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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
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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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I would... I so would

A blackout… in never really a blackout; it's got more to it than just that. It's not suspended time. It's not a hallucination. It's not a tumor. It's not a self made excuse for a man to feel better about himself. A blackout can be used to briefly describe lost time. Time that no matter how hard a man can pray and how deep he hurts and how rich he is... he just can't get back.

The problem is that this is not just an ordinary blackout.

I have a feeling that things would get better, that I've earned my break; that I'm going to get it eventually; but that's it. It's always been just that, a feeling.

A haunting… is never really a haunting; not if it's self inflicted, self designed; a graphically enhanced set of codes programmed by oneself to help explain things a bit clearer, to visualize their fears and aims.

I'd say to the ghosts of the past and bullshit that I'm tired. Let me be.

Let go.

I deserve differently.

I'd say that, but my tongue is just too damn heavy.

I'd say that among a set of ugly things that I so want to say.

I'd fucking rip it out, my soul, and have it sold to the nearest devil, if only he'd promise me comfort.

I wouldn't even sell it. I'd give it away for free.

It's like reaching out of a deep well of piss, but the edges are too damn far and the walls are just too slippery and cunning for me to hold on to.

Shouldn't a man forget what happened when he was out? Why do I keep perfectly remembering everything? Why do I wish for the past few years to just vanish out of my system, to be ripped out of my head and buried along with the rest of my sins? How can a man seek comfort if he can't forget? How can a man make up for his mistakes if every second brings something new and unexpected?

Consequences, such an ugly word!

How can time heal all wounds if it won't stop for you to catch up?

Addiction is when the piss starts tasting sweet as time passes with you inside.

That’s probably the only thing that time is capable of.

When and where did I go wrong? How did I fall? Haven't I been always the cold and collected? Didn't I allow my ego to take the lead? When did I fall asleep? Is this all a bad dream? Am I hallucinating again? Is this actually happening? Am I ever going to forgive myself?

Will I ever forget?

Oh God…

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