MMMEEEEEERRRRRRYYYYYYYY CCCCHHHHRRRIIISSTTTMMAAAASSS!

It’s Gonna Be Mine And I’m Gonna Call It Stan.

My Baby Is Growing Up.

I had a great day today. Despite all the factors that c0uld have trumped the utilization of that adjective, today was actually a great day. Despite the fact that we got stuck in traffic for what eventually added up to 7:45 hours, the other fact that I just happened to get my allergy in the middle of a traffic jam with no allergy medications in reach and having to accept the fact that I may show up for my best friend's graduation ceremony with a swollen lip and a bloated face had it not been for my dad stopping by a pharmacy and popping me full of pills, another that I was struggling with wavering network signals to be there for a friend who was breaking down on the other end of the world, and another that my efforts were misinterpreted for being the devil’s advocate and cost me even more than I initially expended, and finally the fact that I was screwed up for the work week, even if I take out sleeping, eating and living variables out of the equation and replace them with work constants. Today was a great day, because of little things. Little things that amount to great things, because what a lot of people don’t understand is that it’s the little things that matter because their cumulative effect is what makes big things momentous. Little things like getting a bone-crushing minute-long hug that lifts you off the floor, like sharing one of the most important days of another’s life, like getting that sparkly look from your dad as he tells you that you look exceptionally beautiful today and even though you know it’s probably because he’s biased, it still makes your heart go bum bum, like the realization that your dad is the best dad in the world for cancelling work and commuting for something that’s important to you, like wearing heels because a friend made you and ending up with a lot of other chick props that make you feel like a tranny who can’t feel her toes but you still do it because you promised, like cheering your lungs out for someone even though you may be too shy to even speak out in front of a handful of people any day of the week, like seeing your best friend’s face flushed with that lively red that comes when she’s fighting back tears so they wouldn’t ruin her make-up, like getting an adrenaline rush when you finally find that familiar graduation gown that has you dropping your stuff all over the place and ruining pictures, like seeing her mom’s proud face, like being there and seeing the factions of real-life footage that cameras don’t capture in that little cloud that exists when family celebrates, like seeing the tilted-graduation-cap-kiss photo in the making, like seeing a person who’d usually bite people’s heads off postponing work due tomorrow to be there for her sister and being all shaky as the lens flickers to regain her composure in its time capsulated shutter seconds, like the gratitude that floods in when you see your dad taking three desert roads to get you there, like the awesome feeling you have when you venture walking in el haram street in a tiny dress and heels to get a sandwich, like the revelations you make through a friend’s non-existent verbal restraint that are not limited to stories of pet homicides, like knowing for a fact that missing your own prom intentionally now makes sense because Fairmont or not, your priorities are straight enough to realize that it’s all about whether or not there are people there who care, and last but not least, the little tingly pleasure you get when you know that you’ll only remember the little things in a packet of a blurry big pleasant thing for the rest of your life.

Against every odd, today was a great day.

Why Me? Why This Now? Why This Way?

No wonder God doesn’t interfere, because apparently it’s just as the old saying goes: “Maynoob el m5alass ella ta2tee3 hedoomoo.” When you interfere, you’re blamed for the shortcomings of all parties. When  you don’t interfere, you’re blamed for your own shortcomings. What’s right? What’s wrong? What’s altruism? I’ve been told never to put forward more than I’m offered, time and time again, but apparently that’s a lesson that one has to learn on their own, through trial and error. Sometimes people keep ignoring the error messages; enhancing their pop up blockers until they’re kept safely within their blissful folds of oblivion. However, bliss never lasts, even though oblivion may. Oblivion has proven its survival abilities for centuries on end, it has outlived dinosaurs, faith and most virtuosos. It has thrived on the abilities of its agent pop-up blockers around the world, fucking the silence out of its little ally, bliss. And mind you, bliss doesn’t mind as long as it feels good. So tell me, what’ve you got left if you’ve been robbed of both bliss and oblivion? Because I gotta tell you, trial and error has proved that knowledge is power, and power in the wrong hands is destructive. Power in the hands of those who’re not used to handling it, are used to abusing it or simply never got used to using it, that is. Knowledge doesn’t like to be manhandled, it also doesn’t appreciate being kept in the dark. Unlike bliss, it doesn’t mind if it doesn’t always feel nice. And unlike oblivion, it is painfully straightforward and waits for no one.

Time and time again I’ve learned, the hard way, that nobody gives a fuck. That no matter how much of yourself you expend, when people are put on the line when they have to choose between themselves and someone else, it is no longer a choice. They’re automated by survival instincts to self-preserve, and fight-or-flight is initiated. Oblivion and bliss work hard to ease the ego blow and put knowledge’s calls and pleads for an urgent meeting on hold, so knowledge leaves in a copy of its resume and proceeds to more potentially promising employers. After all, it waits for no one, does it now? And sometimes, when you finally realize that you’ve missed out on such great work experience, knowledge will only come back when given an impressive offer that will leave you almost bankrupt, and hoping to god that knowledge’s hard work down the line will make up for your lost investments and raise the curve. Oblivion and bliss might be infuriated that you gave up on their services after all those years of loyalty put into your corporation, but they’ll leave you behind for a less hostile working environment, more lucrative employers and better long-term benefits, sapping it all out of your inebriated recommendations on their CV’s. When you’re unable to employ knowledge again because it’ll no longer have you, oblivion and bliss are more than glad to buy your soul and use the loopholes in the contract to be double, triple and sometimes multiple agents.

Nobody gives a shit. Granted. Altruism is a masochistic form of slow suicide glorified into a long-lost principle by sheer idiocy and perfectionist myths. A fallen ideology, rejected from utopias for hogging resources only to be blown out of proportion and sold to societal rejects in the black market, taking everything you’ve got with almost no guarantee as to the quality or perseverance of the product, protected by its no-return policy and the fact that you’re not legally apt to demand a refund or a more suitable bargain for your damages. Hence ironically promoting its one deadly revelation that could very likely put it out of business had the human race been faster to realize it, being that you’re out on your own, that it’s a one man game and that when it gets rough, everybody bails. Including your own sponsor. Especially your own sponsor.

Set churned. Lesson learned. Page turned.

How Every Guy Should Look Like.

Disclaimer: I’m Only Writing This Because Angry Birds Is Still Downloading.

Well, since I’m starting at the shitpile of work I have to go through and all I can think of is downloading a good version of angry birds, and since I have a weird wimpy shade of purple nail polish on, that could come of as pink but I wouldn’t admit that if my life depended on it – If this is the long-awaited metamorphosis of me into an actual woman or something then it’s gonna be painful *gulp* – I thought it was suitable time for another psychedelic rant.

It took me 90 minutes to muster up enough will to get out of bed this morning. It was prolly due to the newly acquired realization that sleeping is actually nice, or maybe just lying in a warm cozy bed doing absolutely nothing stuck somewhere in between dreamland and reality. It’s a cool field out there, you oughta try it sometime. When I did get out of bed and started my day with a piece of my birthday cake, I came upon the realization that chocolate mousse cakes can make everything better, or rather feel better, which would feel the same since most people are subjective fucks. I had a hostile encounter with the espresso maker who refused to give me hot coffee when I refused to give it the right amount of attention, which made me come to the other realization that espresso makers are actually females. On my way to the living room with that shitty wreck that passes for coffee by excuse of the limited circling vocabulary of the 21st century, I came upon yet another realization that since I’m now 19, then according to history I’m 2 times more likely to be dead before I’m 20. That didn’t sit well with me, but then again neither did the coffee. I then decided to take a shower and not come out until I’m ready to face the woes of the world, which was helpful since I blanked out for yet another 60 minutes of utter bliss in nothingness. This is boring. And food is here.

Later, bitches.

I’m 19, Bitches!

Today was a good day, and that’s why I feel almost obligated to blog about it and stash the memory for a rainy day. The day started off on the wrong leg, even tho Arthur Dent had called at 12 having set her alarm clock to 12 and falling asleep twice on the phone, I had to commence the all-nighter. It didn't sit well with my disposition at the time and needless to say I couldn’t get all the work done. North pole ice then called and worked through the knots with her mile-propagating awesomeness and set me to cancel classes and party out instead. A puppy face later, I managed to only have one class left and the rest of the day to myself. However, the day was still tripping so I ended up falling asleep, getting dragged out of bed 15 minutes into class and stuck in traffic for 20 more, showing up for class looking like a zombified fashion wreck that could have been taken into custody had I been caught by the fashion police in a parallel universe and got on the teacher’s bad side since he made me sit in a not very strategic place and kept passing his usual snide gay comments about my not understanding shit without his missionary angelic aid. I also had to get up and move all of my things every time somebody had to pee, and suddenly everybody’s bladder goes bust! Two hours of mind boggling profit equations and revenue theories later, class was over. Since I never expected anybody to remember my birthday, I was planning to sleep it off before working on yet another all-nighter, one that I’m currently screwed for, might I add. Mom insisted that we get a cake, I was hungry and kind of expected there’d be no lunch since my mom’s idea of marinating chicken overnight looked vaguely reminiscent of body bags on a certain CSI homicide episode. She dragged my back-pack-hugging white-ass-shivering sleepy self to Korba and we ended up buying a hugeass chocolate mousse cake that, being the klutz I am, I fell face first into in the patisserie. It wasn’t that picturesque tho, but I did have chocolate stains on hard-to-account-for areas for the rest of the day. I came home to find that Vogon Jeltz had left a gift with balloons at the door for my half-asleep dad to find and hid in the stairwell to see the reaction of the then nonexistent inhabitants. The gift was my microcosmic alter ego, a stuffed shaun the sheep. A very screechy aww later, mom and dad sang me happy birthday:

Then the world took notice and the calls kept coming. They say  nothing travels faster than light, except bad news, which has propagation laws of its own, I’m proud, and a little flabbergasted, to say that today was prolly a fluke, or maybe karma wants to catch up on all the good days I stocked up and never had before the year runs out. It was kinda scary at first, seeing as people aren’t usually so nice on short notice save for when they’ve been paged to oversee your lethal injection execution or sit in through your first chemo session. Since neither was the case, it was weird as fuck. Anywho, to recapture the pleasant air of this blogpost, a friend of mine made me this video. Disclaimer: Phoenix doesn’t usually stutter this much tho.

After another extensively prolonged and singy-songy aww, I was having a teeny tiny little shock. People were being..nice?

Vogon Jeltz came over, I proceeded to kidnap her and feed her fattet shawerma because I’m just a sadist like that. Since Northpole ice was stuck in traffic, I proceeded to bump my extremities on every available inanimate object in sight, mostly for lack of sleep, and partly because my body was not used to this supply of good karma and was going through the motions of trying to figure out what’s wrong by passively attacking potential aggressors in its territory. 3 bumps and 2 failed though completely unintentional attempts at burning the house down later, Northpole ice made it through the crowds of chauvinists, travelling from far far away land and we went for dinner. I’d like to put it down in history that nobody tried to kidnap us, get into the car or offer to give us a ride on our way there or back which is awesome progress and a huge confirmation to my aforementioned theory about how karma was catching up on its tab. After stuffing our faces with food beyond our tummy quota, easing the guilt trip of our contributing to the Somaliland famine with diet coke, gossiping about every living being that dared to tread this godforsaken earth, making scenes of loud off-key happy birthdays and breaking out in dance moves to the tunes of the open-air setting next by, discussing career options and whether Dorra tastes better mashwy or buttery, hating on the guy race for assholism and the chick race for bitchism, learning to spell jargon on license plates and discussing the points of intersection in our parents manias, time flew by and the day was over way too fast. Karma wouldn’t even give me that, now there’s a way to handle your tabs. Watch and learn, human race. A very obscene yet informative call later with Marvin the Paranoid Android, covering all versions of happy birthday from slow mo to cat syncing, we drove Vogon Jeltz back home and the day ended quite surprisingly; I actually fell asleep for a good 6 hours.

And for the perfect wrap of the day, I’m sitting here about to commence the physics all-nighter with a dupe-y smile on my sleep-deprived face, sipping on glorious coffee, pigging out on my chocolatty-choclate mousse cake, and انا مبسوطه.

42

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. For someone who’s job is to know what to say, that comes off a little frowned upon. All I have to say is this: How much can a person take before they're irrevocably broken? Now here's your answer to life, the universe and everything. Here's your 42. But you see, here’s the loophole, you didn’t expect it to be easy, did you? Knowing exactly what you want out of life does not come with the required quota of flexibility that handles the disappointment that undoubtedly ensues. You’d be naïve if you think what you want will come your way just because you had enough clarity to figure it out sooner than most. With complete confidence comes the need to radically rebuild everything when it’s torn down, and the need to pretend it’s still there when it no longer is. Problem is, when you can’t find it in you to work anymore, then what happens? How does one work when they no longer have anything to work for?

I guess what I wanted to say is this; looking at this snowglobe, I can’t help but wonder whether santa likes being caught in a snowstorm inside a glass sphere that’s no bigger than the palm of one’s hand.

I have never felt so defeated.

اتزور روحك جنة فتفوتها  ~  كيما تزورك بالظنون جهنم؟

فتري الحقيقة هيكلا متجسدا ~  فتعافها لوساوس تتوهم؟

يا من تحن الي غد في يومه ~  قد بعت ما تدري بما لا تعلم

Few Signs That Something Is Still Right With The World.

I’m starting to enjoy December again, which means something is still right with this world.

I recently found out that there are still people out there who know what electroswing is, which confirms that revelation. They’re not many but they exist, so don’t get your hopes up in the clouds. However, if you’re still capable of doing that, that’s anther good sign of things going right, hold on to that, too.

Having a day off and using it to work is also a good indicative of the fact, not to mention that you’re also still capable of sleeping for 17 hours unmedicated. That fact is not made any less interesting by your realization that inanimate things are not actually wobbling. But that’s irrelevant.

Finding an excellent book on sale is also a good sign, tho indirectly. It needs someone severely biased, a little broke and not an OCD-stricken scholar to see through the fact that good literature put on sale when trashy bestsellers’ prices are hiking up is, in fact, a good thing. Glass-half-full-wise.

Being again able to enjoy coffee and good music without a care in the world as to the other humans roaming your vicinity, is a good thing.

I’m In Love.

Rory's Dilemma

Whoever Is Capable Of Making Those, I Will Marry.

618 Ashtar Command - Holding Out for Love

Death Says Hi.

A lot of things can happen overnight, you could have a little talk with death, another little talk with a good-friend-turned-bad and find out that you’ve enjoyed neither but will have to live with both. You may have to accept the fact that you’ll never travel light again; having to carry an allergy emergency kit from now on. As a consequence, now that you know travelling light it not an option, neither is being a tomboy, which means you’re being a chick by the oh so compulsory momma nature. Which might lead you to the fact that there’s no cure for the chiccita syndrome. Having come to the realization that there’s no over-the-counter medication for being a chick except for a dick transplant that will leave you a broke disproportionate tranny and run through your college funds, you realize that not only do you have to choose between college and a car, you also have to choose between college and being a bipolar nutcase 9 times out of 10, or rather, 5 times out of 30, abbreviated into 1 out of 6 times, if you catch my drift. You could realize that doing Maths every minute of every day may not be the answer to life but helps give things the appearance of sense in your troubled little head. Which in turn bums you out because not only have you realized that Maths isn’t really the answer to life just as 42 isn’t the answer the life, the universe and everything, but you’ve also mathematically proved that you have issues. Then you’d have to accept that no matter how much you’re doing Mechanics, it will never do you back. Which is sad because now you have another rejection to handle, and mope over the fact that rejection has branched out in other departments, including the ones you used to run away from it. You might then postulate that being unfuckable is kind of like being invincible, except that it’s in that one area where everybody likes to be conquered every then and again. You’d then grasp that rationalizing things and understanding them are two different spheres that do not touch, which leaves you with the short end of the stick because even though you’re aware that those two last idioms leave you physically and mathematically doomed, they’re just a stupid analogy and in the eyes of the world, which by the way loves saying things it doesn’t mean, you’re metaphorically autistic and worldly-challenged. In retrospect, you’ll discern that your sense of humor is hardly discernable and understand that it’s not understandable most of the time. You might humor yourself that those brief moments of enlightenment are a mere glimpse you might have been offered by the former encounter with the dark lord. You’d continue to humor yourself that you’re humoring yourself because you’re the only one who could possibly understand your humor. Which makes it even less funny and leaves you rather down. You’d then marvel at your own ability to tickle your mood curve and envisage being the answer to borderline syndrome if aliens would just dissect you. Having eased the ego bump, you might start wondering why the aliens haven’t paid  you a visit yet. You’d then wonder whether they already have and embark on a glorious cranial adventure of their amnesia-inducing means, which would inevitably and quite opportunely take your own mind off of mind-boggling mechanics, confusing companions and mother nature who likes to give you a little jump just when you’re stumbling on a loose cord. You’d give a little laugh at the circular logic in the last couple of revelations and instantly frown at how they were probably induced because it’s late and you’re short circuiting. You’d be a little proud of your precocious ability to make anything sound interesting and slightly hope it worked in the academic spectrums as you stare onto the Mechanics assignment that seems to be held down, not by gravity, but rather guilt. You’d then make the conscious decision of thinking about the hot cocoa sitting right next to it and state that no portion of awesomeness as such could ever be held down by guilt. Then you’d look at your watch and realize it’s only been a couple of minutes, which makes you realize that a lot of things can happen in a couple of minutes, let alone overnight. Because a lot of things can happen overnight..

Corrupt Regime, I Believe You’ve Just Been Fingered.

Happiness.

Like a river to a raindrop I lost a friend, my drunken as a Daniel in a lion’s den. And tonight I know it all has to begin again, so whatever you do, don’t let go.

Of Asian Food, Emotional Gibberish & For Once, Not Coffee.

Life Lesson #290: You are your own worst parent.

Life Lesson#291: As impenetrable as a person may seem, they are that way because they are scared. They’re scared because they’re still kids under that superman cape, and sometimes the only way they feel they can protect themselves when they’re scared is by maintaining distance from their Kryptonite.

Life Lesson#292: You think you know someone, then it happens. And you realise that you were an idiot all along, because there’s no way you can know someone without knowing everything that they’ve been through, and that can never happen unless you are that person. So, there’s absolutely no way in this dimension that you can know anyone through and through. That’s why when shit hits the fan, the only thing you can do has to be taking care of the one person you know, you. No matter what it takes.

Life Lesson#293: Walking away doesn’t get better with practice. It hurts every time, and you never get used to it, and if you do, then congratulations, you’ve been morphed into an asshole by the luxuries life has to offer. So cherish the blunt blade you’ve just shoved into your own trachea, that’s a good thing.

Life Lesson#294: Asian food is lethal. So are cats, juice boxes and Cheetos. Chicken is not meant to be sweet and sour, or else it will run a peculiar version of the Kübler-Ross model in your respiratory tracts.

Life Lesson#295: Everything can be fixed, all can be undone, except for one little thing; when the people you love and trust start to scare you. Fear and Care can’t co-exist. They’re counterparts that handle each other from a distance. You put them in the same room and they’ll be worse than Thanksgiving family re-unions. Once you start being scared of a person you used to resort to, it’s no longer you behind your own steering wheel. Survival instinct jumps out of the backseat and gives you the middle finger leaving Evolution to handle the gags and cuffs and your own Defense mechanism of detachment and putting up walls to handle the ransom calls. And for the life of you, that number cannot possibly be haggled down, no matter how much you may want to compromise, because after all, you’re not really on the receiving end of that call, nor are you on the dialing end either. Not anymore.

Life Lesson#296: Sometimes, the one thing you need to know to get better is that nothing you’ll ever do will make anything better.

Life Lesson#297: There’s a reason some things in life are a process. It’s because there are no cheating codes available on the internet, in libraries or any textbook that is within the reach of man. There is no Hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy, and if there is, it’s always out of stock for man. Feeling like an alien won’t cut it on the ordering form, and that soothing voice putting you on the waiting list doesn’t really mean it, they just want you to stop calling because they don’t want their phone lines clogged.

Life Lesson#298: If you’re not capable of hating people, then that’s a good thing. It doesn’t mean you’re an idiot. It means..I don’t know what it means, but it’s a good thing, even though it might not feel that way. Or at least I think it is, I hope it is, because I don’t think there’s a cure for idiocy, and I hate to be a terminal patient.

Life Lesson #299: There’s a time for everything. The fact that people aren’t genetically predisposed to knowing the exact deadline of things means that waiting is either hope in desperate form or a mutant mold of denial. Either way, it doesn’t help, so it shouldn’t exist. Hope is vicious, and denial holds you back. So if you have a choice, by all means; be fucked. Be emotionally, mentally and psychologically fucked, but stand up and take it, all of it, till it’s out of gimmicks. Then move on till that glorious day comes when the heavenly being decides to put your soul off of life support and you’re no longer emotionally, mentally or psychologically propped.

Life Lesson #300: Whether you like it or not, there’s only one way to do things; by not doing other things and expecting the things you want done to grow brains and a system of free choice.

Mesh kefaya ya rab keda ba2a? Mesh kefaya wala eh? Ana ba2ool kefaya.

Tantawy's Speech.

This publish button has been taunting me for almost an hour due to the violent opposition i may get for thinking outside the box, regardless of whether it's grounded in misinformation or a controversial peak at the bigger picture. 

Pertaining to Tantawy's speech, despite the blatant denial of the trespassing of human rights in breaking the protestor's lines that served as a middle finger in the face of everybody who's been following the casualty count on the news, I'm concerned about the third decision in the speech for every reason that the majority is optimistic about. 

If, according to the aforementioned decision, the SCAF has no problem in having a referendum on whether the Army should return to their barracksa or not pending the parliamentary and presidential elections and the people ultimately decide that they step down before a stable regime is in order, wouldn't that leave the country vulnerable to every other uprising political party that has greater power? How come popular demand is focused on ousting one gang when the whole problem lies in the fact that it's only a matter of transition of power from one gang to another? At this point of political strife and broken up lines, isn't a governable gang better in a dystopic context than being left stranded to the completely chaotic wave of powers running through the parties right now? 

If the supreme military council resigns, it will not put an end to the oppression and murder, it's rather an opportunity for more oppression and murder by more namely-power-craving parties that are not only unpredictable and harder to govern, but also wouldn't be as democratic when people eventually get aggravated again and try to oust it. It's true that all political change was triggered by radical action, but isn't it also due that radical action stems from organized planning? Ousting the only remaining form of methodical power would induce change, yes, but a very unpredictable stream of change that is hard to govern by sheer force of demonstrator momentum. Case in point, what's been happening in Sudan for years now. 

This is not a time for impulsively hormonal reactions, people need to step back from their volatile state of gusto and think for a minute. You're uprooting a tree from soil that's not up to par and planting it in experimental soil with no affirmation as to its abilities other than faltering postulations based on wavering hopes and rash decisions that is only propped up by the people's paranoia against any form of higher power that's escalated by their wounded ego and failure of implementing change post-rev. 

Wouldn't it be better if people cool it down and not rush any radical change that would push the country into uncharted territory until they actually get a better grasp of what they want? A successful revolution should be more than just knowing what you don't want out of a certain regime, or else it's going to rid the country of every resource and prop, however faulty they are, for something that's not only statistically impossible and more of a constant juvenile hope towards a Utopia after 30 years of living in the gutters, but also very dangerous, not to mention highly perfectionist and thus not very applicable in real life. 

Wouldn't it be a wiser decision to wait for a more dependable plan of action before eradicating an entire system for false patriotic hopes of a virtual paradise? 

Nachos Will Always Give You Diarrhea, Yet You’ll Still Eat Them.

I guess I’m back to my late hour nonsensical ranting that nobody reads anyway. I had a good day, but since I’m not physically capable of falling asleep voluntarily anymore, adding up to the fact that I have a lot of work to do but am too tired to catch up on right now; I’m gonna sit here and rant for a while.

Sometimes, it’s a curse to be observant. You tend to come to weirdest realizations that nobody really wants to have as reference, nor cares to for that matter; like the fact that no matter how much something makes sense in theory, it takes a giant leap of faith to believe they can actually happen seeing how one-tracked people’s concern truly is, and how easily it can be re-channeled when the objects of examination are people who are fortunate enough to own boobs. How everything you care to chase in life runs away only to come back when you stop giving a fuck to give you a nice pony kick up your behind and remind you that it’s right there, and it never left. The fact that no matter how highbrow a person can be, they will always fall for the narcissistic dingbat who couldn’t possibly give less of a fuck about them. And who can blame them when they’re playing out to how the genes of their species have functioned for over thousands of millennia for the sole purpose of blind survival? How two of the bestselling books of all time are ‘Why Men Love Bitches’ and its sequel ‘Why Men Marry Bitches’, training people in the sophisticated art of being everything they’re not with the follow through guide of how to get everything they would have never wanted had they not been everything they’re not. How sometimes people who claim to be open-minded would react stupendously caveman-like when the hypothetical situation plays out. And how the fact that you understand the algorithms behind the mystical Rubik's cubes is not a pro, but rather an anomaly that is regarded with skeptical revulsion. How being genderly will make you better than a ninja in terms with blending in with the background at all the wrong times and have you referred to by the opposite pronoun rather than play out to its initially intended anodyne purpose. How you sometimes try so hard to make something work that you end up ruining every hope and running through every potential energy reserve that might have been handy when the right time comes for it to follow its due course. How, ironically enough, you know that had you not tried in the first place; it would have worked, which makes you question if being proactive and initiative is actually the right thing or the equivalent to shoving yourself in a canon for a travelling circus at minimum wage. How people will see only what they want to see, and never what actually happens. How people put their care in all the wrong places and make sure that they have the care that’s aimed their way blasted right into the nearest wall.

But what does it matter? It’s all in vain. The knowledge that’s been carefully harvested and laboriously acquired will fall through the gaps just like it always has over the years, none of it will be put to use, and it will come back to haunt people when insomnia gets the best of them.

The Guy Code.

1. You can't move in on another dude's chick, but you can always ruin their date. It's globally recognized as a gray area.

2. Take the number on a napkin, you'll only need to use it once anyway.

3. And while you're at it, why call when you can order?

4. Never, ever, under any circumstances are you allowed to say the L word. It's like I'm pregnant except they can still run after you.

5. Bros before hoes, that way they can't see anything. Blind spots are another widely agreed upon loophole.

6. There is absolutely nothing you can't win over with a food offering in the opportune moment.

7. Your mother, stepmother and daughter are not a 3-in-1 package unless you're Justin Timberlake.

8. When in doubt, get on the best friend's good side and buy her shoes.

9. Rain checks are you checking out who you really wanna kiss in the rain.

10. Don't ever piss off a midget, you don't know where they could bite you.

11. If she starts following you on twitter, she's expecting a ring. Make sure the only ring she gets is the beep on the block notification.

12. Never underestimate the wrath of a creature who is not physically capable of jacking off.

13. Never trust a creature that bleeds for 5 days and doesn't die, unless it's zombie apocalypse and you're looking for a good wing man.

14. Two numbers should be at your disposal at all times. Her social security number and the number to a good hit man.

15. Don't feed her unless you wanna keep her. Strays tend to follow you home if you're the one with the cheeseburger every Monday afternoon.

16. You do not want to introduce her to your friends unless she's boobless. AKA: You do not want to introduce her to your friends.

17. Anything you say or do can and will be taken against you in the court of blondes.

18. Always make sure she's wearing heels, in that case; she can out-talk you but she can't outrun you.

19. Always make sure that two women have a transatlantic gap of no less than 5400 miles, her and your mom.

20. Make sure her manicure appointments are never cancelled lest a catfight takes place sporadically.

21. She gets to keep the remote control as long as she keeps up the birth control, otherwise a conflict of interests is inevitable in the unforeseeable future which will require the purchase of more remote controls.

22. Make sure she refers to you as an asshole periodically, safest incubation period should recur intervallically every 3 weeks.

23. Nicknames are not allowed and/or tolerated unless you want to lose the medically certified references to your genitals.

24. The relationship should never trespass the two contextual senses of the word ‘sacked.’

25. No personals, that includes using her first name and/or treating her like a human being. It puts weird ideas into her head, like sharing habitats and last names.

26. Never carry her belongings, women tend to develop an urge to return the favour over a period of no less than 9 months.

27. Make sure she's uncomfortable enough to not eat on dates, that way you'll cut back for almost as long as you need till you cut off. 

28. Beware the Medusas, otherwise known as the interesting ones who can actually write a brief rather than take yours off. Get out while you can or the next thing you know it she'll be merging DNA's and bank accounts before you can say FUU-

29. All is fair in love and war, except war is fairer to your progeny, budget and reputation when it comes to fucking the enemy.

30. Never say anything that can't be taken out of context. Or else you'll be stuck in context till death do you part. 

Debussy, First Arabesque (piano solo, animation version 3)

Lami’s Law Of Masayeb Resolution.

Life Lesson #286: Bad things come in threes because they're afraid if they show up alone, humans are gonna kick their ass.

Life Lesson #287: Some people call the glass half full perspective, some people call it being delusional, other people call it the conscious choice to survive despite being put under a great amount of stress. I, however, think it’s a matter of simple serial calculations. You see, I’ve always believed that Maths can be applied to anything in life, so Lami’s Law of force resolution has to be applicable in life too. Thing is, if the weight ends up downwards, aka: bottled inside, you’re gonna implode, if it ends up resoluted into a myriad of mini forces in equal and opposite directions, aka: on other people, then you’ve successfully exploded, and to project an equivalent upwards and achieve equilibrium requires a substantial quota of faith in higher powers that is not available in my equation and probably another decade of constructions to produce it, which is rhetorical to the main idea and psychological deadline of the actual problem, so, Lami, you better start thinking about a corollary here, because I really dunno where to stash the magnitude and there aren’t enough fucking givens to postulate the direction here.

Life Lesson #289: French can be ugly too. ‘C’est la vie.’ See?

Why Radical Is Good..Most Of The Time.

So Whatever You Do, Don’t Let Go.

Oh morning come bursting, the clouds, Amen.
Lift off this blindfold, let me see again
And bring back the water, let your ships roll in.
In my heart she left a hole

The tightrope that I'm walking just sways and ties
The devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes
And I just want to be there when the lightning strikes
And the saints go marching in
And sing slow-ow-ow-ow it down

Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world

Like a river to a raindrop, I lost a friend
My drunken as a Daniel in a lion's den
And tonight I know it all has to begin again
So whatever you do, don't let go

And if we could float away
Fly up to the surface and just start again
And lift off before trouble
Just erodes us in the rain (x3)

Sing slow-ow-ow-ow it down
Oh Slow-ow-ow-ow it down

Through chaos as it swirls
It's just us against the world
Through chaos as it swirls
It's us against the world

Being Human.

I’ve never really come on here to talk about my feelings, and when I absolutely needed to, I always had them coded in an intricate manner or shawled in sarcastic repartees so that none if not a select few of you would get them. It’s not usually the page that scares me, but rather the people staring at it at the other end of this harmless screen, and what they can and will do when they come over that sort of inestimable knowledge. Then, being someone who uses detachment as a main defense mechanism, you stumble over someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, and you remember how you once were like that, how you always called it weak and berated yourself for being an idiot who never seems to learn; patching your way into that poker face that no one seems to see through, not even your closest..adherents, for lack of a better word. And yet, you never fail to catch yourself admiring their strength. It’s one thing to look impenetrably invincible, and a whole other thing to be one. The irony, which seems to be the main theme with life these days, is that it’s never how you think it will turn out. You’re only strong if you haven’t been affected enough to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve after so many afflictions. It shows admirable resilience and a wholeness that would usually be chipped off by time and what it carries in its folds.
It’s been said that art imitates life, and with architecture, if buildings were not built in a way that would react to the wind and sway in accordance, its stiffness would cause its collapse, much like the ashes you flick off the end of a cigarette with the click of a joint.
I’m impressed, and I’m not easily impressed.

Love.

You’ve tried wishing and it didn’t work. So:

OH Youuu, Use Your Heart As A Weapooon, And It Huuurts Like Heaaveeeen. <3

Take the fire from my belly and the beat from my heart, still i won't let goooooooo, still i won't let gooooooooo. *sticks tongue out*

Graduation Pix :)

What’s Gonna Happen If I Don’t Get Hugh Dancy For X-mas

Dear Santa,

1. I’ll blow your cover and destroy the Christmas spirit of kids all over the globe.

2. I’ll kidnap an elf, call it Dobby and make it wish i were Lucious Malfoy.

3. No more milk and cookies, you hear me?

4. I’ll give the Grinch your address and phone number.

5. I’ll file a petition to wipe December off the calendar. Who needs 12 months anyway? Worse yet, how about I file a petition to have 12 Decembers a year? That’ll max out your credit card alright, and your soul.

6. I’ll have your ass sacked! Pun intended.

7. I’ll delete all of the naughty girls’ addresses from your phonebook, and you’ll be stuck with your lardass wife and the creepy Chucky-look-alike midgets.

8. I’ll lock up all of your elves. Yes! No more orgies. Not even this.

9. I’m taking Rudolph too. You won’t even be able to pull Equous off.

10. And your toys. Oh yeh. I’m damn serious.

11. I’ll bomb your ass; I’m an Arab. And the biggest part of you will be smaller than the ghost of Christmas past’s nonexistent toe.

12. I’ll mess up your To-Do list and have you send a Barbie doll to the Featherweight champion lifter, see how he’ll feel about that.

13. I’ll dope your kitchen elf and have him feed you Indomie noodles everyday for the rest of your life! And then I’ll make you eat my mom’s food for dessert.

14. I’ll put your central heating system on maximum and have you drill your own hole into the north pole and be devoured by rabid seals.

15. I’m taking away your beanie. Yes, I’m that vicious.

16. I’ll ship you off to Mexico’s biggest bull arena in your overalls.

17. I’ll confiscate your credit card and give it to a Somali kid so you won’t ever have the nerve to ask for it back and watch it get drained to the last penny on water and underwear.

18. I’m deactivating your Facebook and Twitter accounts.

19. I’m changing your last name to Gaddhafi. Nobody believes he’s dead and you both have a whacky taste in fashion, Arabs will eat it up.

20. I’ll pull of a southern accent, call Hannibal Lecter and invite him over for Christmas Eve dinner. Main dish is your live brain.

21. I’m taking your UGG boots and singing ‘This boots are made for walking..’ as i trample all over your junk and eyeballs with it.

22. I’ll cut you into tiny little pieces and anonymously mail it to children with your name tag and return address.

23. I’ll mail your wife to a Lemon party with a tag that says ‘Open every single Christmas.’

24. I’ll take your overalls and sell them on Craigslist to the first bank robber that applies.

25. I’ll cut off your toes and make you eat them naked while you sing ‘I love candy canes.’ Then  I’ll proceed to cane you with a giant candy cane.

Of An Astral Allegory, Listless Pigeons & Life.

*Disclaimer: This is not fabricated in any sense.

Sometimes people talk of messages, or signs, and they mention a song that came on the radio or an old friend that they happened to run into on an odd sort of day. And sometimes, you’re just standing at your window, sipping on your gloriously hot coffee on a chilly late October morning, and you see your life and those of many played out in tiny happenstances.

This is the story of a pigeon.

Three pigeons were standing nonchalantly on a wire, hanging loosely between two lamp posts. One of those pigeons seemed slightly more nonchalant than the other two, who seemed to be quite satisfied in each other’s company than in any other distraction that included life, traffic and the possibility of a school kid getting too peppy with his new slingshot. In fact, even when the couple flew off, the nonchalant pigeon continued staring at that focal point on the ground that he seemed to be inexplicably engrossed into, ignoring all urges of safety in numbers that its instincts were probably berating him with; he’d learnt to shush them quite well, maybe even too well for his own good. The nonchalant pigeon didn’t quite notice them gone, because even when they were there, they weren’t really there, not to the nonchalant pigeon. He looked up briefly up the direction to which they’d flown off and glanced back at its focal point. But that’s when it all changed, the nonchalant pigeon glanced another pigeon, that seemed to be giving a more credible air of listless demeanor, and i might be going out on a limb here when i tell you this, but the nonchalant pigeon was hooked. He couldn’t wrap his little head around it, how could there be another pigeon that’s not hurrying to huddle up next to him? How could this strange pigeon not need to feed off his safety-emanating self-assured vicinity? The nonchalant pigeon flew down to the wire, next to the listless pigeon, who didn’t bother to look up. The nonchalant pigeon took a couple of steps, huddling up in her aura when the listless pigeon, apparently bothered by his presence and, rather, interference in her energy field, took a couple of steps farther off. The nonchalant pigeon couldn’t believe his eyes, he went through the Kübler-Ross model three times over, and much in the habit of pigeons and the overall nature of refusing change common among those who share the primeval instincts of every species, in a matter of 5 seconds equivalent to those usual 5 years of humans, the nonchalant pigeon picked up his act and flew off, without once looking back or swirling around in the territorial fashion of a rejected mate in their kingdom.

And guess what?

The listless bird, who never bothered to look up when he was around, without one shred of doubt or seconds wasted on confused afterthought, flew right after him.

What is it in the nature of souls that craves what it doesn’t have and grows tenacious of what it can’t? What is so attractive about someone who doesn’t seem to care? Is it the better statistic of survival? The somewhat blurry postulation that they’ve gone through hardships and turned out a little better than your average sob-case? Is it a common trait of strong souls to rebound after blows without changing one bit of their attitude, or rather modify it to ensure its fragile frame of survival? Who drew out the shortest straw? The nonchalant pigeon or the listless pigeon?

Maybe I’m reading too much into this, or maybe I’m not. That’s up to you. However, to me, that 2 minute nature skit proves more worthy to me than any allegory covered in any philosophical book or any wisdom passed down in generations.

Or i could just need to change my coffee brand. It’s all a matter of good old perspective. But which is funner to believe in; a divine graduation project ran by a couple of bored angels up there to give the human psyche a run for its money, or a hallucinatory reaction due to sleep deprivation?

And The World Is Alright Again.

They’re In The Wrong Place Trying To Make It Right.

The Bright Side Of A Fractured Finger.

1. Suck it, Debussy.

2. You too, pop quizzes. Muahaha.

3. It’s super duper cool. And you get to make up new words like splintified and bonered. ‘Shut up, asshole, my broken finger has more of a boner than your baloney.’ - ‘I'd totally give you the finger had my finger not been giving me the finger.’

4. You’re permanently giving the French equivalent of the middle finger. Refer to #3.

5. You have a better excuse for sporting the afro. Ever tried combing a proper afro with a broken finger? Yeh, don’t. My guess is, the worse the condition actually is or looks like, the higher the leverage on the social acceptance scale. Coolness on a silver platter, dawg, and it doesn’t even have to be the 90’s.

6. You’re like a hero and stuff  and everybody laughs at your jokes. Okay, maybe not. Worth a try tho.

7. You are exponentially more delicate, and, well, French. Tough luck if you’re a guy. No homo.

8. You’re subconsciously training your other hand, hence subliminally becoming more of a ninja. You’ll be catching flies with chopsticks in no time. Oh and I made noodles and i didn’t burn down the house :’D but that’s irrelevant. (YES!)

9. You won’t have any trouble finding a pen; you can always use the one latched on to support the bone alignment on your finger. Not that you’ll be able to use it. Pro if you’re a guy, you’ll pick up chicks in no-time. Girls are suckers for gentlemen. That balances the plainfield here.

10. You don’t need long creepy fingernails to itch anymore. More points on the social scale. Unless you’re a Tyrannosaurus. Other than that, nobody likes a Tengu.

11. It will inevitably improve your math skills, since you’ll have to do most of the calculations in your head. And, as a consequence, will make you smarter! Less fingers, more IQ. Who woulda thought, eh?

12. You don’t have to carry stuff anymore, which is kind of rhetorical if you’re a chick but, look at it this way, more hope for the ugly ones. Holla.

13. You’ll inevitably be more chaste. Ahem. Hey, come on guys, at least you won’t have to worry about carpal tunnel for a while. Still doesn’t balance out the French stigma? Damn..

14. You will mean it when you say your middle finger just got a boner. Et voila, you’re more credible and streetwise.

15. You could fake re-breaking for a fraternity/sorority initiation and dodge the paddle. AKA, your broken finger literally just saved your ass.

16. You’ll get more time to think through what you type or write, and would inevitably tho unintentionally become wiser. If you’d broken an arm, you’d definitely be a guru and give the Dalai Llama a run for his money.

17. You get to mope about it all you want. Another pro if you’re a guy, since that luxury is exclusively chick-owned.

18. You get a moment of clarity when you’re enlightened by exactly how much of wimp you are. For me, seeing wiring and surgical procedures on WebMD did the trick for me. Oh heeeeeeeyyyuuuul naw. I like my pen. Thank you very much.

19. You get to patronize people who’ve never broken anything by every noob/benchwarmer joke you can dream of.

20. You get to brag about every former glory in blown up proportions without having people doubting the validity of your concoctions or being obliged to confirm it at any later point in the near future. And in the not-so-near future, you could always pin it on the cartilages and sell it with an indignant face. Damn you, non-renewable lazy excuse of a stress ball.

21. You use the chance to get rid of your writer’s block and lame cynical outlook on life and conclusively become a more functional individual with an active career. And if you don’t, it doesn’t really count and nobody can hold it against you. Refer to #17.

UPDATE: After a scary hospital visit and an X-Ray, an orthopedist who couldn’t believe I’m 18 because i kept trying to puppy face/bribe him into casting it, it turns out that it’s just a severe ligament tear thingie. Bummer. And i had my hopes up and everything. :(

The Comeback.

I haven’t written anything in a while, not that it’s worth noting since my blog became more of a bulletin board and playlist and less of a journal. I don’t feel like i have anything to say anyway, and when i do, it’s even clearer why i shouldn’t waste it on people.

Today is a good day. I gotta tell you, nothing is funnier than hearing a rapist say they got raped by their rapee, or that people miss Gaddhafi; but i repeat myself. Coldplay’s new album leaked today, and not even finding out about graduation by mistake through people talking about it in my vicinity rather than actually bothering to tell me could bring me down.

I’d forgotten what it feels like to sleep, having pulled two all-nighters to study for a physics exam that i eventually walked out on halfway through, when i enjoyed the utter bliss of 18 hours of sleep. I’ve been told i hadn’t even moved, and I'd find that hard to believe but my stiff neck and headache that wouldn’t go away with a frozen bag of aubergines confirm it. Nothing interesting about that fact, but i just felt the need to record it, like one might feel about taking pictures of their babies to look at em when they’ve turned into hormonal mofos and be reminded that one day, that actually happened and is not entirely a figment of their wishful imagination. And, well, seeing them as a baby makes it harder for people to kill them, not that it’s relevant, but babies are evil hoaxes using emotional loopholes as a means of leeching off for survival. But that’s off-topic.

Ever wanted to write on an ex-friend’s wall and then the internet crashes for two hours at that exact same second and you’re inevitably led to think that maybe, just maybe, rabena 3ayez y2ool 7aga? Or maybe you were about to make tea and found a deserted packet of 3-in-1 coffee just lying there chipping away at your conscience, seducing you by its slender figure and you’re like, I’m not cheating on you why do I feel so damn guilty? Or maybe you end up giving your favourite book to a friend on her birthday just so she’d forget the author’s name next time you fight and you’re certain that  you’re right in whatever the hell you were arguing about and that she’s an absolute and utter bitch that you never wanna talk to again and then get an overprotective instinct to your book that makes you wanna kill that friend and retrieve it? Or when your borrowed cardigan finds its way through an intricately woven web of people to your best friend the same day she’d forgotten her jacket at home and was freezing her ass off in the middle of the desert and stuff? Yeh, God works in mysterious ways man. It’s ooh-ful.

Or you’re hopelessly pareidolic.

I’ve been reading a book, an autobiography actually, about a drug addict and alcoholic who successfully pissed away his life at 23 and i find the suicidal absence of self-pity utterly inspiring. He could run against saint peter and win the elections and a bronze medal for missionary work for converting people through scaring the fuck out of them by being the worst case epitome of the possible consequences. You don’t think it’s possible for people to get better or be happier? This guy redefines the idiom ‘down in the gutters.’ And it worked for him. It kind of makes you think twice on whether or not you’re, as a matter of fact, an absolute and utter pussy.

And i could go on and on and onnnnnnn, but who cares?