RasaM's Guide to Tehran and Life (MetaLRasaM.com)(Rasami.com)

(Originally written on the last day of December 2009)

a little side note

I know I’ve been neglecting you all, and I’m sorry. But life got all crazy and I just didn’t have time. I really didn’t.

I actually wrote a little something on Halloween, but never posted it. I’m not even sure what it’s about, I used a pencil to write it, which is pretty unusual for me. I gotta find the notebook and read it, if it was “post worthy” then I’ll for sure do it, if not then it will just join its buddies in the “drafts” folder.

Nothing is really new with me. The other day, I decided to cut my hair really short, and so I did it. Nothing unusual about that, expect the fact that it was 5 in the morning and I had just spent the past 8 hours at the library. It was fun, I felt clean and light. It’s been a while, so it was a pleasant change indeed.

it’s a story

I woke up, feeling uneasy. It’s never a good sign to feel uneasy when you wake up in your own bed, but here I was, feeling a bit foreign. Flashes of last night streaming into my head. Wasn’t sure how to really feel about the whole thing. Decided to go downstairs and get something to eat. Opened the fridge, some nice prosciutto begging me to cook something Italian with them, but it was too early to cook. I grabbed a couple of slices of wholegrain toast and shoved them into the toaster. After months of playing around with the dial, I finally cracked the secret to the perfect toast, not too crunchy, and not burnt, the perfect toast. I pressed down the lever and grabbed the cream cheese out the fridge, along with some perfectly chilled apple juice. My favourite mug, with a single cube of ice, just waiting for me to kickoff the festivities. You don’t fuck around with perfection. Anything more than a cube of ice will just ruin this perfect juice. Same goes with good whiskey. For reasons unknown to me, some bartenders don’t fucking understand what it means to serve scotch on “rocks”. I don’t want water in my drink, I want to cool it. Anything more than two cubes is raping the drink. Trust me on that. While patiently waiting for the toaster to perfect my breakfast, I grabbed my phone to check on Twitter. It really is the perfect way to keep in touch with the world. 140 characters of information. By following CNN and NY Times, I pretty much always know what’s going on in the world, albeit usually in only 140 characters or less. Nothing interesting, which is good. No news is always good news in my world. The toaster popped out the centre piece of my breakfast and I grabbed them all. Pulled out the table in front of the TV, queued up an episode of “Arrested Development”, and started my morning.

Ten minutes into the episode, I heard a car pulling in the driveway.

“You’re leaving?” I asked

“Yap”

“a bit early, don’t you think?”

“I really gotta go”

“yeah, sure…want anything to eat?…I mean…I would’ve dropped you off…”

“No, that’s ok, I’ll be fine”

“if you say so…”

“Yeah…amm…thanks for everything…again”

“I really didn’t do anything…thank you…I guess”

“so…see you around?”

“yeah…for sure”

It feels great. I don’t even think the word “great” describes it well. It feels grand. You slide it between your fingers, twist it, and out comes a tool. An instrument that made me feel like a man. Made me feel unique and important. A way to express my inner desires. A gateway into my soul. But like everything else in life, it came with a price and it wasn’t cheap. I could feel the guilt, looming behind my ears, whispering, reminding me that what I’m doing is wrong. But I ignored it all. I did what I had to do. I paid the large sum of cash, and it made me feel much better.

I know I know, it’s been a while. I’ve written, but decided not to post them. And nope, I don’t have a decent excuse for it. I just didn’t want to post them.

I’ve been busy with school, more than I ever wanted to. I haven’t been active in anything. I don’t even play XBOX anymore. The other day I picked up the guitar and played “All You Need Is Love” in Rock band: The Beatles. Was really fun, but I wasn’t even that good at it. I scored a  75% accuracy on “hard”, I usually do at least low 90’s.

With each passing day, I try to be positive about everything. Not delusional, but positive. Some people can’t differentiate between the two. Being positive is hoping for the best, and at the same time doing everything that you can do achieve it. At least that’s how I look at it. I cut my hair again. Really short. Like how I used to do it. I just needed a change. People still annoy the shit out of me. Especially the simple ones. What’s their excuse? I don’t know. I’m not saying my shit doesn’t stink, but some people are just too easy. Too narrow-minded. You can always count on them being stupid. I like it when people are unpredictable. Even the crazy ones.

Ohh I almost forgot, my car’s lease expired, and I’ve been taking the TTC for the past week. Wow, just wow. The bus is almost never on time, I’m usually standing, cause I’m the only one with decency to allow the elderly to sit instead of me, and some people just stink. What happened to personal hygiene? I don’t know.

I was gonna write something interesting, but I’m gonna cut this one short. Sorry to disappoint.

“something”

“Brilliant”, she said.

I disagreed.

“This is real”, she continued. “This time you will see it for yourself, the wrath of the past, the revenge of the fallen.”

I laughed, and told her: “isn’t that the title of the new Transformers movie?”

As she ignored my comment, she said: “You have to see it, and feel it in order to grasp it. You have made mistakes, but this time, there won’t be a second chance.”

That surprised me, and with a puzzled look I replied: “But I never asked for a second chance. I never asked for anything. It’s not like I never got punished. Never begged and rarely asked for anything…-“

As she so gently moved around in her chair, she interrupted me and said: “You know he hated you. Always had.”

I was shocked. “But…him?…I mean…why? Him and I never met. I don’t even know what he looks like…”

She slowly picked up her glass of wine, now only half full, with a red lipstick mark, perhaps a warning sign to me, and everyone else, of all the trouble that she could cause. She enjoyed a sip, and placed it back on the coaster, just as gently as she had picked it. All this while I’m struggling to understand the situation, and eagerly awaiting her explanation.

“Well, you came up in our conversations, a bit often actually”

I didn’t say a word. I figured that she knows me well enough to know that I need a bit more explanation for all this madness. After 15 seconds of silence, I realized that I was wrong.

“But how in the world did I come up in your conversations, when I don’t even know the guy??!?!?!” is what I said, as I could feel every muscle in my body twitching, trying to analyze and solve the dilemma.

She shuffled her naked legs, grazing each, on to the other, tilted her neck, with those big eyes, replied:

“That, might’ve been my fault.”

---------------

“something else”

It’s been days, weeks, even months and all I can think of, are the lullabies of when I was nothing, feeling secure, as if the entire world was in my control. I wonder if I’ll ever feel the same.

The world was a different place. I was happy and well-rested. Lately, I would gladly settle for either one of them. But that doesn’t happen. And I’m not alone in this. Disappointment, was hardly ever felt, and even then it was so mild that everyone would be over it in hours, and not years.

What happened?

When did I learn to cut out people and just move-on?

When did we learn to intentionally hurt each other?

When was it that lying no longer guaranteed a hot place in hell?

What happened to all the promises, the innocent tears, and the guilt of hurting a friend’s feelings?

When did we forget the meaning of empathy?

How did we replace it with a meaningless statement like “tough luck” or “life’s not fair”?

What went wrong? I remember when stepping on other people in order to succeed was considered a bad thing. Now its just part of “the game”.

I know where the problem is. I’m never satisfied. I always want the impossible. And when I get it, I need a new impossible. The chase is always better than the catch. Always. I need to feel challenged. I need to make it personal. It has to become personal, because only then, I can feel a slight satisfaction after I attain it. Only after achieving it against all the odds, is when I feel the joy. When everyone is cheering for my failure is when I feel alive. That’s when I feel motivated. I need enemies, real or imaginary, doesn’t matter. I’ll create them if I have to, but I need them. That’s when I’m at my best. It isn’t healthy, I know, but I can’t help it.

---------------

“life”

Today was a horrific day. Cloudy sky, winter looming in the corner, and everyone was just fucked up. I hate days like today. They shouldn’t exist.

But they do, and that’s just life.

"Life," said Marvin, "don't talk to me about life."

Dear glasses,

How are you? It’s been a while, what’s new? I hope you’re doing well and life is exactly how you want it to be.

I’m writing you this letter, because I want you to know that I miss you. I am really sorry for being a bad owner. For not cleaning your lenses frequently and not appreciating all your efforts in making me see the world better.

I know I didn’t always put you back in your case, and sometimes just shoved you in my bag, but I’ve changed. I’m a different owner now. I know I used to just brush you off, and use contacts, but I’m over that bitch. She wasn’t even half as good as you. Every time I wore her, I was thinking of you.

I need you. Without you, I don’t see the world the way I should, and I get headaches. Shitty headaches. And I can’t read as much I want to. I don’t even get to play video games like before, and now the Xbox is also very upset.

So why don’t you stop this none-sense and please come back home? Xbox misses you, I miss you, the books miss you. We all miss you. You won, I’m an asshole. But I promise you that this time it’ll be different. This time, I’m a new man, a changed man. I will buy you one of those special cleaning cloths, and won’t even clean you with my under-shirt, or worst, my boxers.

I’ll even use that spray thing-E instead of just water.

I know in order for you to trust me again, you need time, and I understand that. I’m here for you, to walk with you, and show you the new me. The changed Rasam loves you, and will never leave alone.

Come back.

With love,

Rasam

Once again, I cheated on you. For this, and all my previous sins, I’m sorry.

I really felt like writing the other day, and I did. Then I didn’t post it. I’m sorry.

I feel obligated to you, you being random statistics that I monitor. The number of visits, the number of hits…just numbers with no faces.

I also wrote the beginning of what could’ve been a very good post, but decided to post in Facebook instead. Again, I’m sorry.

This is what I wrote:

“When nobody's watching...pencil and pen. Naked paper and the rest are just secrets. Pouring out, pain, fused with ink. Curves that shape words, describe years of sorrow. And the screams of the dead tree, eating me whole.“

I’m not sure where it came from, but it did.

I honestly believe that my life is officially on a faster pace. Days just go by. I wake up, I sleep, and I repeat. So weird, so fantastically weird.

Before writing today, I felt inspired, looks like I was wrong. I don’t know what was it that inspired me.

Let’s not force the issue here.

I smell like smoked turkey, and that’s cause I made one for dinner. I should take a shower and sleep, but I don’t wanna. Well, that’s not entirely accurate, I actually want to do that, but I don’t feel like it.

Tonight, I ate like a beast, and in around 6 hours, I gotta run 5K for CIBC Breast Cancer: Run For The Cure, should be fun! My ankle isn’t %100 yet, but I think I can run straight without problems. I’m gonna wrap it, just in case. I tried to do a little jerk move, just to see how it feels, wasn’t smart. It still hurts. Tomorrow looks to be rainy day, which isn’t good for a bad ankle. I’ll hope for the best, it’s for charity man, how much shit could happen to a dude who’s doing good? I guess we shall see.

I’ve been thinking about music lately, and it’s been interesting. First of all, I realized that I don’t know a single Moby fan. And that’s amazing, cause I consider myself a big fan of his music. He actually dropped by Toronto this week, and I really wanted to go, but couldn’t find anyone to come with me! If that’s not an indication to rethink my friendships, I don’t know what is. I also played a good 10 hours of The Beatles: Rockband. It was sweet. I like The Beatles, I like them a lot. So “playing” their songs with my fake guitar was superb. I don’t know what attracts me most about them, but I think it’s how simple and amazing they were. They didn’t try too hard, and just produced, album after album. Good for them.

Looks like sleep is looming in the corner, watching me, carefully calculating its plan in order to knock me the hell out. I’m gonna take a shower, cause I really can’t sleep while I smell like food.

Be safe.

One day I woke up, and words became more clear. Bright like the sun, I saw them all, shining, perfectly perfect.

One day I grew up, and it was a very sad day. The innocent escaped, all that was left was the bitter truth. The pessimistic view, the death of trust. I didn’t wear black, I knew it would happen, I always anticipated it, so when it did, I was ready.

And there are nights, where I feel bitter. Angry perhaps, demanding an explanation. I give a dirty look or five, frown, cringe my teeth, and ask the simplest of them all; “why?”.

I often miss it, it reminds me that I’m still here, awake, or perhaps not here, but somewhere very close. It assures me that it happened. And what follows is the joy of living.

It’s delicate, and fragile, balancing it all, finding the sweet spot, controlling, and letting go. Magic and make-believe…or maybe all is real. I try, I know I do. But isn’t always possible.

I get tired of making people see things from my point of view. And always having to defend my ideas. Always. “Why so defensive?” they all ask. I wonder how they would react.

Right now, as the clock is showing me a very nice 90 degree angle, I realized that all that I wrote needs my actual thoughts in order to make any sense. For that, I’m sorry. Sometimes you get the thoughts, sometimes it’s the director’s commentary. I imagine this post as a director’s commentary without the actual movie. Unfortunate, to say the least.

(I started writing this two weeks ago)

I don’t really have much to write about it.

Well, I always have something to say and write, but right now, as I’m sitting here, I don’t have a thought, nothing specific. I’ll just go on and ramble on whatever enters this brain of mine. Should be fun.

I was thinking that sometimes, you make a decision, and in your heart, you believe it to be the right thing to do, but later on you realize that you were wrong. In my case, it doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it really hurts. Mostly my ego, but it really hurts. I think when it comes to important decisions, you always have to “sleep on it”. Take a breath, stand back, and recalculate the outcome. I’m glad that I didn’t pull the trigger, cause shit would’ve been so much harder to deal with.

Sometimes, you plan something and it goes exactly as planned. Everything turns out the way you predicted, and it feels amazing. And some other times nothing works out…and by nothing I mean NOTHING. Those are the shitty days. I haven’t had many of those lately, which is good. *knocks on wood*

Summer is almost over, and I can’t recall how it even started. It’s pure bullshit how time really flies.

I gotta tone down my competitiveness. I should be able to turn it off, and I can’t. It’s getting a bit annoying. Even in sports, I should tone it down. I’ll work on it, I really will. I have managed to drive not only slower, but more law-abiding. It feels good, I really wanna stay away from more tickets. I’ve had enough.

The other day I got stuck in a shitty traffic and all of the sudden I “wrote” a short story in my head. I’ll write it down one day, but I really liked it. Not sure if you guys will, but personally, I thought it was very interesting. I like it when stories rush into my head. I get to watch them in my imagination as they unfold. It makes me feel like a little boy, listening to a great story. I almost never know how it’ll end.

Here’s a nice picture of Shiraz, candle light, bread, cheese, and what you can’t see is Shahram Nazeri singing his heart out.

I think it would be wise to stop posting pictures of wine in here, makes me look like an alcoholic!!

I’m feeling poetic, and I’m not even drunk. Although traces of a really fine wine is swimming inside my veins, all I can think is emptiness that one experiences while living on this dirty planet.

I’m listening to the type of music that even the artist knows that it sucks. The songs he hates, the songs studio pushed to be on the CD…ya, I’m listening to those tracks, and I hate them all. Why am I forcing this unpleasantness on myself? I really don’t know. I can think of a reason or two, but they all would be bullshit. I just want to listen to shitty music right now.

Last month was the most successful busiest month of this blog. The visits alone have doubled from the previous month, and I feel the pressure. I feel that now, I need to actually produce! Manufacture entertainment? Create “art”? I don’t know…

Speaking of “art”, I attended an art gallery that was intended for the recent violence in Iran. While it wasn’t bad, I couldn’t help but wonder how fucking fake everyone was. I just don’t understand it. I remember when artists were just like normal people, but a bit more talented. Lately anyone with a brush or a camera has this look, has this persona. I thought being an artist was about individuality, about expressing one’s inner soul on a paper or canvas. As I was walking around the gallery, I saw the same hats, same shoes, same “old school” glasses, same hair-cuts, same “lingo”…it really saddened me. It felt unnecessary.

The real will notice the details, while the weak will get lost in a room with shackles and tombs. Drown where no other soul will hear their cries. Drown where doom is in full gloom.

I didn’t write the following, but it always spoke to me.

“Dogs”

“you gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need. you gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street, you gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed. and then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight, you gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking. and after a while, you can work on points for style. like the club tie, and the firm handshake, a certain look in the eye and an easy smile. you have to be trusted by the people that you lie to, so that when they turn their backs on you, you'll get the chance to put the knife in. you gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder. you know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older. and in the end you'll pack up and fly down south, hide your head in the sand, just another sad old man, all alone and dying of cancer. and when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown. and as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone. and it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw around. so have a good drown, as you go down, all alone, dragged down by the stone. I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused. sometimes it seems to me as if i'm just being used. gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise. if i don't stand my own ground, how can i find my way out of this maze? deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending that everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend. and it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner and everything's done under the sun, and you believe at heart, everyone's a killer. who was born in a house full of pain. who was trained not to spit in the fan. who was told what to do by the man. who was broken by trained personnel. who was fitted with collar and chain. who was given a pat on the back. who was breaking away from the pack. who was only a stranger at home. who was ground down in the end. who was found dead on the phone. who was dragged down by the stone.”

-RW

NOTE: this conversation may or may not have actually happened.

I was just sitting here, in my room, minding my own business, thinking. Thinking about nothing and everything. One of those nights. I had finished a nice glass of Shiraz, watched Wall-E while eating sunflower seeds, and then decided to browse the ‘net before passing out.
As I finished reading my junk mail, deciding between the Viagra and the penis enlargement supplements, I took a deep breath and all of the sudden he showed up again.
It went something like this:

me -*sigh*

?- Is that what you really want?

me- Wha…Excuse me?

- You heard me.

ya I did, wait…but...what…ammm…did you...you heard that??

ya...that's why I asked

but...you…heard…my thoughts?

ya...why?

WHY? cause that's not normal....its actually fucked up...and very rude. Like very very rude!

oohhhkkkaayyy, get over it man.

but how?

how to get over it?…or…how do I-

how did you read my-

you know how, stop acting stupid, answer me. Is that what you really want?

ya...it is...I wish I could-

well...you wish a bit too much...don’t you think?

*puzzled look* huh?

I’m just saying..."wish this" ..."wish that"...like shut the fuck up already. People shouldn’t wish this much. You gotta “do” it. Not wish it.

dude...chill...stop reading my thoughts...and what’s with you and the Genie complex...I wanna wish as I PLEASE...fuck you! I can wish all I want...all day..and all fucking night...you stupid asshole.

ok..YOU chill...and you know I ain’t no Genie..and don’t even compare to that fucker...I’m very real...and you very well know it

see? right here…this…just this right here…its cause of assholes like you and shit like this that I wanna just de-friend people...I wanna go back, and walk by and never talk to them...just ignore them...and never start a so called friendship or whatever...then I don’t have to avoid them...or see them...or call them....or talk to them...as the matter of fact, I wish they could disappear or something...you know?

ya I know...you want me to kill them…right?

NO!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!? hell no! what’s wrong with you? I never said that!!

hahahahaha…look at you…your eyes are about to pop out! relax…I know what you mean…that’s all i hear you say..err...think...but you can’t...can you?

I’ve tried and it looks to be impossible.

all this is cause of her?

you know its not for her..its what she stands for...

and what is that?

which one?

both of them...

well...one is fucking sorrow and depression...and the other one is...I don’t even know...failure perhaps? but that's not right...how do i put this...amm…phony-ness?

“phony-ness”? hahaha..you dumbass! is that even a word? you can’t just add a little “ness” after everything..you know that right?

why not? I like it…phony-ness! it makes sense!

you and “phony”…..my own little catcher in the mother fucking rye huh? Holden much?

fuck off...

next thing I know you gonna tell me you’re gay huh?

I thought you could read thoughts? you jackass...

so?...I still enjoy pissing you off..

how very "RasaM" of you?

ya...very...

so?

so what?

what do you think?

I don’t usually think...I just act..

everyone thinks...

but I’m not everyone..

ok..drop it man...you’re special...we get it...

who’s "we"?

*rolls eyes*...anyway...can I just not talk to them or something? ignore and move on?

lemme shake my magic 8 ball...

*pffft*

nope...no can do...you are stuck my amigo!

I don’t really like you...why do you even come here? why can’t you just leave and never come back?

cause you cant live without me...and you know it!

but what we have here makes no sense...

ya...never really did

so...if I go...she will be there...and I can’t just ignore her...and chances are she’s gonna say something either stupid or depressing...and both are gonna bother me

and the other one?

well...she’s gonna be herself...which is unstable to say the least…I think deep down she doesn’t like me cause I was there when she was borderline retarded. When she was a dumbass...maybe she doesn’t like me as her reminder...? or-

you give yourself too much credit...you really aren’t special…

hahahahahahahaha...I thought you were different? what happened? now all of the sudden I’m not special? pick a side you fuck...you can’t just half-way this shit...you gonna have to commit...for once in your life, you need to actually commit and be a part of this.

you very well know that neither of us is really good with this whole committing business.

speak for yourself, I’m excellent.

no you’re not.

ok…but I’m getting better and that’s a fact.

so? still years behind the average.

well…what if I don’t wanna be the average, I wanna be me!

ok, one of us has to drop this “ohhh look at me, I’m special” act, so why don’t you do the honours?

why do you have to be an asshole?

cause you are an asshole.

that isn’t true! I am not!

ok, we can do this all day, and I don’t have time for it, I’m tired and I wanna sleep.

I know what you mean…

duhh!

so…what do you think I should do?

not a clue

not a SINGLE clue?

nope, I really don’t know. I know you wanna be nice, and do the right thing, but at the same time, she can be depressing and the other is kinda crazy…so is it worth it?

I don’t know…maybe I could talk to her, grab her and be like listen, can you please try to close your can of wormshit, I’m still recovering from the shit you told me in April.

don’t you think that’s rude…?

ya it is…and you know I can never tell her that…

I say you just don’t go…fuck it…who cares? you won’t be missed.

ya…I guess…-

ya…guess right!

you know something?

I know a lot of things, but this one I guess I don’t…what?

You are, by far, the shittiest voice one could have inside their head…like so shit-

EXCUSE you? I’m a great voice…all other heads WISH they had a voice like me…I’m smart…and witty…the perfect kinda voice

you are a moron, and a waste of energy.

cause I live inside your damn head, can you blame me? this shit is empty! you little turd!

whatever, I said my peace, now shut up and turn off the lights, I wanna sleep.

I can’t turn the lights off dumbass, I’m a voice…you turn off the lights…

see? useless.

It's been very difficult. From changing meds, figuring out my life, planting tomatoes, planning my future, deciding on a surgery, getting disappointed, analyzing my relationships even further, getting even more disappointed, doing the bungee jump thingE at Wonderland, driving to Ottawa to vote for the Iranian Presidential Election, cleaning up the house, waiting at the airport, picking up loved ones, getting to the OR, having a political/spiritual/religious conversation/argument with my surgeon, one of the nurses, and the anaesthesiologist, to waking up in pain, getting morphine injected into me, thrice, and then trying to have a decent conversation with my parents whom were still very much jetlagged from their trip across the planet.

The “political/spiritual/religious conversation/argument” went like this:

I asked the anaesthesiologist to please wait for me to do my prayers before putting me to sleep. I then corrected myself, just in case, and reminded him that by "putting me to sleep" I actually meant making me sleep ONLY for the duration of the surgery, and not longer. He smiled, so did the nurses. I was a bit nervous, but I'm a fairly positive person. I smiled back, thinking happy thoughts, being positive. My surgeon boasted that his anaesthesiologist is nothing compared to the one for my open discectomy 4 years ago at a competing hospital. I took his word for it. Dr. Ali was his name. My surgeon was a bit surprised about me praying pretty much right before him cutting me up, he knew that I’m not really religious. I explained to him that I’m not the best Muslim around. I told him how much I like pepperoni pizza and I own a dog! Considering that he knew where I was from, he realized what I meant by that statement (in Islam, dogs aren't well liked, mostly cause they lick themselves, at least that's what I learned at school) for which he replied that neither is he, but we settled that a higher power exists. However, my surgeon was a bit taken by the dog statement and Islam, he glanced over at Dr. Ali to which my anaesthesiologist replied that it was a misconception.

At that point, I fought a very difficult battle between my mind and the beast inside me that wanted to take up valuable OR time in order to prove a point. My mind won. Which was smart. Why would I wanna argue with a man who is about to put me to sleep for an hour, while I'm laying on a bed, naked, right in front of him? Good job mind. (FYI: I just googled, and I was right. Dogs aren't well liked at all, but worry not, he had the last laugh, read on).

After I did my prayers, which usually lasts maybe a minute at best, my anaesthesiologist made me feel like shit about the whole suppressing my inner desire to argue with him. It went like this: I did my prayers and I told him that I'm good to go. As he was putting me to sleep, he said: "you just said you aren't religious, yet you asked me to wait for you to finish your prayers". He was right, but I couldn't let him know that. I needed to at least justify the fact that I lived in an Islamic Republic for 15 years with a half-smart half-bullshit comment. As I was fighting off the anxiety, and the sleeping potion greeting my organs, I tried to think of a comment, but before I got anywhere, the nurse put a mask on my face, and asked me to just breath, "this is pure oxygen" she said. I was a bit panicking now, wanting to get it off my chest. He can’t possibly win this, I said to myself. I can’t be proven a hypocrite. I got a bit pissed, which was funny cause I actually heard my anger. The "beep" "beep" from the monitoring machine was always there in the background, singing a repetitive tune, which I think was 55bpm, but when I got pissed, I heard it going up to maybe 65, and then it got back to 55ish, and then it was just black. He won.

When I woke up, my face was in pain, and I was feeling really tired. Really spent. The nurse asked how I was feeling, and I told her my throat was really sour, and my face was hurting. I said my pain is around 7 out of 10. She said she had given me some morphine, and I should be feeling better soon. I asked how much, which was funny, cause I was trying to remember how much morphine is usually administered to patients, but my mind was simply blank. She asked me to sit a bit straighter, and I did. I remember being extra polite, replying with "yes ma'am", "no ma'am". I think it made everyone uncomfortable. They then took me to my folks, which was interesting cause they both looked a bit nervous. Later one they told me that my surgery took more than 90 minutes, which was a good 40 minutes longer than the initial estimate. After 15 minutes or so, the pain started to kick in again, and this time my surgeon also recommended another shot of morphine for me, and I was like yayyy! I've never had morphine before, so you know, I was excited. My surgeon was fairly confident about the results and that made everyone a bit easier and lighter.

Hours later I remember getting to the car, and seeing myself in the mirror, I looked like hell. It was horrible. I look much better now, but holly shit, I looked like someone beat the shit out of me.

These were taken 2 days after the surgery. My eyes are OPEN in these picture.

My are are freaking OPEN!!!!!!!!!!!!! Did I mention that? I felt like Rocky!

(The surgery was on the 18th of June, I started writing this about a week later. Finished it on the 30th of June.)

I don’t have a new picture, and too lazy to take one, but it pretty much looks normal again. Which is good =). And this was a lovely day at the beach.

It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it is truly amazing. You hate to admit it, deep down inside, you try to ignore it, but you know better.

I love the water. The rain, the sea, a pond, a glass full, and the shower. I love them all. I feel alive, I feel fluid and alive.

And then there are times, when you enter the shower, and its just a void. No thoughts, just a big empty. You are alone, and a curtain is separating you from the rest of the world. A confession room perhaps. All of the sudden you break. Every single thought that you've been trying to hide and push down, just explodes out, you try not to think about it, but you can't. They just come. An explosion of reality hits you hard and next thing you know, tears are falling. But you don't see them, they all merge into the water, become one, cleansing your soul and your body. You just sob and cry, gather yourself for a gasp of air, and just cry away. Sometimes you taste the tears as you’re trying to breathe, and by habit, you try to wipe the tears, but shortly you realize that there are no tears, just water, all is one. Sometimes I sit down, the shower raining on me, and I let it clean and purify. Think about the past, and the future. The odds. The possibilities. The chances.

Words,

They all stare at me, mockingly,

I look down, afraid, ashamed.

I feel them closing in, with spears, razor sharp, not a single tear.

I don’t dare, never look up again, just follow my feet, walk slowly, maybe they won’t see me. Maybe I disappear.

I hear their sight, piercing into my skin, the way they look, not a blink. And all I do is walk, step by step.

I thought about hiding, crawling perhaps, my pride shook it out of me, not a chance he said.

I’m shallower than the ocean, living in a room, with empty promises, broken appointments, and no dreams. None. Just a bus, a train, a bicycle that takes me from the moon, and hands me to the sun. Like a bastard child, unwanted I feel.

Tired of thoughts, tired of days, tired of nights. A cycle with no change, just minor tweaks. They never disappear.

And now, I don’t even sleep, not a blink, insomnia is all I see. A dark room with blinds, all shut, cars, flashing lights, so masterfully dance around my line of defense, and remind me that I’m still awake. I fight back, close my eyes, hide under my pillow, doesn’t help. Difficult when you have to choose, decide, to sleep or breath.

Digital clock, with green letters, so bright, looks stuck. Time is no longer moving, just more of the same. Stuck. I open my eyes a bit wider, need to know the time, need to know. Feels dark, feels early, it is early.

And now, the words again, attack, come at me at full speed. And they now have me again, at their mercy, a slave. Memories, all old, all dated and old. All irrelevant. I know I won’t be sleeping anymore, but I try to lie. Trick myself, deep down, inside of my outer shell, inside the hype, inside the mind, the heart, the organs, the veins, the blood, inside of my DNA, I know better. The memories are fake, even if they aren’t, I don’t want them. Maybe they aren’t fake. But I still don’t want them. Take them from me. But words never listen. They never really talk. They just attack, no questions asked.

I try to be clever, but I don’t need to be. I feel guilty. Again, moments, like a movie, but a stupid movie, just come and hide behind my eyelids. A flashback, but no way to ignore it. I close my eyes, but the images just get brighter. Why do I care? I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.

And they all still stare. Maybe they want to tell me something, but I can’t risk it. I won’t look up, maybe I’m invisible, maybe all this is a dream.

I stop lying to myself; dreams refuse to allow empty shells like me into their worlds. Even the nightmares. Ohh, the fucking nightmares. They think they’re so much better than me. I don’t want them. I don’t need them. Any of them. Jesus wants to save me, he wants me to find him. And so does the Mormons. I mocked them. Especially the Mormons. They read to me, prayed for me. I smiled.

I know this isn’t right, but I can hear my bed, and my desk. Whispering something, perhaps it’s just me. Or perhaps not. I know this can’t be good. I have to ignore them. And now the chair. I ignore them all. The dog knows that I’m awake now. Objects don’t usually whisper, so neither should mine. I feel the carpet underneath my feet. My skin, feels it. The carpet greets me with warmth. It’s been a while, it feels foreign. Alien, but friendly.

How did I get here? Who walked me into the kitchen? But I’m not hungry. Why don’t you listen to me? They never listen. Nobody ever does. But everyone always asks.

I told myself, that it’s the matter of principal.

I felt bad for him. For both of them. But I really shouldn’t.

Maybe I’m a potato. So unattached. Why do I need to be like the norm. Why does everyone want a different version of me? Why can’t I just be me. But who exactly am I?

One day I will tell them all. Face to face.

Eggs perhaps? Or frozen pizza? All the same. I need to open the mail.

My days never start anymore, they just continue. One after the other. They come with a grin, and they never leave.

(I wrote this on November 30th 2008, at 1:46 AM. I don’t know why I never posted it)

First things first, I promised to write some “facts” about me, so here it is. I know it’s a bit late, but you know, that’s just how life is sometimes.

I gotta share 6 interesting things about me, and also tag 6 people and so on. I won’t be tagging people, simply because I don’t know 6 people with blogs. Well I read like a 3908309 blogs, but I don’t know 6 cool and interesting people with blogs. I’m surrounded by uptight bitches.

1. Despite the rumours, I am fully capable of using my brain for non-sexual related topics. Shocking, I know.

2. I know exactly the last time I looked my mom in the eye and lied to her. It was around 8 years ago. It bothered me for a good 7 years till I told her that I lied that day. She smiled and said “I know”. I can’t say I was surprised. I guess that’s another reason why I never really lie to my parents, they know me too well. And I also don’t like insulting their intelligence.

3. The first time I ever kissed a girl was so intense that I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. I remember sweating. We were watching a movie, and all I could think was making my “move”. It was like jumping off an airplane or something. I would gather the courage, and then chicken out. I think I almost kissed her like 10 times in my head. Till I finally did it. It wasn’t smooth, nor long. Then we both sat there. Looking at the screen, pretending to watch a movie. I remember feeling so damn proud. Till this day, I count that as one of the bravest things I’ve ever done. I think first kisses are always special. Expect when the girl turns out to be a psycho bitch. Then you just look back and question your decision. And believe me, psycho bitches exist.

4. I have a couple of “toys” next to my bed. I’m pretty sure they’re out of battery.

5. (What I first wrote here got deleted by me, because I didn’t want to jinx it!) I consider myself a fairly superstitious person when it comes to sports. From the person I watch the game with, to the venue, and what I wear, I pay attention to all the details. And I sometimes find a weird reason to blame the results on. I’m not proud of this, but I’ve broken up with girls because I felt like my team wasn’t doing too well with them.

6. Speaking of breakups, I have a couple of them where I was a super asshole. One girl I brokeup with because her face was oily, which some people disagreed, and also her place was fucking far man. I couldn’t handle the 30 minute drives just to pick her up. The combination resulted in me ending it. I left this other girl a message that we were done. It really wasn’t my fault. I tried telling her, but she didn’t pickup. Not my proudest moment, but I can only imagine her face, checking her voicemail. Funny as hell.

So here it is, a bit late, but I got it done.

Cocoon. Just one of those words that I feel. I feel the curves of it. The inside, the blood of it. The fibers that form it. The cells that carve it into the paper. I also feel the rain. I feel the wetness. The drops. The cleansing. The freedom. The lack of it’s respect for your belongings. The power. The attention that it requires. I feel them all.

Lately I review the past more than before. I don’t look back in regret, I just think about it and try reorganize the events. I believe mistakes are just a part of life. You gotta go through them.

It often hurts to be right. Sometimes, deep down inside, you wanna be wrong. At least I do.

(I wrote the first paragraph around three months ago, and the rest five weeks ago)

Some days like today, I feel very...I don't know how to say it.Well, I do know how, but I’m being selective. Lately I'm even more selective with my words. Not just the ones I write here, but everything I do and say. I try not to say anything, being me, its really difficult. Sometimes I even let go. I don't usually let go, but lately I just get tired. I just move on. I can't always prove that I'm right. No matter what, sometimes logic and evidence doesn't win. Maybe my mind is too scientific. But I don't know. I don't consider myself a man of science.

I hate it. I hate how I understand too much. I don't mean this in a cocky/asshole way. I just do.

When it comes to people, I see them and I understand them. I can smell their pain. And with a conversation or two, I can easily see their flaws, their ambitions, their fears. This was a great skill to have back in high school. I could use it to pickup girl. Talk to one for 5 minutes and then I would alter myself to what they were looking for. I wouldn't change, but I would adjust my behaviour. For example I would talk less about SOAD and MetalllicA and more about Eminem and Dr.Dre.

I remember one time I met this girl at a party and the conversation went towards parents and I had this feeling that this girl really hated her dad. All of the sudden I could feel the tension in her voice. She then changed the topic. I felt a bit sad, and so did she. I had to make a decision. I could see that she was in pain. Something really bothered her. She was no longer at the party. Her mind was drifting from one memory to the other. Maybe reviewing the injustice. I don't know. But I had to make a decision. I decided to help her. I didn't want to just walk away. I knew helping her would probably result in me not getting any that night, but I couldn't just simply walk away. Sexuality and parents don’t really go well together. I started bullshitting on how I hated my parents and how they don't get me and so on. Basically shooting in the dark, hoping something would stick. All of the sudden she started to explode. Her voice started to crack. Her eyes got brighter and started to shine cause she now had a tear or three in them, waiting for a moment of weakness to shatter the barrier and attack her cheeks with the mascara. I hate it when girls cry. I really do. I think almost every single guy on the planet hates it. It's like the kryptonite for men. But what made this situation even more fuckedup was the fact that I couldn't remember her name and I also knew like two people at the party. It's hard enough to calm a girl down while she's crying, now imagine not knowing her first name and being in a stranger's house. I looked around for a tissue, nothing.

I didn't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that she needed a hug, so I grabbed her, pulled her towards me, and put her head on my shoulder. She continued to cry, only this time much louder. Here I am, at a party where I know a total of 3 people. With a girl that I met no more than 20 minutes ago, crying her eyes out on my shoulder. I remember looking around the place, just to make sure nobody is staring at us. I think people thought we were making out or something and decided to let us be. I told her that everything is going to be fine. I lied. I didn’t know that, but I knew that’s what she needed to hear. I’m sure she knew I was lying, but at some level wanted to hear me say it as well. I tried to remember her name, but it wasn't gonna happen. After a good 15 minutes she stopped. With her wet eyes, and sobbing breath, she looked at me. Half of her makeup was on her cheek, and the other half on one of my favourite shirts. She then ran upstairs. Said nothing, just ran. I'm not sure why, but I assumed to clean herself up. Maybe redo her makeup? Maybe she felt embarrassed. I called up my buddy and told him that I'm bouncing. I figured she didn’t wanna see me again that night. I wouldn’t want to see me if I was her. I wasn’t in a party mood anyways. I knew the best thing to do was to leave. He asked why? And then noticed my shirt. I told him it's a long story and just left. On the drive home, I did my best to remember her name. I felt like shit. This girl just had a really special and private moment with me and I didn't even remember her name. I wanted to text my friend and ask him if he knew her, just so I could get the first name, it was driving me insane. I didn't text him, and never brought it up. Figured I had to explain too much to satisfy my curiosity. It just didn't seem right. I never saw her again. My night and a kickass shirt got ruined that night. But I think I made a difference. I don't know what was up with her, but I know she needed me that night. She needed a shoulder to cry on. If I could go back, I would do it all over again.

Well, looks like the school won’t be back anytime soon. I go to this “University” called York. I don’t mind it. I’m this “” close to graduating and they go on strike. It’s been three months now. I’m not excited. Update: At the time of writing this post, there was no hope, now looks like we are going back next week or so. Still not excited.

Oh and due to popular demand, and by popular demand I mean 4 people, the entries shall appear on Facebook again.

------------------------------------------

I had a conversation and it went like this:

- She said that?

- Yap!!

- No way!

- Yes way!

- But why?

- Not a clue.

- She meant it?

- I hope not.

- Anyway, you know what? We suck!

- What now?

- You might laugh, but we’re a couple of losers man!

- Speak for yourself!!

- No I mean it. Between both of us, we’ve had enough sex right?

- Lol, okkkayyyy…where is this going?

- No, answer me for a second, for guys our age, we are for sure above average right? Not just the number of girls, but the actual times of doing it. You agree?

- Ya, I guess…

- I was talking to (insert name) and he said his condom broke during sex! That’s never happened to me man!! NEVER! How about you?

- Nope, never eh? How does it break? Isn’t rubbery? Wouldn’t rip?

- I don’t know!!!!!!!!!! That’s the point, why hasn’t it happened to either of us? Shouldn’t that happen at least one time between the two of us? I mean c’mon man!

- I guess…that’s a good point.

- And (insert same name) is only 17!!!! SEVENTEEN! C’mon man!! How do you break it? It totally took away my confidence. He asked me how I would deal with it, and I was like taking notes on how it happened! I was surprised and shocked! Never happened to me man. Never.

- You know that’s not a bad thing right? I think you have to put it on wrong or something…or maybe she needs to have piercings down there you know? How else would it rip? Or break? I thought glass breaks, and a glass condom? If that broke, you would hear about it!

- Outch!

- But that’s a good point, you should write about that!

- EXACTLY!!!

- You are a bit too passionate about this eh? Calm down man

- I AM CALM!!!

- Lol…dude it’s only a condom, and don’t act like you actually give a shit.

- It’s not about that. It’s about the principal!! I should experience that. That’s part of this whole safe sex bullshit, isn’t? Same with threesome, you should experience it.

- Hahahaha..ya, threesome and safe sex! Lol. Dumbass!

- Another thing, I’ve never knocked up a girl!!

- Lol, dude…c’mon man!!! You shouldn’t say this shit loud, that girl just totally giggled!

- No for real, none. Not even one.

- But don’t you always wear condoms?

- Ya…

- So?

- But it’s only like 99% safe.

- Lol, you ass!! You mean to tell me you’ve had that much sex that you need to be worried about that 1 percent?

- No, but still…you hear about that shit all the time, you know? Condom broke, she’s pregnant, this and that. None here.

- Dude, most girls are on the pill too…and maybe you got lazy boys or something…

- WTF dude? That’s not cool!

- Lol, I’m kidding, but you know, that’s also a good thing. What would you do with a baby?

- Keep it!

- And then…

- Name it!

- Lol, you fag! It ain’t a pet!

- Whatever, at least it would be reassuring!

- That your dick works?

- Well, I could use the reminder…

- Hahahahahahahahhahaha…awwww…so how’s the sex department anyways?

- Ohh look, the Apple store!

- That good huh?

- Fuck off!

(I wrote most of this thing two weeks ago, but got lazy and never posted it. I suck, I know.)

I don’t write as often anymore. I don’t know why. Maybe cause I feel a bit happier. I don’t really know, but I don’t write poems either, and that bothers me. I never felt like I had it in me. It came out of nowhere and looks like it’s gone for now. Like one of those movies, where the hero just shows up, saves the world and then vanishes into the night? Clint Eastwood movies basically. I bought a small Laptop (Netbook). I feel like I might write more cause I have this “machine”, but I don’t know yet. We shall see.

We celebrated 3 years of togetherness. I can’t believe it’s been that long. Breakups aside, it’s been amazing. The good has been really really good. To be perfectly honest, I’m not an easy guy to deal with, so she gets all the credit for that. She isn’t a walk in the park either, but you know…I guess I’m harder to deal with. (I know I’m gonna regret writing that)

I realize that my life, and this blog, are a bit boring for strangers when I’m in a relationship. If I was single, I would write about encounters with the opposite sex, most of them would be funny, and some maybe even scary, but now, I feel like I can’t even write about the PAST encounters. It’s funny, cause even though she knows all my stories, and I mean all of them, I’m sure she would still hire a hitman to cut my head off!!

(Warning, a decent knowledge of the show “Gossip Girl” is required to understand the full meaning of the following paragraph)

Before we got back, she asked me to download the episodes of this show called Gossip Girl. Apparently she had read the books and really liked them. By the title, one can pretty much know what the show is about. Due to my vast knowledge of attaining illegal and copyrighted material, I got the episodes and sent them with her for her summer vacation. It is really hard for me to eat lunch without watching TV. I usually Tivo the Daily Show and enjoy it with my meal. But as you might know, The Daily Show goes on breaks and one day I got bored and started watching the shows that I had downloaded for her. My assumption was, if it was a book, then it must’ve been at least decent that they made it into a TV show. Which I think is a fair assumption. I was wrong. It was horrible; it was so bad that I couldn’t believe that I’m actually watching it. But I watched them all. Just like a stupid fucking car crash, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Halfway into the season, I realized that the characters were supposed to be 16!! None of them looked younger than 20. I went on IMDB and read each and every one of their biographies. Yes, I was that pissed off! It just didn’t make sense to me. The youngest was like 18 or 19. One of the girls was actually like 27!!! Granted that she is a bit babyfaced, but c’mon man!! It really insulted my intelligence, but I continued watching it. I tried to relate to the characters, and unfortunately, the closest one that somehow represented me is a fucking douche bag. I could be an asshole, but I’m no douche bag. When we got back, we started talking about the show, cause she never watched them when she was on vacation, which leads me to believe that she had this whole thing planned so she could squeeze herself back into my life!!!! (I’m so dead now!!), but obviously she never meant it that way. Duhh!!! so when she started watching them, we had a big discussion about it. I called and asked what she was doing, and she said she’s watching the show! I asked which episode is she on, and she immediately made fun of me for watching all the first season! Then she said how much she hated “Chuck”, which is the douche bag I was talking about. And she went on to say that she hates him even more because he reminds her of me!!!!!!!!! She then tried to convince herself that I’m Dan! She knew better, and regardless of how much she wanted it, I’m no Dan. At the end she decided that I’m Serena! A little slutty, but a nice person deep down inside! I can live with that.

I guess its new years now, but it really doesn’t feel new to me. I don’t know, I just don’t have much respect for this new years, it just isn’t special enough. Christmas is, people go nuts over Christmas, but new years? Its meh, count down and then what? I’ve done the downtown thing a couple of times, and a couple of parties and they all sucked. I prefer the peace and quiet that I’m getting right now. I guess I’m officially a loner. But I don’t feel too bad now, I went cp24.com and over 65% of the people had voted that they were gonna stay home for the new years, so take that, you stupid party people!

(started writing a while ago, wrote more on November 6th, and now writing a bit more)

So remember when I said I wrote a post about death, and decided not to post it? Well I now feel like I really have to and I’ll explain why.

I wrote this post (parts of it), because it was about something that’s been bothering me for a while. It happened around 5,6 years ago. A young boy in the Iranian community passed away, and back then Facebook didn’t exist, and I was part of this site called TehranTo.com. As a “Moderator” of the site, I had to approve all the profile pictures, and quickly after this young man’s departure from Earth, the site was swarmed with his pictures. It was as if he was the most popular person ever. While I didn’t know the kid, may he rest in peace, I knew at least half of those people weren’t his best friends, because most of them didn’t even have a single picture with him. Some of my friends on my MSN list changed their display pictures to his, and also dedicated their MSN names to beautiful messages like: “you were the true angel on this earth”, “I miss you, RIP” and so on.

I honestly hated it. On the site, the kid had like 10 friends, and while I’m sure many people knew him, not that many were his friends. Fast forward to 6 months ago. Another accident happens and another Iranian kid passes away, may he also rest in peace. I didn’t know him either but the story was identical, this time Facebook is around, so groups are made, videos are created, albums gathered and….

And now this week, another tragic car accident kills two Iranian girls and one is in critical condition. I knew one of the girls from my high school. I was saddened. They were really young. I can’t remember the last time that I saw her, but it must’ve been at least 3, maybe even 4 years ago. I don’t recall her doing any harm to me, and even if she did, it doesn’t matter anymore. Life is short and I can only hope that her parents and her sister can survive this horrific tragedy. Unfortunately I know a thing or two about death and losing loved ones, and it is extremely difficult.

Now if God forbid and anything happened to me, please, and I mean please, don’t broadcast my death over MSN and Facebook. I hate it. If you really care about me, just say a little prayer and try to forgive my bad deeds, don’t go around and calling me an angel, cause we all know that I’m not and won’t turn into one anytime soon. Be honest about me, and don’t bullshit. If anyone called me a punctual person, slap him/her across the head! If you want, cry, but I would prefer if you didn’t. I try to live my life as fullest as I can, so don’t cry. Won’t change a single thing.

And everything I have and own, will go to my family, don’t be trying to steal away my porn, you jerks!

On my 40th (the 40th day of my “departure”), wear some fresh colors, stop the whole black thing, gather around and share some stories that had me in it. Be as frank as you want, I have nothing to hide, my folks know me as well as all of you, if not better. And serve some real food, including sushi. And strawberries. hmm… and M&Ms! Fuck man, I wanna attend my own funeral 40th! Ohh and try to force people to actually share their stories, from the first time they met me, to my failed attempts at…I don’t know…I don’t fail that often…so? Hahaha…now you calling me a cocky jerk, what else is new?

(deleted a bunch of mean things, I figured it wasn’t nice to type.)

I know I’ve made mistakes and hurt some good people, but for the most part, I hurt stupid dumbasses and they can forgive me, or kiss my ass. Both works for me.

So, there it is. My semi-unofficial-draft-bullshit of will. So please, no Facebook shit, no MSN shit, no nothing. Just the real stuff. I look this whole topic the same way I look at tattoos. I like ink where it’s  for me. And me alone, not for other people. So keep it to yourself.

Someone sent me this amazing…ammm…reflection on life. I don’t want to call it an essay cause that’s just wrong. It isn’t a blog post, I guess reflection is the most appropriate name I can come up with at almost 4 in the morning. The sender was kind enough to grant me the permission to post it here so you all can also enjoy it.

It is a little on the darker sides of things, which was very refreshing to me. I don’t want to talk about it, I guess it is best for you all to just read it.

Glass Puzzle

“To lead a life like mine – let’s try that again. To follow a life like mine, you would need to swap pain for pleasure. Imagine every time you hurt, is the time that you’re content... if you treasure that pain, and hide it forever like a piece of antique, sacred jewellery, then that pain will become the well known legend it never was. It’s a lot deeper than that. To live a life like mine, you would have to imagine being the child who breaks a glass for the first time... the fear, the rush... the sadness. The only hope of that child... is to put every piece of that glass back together. That’s my life. That broken glass is my life, and as I pick up every sharp and little piece of this glass... as my every nerve breaks and my tears dilute my blood, I keep going. Where would you start?! What piece out of the 12 567 pieces would you pick to begin with. That’s how I feel as to where i begin this theory. How do I prove to you, that this is my life? That I’m losing these pieces because of my blood that gushed all over the floor. I’m kneeling on the broken glass, and I feel my knees being torn through. I can’t move, because I could lose... I would lose... one more piece. I could simply let go... crash myself to the floor, feel every sting and every little pain. Or in my life, every pleasure. I could lay there and lose my blood one drop at a time. I could close my eyes and pretend to over look the mist from the window of my room... or pretend that all is okay. But no, i can’t lie to myself... I’m the only one here. The thing is... I can’t even see these pieces of glass... they’re merely invisible, and plus the future is dark. Every piece of that puzzle is you. It’s one of you who know me. One of you who hurt me, maybe once I kneel on you, maybe once I pick you up, and make you the centre piece of my glass puzzle. But in the end, you’re all my pain. And to say that I’ve had any pleasure with you until now, is just like imagining to have that pieces of antique sacred jewellery in my treasure chest. My happiness with you, only became of my great ability to FAKE myself, to lie to myself. To put away your hideous evil ways, and put a mask of beauty upon you. I just want you to know, with all the blood I’m losing, it shows that you are truly a winner... a great, lying, deceiving winner.

But you must ask yourself, what’s the prize of this fight?! My life? Well really, what you don’t see, is that my life is nothing at all. My life was you. Was putting all of you together, and pretending to have everything when i had nothing... so by winning over my life... you too, have nothing.”

I never really had “relationships”. What I had was a friendship where one party thought they found their true love while I was working on a scheme to break it off with her. While it was very shallow, I can’t sit here and say that it wasn’t a fucking blast. I loved meeting new girls, so they all would bore me and I would move on to the next. I know I sound like a cocky asshole, but in terms of girls I always got what I wanted. The combination of my charms, plus my intelligence and sense humor proved to be enough to lure the opposite sex (sometimes even the same sex!! but that’s another story. Stupid subway rides). This is the very reason why I never really got into that whole gym buff era. My body looked good enough, I never needed a sixpack to boost my confidence. After humping jumping from one girl to another, I got bored. This time I got bored of the change. I wanted to have what people called a “meaningful relationship”. As if my past relationships weren’t meaningful. (edit, I wrote mean comment regarding blondes, but since I hearts “K”, I decided to delete it for now. Besides most blondes got really long nails, and I hear they are extremely sharp). When I knew that I was ready for a relationship, I knew who exactly I needed to go out with. (edit, I wrote a whole bunch of nice words to describe her, but I decided to take them out for now. My cocky asshole side kicked in). We’ve had our ups and downs, but for the most part it’s been great memories.

Now for those of you that know me, you know that I’m not an easy person to get along with. The fact that our relationship has lasted this long, shows how amazing of a journey this has been. We both have made sacrifices, and we both thought of murder at one point or another during this whole time.

Now why do I call this relationship boring? Well simply because we both know each other too well.

This is what happened around a month ago.

She calls me, I pickup the phone and she says:

“Rasammmmmmmmmm”

Naturally I replied:

“What do you wantt???” with a smile, otherwise she would kill me.

She replied":

“Rasaaaaammmm" 

and this time, I knew exactly what she wanted, I replied:

“Which restaurant you wanna go?”

she was shocked. That was exactly what she wanted and I figured it out from the tone of her voice. Scary shit. But that wasn’t the end of it.

3 minutes into the conversation, she tells me:

“if you are planning to come over and surprise me, don’t. I’m expecting some family friends to drop by”.

This time I was shocked!! That was exactly what I wanted to!

We both ended up laughing for a good 3, 4 minutes. That’s when I told her that we are a boring couple, and she kinda agreed. Boring in the sense that we both know each other too well.

We then went for all you can eat shrimp at Red Lobster’s. And finished a bottle of Shiraz, just the two of us.

Ohh and I did this really nerdy cute thing and got both of us matching T-Shirts. It’s a pixilated tree. Very video-game themed if you ask me. And yes, another night, another bottle of Shiraz. When it comes to wine, we can totally finish an entire bottle over dinner. Granted that afterwards we shouldn’t really drive, but you know…

I just now finished writing this post after two months. For some reason something always cameup. It is now 3:35AM, and I got class in less than 5 hours. I can’t really sleep and I really don’t know the reason either.

I know I look good in red though:P.

Ok, I’ll write more, but for now that is all. Biaatches. Yo! bling, shizzle, bling bling.

P.S. The pictures are back again, and should stick around for a while.

I know, I know. Life kicked in, and had no time for anything but XBOX 360, I’m sorry.

I got a zillion things to talk about, but I can’t.

Around 3 months ago I wrote a two page post about death. It was my views on death, how I thought people would remember me, and how I wanted them to remember me. For some strange reason I never posted it, cause you know, nobody likes to read about death. The only reason I wrote it was because when loved ones die, people mention it on their MSN names or facebook, and I really don’t like that. Remembering the loved ones that pass away is not equal with announcing their death to your friends. I just think that it is a bit more personal. And I also wrote a wishlist of what to do and what not do if when I die, but due to unseen circumstances the topic of death is a big taboo at the moment.

My hair is long now. My belly is larger than before. My facial hair is unchanged. I still need to wear my glasses, and I still don’t wear them enough. I need to do many things that I’ve yet to do.

Last night was an important night. I told her what I’ve been meaning to tell her for a really long time. She was crying, and I figured this would be the best time to break it to her, she didn’t stop crying. I thought she would. But she cries fairly often, so I didn’t read too much into it.

Ohh the pictures aren’t coming up cause I changed servers. I’m way too lazy to fix them for now, but I promise to do it soon.

I’ll write more, I promise. Pinky promise.

Yes, you read that right, I’m not just a pretty face and a cute butt. I always knew I had a kind heart, but it took an amazing person to point out that I actually have an angel on my heart! An ACTUAL angel, on my heart. Inside my body. OK, fine you don’t believe me. How can angels actually associate with a guy like me. Yes I posted some poor girl’s e-mail, and yes I wrote that “apology” post. I piss people off, manipulate them to get what I want, and tons more. But I always knew I had a kind heart and now I have factual evidence to prove it. Take a look at this picture. Do you see my angel? Resting on my heart? Well, resting close to my heart?

What about now?

Freaky I know!!

She is even extending her arm, holding some kind of basket, you can even see her wing(s). I have this feeling that a whole bunch of you are gonna be running to your Doctors, requesting an MRI!

It is now 3 AM ish, and I have a class in around 5 hours. Yes, school started. It isn't that bad, I will survive. I wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiillll survive, yeah heyy! Go now go, walk out the door…just turn around now…

Please ignore that. LOL