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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

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Chronic : Session One

Here we go...
I'm observing now, picking at my little cells that constitute myself I suppose.
I've been feeling, for lack of better term, detached... for almost 10 months now. It's when everything seems normal, feels right, perfect... Your life seems right and everyone that knows you is glad that they're part of your inner circle... or so you think... or pretend.
But as the night falls, as the clocks tick a late hour, and as the cool breeze kisses your cheeks... you reach down into yourself at that moment of lust for something grand and feel the void that's been eating at your lungs, your hopes; devouring your dreams... Making you feel old as you strive for breath.
You feel the gap between the person you thought you were and the monster that you've become growing... like a womb giving birth to someone you wouldn't want to know; someone you would never have in your "inner circle".
The voices you've been trying to ignore, the words you've said that you presumed were so wise that people would end up "quoting".. the delusions that you've planted in the back of your eyelids so every time you close your eyes... they're right there staring back at you in disbelief.
Then as you try to pull yourself out of that void, only to realize that there is no "they" anymore.. no voices, nobody's trying to trick you into anything...Nobody is grabbing your shoulder to pull you back. The leash is gone.

It's only you there in your world; on stage, in the audience, taking pictures. You're the rough critique and the cheering best friend backstage. You are the beautifully sick world that you've created... using a distorted paintbrush that you paranoid mind's holding; holding onto like a spear you're going to use to stab a fairy tale monster for everyone to live happily ever after. "You are their hero", the non existing voices said.
You're the freak you've managed to avoid for so, so long; the darkness that engulfed your very existence... the one that tastes so fucking good.

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