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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

Monday, March 24, 2008

Two hours and 1500 miles

March 22nd… another day to remember. It was the day he surgically attached his soul to hers, the day he had his life wrapped and added it to her gift registry, the day he had his vows tattooed on his heart and had it kept away from the rest of the world to see… only for him to know the promises he’s made.

He loved how he could read her, feel her for the…… he could not find a word that deserves to describe her. She was too much of a lady to be described. All he could do is feel her and pray to God that he could keep her enchanting smile going forever.

Of all the people he’s ever met, he could feel her reading him the most, feeling him the most, knowing him the most. Nothing to hide anymore, he thought to himself; No need for effort to make a statement. Even his silence she could read. She made him feel stripped out of all the necessary fakeness of the world. She made him feel poured into her own glass to drink. She was the extension he’s always longed for; that extension that makes sense, that compliments his final shape, that completes his soul; like she’s dug into his dark cave, grabbed his soul, and held it with passionate warmth. She’s that extension that lengthens him, makes him taller than everybody else, taller than his own shadow… makes him feel real, unpuppeted, unmade, one with life… one with her, makes him feel strong and weak at the same time.

Helpless is how he felt as he was impatiently forced to wait for the two of them to meet again. Two hours and 1500 miles may separate their bodies, but their souls, he knew, were already there, holding hands, and walking down their own path.
The many things that he wanted to tell her, the vows he wanted to yell out gladly. He struggled to describe how much he wanted to hold her, protect her from the world, slide his fingers through her hair in the morning while she’s quiet and vulnerable as he tells her buon giorno principessa with mocha latte at the table, sharing their morning silence.

He wanted to be able to love her completely… but patience is a virtue that many don’t have. If only his can be broken. If only time zones were all the same. If only miles disappeared. If only the earth could shrink enough for countries to fade into each other, for his world to become her world… for them to share the same hour of the day, the same minute and second; for their maps to intersect…
For her fingers to fill the life lines on his palm.

Deep inside he knew… he shouldn’t have left her at the train station. He should have ran back to her. He should have got down on one knee and asked her to marry him right there… at the train station.
But he didn’t… the train arrived and… he was forced back into the real world, back to the world that asks him to wait a bit more.

Except that this wait is sweet and painful at the same time.

He knows he’ll bare it though… cos his soul is already there with hers...

There where there's no time zone difference... and no miles to keep them apart.

Friday, March 21, 2008

The wait is over

It was dark as I stepped out of the cab. The moon was full. I could see its face staring at me in “awe”. Everything shone under the white circle hanging in the middle of the sky, watching over us, reflecting the light that emerges out of yesterday and tomorrow, actualizing our ability to see.
I am so grateful.


My building, my street, my home… they all seemed different; like a cold piece of rotting meat that I’ve been munching on for the past twenty something years… waiting for a miracle to happen, for the wait to be over.
I hate my old place… but then again it made me.

March 20, 2008; another date to remember.
I saw her. I felt her. I made an unsaid commitment that I so willingly bare.

I wanted to touch her hand, but I couldn’t. We didn’t even shake hands for greeting or for goodbye. It was a mixture of… I don’t need to and this can not be real.

It felt like being locked down inside a vortex of potential, of promises that I so wanted to make, things that I wanted to say but couldn’t. I just stared at her, all quiet, taking mental pictures for me to remember and cherish; to take home with me.

My wait is over.

I know that now. I believe that now.

Finally, my mind and my heart both speak the same language. They’re talking to me, cheering for me, applauding, rolling down my long awaited red carpet.

I felt closer to God. I felt his blessings.
Who said that the age of miracles has ended?

I believe.

And as the time flew, I hated the time continuum even more as I watched the seconds and wished to God for my watch to break, for my train to be missed, for us to disappear…
But I kept all my wishes silent and all I did was sit there and watch her smile endlessly.

If only I could take her with me.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

States of Being

I kept pushing until I met the floor of my room, the only friend that ever carried me with no strings attached. I kept pushing until I flattened enough to become a flat surface of land that completes the roundness of the earth. I kept pushing until I found the crumbs of a sandwich that I once ate.
Have I become my own crumbs, I wonder?

But then again… such is life, you gotta keep pushing, change, adapt; a five year plan, a 15 year plan, a life plan… until eventually, all plans get shoved into where they belong, into a history book that you’ve carved in your mind for no one else to read. ‘The things that could have been’, by your magnificently stunned, that’s what you named your book that was published in your own little fantasy world. Best seller, let me tell ya.

I tend to be a dreamer when I’m awake. It’s the things I see in my sleep that I fear the most, the visions, the awkwardly uninvited, the sweat and the burning eyelids begging me to wake up. Perhaps… it’s the other way around after all.
No one can deny that satisfaction is Earth’s most sought after, hardest ambition. Is it really? Don’t we all want the same things, money, prosperity, love, sex, connections, children, a quick death with no one to miss… a sweet beyond? Aren’t we all selfish, horny, greedy, annoying little fucks of nature?

Gratification with a smile!
If I was a clown, what jokes would I tell?

I stared real close at my hands today. I watched my finger prints change, stretch, adapt to my growing limbs. Call me crazy, but I love my prints. I wonder whose prints I would want to possess if I could switch them; a celebrity, a politician, a prophet, a lover, someone immortal, the devil’s… someone invisible perhaps?
If I had the power to go invisible, would I use it for good or for evil?
I can’t answer that one. I am not a hypocrite. The mind is a dangerous thing when powerful.
Hmm… immortality!
Reincarnation into something that you love.
If I was a fruit, what tree would hold me, carry me until I grow?
Would I be sweet? Would my tree, my home, be beautiful or would it be a weed that infects people’s backyards?

I need to break something expensive.

How much of a monster is there, inside, lurking, waiting for me to get to my knees and beg of him to eat his way out, to engage on my behalf, to fight my mental battles for me…
to decide my state of being?
Define me, O dark one.

If I was a sentence, what would I read?

Things change, I thought to myself as I noticed how the teabag brings about a lighter set of colors than the ones it made in the past. I wonder if it’s the changing corporate cost reducing ingredients or whether it’s the water that lost its natural diffusion into us all.
How deserving are we?

If I was a number, would I be a prime?
Would I be a fucking zero that if used as the base of a division equation with the whole world on top… all you get is a fucking error?

If I was a bitter and cold, how far would I reach? How cruel could I be?
Sometimes I feel like my body is a cocoon for a furious monster that demands to be born, introduced to the world as the last man standing, unflatten me back to my growing limbs.

If I was an ice cube, how fast would I melt?

It’s summering now, my least favorite season, when my high and noble figurine can liquefy with disgrace as I realize that through out my life… my dreams remain unfulfilled.
And I still… fear my sleeps. I fear my sweating skin.

If I was a figment of your imagination, would you dream of me?

I fear that that drooling monster hiding within would crush my heart between his fingers and add a smirk to the picture only to make me yearn for something meaningful behind the brush.
If I was a shade, what color would I be?

I am my very own, independent batteekh. Sometimes I fear losing that independence along the road. I fear losing myself.
I fear not finding my complete satisfaction after all.
I fear needing to throw in a downward curve on my face in order to go survive.

If I was a clown, I wonder, would my jokes make me laugh?

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


Sleep, by definition is the rest afforded by a suspension of voluntary bodily functions; the suspension of consciousness.
To cease being awake.

Lately, I’ve been mentally functioning a little over too much. Emotionally, psychologically, and physically, I’m fine. It’s the mental side of me that is… overloaded?
Stretched to test my potential.

I worry too much. I’m one of those people that worry too much about the future. I over analyze. I think of all possible solutions. I think of consequences. I plan ahead. I want to know what would happen if…
I plan… then I usually do whatever it is that my heart tells me is right. The world is too hard for the mind to bear without faith. Life is too short for bitterness to cover you.
I can not survive this lack of sleep. My eyes are bulged in with two dark shades underneath them that totally describe my empty, cold bed. My back aches. I can’t walk straight.
The wait is fucking killing me.

I so appreciate the blessing of sleep. الحمدلله Sleep is so underrated.
I miss my mental unavailability, where a piece of your mind splits off to some elsewhere, compass-lessly. Be it dreams or nightmares, at the end the body is resting.
I miss the wanting to spend all Friday night doing something that I love knowing that in a few hours I will do something else that I also love and that is sleep. I miss my pillow.

I miss being covered.

I don’t wanna think.
My mind keeps talking to me, asking me questions, sketching pictorials of my worst fears; schizophrenia at its prime.
But I don’t wanna listen.

Sometimes… all I hear is chaos and clashing voices of my demons. I have unlearned their language.
I am lost in my persuasive insomnia and its persistence is dominating over my existence. Its grotesque nature eats at my flesh every single night.
My eyes hurt.
Sleep is also defined as being dormant.

It’s like living in two worlds…
Surviving two destinies. What’s real and what you aspire to.
My head hurts. The weights of two dimensions pulling me, using me as a fucking pivot for the rest of the world to feel balanced and feel fucking OK.

I wanna sleep. I wanna dream of her.
But I can’t. My mind is too fucking occupied like a bus filled with 40 passengers all wanting to go home.

Sleep is also defined as the state of mind where nothing really matters;
This part of my life is when so many things matter, when so many people matter, when the world is no longer your fucking oyster and you’re no longer the shiny pearl sitting in your gruesome bubble… your mind feels weak. You gotta get out of your cave and face them all… I… fucking… can’t.
I can’t even talk to her. My mind is filled with dots marking the blank spaces of things I so wanna tell her… but I can’t. My voice… sounds like someone else’s.

My mind can’t handle weak. I am failing at becoming myself.

I am tired of hoping. And the more sleep ignores me, the more I despise it, the more I don’t want it.

The more I fucking fear it…
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Most of all…I am tired of my inability at being myself around her.

It’ll get better around this weekend… I know it.

Don’t you dare wake me up!

Am Busy!!

Monday, March 10, 2008

My unsaid words

Even though it was only a chat window, I refused to let go. I denied the existence of the button X and waited for more words to appear on a screen that, to me, resembled a crystal ball that induced magical things in to my world; a prism that makes light look a little different.

I couldn’t help but embrace the strings of whens and hows rushing through my brain. No answer to echo back to my unguarded self. Fear only happens when you love something, love yourself, or perhaps love someone. Fear… is basically the fear of losing yourself into the abyss of temporary divine injustice; the fear of not knowing, of the uncertain. I am too afraid. Nothing is controllable. Nothing is tangible. All I want is certainty; certainty that I can not see anywhere except in my own feelings.

I feared the return of the dark prince.
I fear him. I hate him.
Hate had a face to loath; to sketch on a dart board and shoot as I battle my own demons.

I feared… but then I aimed higher… and suddenly, I didn’t wanna shoot my darts anymore.
I became peaceful. This newly found peace that I have so longed for, that I gave a name. Peace also has a face now to cherish, to touch, to kiss… to watch as she sleeps and dreams.

I felt tranquility in my mind at last as my demons bowed to my graceful Queen. I thanked God for my fingers, for my voice, for her birth, for the gift of sound that made us connect.
Most of all, I thanked God for finally making me understand the question of ‘Why wait?
I no longer needed the answer. She’s all the answers that I need.

I got up and looked through the same window that once resembled a ledge of salvation and prayed for the drought to be over. I felt the politics rushing in, politics that I never cared to mingle through. Society can be the enemy at some points no matter how much they think they know you. I can feel the urge to let go of my surviving ego. I know that khalaaas… it’s about time. It’s about time to try to gain their trust. Trust that I never cared to fight for. Love me or leave me. I don't fucking care. That has always been my motto… but it’s time to walk the distance now. It’s time to impress. It’s time to open up to the world and let the people know who I am, what I’m capable of, what I want out of life… to make them trust me.

It’s time to let the world know how much I love her.

I looked through the window again and whispered to the God watching over me, ‘What did I do that made me so deserving?’


I love you, fair lady of my heart.
I always will.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

As up as it gets

You wake up feeling empty; like a toilet that’s just been flushed. You open your eyes to the new world; a world too low you can actually touch it. You wonder where your dream went; how your sleep betrayed you, lied to you, unconsciously; how it borrowed your heart for a while then returned it no strings attached... or so it thinks.
You wonder why the world you’ve known and adapted to seems different now. You wonder why the smoke has painted a new black to your walls, a black that you can’t survive alone.
You feel like shaking yourself up, but you’re already up.

This… is as up as it gets.

You wonder if your words mock you now; point at you and taunt you dry. How could faith and heart be so different?, you ask the enduring walls. If only you’d have listened to them from the start. If only you haven’t failed them, they’d have probably been patting you on the back, telling you that it’s gonna be alright.
But you’ve failed them.
You’ve failed everybody.
You look back hoping for a safe journey home, but you can’t see it anymore. You’ve already crossed the line. Home is where the heart lies. You know that now.
It’s hard to un-change. It’s impossible to unfeel. Not this time.
You still hear her voice telling you ‘I’m smiling’. You feel your shattered pieces on the floor cutting your feet. Torn into slices of what matters and what doesn’t, what’s real and what’s not, you bleed.

The walls keep closing in, suffocating you, but you don't care. At least they're holding you, your image, your unbreakable image that you've so managed to paint on the outside of your walls.
You wonder if the ghouls and demons and angels are ever going to leave your head and just let you be. You wonder if that smile on their faces is the smile of truth… or whether it’s a sneer of gloat. You hate them. You hate them badly it hurts.

You look up and pray for God to hold you, to freeze the world so you wouldn’t melt.
You pray to God that she’s doing fine.

You wonder if you’ve been dreaming all along, because no reality could ever be so cruel.

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