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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

« Home | Grotesque » | My unsaid words » | As up as it gets » | Comme ci, comme ça » | Every night’s last cigarette » | Claustrophobic shelling » | The minutes holding me back » | A banker's box of secrets » | My reason to wait » | V for... hmm. »

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?

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