professionally, all I have is time to put my pieces back together. It is a challenge that I’ve had to endure over and over again. But I know myself. I know that nobody sees my inside and hence not getting me, not knowing me, not feeling me, has always served me right even if that has always been the cause of creating a barrier between me and the people I love. They don’t know me enough to see my scars mended by infectious demons of my own creation. Let it rot inside. To my peers, friends, family, and world… I look fine. I am something else, indeed.

This morning I tried to create a list of things to do. I used the same little book I used while preparing my last trip. I put down the number 1 that remains lonely still with no words to fill its void. All I know is that, no matter how long it takes, I will be fine. In the meantime, to the rest of my world, I’m still the same ol’ me with my ugly habits and my familiar eyes… and that’s fine for now. My personal battles are my own and have always been so.

Where everybody’s got a big, white whale to catch, mine has always been transparent, far away from colors that reflect back into my brain. For now I’ll stand my ground in public and lay back when I’m by myself… right here… in search for things that make sense to me, that drive me into becoming, into being me without the fear of being misunderstood.

If only I had eternity. If only I owned time back and forth, maybe then I would have found my white whale and watched it swim free into the tranquil vagueness of its domain.

What if I never find it? What if I was that whale after all?

What if… my whale has already swallowed me, asked the petrified senselessness.

At least I’ll spend my life wrinkling, knowing that I tried.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

ι нєαя тнєм

It scares the shit out of me, the things they tell me. They’re not trying to change me. They want to shape-shift me into something heartless, soulless, cruel. They want me to become one of them. If only I had enough to buy an island, to strand myself away from it all.

If only they could lose me… all of them fuckers. I do know however, that with the pace that I’m going at, it’ll soon get too dark for even them to see me.

Sometimes I wonder how I got this far. الحمدلله

I know that He’s watching over. I know that He knows that they’re there, talking to me, hypnotizing me at times, ordering me, commanding me, sweet talking me. I am so fucking easy. I know that He’s given me enough faith to know His right and His wrong even if sometimes they contradict with what I want. God, I am trying…

I can feel a new heart; a meaningless one; one that is but an organ that pumps blood throughout my tunnels for my darkened soul to swim with the grace of kings. But then again… kings are not stupid. Kings don’t fall until they’re dead. You are the common peasant whose mother dragged to the festival and pointed out the Royal family as they passed by in their gold plated wagons and told him, ‘Look child, it’s the good people. They’re clean and beautiful. May God always keep them safe’. And you couldn’t help but cover your eyes from all the shiny glitter reflecting off their crowns.

If I had the power to forget, I would forget that I ever existed.

Effortlessly you wake up. There is nothing to dream about. Not even fantasy can beat my broad senseless and illogical imagination. Fuck dreams… I have a 24/7 show running in my head and it’s haunting me with its random lights; music too loud it deafens me. And amidst it all… all of them entertainers are there to please me. Talk to me, O fucking dark prince. Get it over with cos I don’t care anymore.

The problem is… I keep listening, still listening… still fucking hoping. And the more I hope, the emptier it gets, the more I realize that no matter how much you wanna hold on to your teddy bear, your best friend, your sweetheart… nothing stays the same. If only I could eliminate gravity and wind, I would roam free forever; true fact of physics. But then again… I’m just a banker. And at the end, you’re only left with the cold sensation of rhetorical guilt as rage against them all crawls up your spine and into your brain to let you know who… you… are.

So… who am I?

The Things That I Want by yours truly. My first post; or was it the second? I can’t remember. All I know is now that I’ve grown and supposedly matured, my list has not changed one bit. Because the more you experience life, the more you want out of it. Elmo can talk now. The remote control cars are now bigger and faster. Girls got hotter. Drugs became more sensational. Islands for sale; countries for bidding; and everything is shinier and more seducing. Nevertheless, every time I got closer to life, I realize that what I truly want out of life, never had a price tag; always indescribable, always special to me. I am all that matters.

Me, me, me.

Sometimes it scares me how flexible I am.

Fucking bastards reminding me, asking me to hate. I am not a hater. Let me be, you sleazy cunts. You do not love me so why don’t you fucking admit it and let the awkwardness die.

I’ve applied for a transfer to another department with a guaranteed promotion. Square one, new challenge, new people, more things to learn, much more shit to prove, more risk of fucking up. I’ve been keeping myself busy. I work like there’s no tomorrow. I haven’t been that busy for years. Gotta keep moving, experiencing life; pain, joy… all. The good and the bad, the lies, the deceits, the changing minds, the changing hearts, the horror of it all. Because the moment I stop… the moment I halt to release my amino acids from my muscles, the minute I stop to breathe… I think… and I remember her. I don’t want to think.

I need… I need to let her go.

I gotta keep myself busy. I gotta run… nonstop.

I need a shadow to hide me, to take over… I need something to eat at my head before it devours me, melt me, bit by bit. Dear God, if you’re listening… grab me from this engulfing darkness in my mind.

I need peace.

I need to be invisible for a while… because they can’t see me like this. I don’t want them to see me, because if they do they wouldn’t like me. They would either loathe me… or fear me. All based on their personal judgments. Should we praise him as king of the batteekhishly deprived or should we crucify him, stone him, slice him with our whip into very thin layers of flesh and bones; so thin you wouldn’t know that he’s ever existed.

The slashing into non-existence. Feed me to the dogs… Get… it… over with.

Personal judgment!

I don’t want to remember how her eyes changed.

I want to forget all the signs that told me that it was meant to be; those patterns that I’ve cherished… the fucking signs that I’ve so strenuously believed.

Oh, I never learn. :)

Dear God, I know you… I feel your presence… watching over me. Guide me…

I know they’re stalking me. I can feel their rotting breath on my back. I can bare it for now, but the problem is… something tells me that they’re here to stay for good.

Maybe I’m the one who’s staying. Maybe I’ve been that stalker, that conniving demon, those dark strings of guideless words all along. I don’t know anymore.

All I know is that there’s somebody else here with me. I can hear his hissing… and I can feel his breath.

Ya Mogheeth…

Saturday, May 24, 2008

After Hours


How do I begin this?
Should I start off with the things that could have been beginning with the interactive story we wanted to write to that particular museum I promised I would take her to? Or should I just forget about the past promises and pretend that it was all one long dream?

The truth of the matter is... I have learned. She was right. My heart is priceless. Why lay it out on a table and have everybody stick their fork into it like a piece of meat? Why care when it's all pointless?

I have learned that some lessons are better left untaught. Because the fact of the matter is... ending relationships never got me stronger. They only bittered me up inside, spread their cold after-injection into my soul, and stuck a sock a little deeper into my mouth; so deep it makes me sick; deep enough so i cannot breathe.

Ladies and gentlemen, I tell you now. Love is hard to find; but what's harder is letting it go. Watching her sit there, with you, for the last time; watching her check if it's time to go home; feeling that she's not realizing that tomorrow... there won't be you in her life anymore.

Did you even matter for a second; you deluded lover boy with a perfect nose?
I need to hurt someone random.

Sometimes... I even wonder where the time went. Sometimes I wonder if this was all a test.
I keep giving them all excuses... but for how-fucking-long am I supposed to forgive everybody for stepping all over me, for taking my place in the world, for walking in my fucking shoes?

I need a fucking break.
What do I need to do for you to show mercy?

Sometimes, I feel like a cat; a one eared cat that lost its voice crying for help. I feel like a cat that you just teased with a box of tuna... an empty box of tuna...
just to get its fucking hopes up.
Just to tell it, learn little kitty... love is in the air, all around.
You just gotta learn the lesson.
What if... there is no lesson, what if I wasn't paying attention?
What if the only lesson I learned was that... I should have stayed offline, home, logged on to a fantasy game where everything's possible.
What is it that is out there that is worth learning for?

Why does my blessings list that I keep adding to every morning still contains all the basic blessings? Money, the five senses, family, a job... security, the body, success, food and water… الحمدلله

Now here's the million dollar question that I would sell my soul to have answered... if I have always been about haram and halal... if I have always sought You, when will this long test of faith end?
I am soooo tired.
I need to breathe.
Give me a sign that refills my faith vial for it is almost empty now.

If I was allowed to describe myself in one word... would it still be priceless, I wonder? Do I still consider myself King of Kings, the luckiest man alive, the sound of all generations, the heart of all? Why is it that after that endeavor, that I feel small, tiny, shallow… just another lesson, another relationship for dummies example?

March back to the price tags, boy.
You're on SALE!!
If only I was a t-shirt. If you were cheap, on sale, people would still want you, wouldn't they?
They might even get three of you for the price of one.
But then again, if you're on sale then there is a chance that something is wrong with you. And in the lessons that I've supposedly learned, I have not yet found neither have I been told what went wrong, what defects do I hold...
where my torn out discolored strings are.
I look into the mirror and all I see is me... same old me. I have become more aware of my nose, however. My eyes are a bit different. They sparkle most of the time like a wet rock that's been hit by the waves of the sea many, many times.
I have become more aware of my physical appearance than I ever was.
In the absence of the soul, one can only see the physical; one can only feel the material.
I miss my soul. You should have left me alone. I was peaceful.
You stirred me up inside. I am the mug that holds her drink, her no whipped cream, sugarless, foamless, skimmed milk, hot decaf.
The only problem is after the drink is over... all I'm left with is the being of that empty mug all over again. Only now it's sticky at the bottom and her lipstick marks leave me with what may have been.
If only...

I hear their voices. I feel their presence in my head. Cursing at me, at you... at her. I hear them telling me to hate you, to hate her. I hear them calming me down, welcoming me home.
Bonne arrive, fair prince of the might. We... have missed you.
I see myself walking into their chambers, my... chambers. I see myself sitting down on my throne, getting served their divine drinks, and watch them dance and jump in joy...
trying to get me to smile, to please me, to satisfy my outgrowing ego.
Singing to me...Sucking up to me... Smile. We are your friends. We'll understand. We'll accept you for who you are. Fuck them all. They don't know you like we do.

I am too weak to fight them.
I have outgrown my limits…shapelessly.

Hide me, dear friends.
Cover me with your cold, cold wings.
I don't want this anymore.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Then it got a little darker...

I never gave reasons. I never wanted to. This is my space. This is my life. Call it a redecoration of the soul. Call it boredom. Call it inevitable change made clear, made visible, picturized into a new frameless picture of my being.

Now here’s the truth.
My blog speaks to me. I tend to throw in a certain atmosphere that suits my need for my very own, personal play room. My temple in which I am everything there is to believe. I am my own prosperity and famine. I am my very own good and bad. I am beautifully ugly. I feel my very own war and peace. So why do I keep doing that? Why now?

No reason. I need to be somewhere else. I’ve done that with a couple of books that I’ve technically read in my own comprehension. I reach the end of a chapter in a book where I think to myself ‘this is perfection’. It couldn’t suit it any better. And I stop reading. That’s that.

Call me crazy; for what seems to be crazy and meaningless in the eyes of many bring me more joy and satisfaction than all the riches of the world. I am my very own madman… and this is my domain; where I doubt existence and speak my mind in ways that I myself usually cannot understand.

I usually forget what I’ve written right after I click Post. I am not making this up. Even though I feel that I am, but I cannot be that sick. I cherish my blog because it’s true; I do not write on my blog. My blog writes on me; like a tattoo burning in my mind, on my priceless soul; where every burn leaves a mark that digs deeper into my impenetrable heart.

Why change now?

I change now because I have changed, because I am no longer angry. I am no longer raging. It’s just that… it got a little darker. I fear the things that I may say; and that fear deprives me of sleep, of rest. I can see myself changing. I can feel a different heartbeat in my chest. I can hear it, like an unfamiliar tune to my ears, to my body; a tune so stranger to me that I don’t know if I’ll like it in the end, but I have to keep listening… cos I don’t have a choice. So the question was, should I deny it, should I overlook it and promise myself that it’ll all go away? Or perhaps I should accept these changes, these changes that created a more careful creature. I am not sad. I refuse to give up. I loathe my weakness.

I need a fresh start. I need a clean slate. I need a new memory… a new life in which I am just a little boy who’s allowed to make mistakes.
But I’m not. I am a 26 year old man who’s filled his own vessels with guilt and fury. I need new blood. B+ hasn’t served me too well.

I need a new disguise, new scenery, a new mask, a new face so people who know me wouldn’t judge me for speaking my unguarded mind out loud, for pouring out my sick, sick soul into their unconceiving glass. I need a new name.

You can call me using my first name if you ever bump into me offline, but right here… I am who I am. You don’t know me. You never did.

Don’t you dare fucking judge me!

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