Dethklok.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Small Crimes.
She’d wear next-to-nothing clothes and stand there every night for the trick the audience awaits.
He’d wear a tuxedo and a black hat and say a few warm-up thrill phrases to the audience.
She’d stand hand-folded against a wooden wall for him to throw the knives around her still body.
He’d throw confidently.
She’d not bleed if he misses, not in front of the audience, not in front of him.
He’d miss.
She’d wonder if sometimes he misses… on purpose.
He’d wear a tuxedo and a black hat and say a few warm-up thrill phrases to the audience.
She’d stand hand-folded against a wooden wall for him to throw the knives around her still body.
He’d throw confidently.
She’d not bleed if he misses, not in front of the audience, not in front of him.
He’d miss.
She’d wonder if sometimes he misses… on purpose.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
July 2008.
Even though July is not yet over, but I decided I will write about it now. The reason behind this is that the remaining week in July will probably be just like the previous three weeks – and that’s exactly why I fucking love this month.
July 2008 is the intermission month after my graduation and before the start of my white-collar career. I didn’t really make any plans for it but I felt that it’s going to be different. I thought I’d find ways to indulge in the summer frenzy or do things that have been pending for a long time because of university obligations, like having that planned photo shoot for example – but to be honest; I didn’t do anything out of what I planned. This month has been spent in absolute dumbness and extreme sloth. No energy whatsoever was exerted, not to do anything memorable nor to even try to think of what I want to do. I spent days in bed and nights listening to music and reading lyrics – too lazy to even type on instant messaging applications. I so proudly declare that I failed to finish any of the things I intended to utilize this month of idleness to, like the book and the script. I gave appointments that I got late to, I started reading books that I never finished, I stopped looking at my watch that frequently, I listened to musicians more than I listened to people, I took long showers, sipped on a lot of wine, stared into nothingness, counted my hair and counted trees while riding in slow cars as we drove through without having a real destination. I shut down all my receptors to those who demand me to do things that involve any sort of thinking, like both my parents who each of them has their own vision of what I should do and how I should do it, and like friends who might bring up unpleasant subjects that involve love tales from the past or any social drama. Furthermore, I built a big wall surrounding my senses against bad vibes intentionally forced upon me. And I have done all of that with great persistence and sweaty devotion.
This month is one week away from its death, and I salute it, for all of the idleness and sloth it brought me. I didn’t know what it is to be in total darkness, not knowing what you are doing or where you are going and yet not caring to move a hair to change any of that – till this month came.
I might still have that photo shoot though…
July 2008 is the intermission month after my graduation and before the start of my white-collar career. I didn’t really make any plans for it but I felt that it’s going to be different. I thought I’d find ways to indulge in the summer frenzy or do things that have been pending for a long time because of university obligations, like having that planned photo shoot for example – but to be honest; I didn’t do anything out of what I planned. This month has been spent in absolute dumbness and extreme sloth. No energy whatsoever was exerted, not to do anything memorable nor to even try to think of what I want to do. I spent days in bed and nights listening to music and reading lyrics – too lazy to even type on instant messaging applications. I so proudly declare that I failed to finish any of the things I intended to utilize this month of idleness to, like the book and the script. I gave appointments that I got late to, I started reading books that I never finished, I stopped looking at my watch that frequently, I listened to musicians more than I listened to people, I took long showers, sipped on a lot of wine, stared into nothingness, counted my hair and counted trees while riding in slow cars as we drove through without having a real destination. I shut down all my receptors to those who demand me to do things that involve any sort of thinking, like both my parents who each of them has their own vision of what I should do and how I should do it, and like friends who might bring up unpleasant subjects that involve love tales from the past or any social drama. Furthermore, I built a big wall surrounding my senses against bad vibes intentionally forced upon me. And I have done all of that with great persistence and sweaty devotion.
This month is one week away from its death, and I salute it, for all of the idleness and sloth it brought me. I didn’t know what it is to be in total darkness, not knowing what you are doing or where you are going and yet not caring to move a hair to change any of that – till this month came.
I might still have that photo shoot though…
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Cocoons Don`t Fly.
She: Oh by the way, I saw M. yesterday.
He: You did?
She: Yes, she came with us to finish that business thing.
He: How is she?
She: Fine.
He: Where is she?
She: Starts work soon… She is avoiding everyone obviously.
He: Is she okay?
She: I don’t think so.
He: Does she fly now?
She: What?
He: Does she have wings and all? Does she fly? That’s what she told me when she left… that I prevent her from flying.
He: You did?
She: Yes, she came with us to finish that business thing.
He: How is she?
She: Fine.
He: Where is she?
She: Starts work soon… She is avoiding everyone obviously.
He: Is she okay?
She: I don’t think so.
He: Does she fly now?
She: What?
He: Does she have wings and all? Does she fly? That’s what she told me when she left… that I prevent her from flying.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
The Real Nigga.
Dear J,
Writing letters and not sending them has turned out to be a very effective habit, because in our case silence and distance are the only humane actions we can take. I have been minding my own business lately and have been away from that social tub we used to share for a long while now – not intentionally and it’s all temporary, but let’s say that that’s the most humane action to take. A lot of things seem to attack my immunity shield though, like whenever I trample over certain people and they mention you and your current affairs, or when I walk into a Cilantro for pure peeing purposes and my eyes find a "Maws Tawt". Even with my great efforts to minimize my friction with things like those that remind me of past times, I go home to speak to Purgatorio who speaks about Snowhite who reminds me of you – I think you and Snowhite share a lot in common, but that’s another story. It’s not only Purgatorio, for even Mariah speaks of you and of how she misses the good old days, and I feel a lot of pity towards her, for she is all the way in Austria and has no clue what she is talking about is now an illusion. Bottom line, people like speaking about you.
I heard about the new girl. I heard she asks about me and that she doesn’t particularly like me. I heard she will go throw herself from the highest mountain if she knew you and I met by coincidence down the street without even saying “hello” – that is of course after she shreds your body to pieces with blood and flesh and bones and all. That’s a matter of habit to me though; I am used to girlfriends doing evil spells and voodoo dolls for me. I heard she is a kitten stuck up a tree and that you save her every day, I also heard she climbs up the tree again just because she is the pretty girl who likes to be saved. I heard the guys don’t like her. They secretly miss the good old days and they secretly miss me. They miss me putting ice in everyone’s glass and watching over the glasses and refilling them with whiskey without them having to ask. I heard they miss me playing cards and them not having to worry about bottle-openers in cars because my teeth are amazing and strong. I heard they miss themselves talking freely with you, for your new girl doesn’t like bad words – because in the past, things like that wouldn't have mattered. I heard they miss me roaring with them in football matches, raving hard and even rocking harder. I heard everyone misses me and misses us together, but they just won’t admit it to you. I heard the girls miss me too. I heard the new girl is obsessive and weird, that she picks up on all your phone calls and stalks you. I heard she lies to the girls and tells them that you are busy or away or not willing to talk to any bitch of them. I heard everyone misses me that rumours started spreading around about me, that I now live in the Northern Coast, or that I am married with children in Ukraine or that I am a coke addict who won’t let people see her in such state. I heard everyone misses the real nigga I was but nobody will ever tell you such a thing. I heard you nearly stopped drinking because you claim it brings you nausea and all, but everyone just knows that you do that out of respect to her Islamic beliefs. I heard she fasts with Christians too, out of solidarity and some drama talk. I heard enough.
All of what I heard doesn’t make a difference to me; I will still be the shadow in Ukraine who is married with children, or to be honest, the coke addict spreading her feet in Northern Coast sands. But I can’t help but wonder… is that what you wanted, a pretty kitten up a tree?
Sincerely,
The Nigga.
Monday, July 14, 2008
تسكر وتفتكر
لم يذهب اللواء سالم كثيرا الى الكنيسة، فكان يعتقد أن الرب يرعى شئون الجميع، ولكن ليس شأنه هو. هذا لم يغضب اللواء سالم كثيرا، فهو رجلٌ فخورٌ بأنه بنى تفاصيل حياته معتمدا على نفسه. إضطر اللواء سالم للذهاب الى الكنيسة عندما توفيت زوجته التي أحبها كثيراً. وقف اللواء سالم أمام باب قاعة الرجال فى زيّه الرسمى الذى يعطيه الهيبة، ولم يسمح للدموع أن تهرب من عينيه، حتى عندما رأى إبنته، التى كانت شاحبةً على غير عادتها ولا تستطيع المشى فى خطٍ مستقيم من فرط دموعها. لم يُعر اللواء سالم اهتماماً كبيراً لما يقوله ضيوف العزاء، فكلهم يقولون نفس الكلام المحفوظ... "البقية فى حياتك" أو "تعيش وتفتكر"... ولكن أصدقاء اللواء سالم القدامى كانوا ينظرون فى عينيه ويقولون "تسكر وتفتكر" ثم يذهبون للجلوس فى الركن تحت أيقونة السيدة العذراء ويحتسون القهوة التركى في صمت.
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