Thursday, 8 November 2007

the day the music died

july 28th.
that was the day the music died.
my father went and took with him the string of harmonious notes that brightened my days.
and this is what I am left with.. so much to say, but it all comes out in silence...

Floods of silence.

Tuesday, 24 July 2007

(i'll name you) the flame that cries

There are two doors between my mother and I.
Enclosing pressure and untargeted anger behind them A void in between them. Filled with vacuum so that if a door is opened, a spark conveniently there, horrendous backlash and a burst of heat will occur. So the doors will stay closed.

There are two doors between my mother and I. And I wish I mean it figuratively.
There are halls of doors between us these days, and not much ability to knock them down. I wish I were a big bad wolf, I'd huff and puff to blow them down, but I'm not.
I'm not.

And there is no energy in the world capable of giving me that strength. Because some of these doors are held shut by me, and I cannot let go.

Maybe opportunity will knock soon.

Friday, 13 July 2007

the band conductor

sometimes i do the same thing...

Monday, 16 April 2007

different but the same

"Knowing is different than realising. We don't notice this, but its true.
We know that we are mortal. We know that our loved ones will die, we know that break ups are possible. But we don't realise it till the time comes to make us realise it."

We know that our parents will die. But when they do, that knowledge is rendered useless. It doesn't matter. Its a fact of life thats true. But it doesnt change anything in the way we feel, in the way we grieve. It does not alleviate pain or loss or sadness.

Knowledge is useless.

Its what we realise that counts. And how we feel.
Unfortunately, realisation always seems to come too late...

Monday, 2 April 2007

building walls and breaking bridges

it seems i'm unconsiously building walls these days.
to protect something thats been scarred.
But walls cant go up without breaking bridges.. and it seems i've done that too.

But what can i do when the walls are being built for protection? which type of protection? I'm not sure. It could be that i'm protecting myself from others.. and others from me.. But in doing that.. I'm breaking the bridges that friends use to reach me. And i have no control.
I feel i've become like a wild animal that has been cornered.. (hah. painted in to a corner.. referencing my previous post) and i have began to lash out, unaware of who i'm scratching, who i'm attacking, just aware that i'm overwhelmed, over my head, and a sensation that i'm drowning, and in need of air to breathe.. and theres no air around.

Its hard for someone to admit when they're is wrong when they are faced with it.. And its harder for someone to admit it when they're aware of the fact that they're wrong... and i think admitting when you're wrong when you know it, but are not in control of it, is the most humilliating..
Perhaps part of you realises what is going on, but hopes that those around you either understand automatically, or just simply don't feel that you are doing them wrong.. So as to save you having to explain that you are unaware of the reasons behind it..

Its getting complicated i know. I apologise..

I guess i want to tell whoever found themselves falling through a broken bridge, that i'm sorry.
I'm sorry.

But i can't control the cornered animal within me. I dont know what to do with it, I'm trying to stroke it tame, to feed it, to starve it, to love it, to hate it.. I want it to either leave me, or love me and those around me.

Till then.. I'll try to bark less, and bite even lesser. (that must be wrong gramatically.. But its ok. you can forgive me)
Just help me, when i bark or bite.. Don't run away scared.
throw me a bone.. maybe it'll help.

i just hope they don't give up trying to cross broken bridges..

Wednesday, 28 March 2007

the irony of pink pills

I've been hating pink most my life.
I really never ever had a 'thing' for pink.. Ok sure. I had the usual pink frilly summer dress as a child, but the moment i had control over my fashion sense, I refused pink. I preferred blues and purples and ultimately, above all, Black.
I've been told black is dismal, dark, gloomy..
i've been called goth.. been mocked for attempting to mantain an all black wardrobe... (lovingly of course)
And i never cared.. I love black.
But it seems my long relationship with black has allowed it to seep into my blood, and has allowed me to be introverted and sedated as black can be sometimes.. Not loud, or alive like a pink...
and so now black is running through my veins, and although it is comfortable.. I'm feeling funny.
I'm feeling the need to breathe. I feel painted into a corner. Painted into a corner with black paint..
And suddenly, I need to take pills.
And the irony?
they're pink.

Pink pills.

I need to take them because the black has consumed me in a way that black would not usually do. But i have become weak and troubled, and those are the best conditions for the good black to change into a black less friendly, less comfortable...

So i'll take thhese pink pills for a while.. Not long enough for it to circle in my veins, and bring a rosy glow to my cheeks..
But long enough to back the black off for a while.. To sooth it.

I hate pink...

Thursday, 22 March 2007

go ask alice...

the moon is gleaming at me with a cheshire cat smile.. Thin and crisp and glowing. and i feel warm, despite the chilly feel in the air...
i kept looking for that smile as i walked.. it would peep behind the trees.. and the buildings..
and i'd always smile back.

maybe it matters that i smile back at the cheshire cat.. maybe his glow will infect me with a smile that makes me disappear.. but always remains..

i should ask alice..

Sunday, 11 March 2007

unicorns in my head

written after last meeting with my FYP advisor:

What if I found a unicorn right now?
Would it make everything ok?
I would just look at it. It would be my personal saviour. In its perfections it would dissolve those imperfections around it. It would simply be pure beauty. When I look at images of unicorns they hold a promise to me, they keep their silent word that I’m safe. That there is a lot more good out there, much more reason to be happy than sad.
I get angry when I see people not appreciating the beauty. It is as if sometimes I feel they don’t see the beauty in me.
Do I dare take them out of their endless glass cage; behind the immobile, the still? Put them into one much different, where they can be indignified -polluted?
I speak perhaps like I am saying they are pure as is told of unicorns. But they are, not because they are white, or they were said to be so (a symbol of purity) but they are intrinsically pure. They just are.
They’ve been said to be aggressive, to be dangerous to anyone but a maiden, but I don’t think they are. They are merely protective- of beauty and don’t want us to ruin them.
Maybe my love for unicorns is just like my love of stars- always watching them from afar, always smiling at their existence, but never able to reach them. Perhaps even not wanting to reach them.
(stars will burn you to ashes)
And I don’t want to reach the unicorn because I’m afraid.
Afraid either of being disappointed that the real thing is just overrated and over beautified by images that are results of dreams of wishes, or afraid that I will no longer be able to dream or suspend my belief.
It’s true that the unicorns I “see” in my mind are relatively similar in appearance, but seeing the one true form would destroy them.
Maybe that’s a harsh word- not destry them, but make them sterile, and merely “bad-copies”..
Merely the mental rantings of someone who has lost all core meaning.. a madman making ugliness out of beauty.
Maybe I love horses because in my head they’re the closest I can get to their “imaginary” cousin without “burning”, without fear of disappointment
But unlike something in my head, I cannot control my encounters – and when I am “turned down” by a horse, when I am ‘rejected’ so to speak, when my care is not wanted or needed, my affection scorned, I take it badly. I feel that the beauty within me does not meet the required level… That I’m not up to par….

Wednesday, 28 February 2007

chasing ghosts (or demons) with alcohol (or lack thereof)

I had a horrible day today.
Started with a fight with my mother the minute she woke up. Not just a quarrel, but a fight fight. one that reminded me of the overly dramatic fights that used to happen 5 or 6 years before..
I had been in a bad mood the minute i woke up too.. I had a dream that agitated me.. it was a dream of people i was trying to forget, and situations long gone.. Wishful dreaming despite the attempts to amputate the wish for lack of probability, want of sanity, and need of relief. i dont want to hear their names, dont want to know anyhting .. i want them to disappear.
the cowards way out i kno. But at least i'm brave enough to say i'm a coward.. whatever
A beautiful dream under different circumstances.
..fucking circumstances..

so after removing my self body and mind from a house full of emotional highs and dramatic confrontations, I (as usual) armoured up with my music, and marched steadily and firmly to uni for a meeting with my advisor.

I'm working on my FYP this semester.. (final year project) the semester i graduate and start living (if only). My thesis concentration was on mythological creatures and my take on their representations.. and it all started from a personal love of these creatures, especially unicorns that had captivated since i can remember...
anyway.. this was my second meeting with my advisor, and we were discussing what i want to do and all that.. and he stopped me today.. he told me that something i told him last time had stuck in his mind.
i had told him that when i see an image of a unicorn.. my eye somehow felt complete.. I was happy, and awestruck and warmed with the glow of beauty.. sounds ridiculously corny or whatever.. but i couldnt care less what you thought about this..
anyway.. so he tells me how i'm someone romantic.. and a "lover" in search of a beloved.. and how a lover always ends up burning as a result of this constant pursuit.. constant search that either ends in disappointment or never actually ends..
i couldnt help myself.. i started to tear up.. i guess it was the result of the whole morning and night.. and feeling like crap..
I guess I do feel that way in a sense.. incomplete until i can love something or someone. In my past relationships i've always been the one "in love"... or been the one whose outlasted the other when it came to being "in love".... I think perhaps i'm just in need of being loved back sometimes.. that its no longer a matter of who it is.. but a matter of the love itself..
i dont know. I'm spewing words now in incohenrent sentences and thoughts that are just banging against my head and its hurting me sometimes to think or even try to catch them..

in the meantime i guess I'll just have to burn...

I (over)think, therefore I am (forever lost)

My ipod ran out of battery.
thats not enough to explain the anguish.
my i pod ran out of battery far from a source of energy able to bring my saviour back to life.

i hate when that happens. I really do.
It becomes very clear to me that i am a sociophobe. I think i hear my friends cracking up somewhere far off.. but its true...
i may be sociable when it comes to certain situations and places... I'll socialise over a drink, i'll spark up a conversation with the bartender, or i'll go up to someone and ask about their shirt or their hair colour or whatever.. I have no qualms..
except sometimes..
sometimes i just dont want to face anyone.. I dont want to hear someone talking, i dont want to think someone is calling my name and turn around (and that happens a lot.. the voices in my head seem to be getting better at that)
sometimes i just dont want to hear the most banal talk spewing out of the mouths of my peers.. it depresses me..
not that i dont say banal things.. but there's banal, and there's "banal"...
I feel exposed and naked without music blocking everything out. I wonder if thats normal..

but the worst thing about it all is probably that I tend to start overthinking. The voice in my head that is constantly talking to me becomes louder. And trails and turns and squirms and rolls over and twists and convulates.
I start jumping from one thing to another and overthinking and judging myself and wondering and and and ...
i guess this doesn't really sound like a bad thing.. but when you're drowning in it.. it's hard to not be afraid of it..

So i sat in the cab on the way home.. Musicless, and feeling cramps in my stomach.. and all i could hear was really bad bad arabic music crackling on an annoyingly low volume so that it's not clear, but clear enough to drill a hole in my brain, and the cranking and banging of the motor...
and my thoughts are going haywire.
I can't follow them anymore.. I'm overthinking..
its official..
i'm overthinking.. and i'm getting down.. and depressed.. and just thinking about it is depressing me so I'll shut up..
but yes... the moral of the story is

damn i pod batteries..

Friday, 23 February 2007

in the rain..

i walked in the rain today.

i'm not sure why i did it. i could have easily taken a cab home, paid that 1500 L.L., sat on a worn leather seat, with the stuffing peeking from the one too many holes, and rested my feet on the clattering metal car floor, (if i was lucky i'd get a cab with a view of the asphalt road blurring from underneath me in streaks of shades of gray)

but i decided to walk.
at first it was the traffic that turned me off. i thought to myself the best thing to do was to walk past it and then grab a cab. there's nothing worse than a dinky stinky cab with a driver that makes eyes at you than being stationary in a dinky stinky cab with a driver that makes eyes at you.

so i walked up Sadat street towards City Cafe, and as i got to the corner, "The Tain" by the decemberists came on my ipod, and i thought what a shame to break the rhythm and get into a cab that had no idea of the beat in my head, and for the sake of saving me distress, i thought i'd walk a bit more.

It began to drizzle lightly, and although this would usually be the excuse of excuses for someone who just wanted to get home to grab a cab and avoid the damp, i pulled the hood of my sweater onto my head, and decided that the rain would be the reason i would walk on.

i like the rain, and it's been a while since i've had time to catch up with her, let her kiss my face, let her wash me clean.

i'd kissed in the rain, cried in the rain, laughed in the rain. and now i just wanted to feel her. It was my turn to give her my time.

my music was loud, the sky was gray, and my face was crying heaven's tears.

and i walked. i walked. and i felt out of this world.
my sentiments switched between two feelings.
in the first feeling i was invisible, and i was a voyeur of this wet winter day in Beirut, seeing people scurry from the threat of water, and cabs honk at anyone in hopes of reaping in some profit, and meet the gazes of passerbys wondering why i wasn't avoiding this adversary.
in the second, i was out of my own body, and i was seeing myself step in puddles, dodge cars, and attempt to roll a cigarette while walking, and just ending up with a flimsy rollie, smokable nonetheless.

all i could hear in the background was my music.

and on my ipod, the lyrics of one of the songs off the soundtrack of Cowboy Bebop plays.

"I walk in the rain, in the rain
Why do I feel so alone
For some reason I think of home"

i walked in the rain today.
and god did i miss her.

Monday, 19 February 2007

the beginning

She sits on her bed in the middle of the night.
lights a cigarette
takes a deep deep breath and watches the smoke trail away from her, illuminated by the cold light of her laptop.
she's listening to Deftones, wait, no. It just changed. Now its Belle and Sebastian.

a few clicks and she hears the typical cackling sound of a computer connecting to cyberspace, opening to the world (damn dial up)
she sets up a blog. no idea why she does. but she does.

perhaps its for nights like these, when the thoughts in her head get very loud. Or for when she get that alone feeling, and the cold laptop light is actually warming.