Ra(u)gged.

Rocks of Pride

2010-12-20T14:48:00.011+02:00

I cherish every single word I have posted on this blog, and that is precisely why I chose to post this...

He took off the gown of wisdom, and bowed

bestow your beauty, return my kingdom, as you once vowed

this wretched war is yours, are you not proud?

cuts, bruises, blood and scars, a girl crying loud,

look at her as you did me, the day I tried, the day I died

is she not you, a shattered wave, a broken tide

a black spell, a foul crave, crashing on the rocks of pride

for in the dawn of the brave, men who defied

the charm of a pretty queen, as she wept and cried,

rains of gold kill the wealthy and seas of gluttony run dry,

grey grows old and empty, and your velvet demons die

look at me, watch me be, behold your champion fly

gone is the time of courtesy, and dead is every lie

Listen

Midnight Filosofía

2010-12-08T23:48:00.002+02:00

There's something about driving that brings out the little Nietzsche in me, that tireless thinker that ends up eating up all my head noodles. And when that happens I get grouchy, coz the noodles wrapped around my cranium go in circular zigzags all the way to the ticker at the center of my chest.

I believe that bastard thinker is trying to bite my heart.

Listen.

i want the red underwear back

2010-10-23T13:42:00.007+02:00

We live in crazy times, I swear. Things are not the way they used to be when I was a kid, it is called growing up they'll tell you. Agreed, but that's not just it I believe. The very texture of man has changed; we have evolved, in oh so many ways.

Now, an alien in red underwear should start looking for a new job, because a black president just got hired as superhero. Girls* are not the only emotional blackmailers out there anymore; there are now nations that pull that nifty trick off, the whole shabang, crying and all.

It is as if the molten sea of lava that used to be our collective communities has just, and I mean just, solidified. To each his mess, I used to say, as long as we were separately afloat and astray, but now, we're connected. You don't need a titanium ship to cross over to someone else's mess, you can just walk there.

But despite this bizarre human-cocktail, we have grown more apathetic, because when subjected to a larger amount of incomprehensible misery, one tends to resort to escapism, usually manifested in imposed apathy.

Get this, a crowded room, full of people who very much abhor the stench of one another, but can't be bothered with neither the idea of getting out of the god forsaken room, nor perhaps de-funking it.

Crazy world we live in.

* I love girls though, even with the blackmail.

Watch.

Home.

2010-10-20T19:00:00.005+02:00

A city never dies. It grows old, but a city is immortal. One moment separates the fabric of time, yester moment was home and the next it is not, for a city can grow cold with age. My city once begged me to stay as I packed my bags, my memories clung to my feet, and my baby sister squeezed me ever so tight, she broke my heart.

I tried to kiss her tears away assuring her that I'll be back, and I left a city behind, home.

I'll never forget the first day I set foot away, an alien, in a world void of memories. I walked under cloudy mellow skies, in awe, a novice, relearning life; away from roots I had planted so deep back home.

But, you see, a city never dies, because regardless of where you are, home fights for dear life inside you, vigorously, giving your lonesomeness a bittersweet flavor of anguish. All that I held dear gave me features in a city of blank faces; I was color in a blank white page.

In color, I found home, away from an aging oriental city. But the fact remained, my love for the beautifully flawed warm cozy city was irreplaceable.

Simmering cold pearl showers couldn't change my mind, but they cloaked my features, and home couldn't recognize me when I returned. The warm city had grown cold, my memories turned against me, and I stood at square one.

Time however is a friend, and it was all I needed to rearrange the jigsaw I believed made sense before my departure. I am who and where I want to be now, and for that, I am very grateful.

Home can give you the cold shoulder, but it will never abandon you.

Listen.

Maybe..

2010-10-16T15:57:00.005+02:00

He woke up one day, looked ahead, and started running. Sweat and tears they're called, but to him, they were elation, they shed away all those years. Years that made him older, years that heaved down his powerful heart.

He ran, the wind killing one frown after the other, neutralizing his memories. One would think that memories are either good or bad, but the truth is, good memories can turn bad.

Not that he ran away from anything, on the contrary, he ran towards an armada of unborn memories, a family. He ran towards a silhouette his mind has done such a good job in creating, but failed at giving features.

Life is simple to him, not complex, help one another, smile, fall for one another and try. Why it has to be otherwise, at any given point in time, was beyond him.

Identity mattered no more, man needs not a name when alone.

A cliff.

He jumped, and plummeted to a new day.

Sleep, tomorrow might be the best day of your life.

Listen.

perspective is a talent...

2010-10-09T14:53:00.008+02:00

It occurs to me every now and then that writing can somehow be fraudulent. You see, no matter how candid you try to be, some parts of you will never meet ink. Conscious may your choice be or not when you conceal remnants of who you are, it happens. Even in writing this piece, I am nowhere near candid.

I hate it when I impress people for reasons that, to me, don't describe who I really am, or for choices I deem natural. I'd certainly hate it if someone reads this and thinks highly of me, and I'd also hate it if someone comes to the conclusion that I am a humility-faking pretentious douche. It happens though.

How many times have you been perceived wrongly, or hated for who you're not?

To be seen with one, desired eye, is impossible, and to be seen by numerous impaired perspectives, is frustrating. Paradox, mayhaps, but equilibrium in turbulent times like these becomes an effervescent elusive dream.

The going will get tough, you'll kneel, you'll cry and maybe even pray, and if someone is there, you'll be seen for who you really are and vice versa. Is this how it has to be, is it even fair? I know not, and I can't be bothered with the idea.

At my age, I'd say I've seen my fair share of faces and taken a good amount of blows to my ego. I've seen my armies in defeat and have discovered grave errors in my judgment and at other times, my ways. I have witnessed my dreams barely escape murder and have run towards one mirage after the other. I have a little spot with my name on it at square one.

At the end of the day, here's what I know for sure, I am smaller than what I'd like to believe. Don't get me wrong, this is no self-destructive depressive thought, but perspective, if you will. I am but a kid, regardless of what I've been through.

To each his misery, but at the end of the day, some fight bigger fights, noble ones, those are the fights I've been looking for all my life. Belittle not your own sadness, but view it for what it really is, and in that you will find faith.

Listen.

Dear Lost,

2010-09-25T13:18:00.007+03:00

Listen to a beautiful song, so beautiful it saddens you, brings a tear or two to your eyes. Listen to a song so sad, it crushes you on the inside, then listen to a happy, cheerful song, and laugh hysterically at your dismay.

And sooner than your tears dry up on the fallacious smile your face has, somehow, depicted, you think, then believe, that you're lost. You dress up, drink a beverage of your choice, known for its mood-altering ability and head on your way.

On the road to your destination, you take a look at the sky, and it almost always doesn't suit your mood, but occasionally does, when you really want it to. Then, a thought driven memory cuts through you, slices your soul, bringing it down, leaving you hollow for the day.

Your troubled mind mumbles a loud "nobody cares anyway" only to be outdone by another song. Another beautiful rose in a musical garden. But this rose, you wore for a while, you had it in your hair or pinned it to your shirt, and never went a day without it. You are now without it.

You listen and see that your blood on its thorns has not dried yet. And you cry. The second regret sits where your soul once was, you're jolted by a friend so full of life, regret scurries back the saddest corner of your heart. You wear that old smile again and greet the friend.

"I wish..." you interrupt your soul's shy, muffled, cries for help.

Dear Lost,

Make a wish for a change, for you are human, and should find no shame in a wish. It will come true, sooner or later, I promise. Lost is a path, not a place. Lost is a path to your dreams, what you wish.

Dear Lost,

You're not lost, and I am your friend.

Wessam.

Listen.

Evening After Evening in a Sunspot

2010-08-31T19:11:00.007+02:00

Purity is missing, he thought, bringing a 60 year old cup of tea to his lips. He took a tentative sip and frowned a bit. Yes, purity is missing. It doesn't taste genuine, flavourful.

He placed the cup on the table and watched it for a while. It was as if he was waiting for the life-like strings of vapor to weave an answer. Tea has tasted different for a while now, and that needed explanation.

She used to make beautiful tea. I loved her tea.

He looked away from the cup then looked back at it, raised it off the table and tilted it. The hot tea made a loud hissing sound as it collided with the surface of the sun.

A small house stood in the darkest corner of the sun, where a man sat on the front porch, waiting for his wife to come back and make him tea.

The Song: Unsaid – The Fray

The Simplicity of Pain

2010-06-05T15:54:00.001+03:00

Take long, long, walks through heaven everyday. You'll still spend the night in an abandoned dark house.

Shame.

The Song: Open Your Eyes – Snow Patrol

حكمة اليوم

2010-06-04T11:25:00.005+03:00

للـ"استبياع" فوائد عدة٬ إلا أنه يجرد المرء من أبسط المشاعر وأجملها. فهي تلك المشاعر التي فُطر عليها الإنسان٬ ومن دونها٬ تخلو دروب الحياة من القصص والذكريات.

وعجبي.

Word of Advice

2010-05-26T00:49:00.003+03:00

If you want something dead. Kill it yourself.

"I'm only a man in a funny red sheet"

2010-05-26T00:30:00.006+03:00

I think I just ran out of road.

This is not a fork, because I don't have much choice. Simpler times saw me in a cape as I waved my shiny sword and shield. I was happy. I was a him, a him that I saw on TV and read about in books. Killing was easy, it was fun and clean. Witches, bewildered by my mastery of magic, throned me as King of their little cozy house. I lived as a big smile, and every night, I slept noisily in a room decorated with heads of slain dragons.

.... I used to fly.

Dragons turned out to be the least of my worries.

I can't fly, any more.

The Song: Superman - Five For Fighting

Disappointment

2010-05-25T21:51:00.001+03:00

I'd don't take it lightly. At all.

Blind as a Bat

2010-05-25T20:12:00.001+03:00

If anything, he is not blind. He may seem so, but have you ever seen him stumble? No one ever did. In fact, he can see so well it scares you. True, he bears darkness. Or is it light? Have you ever seen him shine? I know I did.

If anything, you are blind. With eyes wide open. In every trembling wing, you saw a dive and in every flap you saw a fall. But he sees, and comes from blinding light that you mistake for darkness.

Blind in faith, he is. Can't you see?

The Song: My Hero - Foo Fighters.

Skewed Wisdom

2010-05-25T19:51:00.003+03:00

To preach is to stand on a tower in the middle of the desert. You may stand highest, but you remain alone.

Flip a Coin

2010-05-24T16:13:00.006+03:00

We sometimes go about thinking that, in our daily lives; we strive to do the right thing, say the right words and perhaps, if we're lucky, walk the right path. We rarely however stop and take a good look at the visage of righteousness. Right can be obscured by reality; it can become that one demon you don't have the courage to approach.

If everything is relative and controversial, how can one even identify the righteousness of their actions, let alone rectify them if they turn out to be, alas, wrong.

The Song: Changes - 3 Doors Down

© Getty Images

Steps

2010-04-26T17:53:00.015+02:00

But what good is writing when I could run to your doorstep and take you in my arms? I'll whisper pink clouds of emotion into your ears. I'll kiss your rosy cheeks; I'll pump passion through your back that rests against my thudding heart.

I'll love you.

I've listened to different colors of music, multiple spectra of tunes and melodies. None resembles how your voice resonates and bounces off the walls of my chest. Don't cry, love, never cry, for this sad music shatters my formidable heart.

Formidable is my heart for holding a love so deep and profound; powerful is my body for encaging emotion so furious and wild. Crazy love, angry love. Angry, because you're back is not constantly against my chest.

One tear though will break me into shades of vapor so untamed; it shall move the universe right to your doorstep. But you bring me back, and I hug you.

Don't cry love.

Your eyes to my heart are like a full moon to a starless night sky.

The Song: Celebrate - Embrace

© Getty Images

Fire.

2010-03-08T18:51:00.004+02:00

Burn me up.

The Song: You Make My Dreams Come True - Hall & Oates

Falling for a Mustang

2010-03-01T21:38:00.005+02:00

I look at my car and this is what I see...

Imagine what I'll see...

... if you let me look at you with the same eye

The Song: Give Me a Sign - Breaking Benjamin

Loup Garou

2010-02-24T21:13:00.003+02:00

I will transform into one.

And when I do, I will eat you up.

The Song: Break - 3 Days Grace

Right.

2010-02-17T17:46:00.013+02:00

Blind light grazed her fair skin illuminating a beautiful pink blush that hid behind dark eyes. In translucence she picked up her pencil and started drawing a little sketch of a heart. Her heart perhaps, and maybe mine. She knew that I watched as she beautified my shirt, placing the heart gently on the right side of my chest. I tilted my head inquisitively and gave her a puzzled look she knew so well and has even come to adore. The warmth of her smile was a not that of a million suns, no. It was a supernova.

A supernova of emotions seeping right through the fabric of my rugged soul, refining it, shaping it. She smiled, and I stood helplessly stupefied, burning with curiosity as I waited for her to reveal yet another piece of her puzzle.

Blindfolded if I have to, I will guide her touch, to where my heart is, to where she wants it to be. I will lead her to the heart on the right side of my chest.

© Getty Images

The Song: Kings and Queens - 30 Seconds to Mars . . . I will drum this beautiful song one day, for her. And she will behold me in awe.

I bit a Shark

2010-02-14T17:43:00.015+02:00

Surfing mystic rivers of gold I was ambushed by a school of Harley sharks, who tried to mug and then eat me alive. So, I summoned my Chi and blasted them all to the depths of oblivion, sparing only one to take as my prisoner. As I tried to tie it down with my ropes of faith stringed together by a million memories, the feisty shark squirmed and fought splashing blazing drops of lava on my adamantium armor, engorging my already swollen temper. In anger, I held on tight to the prudent creature and took it on a trip to outer space at light speed. The shark begged for its life, for it knew that I was going to take it to Orion, the hunter who showed no mercy. The now helpless predator sought my forgiveness, promising me to quit crime and to bestow its life to its baby sharks.

After thinking for a while, I descended back to earth deciding to give the shark another shot at life.

Everyone deserves a shot. Once, twice and thrice.

And I can and will be whoever I want to be.

© Getty Images

The Song: Cosmic Love – Florence and the Machine, thanks for that one, Moaj.

"..."

2010-01-26T23:16:00.005+02:00

Quotes describing Quotes describing life born from nothingness that teaches wisdom inspired by Quotes of those who believe they have transcended into realms of enlightenment augmented and highlighted by beautiful rays of light ignited by Quotes once said by an old man sitting by a lake observing shining reflections of himself in a mirror like motion yet frozen in an everlasting picture drawn in ink on yellowish paper creating eloquent verses of musical literature and magnificent Quotes.

© Getty Images

The Song: Resistance - Muse

A Different Kind of Fall

2010-01-08T19:27:00.013+02:00

A beautiful tree stood in the middle of a green clearing alluringly, overshadowing earth. Its lime green leaves, wet with dawn's dew, reflected the young sun's red rays. The tree was a fire flower.

A magnificent blue river that made its way from far lands, curled around the tree. The tree's roots intertwined with the river's sweet water, for the river was in love with the tree, and the tree without the river was nothingness.

The tree was home and the river was verve.

The day the river ran dry, the tree cried its branches bare.

The Song: Until The Last Moment - Yanni

Joyeux Blogiversaire.

2010-01-08T13:08:00.004+02:00

A belated one.

So, I forgot my own blogiversary, although I had a special piece for for it.

C'est cool ca.

That's really, really, good. I've lost track of time, I really did.

There goes another chain. I'm also free of time now. Kapow!

This year has already been a crazy one, and we're only 8 days in. That is just lovely.

So many things to do, so little time. I'll fit them all in though.

I'll be the leader of a world some year.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy belated New Year people.

© Getty Images

The Song: Disarray - Lifehouse, they have to be the first song of the year.

Footnotes

2009-12-27T23:45:00.025+02:00

The city of the full moon

Elation and bittersweet pain

Movie-like scenes, days and dramas

Smiles that hug tears

Family

Successes and failures

Writing, rediscovered

Loved blemishes, and beauty only I can see

Memories and friends

Sexy scars

Dreams, lots of dreams

Serendipity

Maturity, Immaturity and lessons learned

Full moons

Happiness without reason

Timeless music

The imaginary shot of scotch and cigarette that come to my rescue

Kyrie

January, July and December

Faith, belief, nostalgia, hope, silver linings and revelations

Who I was, who I am and who I am meant to be

Finding God

24/12/2009, 4.35 am, 12°C and a hot mug of coffee

"Hell or Glory, I don't want anything in between"

Music is comfortable, miracles are plausible and endless stories exist

This year has been far too kind to me

© Getty Images

The Song: She's My Winona - Fallout Boy

Silhouette

2009-12-21T02:59:00.008+02:00

Sometimes, we slip into solipsism and become oblivious to those whose lives intersect with ours. We simply refuse to see where they're coming from. We refuse to see the shadows they drag behind.

Those who forever walk towards the sun will never know what a shadow is.

It is like we're all walking towards our respective suns, and in the process, empathy is lost, and more importantly, some lose track of who they are.

I need a dreamcatcher, one that will help me survive the dawn of red mist and the dusk of agony and despair. One that will make me turn my back on the sun and remember what my shadow looks like. One that will show me others' shadows…

I don't mind the world today.

The Song: Starts When You Fall - The Killer And The Star

Kyrie's Melody

2009-12-13T20:33:00.011+02:00

it rained for days on end

flooding my mind

wave after wave

crashing on the rocks

beckoning us

take a dip!

the little child jumped in

i remained ashore

i watched

he swam in a black sea

surrounded by a silver aura

he waved at me

in fear, i smiled

let's go, I cried

but he swam away

it rained some more

the waves gnarled and roared

he can't go

he's all I have

until I save Kyrie he's all I have

he dreams, he smiles

he can't go

i jumped into darkness

i swam my body weary

sweet water mixed with tears

Kyrie

before the music stops playing

before the sky's tears run dry

could I have found you?

the last breath is finally here

overtaken by a dark cold wave

I close my eyes

there's a silver shimmer

down at the bottom

that last breath will have to wait

i swim deeper

i can see him clearly now

sitting at the bottom

overwhelmed with happiness

i swim closer

he's not alone

Kyrie?

The Music: Postcards from Far Away - Coldplay

A Disarray of Conversational Longing

2009-12-05T20:26:00.014+02:00

"The Coal isn't lighting up"

"Not to worry ! I will set it on fire with my Hadoken !"

"What the heck is that ?"

"…"

There used to be a kid who lived in a fantasy world. A kid who used to think that if he concentrated real hard and shouted out "adoogen", energy will burst from his wrists. I really miss that kid and his world.

"…alo?"

"Are you asleep ?"

"Of course, Lamiss, it is 2:30 in the morning, and why the heck are you calling me ?"

"There's a burglar in the house"

"Uh..what..?"

"I heard something coming from the kitchen, that’s why I was scared to come out of my room and come tell you. Can you go check ?"

"Lulu, I have loads of work early in the morning, don't be silly"

"Please"

"…ok"

…………

"There's nothing out there"

"Are you sure? Have you checked the whole house ?"

"Yes"

"Ok, thank you"

"Good night"

"Sorry for waking you up"

"Don't worry about it sweetheart"

I can't believe you're already 18. You'll always be my baby sister though; I don't care how old you are.

"Haha ! And I was wondering why you're mom bought pickles while there was no food in the house ! You managed to plot all these plans right under my nose and I couldn't even notice !"

"Happy Birthday, Baba"

I hate the fact that I am now taller than you are, because in my head, I still look up to you. I love you.

Recently, I realized that I am a very nostalgic person, thanks to Jess. This in turn has led me to an even bigger realization. Nostalgia for the past is one thing, but nostalgia for the future ? I am now more nostalgic for the future than I am for the past.

Random Thoughts:

So I was watching titanic the other day (it was on while I worked, don't judge me) and I made a great discovery. Technically, it was jack and rose who sunk the freaking thing. If they hadn't decided to fool around like idiots on deck, the sailors wouldn't have been distracted from looking out for incoming danger, and they would have seen the approaching iceberg sooner.

I hate people who lick their fingers to flip pages. Where the heck did this idea come from ? Am I supposed to hold the licked document after you're done with it ?! God created opposable thumbs for a reason !! Asswipe.

We have a very cool janitor at work. He actually listens to music on his mp3 player as he cleans the office up. Pretty stereotypically movie like. The only problem is that he doesn't hear the sounds he makes as he cleans. He sounds like a Neanderthal learning to speak.

I guess you know you're beard is too long when it actually starts fluttering with the wind. It's nature's way of telling you that an alien race will be able to invade earth using your beard as headquarters. I'm not shaving though. Give me one reason to shave (not looks related) and I will.

Shoryuken.

The Song: Everlong – Foo Fighters .. Sends shivers down my back, every time.

Souvenirs...Real Blood for a Change

2009-11-27T17:33:00.017+02:00

The second she saw me, she collapsed in my arms and broke in tears.

Never, will I ever forget the moment my mother cried her heart out as she squeezed me tight. Amidst all the crap I went through during my night in Sudan, this is the only thing that hurt, a lot.

A couple of years ago, I along with four of my friends got in a fight with the workers of a gas station located in one of the lower class areas of Egypt. I can vaguely remember why we got in that fight, but I do know that it was over a stupid reason. The result was that we found ourselves surrounded by 25 angry workers who were already holding societal grudges. I still have a scar on my arm and another on the back of my head to remind me of that day.

There's now a new one on my back to remind me of my time spent in Khartoum.

I don't get why I had to spend a night abroad maneuvering my way out of harm, nor do I get why a city became a war zone because of a soccer match. More importantly, I don't see why my loved ones had to suffer because of my foolishness.

This whole issue is beyond me; it is yet another addition to my portfolio of enigmas and scars.

I'd love to hate Algeria, but that would be illogical. May what we're going through be real patriotism or not, hating an entire nation still does not make sense.

So, I'm back, angry, scarred and confused. Anger fades away, scars make me sexier (at least I hope so) and I've learned to love confusion lately.

Without enigmas and scars, there wouldn't be silver linings. I love silver linings.

Yesterday was the end of the craziest couple of weeks of my life. Yesterday was a silver lining.

"Other things may change us, but we start and end with family"

Eid Mubarak Everyone!!

Random Thoughts:

My bus was on fire, I had shattered glass all over me in addition to a bleeding shoulder and back, but I still managed to flash them Algerians a big grin, just like I did the station workers. Up yours!

There was this ginormous brick coming at me through the bus window, and I swear, I could almost see it coming in slow motion. When I thankfully dodged it, I laughed like a total nut; it was so absurd that I simply couldn't believe it was happening.

"I don't care too much for money, money can't buy me love"

66 work hours a week will make one see this sentence very differently. And yes, I did the math. With my current lifestyle, I shall remain eternally si-hi-ngle. That is so not my plan.

Rain, lightning and thunder while driving at dawn?! Thank you lord.

Coup de Foudre, Je te cherche partout

The Song: Rain - Creed

Kryptonite

2009-11-09T22:12:00.009+02:00

"You don't have to be Superman all the time"

My mother said that to me today.

I wish I could though.

The Song: Fairytales and Castles - Lifehouse

I Wrote this on the Night of a Full Moon

2009-11-02T23:40:00.009+02:00

Lately, Cairo's sky has been exceptional to say the least. On my way to work this morning, I noticed that the clouds were…puffy. It's like our cruel sky has finally decided to abandon the 2 dimensional realm and become 3 dimensional for a change. I've also never seen it this blue. It looked like a vintage oil painting.

That is good change.

It often happens that I think extensively but don't quite know what I'm thinking about. It's like walking into a cloud of bees where every bee is a different thought or idea. I'm not sure if anyone has experienced this, but it's quite hectic. Nothing really solves this mental predicament for me. The only remedy is usually a trigger that deciphers my intellectual matrix and makes some sense out of its complexities, may it be a friend, a child's smile or time well spent on my PS3. They are variant and variable, but the one thing that always does the trick, is a full moon.

I wait every month for the day I go tête-à-tête with the full moon. He's become more like a friend to me.

The moon and I, we go way back.

So, on the ride back home, a week of intermingled contemplation was reassembled poetically.

Clear and vivid as the sky was tonight, I still found the full moon to be the star of the show. Every time I look at full moon, I always think of the many other places I'd rather be watching it from. The Eiffel tower, a Venetian river and a Hurghadian beach all come to mind, but that's not my point.

I was more than happy just watching the glamour of the moon through my car's roof, yet I never seized to think about how I can admire it better. No matter how content we are, we always tend to imagine the improved versions of the realities we're living in. There always are a number of modifications and additions that we think would optimize the current conditions. That to me is only natural…

But why is it natural?

Some may argue that being fully content is unfeasible, while others claim that greed constantly gnaws at one's satisfaction with the status quo.

I however, think that one can be fully content. I can't claim that I have reached that level, but I know I've been as close as possible, many times.

Never have I ever seen a man who turned down the world's plea to serve.

He who does will have defied gluttony and embraced happiness.

When the world bows down to me, I want to be that man.

The Song: Beautiful Day - U2

When Time Smiles: Schadenfreude

2009-10-31T23:36:00.013+02:00

I've been putting this piece off for a very long time. I however don't think that there'll be a better day than All Hallow's Eve to post it. This is the kind of story I wouldn't read to my kids at their early age, not because it's scary, but because it was written by my darkest self. Nevertheless, the emotions through which it was written still are sinfully yet guiltlessly delicious.

This piece could be considered a parallel dimension to my first When Time Smiles, or a different persona for the same realm. Either way, I'm in love with it.

Another crumpled up paper landed on a pile of similar ones in the trash can next to his desk. He has thus far failed to come up with an ending that satisfied him. He gazed at the empty strips in disappointment and couldn't for the life of him think of anything that would decorate them to his liking. With a loud groan he stretched and lay back on his chair placing his legs up on the desk.

Some say old age teaches people unforgettable lessons, but it seems that this old man has done the exact opposite. This aged chap has conversed thoroughly with time, challenged the discourse of old age, and taught them both lessons that they should pass on. He wore rectangular framed glasses that seemed to make his narrow blue eyes even more squinted. He scratched his bald head thinking, and then rearranged the few patches of gray hair on the sides and the back of his head. He looked fine for a man his age.

After looking at the ceiling for a while, the wise man closed his eyes attempting to visualize the last page of the final installment of his world famous comic book. Many awaited this last chapter anxiously, counting on the renowned artist's power to amaze and surprise. He would hate to disappoint.

To many, inspiration has a mind of its own. It hits you like a bolt of lightning on a sunny day. It comes at the strangest of times, when you're least prepared. To him however, it was awfully different. He summoned inspiration; he beckoned it to his service. This was a man who commanded inspiration.

In a moment of sheer brilliance, the images lined up in front of his intellect each waiting its turn to be drawn on paper. He saw the end.

He picked up his pencil.

A dark moonless night engulfed the globe, its wind howled and screamed at him like a cursed banshee. The sea never sounded angrier and the sand under his feet never felt colder. He staggered across the vicious darkness looking for her. He was looking for his angel.

A sturdy mountain line stood tall in the middle of this madness, its power reinforced his dark faith and fed his demons.

A golden shimmer caught his eye, and he instantly knew that he'd found her. As he approached the glistening light he saw the beautiful golden curls that were emitting it. Her hair danced beautifully with the storm. He found his angel.

She stood in a strapless long white dress that seemed to blend with her folded wings and looked at him with beautiful blue eyes. He walked silently towards her.

Moments later, they were standing face to face. He almost smiled, but held it in, for it was not the time to smile. Not yet.

Her eyes spoke their usual beguiling charm, charm that had always enchanted him.

Not this time.

She felt sharp pain in her left side, and looked down to see a knife sticking out of it. He twisted it violently inside her, and that is when he smiled. If a smile could ever be heard, it would be his. A toothy grin looked her in the eyes, probing down to her very soul. He could hear her screaming on the inside, and it made him happy. He savored every moment of sweet pain she was enduring.

Blood streamed down her dress as her eyes widened with horror. Using his free hand he pulled her towards him. This was his final hug. She pushed him away frantically, and spread her wings to escape his wrath.

In a split second the knife had sliced her neck, and a fountain of blood sprayed his face.

Her blood was freezing cold.

He was not the least bit surprised.

She collapsed to the ground and squirmed in pain. He stood above her still smiling, for this was his angel's final descent. Her anguish was his bliss.

He laughed and she cried but neither was heard.

Silent onomatopoeias.

As she approached her demise she looked at him and spread a hand towards him, trying to hold his for the last time. He stepped on her hand crushing it in the sand.

"Rot in hell"

He put his pencil down, lit his pipe and paused for a few moments to relish his masterpiece.

"So, you killed her" a soft hand held his right shoulder

"You can't kill those whose souls are dead"

His life partner smiled. She kissed him on the cheek and left as silently as she'd come.

The old man eyed the last comic strip.

Her eyes turned stone cold. He knelt down and gently pushed her head to face the rising sun. He plucked a feather from her wings, while his creator picked up his pencil again.

In a rare moment where fiction intersects with reality, in cold blood, they both drew a smiling face on the angel's cheek.

Her cold blood.

Tonight, I Take my Demoness Out on a Date

The Song: The Undertaker – Puscifer

A Monochromatic World

2009-10-25T21:16:00.008+02:00

Change of seasons is taking over my mind. It feels as if every particle of the incoming winter winds is touching my skin for the first time. It never felt so new. The novelty of the feeling has also brought about a question.

What was the fist season to engulf earth's hemisphere? More accurately, what were the first two seasons to embrace our Northern and Southern skies?

I personally believe that it was the Winter/Summer complexion that first interlaced in the realm that is our planet. Why I believe so has many explanations. One explanation could be my personal bias towards winter, that I consider to be the beginning of a year, summer being its end.

The second and undeniably more important explanation is Yin Yang, dualities of life and nature. From quiescence opposites are created together to complement each other in the embodiment of a larger craftwork, a greater meaning and significance. Trading places eternally until they return to quiescence, Yin and Yang shall intertwine with the meanings of our life giving rise to each other.

Black and White, Darkness and Light, Evil and Good, Night and Day, Dusk and Dawn, Winter and Summer, Love and Hate. Yin Yang doesn't believe in Fall or Spring, for they are both shades of gray. It is us humans, who believe in gray.

We need to learn, for extremes and opposites confuse and at many times vanquish us. We do embark on black and white, but we need to swim through the gray sea that separates those two islands.

That's why I believe that the first season known to Man, is Spring. Adam and Eve needed to learn, to get acquainted to the mortal life before the harsh unforgiving earthly conditions punish them and cast spells on them from which they can't break free. Thus, what better season than the heavenly spring to bring about a familiar feeling to the outcasts from heaven?

Winter and Summer maybe time's most ancient Yin Yang, and maybe the world was born in gray. Concerning the latter, I certainly hope not.

The Song: The Verve Pipe - The Freshmen

For the Love of Cairo

2009-10-24T00:43:00.007+02:00

Good weather is good news. The current weather however, is mind blowing. To me, weather has an aroma … a flavor. Each flavor is associated with a memory, a feeling and state of mind. Fall and winter have always charmed me, but this fall is something else. Its flavor is one I haven't tasted in a very long time.

A couple of days ago I swear I could feel the heat wave break. I was sitting in a well ventilated area and a refreshing breeze took over the place. It was in such contrast with the current feel of air that I knew these were new winds. I've been in a super good mood ever since.

For the past couple of days, on my way back from the other side of town heading home, I've been taking the downtown road instead of the ugly 6^th of October Bridge. I pop my car's sun roof open, and seize the weather along with alluring beauty of the enchanting city. Cairo is one gorgeous city. My favorite. There's only one city that is as dear to me or maybe even dearer, but that's a different story for a different day.

A drive downtown, coupled by the bedazzlement of approaching winter is a remedy to almost any thirsty heart or uneasy mind. If you pay enough attention, you'll trace memories and emotions to the minuscule details of every street, square and corner of this city. I love Cairo.

Korba at dawn. Early summer, I stayed up just to see what it looks like

You can't catch the sun rising from Korba, but the break of dawn in this place still is astounding

Random Thought:

Creed, Foo Fighters and Cold new albums are due to be released throughout the upcoming month. This is shaping to be a wonderful fall, followed an exceptional winter.

The Song: The Way I Am - Staind

The Absurdity Post

2009-10-20T15:15:00.051+02:00

Yesterday, I was talking with Sara about how something could be so absurd it is actually awesome.

To hell with contemplation and profundity. Here's to absurdity.

The Finnish president is coming to Egypt today to discuss "Issues of the Middle East" with her Egyptian counterpart.

F: "About that Middle East Mr. President"

E: "Lots of crap going on"

F: "Indeed, lots of crap"

*Chirping Cockroaches*

Then she'll meet up with the first lady, to discuss women's role in communal building of peace and security. Oh, that's original.

I mean, what the heck does Finland have to do with the Middle East? Political façades that don't even contribute to proper diplomatic ones, really annoy me.

Furthermore, the whole seminar on women with the first lady is so stereotypical and clichéd; it is actually counterproductive to the concept of women empowerment. I mean, why can't the president himself discuss that? It doesn't have to be the first lady. A man can endorse women's causes

This whole visit is ass.

I guess that was the crappy part of absurdity, not the one I mean, but I guess I brought it up to build an absurdity spectrum.

So without further ado,

How about this for absurdly awesome music:

Tenacious D: Classico and Beelzeboss (Dave Grohl from Foo Fighters is Satan, how awesome is that?)

Rodney Carrington: Dear Penis (Such an inappropriate masterpiece)

Fantabulous I tell ya.

Childhood cartoons and animes were also absurdly fantastic. I mean, soccer players who spend episodes and episodes mid-air, running or shooting a ball? A bunch of super robots beating the crap out of each other? Doesn't get any better than this…

Captain Majed!

Grendizer and Mazinger, anyone?

Simply Awesome

Notice that ماهر is actually looking towards the camera? Poser.

As to who would win if these two super bots were to scuffle, I say Grendizer. Because of him:

Duke Fleed!!

If he were to go head to head with Batman however, the Bat would hand the Duke his own ass. No one beats Batman, no one.

Speaking of handing asses, that is exactly what we're going to do to Algeria when they come to get mangled in Cairo arena on the 14^th of November. The hype for this match is absurd. Vive l'Egypte!!

اتفرج لو بتحب مصر!!

Random Absurd Thoughts:

Some people have a frown on their face early in the morning if they hadn't had their coffee yet. Lack of coffee makes them grumpy they say, so they frown. I disagree. I believe that simply brow muscles don't get the needed energy to lift the eye-brows in a normal position, except after coffee intake. Especially with thick ones like mine…

My friend picked me up today to go to work (we work together), I discovered that she is that kind of driver that would actually make me get out of my car, walk to her's and punch her in the head. She also narrates her daily driving events as they happen. She's still a beginner, and I understand. I love her for it and in absolute terms.

The radio today played "Ironic" for Alanis Morisette, which brought back oh so many memories. But I really believe the name of the song is kind of irrelevant to the lyrics. I think it'd rather be "Things that Piss me off" or "You know what Really Grinds my Gears?" the latter is copyrighted to Peter Griffin – Family Guy.

Video Game coolness is to run around eating mushrooms that make you bigger, flowers that make you throw fireballs and killing enemies by simply jumping on them. That is absurdly cool and I miss this kind of simple fun. Super Mario was and still is awesome.

Nostalgia

I'm only one week into my blogging frenzy, and I already got my first award. Sweet. Its gonna take a while to pass it on though, because being the newbie that I am, I don't know that much bloggers and not all of them are worthy of it, in my opinion. Arigato مي.

Around the office I'm usually blurting out loud linguistically wrong and occasionally inappropriate yet hilarious vocabulary (Arabic and English), beating people up, messing with others' work and picking on Dina (among others). In short, I'm the "shenanigans" kind of guy. When I'm not doing that and I'm actually working with a straight face for a change, people think I'm different. Really?!

The Song: When You Were Young – The Killers. I found this tune lying around on my hard drive accidentally and I must say, this is a great song in so many different ways.

Someone to Blame?

2009-10-19T20:06:00.007+02:00

I never realized that he'd been virtually running my life for a while.

He deliberately hid truths from me and concealed logic, only to reveal them when he thought that the time was right.

He had the answers to all my questions, answers I should have figured out effortlessly on my own, but he always offered different ones, so that I'd learn he claimed.

When I actually got a hint of his shady presence, I looked for him only to get a glimpse of his trail. He hid well.

In my sleep he reappeared to reshuffle the arithmetics of my mind and alter the equations of my emotions. I woke up with a hangover, a bad one

If it hadn't been for him, puppeteering my every step...

He was bound to slip, and he did. In a burst of raw emotion I caught him off guard and took over the vessel that is my life.

Unfiltered emotion can disillusion a man.

I have an agreement with him now.

He accompanies us all.

He is Subconscious.

An Interesting Read

Random Thoughts:

When it comes to unfiltered raw emotions, punk rockers are the masters. Primitive and primary feelings are what they convey best, and very eloquently too. I summon the mentality of the punk rocker almost daily.

It would be honestly great if what I just scribbled was even remotely true, if we could actually blame our subconscious. We can't. We are our subconscious.

Question, exactly how many types of freaking Gillette razors are out there?!

The Song: The Hell Song – Sum 41

Stuck in Traffic

2009-10-18T21:06:00.020+02:00

Cairo is the only city that is capable of giving a person traffic-phobia.

I hereby proclaim the hours from 6-8 pm, "Jackass Hours".

Speaking of which, my best friend is currently stuck in traffic, a different kind of traffic however. It has all the traits of the ordinary one, you're stuck in the same place for a long time, a place you hate, with no chance nor hope of moving any time soon, and the road ahead has never looked more infinite, not to mention that you're vision is blurry as a result of the flickering red lights.

He's in that phase of life, where he's stuck in traffic, huddled alongside many others. It is a one way one lane road, disproportionally crowded and everybody wants to get to their destination as soon as possible. Only few can cross at a time though…

Being the repulsive place that it is, some out of fury and impatience crash, never getting to where they think they should be. Others lose hope and turn back to somewhere they know they shouldn't be. Befriended by faith and patience, the rest reach their eventuality…

I believe in eventualities, whether you let go or squirm about, they piece together. One's actions however, may either delay the eventuality or simply let it take its natural course.

So those who keep their heads intact and wait their turn do reach the highway where the cruising is smooth and the sailing is fast to their destinations of choice. That is when despair and resentment disseminate and my favorite expression is stridently shouted:

"What the [Insert Swear Word Here] was I thinking?"

I loved roaring it and I'm going to love it all the same when my friend does too.

When he reaches the highway, I'll be standing at the side of the road next to Clara (Ma Voiture) waiting for him. I'll help him decide where to go next, and vice versa.

Anything short of a thermo-nuclear explosion can be handled

Random Thoughts:

I've been wondering why sappy over-romantic people are called "cheesy". I never really got it, but it did occur to me that when someone farts he "cuts the cheese". I honestly can't think of a better opposite to romance than a loud ghastly fart. So you're "cheesy" when you're pulling off puppy love stunts, but when you "cut it" – the cheese – you're pulling off a totally different kind of stunt. Well, what do you know? It seems that these two expressions are in fact related.

I realize that this is a bit late but, Go Africa! I guess Brazil can actually lose at soccer.

The Song: زحمة يا دنيا زحمة – احمد عدوية

" مرحبا بكم في الطراوة "

2009-10-18T01:39:00.025+02:00

I was at the office yesterday, because I do work Saturdays. My only comment on this matter is a fantabulous statement usually made by an old buddy of mine on occasions like these.

"Tis' the eat of the Bread"

Well said my friend. Well said.

So, as I was doing my usual morning international news round up, these were the latest news:

Egypt delays the signing of the Palestinian unity deal:

According to Egyptian officials, the delay is apparently because they're "waiting for a better atmosphere". Well, the initial purpose of the agreement is to provide a better atmosphere, n'est-ce pas? I mean, if the circumstances were already stable, what would all the negotiation and mediation be needed for. So, we're waiting for better times to come about in order sign an agreement that would make things better? This makes no sense to me. Sometimes I feel that governments are either too lazy, or they just simply suck.

9 killed, 3 wounded in Iraq mosque attack:

Oh, that's news.

U.S. Disappointed by U.N. Council’s Vote on Goldstone Report:

Apparently the U.S. is planning on voting against the report that incriminates Israel for the bloody shenanigans they pulled off in Gaza early this year, which are also known as war crimes. As to why they're going to vote against the resolution:

'State Department spokesman Ian Kelly said October 16 that the U.S. decision to vote against the resolution “in no way diminishes the deep concern that we have about the tragic events of last January” and the suffering they caused to Palestinians in Gaza and Israelis in southern Israel.

“We believe very firmly that Israeli and Palestinian children deserve the right to grow up without the threat of violence and without the kind of conflict that we saw last January,” he said.

However, U.S. officials believe the resolution had “an unbalanced focus,” and are concerned that “it will exacerbate polarization and divisiveness” at a time when the Obama administration is working to bring Israelis and Palestinians together for talks that would lead to a two-state solution.'

To the U, S and A: Why don't you take your vote, and SHOVE IT!

Pakistan Launches Taliban Assault:

Ok, we all saw that coming. But I have a comment right here. On BBC News, they published a profile of the new Taliban leader, who's obviously the new bad ass prodigy who should guide "La Résistance" to victory. Attached to the profile was his picture:

So, here's my remark: What kind of a bad ass leader of a grand military group, poses for a picture like this?! I mean, shouldn't he look Bin Ladenlishly intimidating? He looks queer, and I'm so not intimidated.

I never thought I'd ever say this with sincerity and meaningfulness, but please do give peace a freaking chance. If Lennon only knew...

Random Thoughts:

Political analysts and writers should not use the word cleavage in any article, analysis or news piece. It is funny and insinuating - at least to a mind like mine - so it laughs me out of the solemn political context. Now that I think of it, they shouldn't use the word crack either...

Pinky and the Brain are two lab rats whose daily plan is to take over the world. Pinky was the one who did the dirty work - being the stupid one - and Brain masterminded the mischievous plans. It seems that the world has become overloaded with the likes of those rats lately. The only difference is, there are no Brains, only Pinkys.

I acted like a groupie yesterday, never thought I would. Rooting for a best friend apparently does that to you. Blue Suede Shoes also got played on stage last night, which was elevating to say the least.

I think I just got engaged to my job. This marriage cannot be completed. Break up ideas, anyone?

Speaking of work, I need new office music. Any recommendations?

The Song: Give Peace a Chance - John Lennon

Ink on paper is not how they should remain

2009-10-16T21:33:00.010+02:00

Yesterday, I watched one of my high school best friends perform in his first gig. It was simply awesome, and what makes it even bigger is that he'd been wanting it for the past 7 years, ever since high school. Not only that but "The" (his band's name) has actually qualified to the final six, and are competing again tomorrow.

Reminder: this was their first gig.

Thought at the back of my head: I think the band's name is kickass.

As I watched him rock on stage, I couldn't help but remember the times he almost gave up. I actually thought he'd given up…

Amidst graduation, job hunting and god knows what other crap, I'd simply forgotten about his dreams and he'd forgotten about mine, which is only natural. Dreams are remembered solely by their dreamers, and none other. He managed to remind me of his dreams though.

One day he was my high school mate, the next day he calls me up and I realize that he's my high school mate who managed to cross something off his life's to-do list. Now, that is galvanizingly inspiring.

I've crossed out a few myself, but god knows the big ones are still there teasing and taunting me.

"Dreams age faster than dreamers" - Stephen King

This is one of the few quotes that I consider a fact. A scary one. It isn't scary just because it implies that at one point in time, one's dreams my die of old age. It is scary because it reflects how man's procrastination can make him ignore what he wants, consequently forgetting it and eventually putting it to sleep. It is scary because once you kill your own dream, you have yourself to blame and regret might in turn kill you. That's my take on it anyway…

I want to leave this world with a completely crossed out to do list.

To dreams.

I guess even Coconuts have dreams

The Song: Shallow – Porcupine Tree

Tant Mieux Pour Moi !

2009-10-16T01:51:00.024+02:00

Now that the ashes of what was once a black fire have been gusted and blown away by ataraxia, I can in all confidence say that I am exactly where I want to be. Standing in the eye of the tornado that is life, it is explosively calm. I look up to the sky and smile. It is just so…serene. I smile inside and out, but I make sure that the sardonicism of my inner one is clearly heard.

I need to write more often, not only tales and stories, but reflections. It's time I took Sara's advice and wrote everyday. I have promised myself not to indulge in self proclamations and anecdotal recounting of who and what I am, because in doing so one really runs the risk of rubbing shoulders with mediocrity. So, my reflections will manifest layers of my being, just like my stories did. I honestly don't believe that I possess any wisdom worth sharing; I can only observe reflect and write.

I've been handling my writings here in a solemn way that implied that I am some brooding individual. I am not.

That needs to change.

Random Thoughts:

Quintessential pleasure and happiness in life for me is doing something I love and am passionate about, thus writing + politics = kickass job. This job has become as important to me as the Blue Suede Shoes were to Elvis.

If I were to state one reason that makes me want to be Batman, Bats has a thing going on with Wonder Woman. Period.

Bruce (a.k.a lucky bastard) and Diana

Yes, I do realize it's a comic book character, but still !

The Song: Passe Le Temps – Souad Massi. The ineffably beautiful lyrics and the bewitching music, make for an amazing early morning or late night drive tune.

Chronicles of the Bat; Part one: Gotham was a Piece of Cake

2009-10-03T08:50:00.011+02:00

Well, I got a PS3. God, I should have gotten this splendid machine way back. Simply, the second you hold the gorgeously designed stupendously comfortable controller in your hands and start playing, all problems and nuisances seem to disappear and whither away. It has brought back a fun a factor I had forgotten about and obviously direly missed. It has also in a way, brought inspiration.

As a result of playing a game for 3 nights in a row and of course eventually beating it, I have admittedly grown a bit of an obsession with the main character of the game, who in fact already is a childhood hero of mine. The game's name is Batman: Arkham Asylum. Enough said.

As I assumed the role of the Bat for the length of the relatively short game, a cartoony light bulb formed on the top of my head but was only lit last night when I was in bed and in desperate need of sleep. I stayed up till 9 am.

So, I'm putting off two pieces that are to be the epitome of my emotional evolution and writing skill, just to write this one for fear of its volatility. I'm not sure if this piece classifies as a burlesque, but it’s a different approach of testing my abilities as a raconteur. This fan-fictionish piece should – if satisfactory – be a part of many, and it for the purpose of the story will include Franco-Arab slang…

A huge mansion stood tall at the far end of Qattameya Heights in El Tagamo3 El Khames, Cairo. The Mansion was dark inside and out, whereas only one room seemed to be demonstrating forms of life and was indeed quite noisy.

"Ya akhy 7aram 3ala 2ommak!! Kharrag ya 3am abo sha3r da we nazel Bogy!! Law makansh bas el wad Bogy da Zamalkawy…mesh moshkela ma3lesh, el mohem el montakhab"

An excited man sat on a lazy boy with a can of coke in a hand and a slice of pizza in the other watching a soccer match, which was now a 2-2 deadlock, infuriating him. He was in his mid-thirties of dark rugged and fairly handsome features, but an onlooker would not see that given his current state. He was only in blue and white striped boxers and was shouting angry profanities at the LCD TV. Abruptly getting up to wash his hands and to get another can of coke, he looked out the window, grimaced and blurted out a 3 letter common Egyptian swear word.

"Yel3an abo de shoghlana ya akhy! Ana mesh fahem eh elly ramany 3al araf da!"

Across Cairo's sky was a floating giant turd, which – without Cairo's polluting fumes and numerous interfering lights – should be the Bat-signal. It was a turd only he could recognize…

Having washed his hands in a hurry the hero grabbed his Bat-Cell and phoned "Abd El Kerim" a low-ranking police officer (Amin Shorta), with whom he agreed to raise the signal whenever there was trouble. He does however recall that the signal was Abd El Kerim's idea, instead of simply just calling him or sending him a text message:

"Ya beh mana mesh beyeb2a ma3aya rasid we kalemny shokran bakhalas-ha 3ala Mourad basha (his superior officer) wel gama3a, wenta 3aref el as3ar el yomeen dool 7ara2a. Hala2eeha meneen ana wala meneen, enta 3aref enny akhdemak be 3enaya ya basha, bas eb2a edeny 7a2 el mowaslat bas."

"Hmmf...Mashy ya Abd El Kerim"

"Basha?"

"Na3am"

"Howa enta labes keda leh?"

"…"

After having to last through a whole minute of "El 3abd wel Shetan" instead of a normal ringing tone, Abd El Kerim didn’t pick up.

"God damn it!!"

He decided to get ready and geared up till the idiot decides to pick up. A big vintage grandfather clock overshadowed the main corridor connecting different sectors of the mansion together. Standing in front of the clock, the dark hero placed his right hand on the clock to get his print read, hence opening the secret door behind the clock, which is the entrance to the Bat-Cave/ Mansion-Garage.

"Your version of Windows is not genuine. Please insert disc #2 of Windows Vista Bat Edition to install Print Reader"

"Ass!! God damn this downloaded garbage!"

The Bat however always had contingency plans. He reached to the side of the clock and pulled a small lever. A small laptop popped out of the middle of the clock, he was going to enter a password manually.

"Umm…what was it again?"

Never having had to use this utility before, the Bat had of course forgotten his password. That's when the "Have you forgotten your password?" button shone like a full moon in a starless night. He clicked on it and the security question accordingly came up:

"What is my favorite animal?"

"Duh, that's a no-brainer"

"Puppies"

He thanked god for putting an easy question for himself to remember later, or else he would have had to break in his own crime fighting headquarters. The password was sent to his e-mail: bat_ass@ hotmail.com, he retrieved his Bat-Cave password and eventually entered.

"Goaaaaaaaaaal" he heard the joyful cheers echoing all around.

"Shit"

By snapping his utility belt on, the Bat 5 minutes later was dressed to kill, literally. He hopped in the Batmobile, grabbed his Bat-Cell and phoned "3obad" again.

"Ba2et tel3ab boookaar, we beteshrab joon wookar, agogogogogo….BASHA!!"

"Makontesh betrod leh be#$%#@$#"

"Ma3lesh ya basha, kont malhy fel match!"

"Hmmf...olly, fe eh?"

"Fe 3arka fe share3 metwally el motafare3 men share3 el haram"

"Mate3rafsh feen share3 metwally da bezzabt?"

"Wallahy 3elmy 3elmak ya basha"

"…"

The Batmobile's powerful engine roared to life, and he started heading out of the mansion"

"Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal"

Slicing the unforgiving Egyptian roads like a chainsaw cutting wood, the awesome machine started its journey to the destination where citizens are to be rescued. A quick fuel stop was needed first though. As the car approached the gas station, one of the workers made the well known victory sign with is fingers, which is a way of asking customers whether they want 92 gas pumped in their cars. That Batmobile's glass is tainted black, so Bats had to pop the hatch open and nod to the worker indicating that he does want 92. The worker shook his head in response.

"Kheles!!" the worker proclaimed smiling

"What the ass!! Then why was he leading me on? Is this some sort practical joke? Why can't they hang a sign instead of this bullcrap?"

The car screeched away heading to second nearest gas station. Valuable time was being wasted.

As he was getting his car fueled in the next station, a worker kept harassing him with different oils and accessories for his car.

"Monaqqy injection el mator?"

"Shokran"

"Zeit tash7eem sawareekh el 3arabeya?"

"Shokran. Mesha7am"

"Fawa7a?" the worker smartly dangled a small air freshener that looked like a bat hanging upside down in front of Bats"

"Hmm…bekam de?"

"Khally ya basha, wallahy khally, 8 geneh bas. Ahem, lamo2akhza fel so2al ya basha bas enta labes keda leh?"

Out of the station and on the road, Bats rocketed through El-Da2ery, making good time.

"By this rate, I'll be there in no time"

Bats spoke too soon. He had totally forgotten about the police checkpoint that is usually active at this time of day. The Batmobile stood motionless in traffic jam over the Nile. There was no other option but to wait. Accordingly, the caped crusader decided to listen to some music to kill time. He switched the radio on…

100.6: " We 7obbo leya ya alby kan…7ob emtelak "

104.2: "Hello hello helloo…you are now with Khaled Mat..."

"Hell no"

Quickly realizing that there's no need to be upset, Bats punched a couple of buttons on his car computer and it started writing his favorite playlist on a disc. Yes, the Bat has a gadget for everything. About 10 minutes later the traffic jam had unraveled and he was fast and steady on his way.

"UD tiss, UD tiss, UD tiss…" a car full of young guys listening to loud house music was speeding up next to him and for no apparent reason was trying to overtake him. It seems that the lads were turned on (sekhno) by the mobile's speed and their macho competitiveness kicked into drive.

"This is too easy. I'm the God damn Batman $#$#%$" he spoke the truth. Without sparing a moment of his precious time, Bats eased the Batmobile past the over-excited youth and practically drove circles around them.

"Easy as pie"

"Teet teet teeeeeteeeeetet" accompanied by the usual right blinker - left blinker was the response of the defeated vehicle as it drove away. Very creative indeed…

Not much later the Batmobile was slithering its way around El Haram Street looking for Metwally Street.

"Elly yes2al maytohsh" he pulled over to ask fellow citizens for directions. Big mistake.

Half of the directions he got actually described the road to nowhere mentioned in many songs. The other half however started with "Bossssss", and people saved no effort in this opening word, thus spraying it on the Bat's face instead of saying it. The particles landed on the covered and uncovered parts of his face, and were equally disgusting. The Bat had to use his superior detective skills to piece the directions to the street, occasionally having to filter unnecessary comments said by pedestrians such as:

- "Howwa ma2alaksh feen?"

- "Leh?"

- "Howwa...enta gayeb el 3edda de 3ala kam" accompanied by an intruding head inside the car.

And of course a personal favorite:

- "Howa enta labes keda leh?"

He finally knew where the place was, drove there and entered the street. His keen senses and sharp eyesight instantly led him to where the fight was, he slammed the breaks, hopped out of the car and ran towards the crowd.

As he drew near the crowd an old guy intercepted him. The old guy. The old guy who magically appears in every fight to solve it. One would safely assume that there's one planted in every street for that sole purpose.

"HOOAAB, raye7 feen?"

"Raye7 al7a2 el nas de"

"Laa..makhalas etsal7o"

"Ezai, da fe nas say7a fe damaha"

"De kam ta3weera, da kalam faregh matakhodsh fe balak. Aslohom gabo le ba3d nas, bas khalas 7alenaha be 2amr ellah" the freaking "negeeb nas" theory.

"Ma3lesh fe nas gheltet we lazem tet3akeb" Batman was justice's fighting front.

"Ba2ollak eh, enta 3ayez tesagharny odamhom wala eh!! Ba2ollak gabaret yabny" now the "tasgheer/takbeer" theory.

"…Mashy ya 7ag" he didn't know what else to say nor do.

"Teslam yabny, yalla etekel 3ala allah men hena belly enta labso da 3ashan el 3eyal hatetlam 3aleek we mesh haye3ta2ook"

"…"

Mentally worn out, Bats walked back to his car, his head down. To him, this had been complete and utter bullshit. He reached the car, took a look at it and let out a loud sound occasionally used by Egyptians to express extreme anger or irritation which sounds more or less like a pig's snort depending on the power put into the nose-mouth inhale technique. The Batmobile's rear left tire was held by tire-cuffs (Kalabshat) and of course a ticket was spit glued on the car's hatch, because the car was double parked.

"Yeah, throughout my crime fighting campaign I'm expected to beat up thugs, bring down criminal gangs, while managing to stay alive AND parallel park? I hate this city"

During the next 10 minutes the Bat investigated where the officers were so he can set his car free, and discovered that they won't be around till next morning because a high ranking official was arriving for a business dinner at Mena House, and they were all moved to organize the traffic in that area and provide security.

Of course the Dark Knight could've simply gotten a gadget out of his utility belt that would unlock the cuffs, but superheroes are not above the law.

"Taxi!!"

"3ala feen?"

"El Tagamo3"

"50 geneh"

"40, da meshwary kol yoom ya za3im"

"Khalas ne2sem el balad nosseen, 45"

"…Mashy"

Bats entered the cab, rolled his cape (which was then gray with dirt instead of black) inside the car and slammed the door shut.

"Salamo 3aleko"

"We 3alekom el salam"

"..."

"2alla…enta labes keda leh ya beh? Enta kont fe 7afla tankoreya wala eh? He3 he3 he3!!!"

"Ugh…"

The Song: Never Know - Jack Johnson

Wasted Blood...

2009-09-18T00:23:00.013+02:00

This one is inspired by my newfound favorite sport, and of course by one of the parallel versions of myself…

I stood in my corner motionless as I watched him approach from the other end of the hall, and instantly wondered why I was standing there. The pitchy cheering sounds snapped me out of the long daze I've been in ever since I set foot on this ring. The champ pranced about as he drew nearer to the fight zone, waving to his fans and occasionally shaking hands with a few lucky ones. Just like a king acknowledging his subjects, I thought to myself. Watching him get closer in a confident fashion instantly sent a cold chill down my spine, he was one big guy. Worried but not scared, I kept telling myself that I have the speed and more importantly a killer right punch. Failed attempts at self reassurance…

The question came to mind once more: "Why in God's name are you here?". That is probably the only question to which I knew the answer, yet never seized to ask time and again. Questions that start with "Why" never seem to have answers, and when they do, the answers are hardly convincing, hence sending my mind to madness instead of sought serenity. That is why I hate questions that start with "Why", always have and always will…

This specific repetitive question however remains the exception, because the answer comes instinctively and it lights the abandoned room of hope in my house of despair. You see, I believe that I once had the perfect life; to me it was at least. It was nothing exceptional, but it made me happy; it was my exceptional life. Like everything else, this too had to end. Why it ended is of course a question I never ask and never will, and the reason to that is quite obvious. So, lost and disoriented I stood there in my corner because what remained of my former life and self was my pride. Pride is all I had, and it is why I was embarking on this challenge. Pride was my only hope at any fresh beginning, and if that came at risk of getting maimed and mangled in public, I didn't mind. Ironically, this fight was my only chance; it was the double edged blade I held on to in resolution.

Upon announcing my name on the microphone, I was jeered out of my contemplation for the second time. I looked up only to see my opponent had geared up and was walking towards me. He said something about murdering me, but I couldn't care less. His threats didn't matter, because my fight was never with him, so I just nodded and smiled. I tightened my gloves, put on my head and mouth guard and hopped a few times in place. "Here goes" I said out loud…

The bell declared the beginning of the first round and I was already dancing around my opponent trying to find an opening, while the champ moved slowly and wisely strategizing. I was eager and excited, almost like I had a point to prove, but to whom? As the anticipation rose I started seeing faces and images of my past in place of my rival. I knew this would happen; in fact I wanted it to happen. That is the fight I was there for…

Reminded of an unborn future by a dead past, my anger was fueled and I charged my memories almost insanely. The mere sight of them set my heart on fire and tore the last strings that tied me to reality. To my utter surprise, I was unable to land a single punch. I didn't know whether I was deliberately missing or the fighter to which the memories were bound was simply too fast. In retaliation my memories hit back hard in all the areas I left uncovered during my rampage. My memories were punishing me…

I managed to last the round and retreat to my corner in anguish, the first round certainly didn't go well for me. I felt throbbing pain all over my body, yet it was incomparable to the pain I felt inside, as a result of the battle in my head. I stood up and walked back towards my opponent while the bell sounded once more…

I decided to take it slowly and give myself a chance to counter instead of hasty bashing. Quickly I circled the champ again waiting for him to initiate the attack, and he didn't disappoint. Right before his first punch landed on my face, I could swear that I saw myself throwing it, as if I was fighting a mirror. I stumbled back and moved towards the ropes just to get a better look, and I was right. Instead of the skilled fighter I saw myself standing there only a bit younger, which in fact wasn't a bad thing. After suffering from an instantaneous shock, I grinned at myself. "I know your every move" I thought, "I'm way ahead of you". I closed on my mirror reflection and engaged in a brawl with him. This was an opponent I thought I'd be able to take down, and he sure deserved to be taken down hard. It took all my might to keep up with him in a fight, it seemed that it was in fact him who knew my ever move. He knew exactly where I was going to hit and where my next step will be, whereas I had no clue what he'll do next. Forced to switch to a defensive mode, I was once again being pummeled by my younger self. At that point I had realized that I had one more round of torment to go, and I had no idea who I'll be facing next. The thought was almost thrilling…

In a split second I heard a loud popping sound, followed by a punch to the face that sent me flying to the ground. I tried to get up, but searing pain shot through my right shoulder. Realizing that my shoulder was dislocated, I lay on the ground in agony listening to the countdown that had just started. I didn't want to end the fight, but given the excruciating pain I didn't know if could proceed. My muscles were going into spasms and all I could think of is how much my shoulder hurts. "Four" the referee shouted prompting me to take a quick decision, which in turn led me into the abandoned room of hope. Ironically, as I drove through roads of physical pain I for once forgot all about my emotional and mental one. It seems that my head was not the only torture chamber…

One round was all that was left, and I decided to go thru with it. I got up using my left arm and nodded in approval to the question posed by the ref.

"Will you be able to carry on?"

I let out a loud sigh of relief when I heard the bell announcing the end of the second round, before having to fight again. As I walked towards my corner, I wished to see my coach standing there. He however – like many others – had abandoned me. So, throwing in the towel was not option, even if I wanted to mid-fight. After taking a couple of breaths, I thought of popping my arm back in place, but I had no idea how and I would be risking messing it up further, so I decided not to.

The thought of either my past failing me, or me failing myself was not pleasant, but it hardly mattered now. There's a world outside my head, and a life after the one I had. I sat silently waiting for the bell to kick off round three, for that is when the real fight began…

Having to fight without my stronger arm was infuriating seeing that I finally had my eyes on the prize, but it wasn't a total loss nevertheless. I walked over to my contender looking him in the eyes as I closed in, and all I could see was an ugly grinning big guy. No faces, no images, no former self…

I made my way halfway through round three trying to avoid direct contact with the champ, who had by then figured out my weakness. No different than all those who lurk in the shadows of my past he wasn't finding any shame in hitting me where it hurt most, the only difference however is that this guy was real and he was with me in a ring where I can actually fight back and inflict damage…

As the fight approached its end, I knew that it was a lost cause. Hindered by my handicap, I saw no possible come back. I was finally bleeding for a reason however, and that was my silver lining. No more wasted blood…

Another hefty punch sent me flailing across the ring, followed by another cheap shot to the back of the head. I tripped and landed on my deformed motionless arm. I heard yet another loud pop. I felt sudden relief to my right shoulder; my shoulder was somehow partially popped back. It felt like a miracle, but I felt it was about time things went my way. I got up and rotated my arm in a full 360 degrees with minor pain. I smiled at the champ…

"Thank you"

The champ wasn't able to survive his countdown; his head lay at my feet. Knocked out…

The jeers became cheers…

What happens now?

The Song: Stranger Things Have Happened – Foo Fighters

When Time Smiles: Ten Past Ten

2009-09-04T05:01:00.007+02:00

This is the first part of a small experiment composed of two pieces. The other piece however will be posted when the time is right. So, here goes nothing…

A slight squeaking sound broke the silence in the empty room. He stopped in the center of the room and faced the only wall that had an ornament hanging on it. It was a vast room empty of any items, except for a clock hanging on one of its walls. The clock had a circular black frame surrounding a yellow background on which funny looking black numbers stood, in what looked like assumed dancing positions. A child's clock.

The clock read 8 am. Sunlight had just broken into the empty room through a small window on the wall opposing the clock He sat in patience watching the clock. He had just started watching time.

The next morning he woke up as early as he had woken up the previous day, washed up had his breakfast and made his way to the room where the clock hung. He entered, faced the clock, and started observing seconds push one another out of the day. Young at heart and age the child was angelic; an exceptionally good looking kid. He pushed his curly red hair out of his face uncovering wide innocent blue eyes that seemed to glow like sapphires. He sat with a blank stare on his freckly face, a stare that hid an aging mind, a mind that was far older than his heart. Sitting motionlessly in a wheelchair he watched the clock tick away, Every tick banging inside his head like a bomb explosion. He observed the last shattered pieces of glass on the clock, where a covering used to be. It took place a couple of nights before he started his daily routine; the clock plummeted to the floor shattering its glass covering, among other things…

It became a habit of his to spend his days in this room watching the arms do one lap after the other, and listening to the constant tick-tocking to which he became very familiar. He was never a talker, but ever since he became a time-watcher, he stopped saying anything at all. He would occasionally catch himself whispering "come on" to the clock, never really knowing why he says that, or what exactly he is requesting of the clock. Maybe he was wishing for the arms of the clock to stop, and turn in the opposite direction to a time where life hadn't yet taught him lessons he wasn't ready nor prepared for. He may have also been wishing for those tick-tocks to accelerate and bring about answers to the infinite unanswered questions his cranium holds within, to bring about a cure that might reverse the aging inflicted on his once young mind. He needed one thing he can comprehend, something he can understand...

With a worrisome eye, his mother watched him sit in the same place every day for what seemed to be an eternity, never knowing what to do. She recalls trying to hide the clock away from him, but she also recalls the consequences. She remembers standing behind the room door, hearing him sobbing heavily in the same place looking at a circular spot on the wall where the clock used to be. His mourning never stopped constantly tearing at her until she gave in and hung the clock back up, bringing back what seemed to be her child's happy self. Only interrupted by food and sleep, the child remained the same without a revelation in sight…

One morning however, the child woke up to a slight beeping sound. He opened his eyes trying to trace the source of the sound, till he saw a colorful digital watch on the desk next to his bed. He got up in a hurry, grabbed the watch and examined it. It was a blue watch themed after his favorite cartoon. He cried his mother's name out loud till she walked in the room, and gave her a big hug. The mother smiled, for she had a plan to save her son and it seemed to be working. He put the watch on; it read 7:25 am. Not much more than a half hour later, he was in the room in front of the clock synchronizing his watch to the hanging clock. Disappointed and hopeless his mother stood outside the room, watching him with tears in her eyes…

As the days passed, he seemed to get weaker and fainter. He was tearing at the seams that connected him to reality. He ate less talked less and thought more, exhaustion was playing dirty tricks on him and he was obviously losing the waiting game he initiated. One morning however, his digital watch kept beeping to no avail, for the child overslept for the first time in so long. He woke up mid-day the next day totally unaware of what happened to him and looked at his watch; it read 12:15 pm. He hurried to his clock to double check, and it read the same. Convinced that time changed only when he wasn't looking, he started spending less and less time in the room and even gave up his watch. He spent more time being a kid once again, away from the clock…

Long later as he was passing next to a now deserted room, he stopped. He decided in all curiousness to step in and see where time is now. "What time is it now?" he joked to himself. He opened the door, wheeled himself in and stopped in the center of the room, like he used to. He looked at his clock and smiled. The arms of the clock had stopped. Time didn't go back, nor did it fast forward, it simply stopped…

The clock read 10:10. Observing the arms of the clock closely his smile became wider. "It almost looks like a…" he chuckled out loud and hurried out of this room to his room. Having grabbed a black marker from a drawer in his desk, he made his way back to the clock. He stood before it for the last time. He uncapped the marker and tried to reach the watch, but it was too high. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking of what to do next. With all his might he used his arms to support him to his feet, stumbling and tripping in the process. Falling to his knees one time after the other, he almost gave up but the urge of reaching that clock kept him going. He was now crying and clawing at the wall, trying to get in a standing position.

Before he knew it, he was leaning on the wall, standing. Tears of agony become those of joy. Using the chair as support, he stood in front of the clock. Using the marker, he drew two adjacent dots above the arms of the clock.

"I guess time does stop just to smile at you" he said happily.

Leaning on the wall, he limped on his good leg out of the room where time smiles.

The Song: Here Comes the Sun – The Beatles

Masterpiece

2009-08-31T16:48:00.011+02:00

Written a little over a year ago, this piece remains the dearest to my heart. If I am to restart writing, there is no better way than to publish a piece that I wrote as a totally different person. This piece was a turning point in my thought, and my writing approach...

The person writing this piece is long gone, but the emotions left buried within the words are resurrected whenever read...

A mere fraction of darkness, a minute yet dividing moment of pure dark engulfs the globe. The moment perfectly embraced by the arm of dying light from one side and the arm of re-born darkness from the other side. A paradoxical hug, the moment just in the middle. Then the moon rises… The bluish white beam cuts the early night sky with its translucent illumination, just like a beautiful pearl shines at the bottom of the ocean when its shell finally reopens. One may wonder, in the middle of the darkness, why does the moon rise, why does it bother provide even the faintest of light. I say darkness is the master of the night, and at many times its most loyal lover. Nevertheless, even darkness needs to see… Like a champion archer the moon sends an arrow of light slicing space with deafening silence. An arrow of light so bluntly sharp and piercing, yet it is not sent to kill. It is not sent to ignite inferno. On the contrary, perfectly carved out of hail by the angry vengeful god of snow, it is sent to cast cold apathy and indifference upon its cursed target. A target yet unknown to the arrow of moonlight, that seems to have a mind of its own by now. A mind that is flooded by an insatiable thirst, ironically however…thirst for warmth and heat. The reason behind that thirst could have emanated from the jealousy of the cold moonlight that has the desire to eradicate and destroy every drop of warmth, or it could have emanated from moonlight's nostalgia towards being once a warm ray exploding from the core of the sun. The reason however, doesn't matter… Like every predator looking for prey, cold moonlight seeks the most vulnerable target, a target easy to control, and suck the life out of. Eventually and after a long journey…moonlight spots a dark seemingly worn down and old house, standing in the middle of deserted land, surrounded by leafless menacing tress. The predator feels its prey cowering inside the house, it circles and circles…and through a small break in a cobwebbed window covered by dust…moonlight enters. It finally finds something to quench its thirst with… Through the deep darkness of the room behind the window, lay a lifeless table, chairless and dull. In a room with nothing else lay this table abandoned for what seems to be years, from the look of a thin layer on the table. Through blurred visibility this thin film is apparently a film of dust. With no defined outline for this table, nor any remarkable observation, on can instantly notice a lonely figure standing at the far edge of the table near the window. At the far edge of the table… stood a glass of water. This is where moonlight chose to land… In a period of no more than a fraction of a second, the cold rays of the moonlight smoothly penetrated the particles of the glass. The glass breathed in…inhaling the cold rays. Moonlight in mere seconds shredded the glass' soul to pieces and put it back together as quick as it had shredded it. Yet the glass' soul was not put back in its old form, for it is now united with the cold seemingly illuminating light of the moon. The glass is now alive, again… Now in a dim circle of light one can see enough of the glass and a small part of the table on which it stands. The glass was fractured, suffering a massive crack running through its body, a scar to its already damaged ego. Empty of water, the glass was void…hollow, full of nothing but vacuum. The picture of the glass already shoots pain and hurt through ones being, but what hurts most…the glass stood in the far corner at the edge of an already empty table. Standing alone in the corner, the glass absorbs every drop of the cold light…savoring its bittersweet taste, enjoying the illumination, even if it was cold or bitter… For the glass felt lonely before the arrival of this light, the glass felt used, manipulated and sucked dry. The glass felt useless, forgotten. Why was I left alone, the glass a wonder…Why is it that when I was broken, cracked, I was not molten and reshaped? Why was I left? Why did they let me drip and lose my essence till there was none left? Why was I abandoned and left to bleed my soul out? Why was I left till it was too late? Questions to which I have no answers, yet the questions themselves have become an answer to why I have backed down to this corner… Why I stand at the edge with a strong desire to shatter on the floor I behold beneath. In my corner I stand in the embracement of the sides of the table, seeking protection, or the illusion of protection. At this point illusion and reality have merged like fog and morning breeze, creating a blurry yet soothing atmosphere. Ironically the sides in which I seek refuge and protection are the biggest temptation to seeking my own demise…enticement is my dilemma… Apathetic cold is all the glass has right now, it is the new refuge. It provided the glass with new ways of survival, filling its cracks with bitterness and anger. Vacuum is now replaced with newfound independence fed by the anger of hurt and the vengefulness of paranoia. Let me savor the bittersweet taste of the cold, for once let me be… Let me find myself…let me rediscover who I am… I may not remember what I was, but I enjoy what I am becoming now. I feel better than I ever have, I may not know how I felt before but I feel right. I know I'm better, I think I'm better. Let me savor the cold. I can't see any other road. Let me settle in my corner. I am this corner of the table. Darkness is now dying, and light is in rebirth. As darkness hits the grave, light grows in its cradle, as it is now the early morning sky. Dawn is here again… The champion archer is now walking towards the place he came from, as the arrow maker is now on the horizon. The archer has vowed since the beginning of existence not to ever meet the arrow maker. For the arrow maker has gifted the archer with the arrows it uses every night, under oath from the archer that he will use the arrows the same way the arrow maker would. Thus the archer wouldn't want to face the wrath of the arrow maker, when he discovers how the archer has been misusing the arrows. In another fraction of time the globe is now engulfed in yet another dividing moment, but a moment of pure and absolute light…the sun rises. The arrow maker is on his throne again in the morning sky; he looks at the opposite end of the horizon and can only see the trail of the fleeing archer. The arrow maker feels the agony of pierced souls by the archer's arrows. The archer has fragmented what was once whole, but that is a fight with the archer to be fought on another day. Sunlight doesn't need the time taken by moonlight to find its target, for it is not preying; it is already feeling miserable spirits and is on a set course to right the wrong the cold invoked. One specific sun ray has set sail toward the deserted house where the cracked glass once cowered. In the clear visibility of the morning light it appears that the deserted house in fact stands in the middle of a group of small herbs in need of care. The once menacing leafless trees tremble and twitch and the brown empty branches start acquiring a slight green color. The house itself is a beautiful two story masterpiece…an antiquity to be admired. Despite a few broken pieces and fading paint, it still appears as a beautiful mansion. It is the house every child had ever drawn at the age of innocence. As the sun ray arrives at the house, a small family of four stands at the door carrying luggage. A family is moving in… Sun light floods the house, leaving the darkest coldest room till the end. The dining room. Sun light moves in this room from the same place moonlight invaded. The broken window. As sunlight enters, early morning dew had already broken down and molten the cobwebs and dust covering the passage. Pure untainted light finally enters… With light in the room, visibility is finally clear… The dull table is actually a piece of art, full of drawings and beautiful carvings of angels and flowers from the center out. A mahogany beauty…What was thought to be a thin film of dust, is a beautiful hand knit white table cloth spread on the table with grace… There still remains a dark cold spot on the table however…the glass. It had absorbed the darkness and coldness and felt independence and self worth, but by dawn the glass felt lost again. It had all become bitter now, apathy is not sweet anymore. The once fractured ego was obviously mended wrongly. Is it too late again? By the sight of light, the glass starts remembering, missing and knowing. I miss who and what I was and what I was, but I need to know what I was. I want light. I gave darkness a chance. My fractures despite their temporary relief are still there. My ego has stopped me, I need out. I need to know…ask…help. I want this…light…I want help. I can ask for help. I want out. The glass exhales cold apathy and inhales the warmth of a beating heart. The warmth it once had. With every breath the warmth expels the coldness, and the glass shines. The bluish white light is now golden orange and the glass joins the rest of the world. The glass is now part of the world again, no more missing out. The glass remembers. What was thought to be a crack in the glass body is in fact a beautiful painting, a pretty glass staining that is only on this glass and none other, making it unique and one of a kind. The void in the glass is in reality pure essence of life. The glass is full of pure sparkling water up to its top, which had been impossible to see in the dark cold light of the moon. The glass was gorgeous. The glass remembers. It remembers the beauty it always had within. The glass remembers.

The glass stood long on the edge of the table, and in a corner.

However now, light is in the room illuminating every particle and inch of the room.

The glass was on the edge, but the table had always been round.

The Song: Anatomy of a Tidal Wave - Cold

It is all Music...

2009-04-20T21:41:00.011+02:00

Throughout the past seemingly long yet quick phase of my life I have come to a realization; a theory in fact. One's mind is like a room, like any other composed of four corners, four pillars. I believe that to each person these corners are composed of specific items that are the composites of his mental and emotional state at the time. These items/pillars may change by time, and they may also remain eternally constant depending on the person. Unlike the average room however, no light bulb hangs in the middle, but rather in each one of the corners. These light bulbs never light up all at once, except on extremely rare occasions. Once one approaches one of these corners it lights up, and the second he moves away it fades to black. When one stands in one of the corners in his mind, he is surrounded by all what this corner entails which in turn can be either very painful or an absolute delight. Consequently I have come to a very pre-mature and humble conclusion. One can either spend most of his time in one corner for fear of leaving it in darkness in order to visit another, stand torn in the middle of the room in eternal darkness, or actually try to trigger some sort of chain reaction by which he lights up all the corners of his mind. I believe that a man, who has the four corners of his mind lit up, has reached a state of vigilance and clarity. This is something I also believe we're all looking for, since no one wants to be stuck or trapped in the middle of his own mind. My current state of mind suggests that the four corners of my mind are emotions, memories, faith and acceptance. Accordingly I have been trying to create a ripple in one of these corners that would henceforth light up my whole mind. Everyone has dark corners in their mind, few dare to visit…

As complicated and philosophical as the past lines may seem, they are nothing but an introduction to the upcoming ones. A couple of weeks back I was taking one of my midnight drives through the city, visiting my usual places of comfort to clear up my mind. It was one of the nights when I stood in the middle of my mind, in complete darkness. The radio was on playing back to back tunes, none of which caught my attention. Suddenly however, one of my favorite songs of all time started playing. It was as if my whole system was jumpstarted and my mind was flooded with light. The music flowing through my ears caused an eruption in my mind, creating a circular motion of light in a square room.

Music is an absolute beauty; it is one of those simple yet powerful pleasures in life. This indeed could be a topic I could write about endlessly, and I would end up not giving it enough credit. Why should I describe something that we all hear and experience daily?

This brings me to my latest and recurring reflection. When I felt exhilarated because of the song playing on radio, it wasn't the song per se that got to me despite what it meant to me. It was actually the fact that it got played at this specific and exact moment, at the time I needed it most. It was the fact that it was completely out of my control, a gift if I may say. Some people actually take signs from these pretty coincidences, I didn't. It just got me thinking about the idea of radio. I believe there's a striking similarity between life and radio. Radio is indeed a lot like life; you have no control over it, not all what is being played is particularly your taste and there are a lot of other people listening. The mere fact that thousands or maybe millions are listening to same thing, just gets to me. It in some way connects all those who are listening. A song that makes one cry his heart out, witnesses the beginning of someone else's love story. You never know…

When I get a disgusted grimace on my face as a result of "my mind on my money and my money on my mind" playing, I instantly imagine a bunch of best friends raising their car's roof. You never know…

There are few things that I never seize to think about however. I always wonder whether someone else is actually listening now to this song. I also wonder if they're experiencing the same set of emotions, or a whole different combination. That is one of the ways by which I believe radio connects us…

One thing I also think about is how radio can also surprise you and throw one of the "lost treasures" at you; in my case it would be "deliberately lost treasures". The fights erupting from those 3-4 minute confrontations are zero-sum and are never in your favor. As I mentioned earlier, songs have different effects on different people listening.The intriguing case however is when one song manifests different effects on one person at different time periods. A song that once placed a person on top of the world, can bury him under piles of misery later in the course of life. Just like life radio will throw at you your worst fears when you least expect it, a song with which you share a love hate relationship. A song that terrifies you, a song that makes you bleed every time you listen to it. This has also driven me to a conclusion. Never go into a battle with your favorite song. You will always lose. I believe that songs deliver endless messages through the lyrics and music. The change in your perception to this message doesn't necessarily mean hating or running away from the song. Never fight your favorite song, you'll always lose. By fighting it, you're simply fighting the emotions and memories to which this song is attached. That is one fight no one can afford to go through with..

Once a favorite song, always a favorite song.

Radio also shows us the people who are hiding inside us; it is all about the element of surprise. The absolute lack of control and the randomness in music create a sense of anticipation and thrill to me. Music played randomly and at distant time intervals shows you the angry, nostalgic, loving, hating, caring, regretful, optimistic, pessimistic, wishful and forgiving person you hold within or in my case, the absolute goofball. You could be all these people on one day of radio, while on another you can be just one.On other days however you can be none…

Regardless of what is playing and in spite of one's particular taste, I believe that it is all music. A hip hop song's lyrics could be what a rocker relates most to and some trance track could be exactly what incites a metal-head's passion…

It is all music, and that is yet another addition to my endless list of conclusions…

Life is a non-stop streaming radio…

It is all music.

The Song: Watch Over You - Alter Bridge

Puzzled no More...

2009-02-26T22:50:00.008+02:00

Several days ago, the idea of this piece came to me when I was driving back from work. For some reason the rides to and from work are my favorite parts of the day. Maybe it is because they are when I let out most of my emotions and do most of my thinking. I've been wanting to write for a very long time, because I was feeling very inspired lately, but I never really knew what to jot down. At first the idea made no sense to me whatsoever, but I was still determined to illustrate it on paper. A night ago however it started making so much sense it was overwhelming. It is one of those times when something makes sense only to you maybe, but it still defragments a portion of your mind...

She was sitting in the sand looking innocently with bright blue eyes at the small cubes she had in her lap. She held each cube inquiringly for a few seconds looking at it with questioning eyes, as if asking it what she should do with it. She admired the different shapes and colors on each cube, turning each cube around in all directions. The wind coming from the sea toyed with her soft black hair, making its short black curls dance around in an almost harmonious motion. The breeze sent a cool yet pleasant chill down her little back. She was wearing a little baby blue two piece, showing a slightly protruding fair tummy. She was no bigger than a large teddy bear. Her swim suit made the color of her beautiful eyes sparkle and shine under the sun light. Slightly interrupted by the wind she looked up at the sea, then looked behind her and smiled a big gleeful smile then waved eagerly. A pretty woman in her late twenties early thirties, waved back at her. "Hey hunny!" the woman shouted out from a small distance. She was sitting under an umbrella, reading a book. She was wearing beige shorts, a white sleeveless cotton shirt, and shades. She was the adult version of her beautiful girl, only with shoulder length hair. Her little girl's hair however was a little under her ears.

The little girl looked back with traces of the smile she had still on her face and proceeded with the objects of wonder she had laying on the sand and between her little legs. Seeing the objects laying randomly on the sand, the little beauty started setting them up in a row. To her amazement, she saw that by doing that glimpses of an image she knew so well started appearing. She cried out in a mixture of surprise and happiness. She was surprised to see that something can actually come out of these once mysterious cubes, and very happy that she now knows exactly what to do next.

She started re-arranging the cubes over and over again, and the more pieces she put together of the picture, the more excited she got. She was very anxious to piece this image all together. She had a big inner smile and she was giggling out loud all through her glorious discovery. Her eyes sparkled even more now reflecting the purity an innocence of her young soul.

Little by little the picture was getting clearer, and she could hardly keep her happiness in. She started flapping her arms up and down and singing a beautiful melody only she understood. Her mother turning her gaze from the book that she was reading looked up at her and smiled. Coincidentally, the gorgeous child looked back once more sharing her pride with her mom and shouted out in excitement. It was as if she read her mother's mind, and decided to assure her that she was happy a child; she comforted her mother and found comfort in the smile that she received in return. She was very proud of her discovery and wanted her mother to be very proud as well.

She pinned the cubes in the sand and stuck them together forming a big square on which an image of a yellow star began appearing. The bright star lay on a blue background, yet two cubes were missing to complete the image. She knew the image of the star so well from the illustrated books her mommy read to her every night. She felt that she was making one of those stories right now. She wasn't writing one, better yet, she was in one. She picked up another cube and placed it carefully where it belongs. The bright pretty star was now only missing the cube that should be put in the center, and the image would be complete.

She looked around for the last piece, but she couldn't see it. She traced around the sand with her little fingers, but the centerpiece was no where to be found. She stood up and started circling the cube formation in search of her last piece. She didn't notice the big cloud hovering above them in the sky, which was now blocking the sun. She also didn't notice that her mom had in turn stood up to pick up their things, taking a hint from the shades the big cloud was setting.

She couldn’t believe that she was a piece apart from joy and achievement. She was so close to dancing around and celebrating her discovery, yet so far. She saw herself running to her mom and showing her in all satisfaction, what she crafted. Tears started gathering in the corners of her blue eyes. She laughed out loud, but she cried in silence. She stood there with tears in her eyes, heart broken.

It was as if the sky was also heart broken by the portrait of the hurt child. It started raining heavily. The first few drops landed on the girl's bright red cheeks mixing with her tears, she looked up at the sky with sad eyes. She looked back at her almost complete accomplishment, to make a new discovery. The water was filling up the empty space where the last center-cube was supposed to fit. She hurried towards the yellow star and stood next to it watching carefully as the water filled up the vacuum. She started giggling all over again, for she loved the new image created by the rain. It may not have been the picture she'd seen over and over in her bed time books, and over again in her mind, but it was just as pretty, if not prettier. The small water puddle formed in the middle of the closely knit puzzle, created a beautiful color mixture that made the little girl's heart swell. Just as she was turning around to call out for her mommy and do the long awaited victory dance, she saw her running towards her. "Come on baby, let's get out of the rain" her mom called as she approached. The blue eyed angel said something at the top of her lungs with a big smile and pointed to the puzzle. Quickly realizing the preciousness of this moment to her daughter, the mother took a moment to praise her little girl's success. "Hunny, that is so pretty!" she knelt down to her knees and squeezed her little girl in an intense emotional hug. The child smiled a big innocent giddy smile. The mother carried her little sweetheart and started speeding away from the bright yellow star; her daughter's head was resting on her left shoulder. The little girl was watching the water pour out of the center of her puzzle in a fountain-like motion. She giggled out loud again.

The Music: Going Wrong - Armin Van Buuren

When I write the song or the music, I mean the music that inspired me to write a specific piece. It is also the music/song that I wrote the piece listening to. This time I know I was inspired by a trance track, but the mixture of the music and the simple yet moving lyrics, touched a soft spot.

Shades of White

2009-01-08T19:54:00.013+02:00

-He got up in the morning and sat up on his bed, yawned and stretched. He had a good night's sleep. He had a great day yesterday actually. He reached to the stereo on his right and hit play. He got up and got in the shower. He turned the cold water and let it fall down on his body. He liked it cold. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the tingling sensation of the water along with the tingling from yesterday. His mind started recollecting images from the day before and putting them in sequence, just like a bunch of movie scenes that fit together perfectly to make the perfect day...

Image#1
7:22 am
He's sipping coffee in one of the coffee houses near his work place, enjoying the warmth and coziness of the place, in the midst of cold January. His taste buds came to life and danced with every sip of coffee, while he relished the flowing aroma of coffee and bakery in the air. He could almost see the sweet smells dancing and twirling, making knots and loops in the air. "If they had a color, it would be purple I guess" he thought to himself. He had a book in his hands; he had it resting on his lap while he passed his fingers on its pages every now and then. Suddenly a different scent took over the place and he can hear the coffee house door open. He flipped his book shut, laid it on the table and sat in an upright position to investigate the new scent. "That is definitely rose red" he whispered lightly. He looked in the direction of the scent, but he couldn't see anything…

-He got out of the shower with the music playing around him. "Yellow…it sounds like yellow" he said lightly. He passed his hand over his clothes for a couple of minutes then picked a white shirt and black trousers. He reached down next to his closet, counted the third pair from the right and took a black pair. He started getting dressed...

Image#2
12:24 pm
He's holding another cup of coffee, but this time it is office coffee. He took a first sip and grimaced. "Wow, how can I drink this after what I had this morning? One can't move from pistache green to…grey! It is just wrong" he joked to himself. He was tapped on the shoulder by an office colleague. They had a brief work conversation and then they started talking generally. His colleague mentioned a "sky diving for beginners" event that was being held in the afternoon, but that he didn't want to go.

"Well that sounds interesting, I think I would like to try it out" he said

"But… you can't." his colleague interrupted

"Why not?! You said they have coaches that accompany you through the whole thing right?" he asked his colleague in a surprised manner

"Well yeah, but…"his colleagues started

"But what man? I'm going to give it a shot" he interrupted his colleague

"Ok…sure go for it man" he said then started heading back to his office

He could hear his colleague talking to someone on his way back and breaking a couple of laughs. He knew it was about him. He felt the sarcasm and underestimation, he felt black.

-After tying up his black tie, he headed towards his bed and started arranging it. He reached carefully over the edges to tuck the sheets back to where they belong. He folded the covers and spread them back on the bed. He tidied and arranged the rest of the room. He left the room heading towards the kitchen. "Neat as beige" he said...

Image#3
4:38 pm
He arrived at the location of the event. He walked in a large field where he heard a lot of noise. Noise made him nervous, there were so many colors and they were contradictory. He asked around for the registration booth, and he was pointed to it. He registered his name and started walking towards the gearing up spot to which he was also pointed to. He could feel everyone's eyes fixed on him. It made him a bit uncomfortable, but he didn't really care. He reached the spot and stood there, he could hear people introducing themselves to others. He figured it was probably the coaches introducing themselves to the applicants. He just stood there, for he didn't know what to do. Seconds later he felt a hand on his shoulder, it was that rose red again. He turned around.

"Hi! I'll be your companion for today. This is your first jump right?" the friendliness and sweetness in her voice melted all his nervousness away.

"Uh…yes" he said

"Well then, I'm going to make sure you enjoy it. Let's go to the plane shall we?" she once more comforted him.

"Yeah…sure" he said but stood still. He didn't know where to go.

He felt her hold his hand.

"I hope you don't mind" she said

"No, not at all. Thank you" he felt that he was being guided, not directed.

They reached the plane geared up and sat on the benches inside the plane. The plane started taking off.

"You're a very brave man" she shouted over the engines of the plane"Just like everyone else who came today" he replied

"Yes…" she patted him in the leg lightly

He had the biggest inner smile; rose red is all he could think of. He was in mid air and was about to take a leap with the most beautiful girl. He had to be happy.

A few minutes before their jump they got up and they were tied together; she was attached to him from behind.

"Are you ready?" she shouted

"Never more" he shouted back.

They jumped.

He could feel himself free falling. He could feel the wind rushing at him with great speed. It was as if the wind embodied them both in a bubble. It was just him and her. She had her arms spread to her sides and she was screaming in joy. The wind woke up a new color in him. "Pink" he said. He felt her hands reach for his and she spread them like wings. He started screaming himself. Rushing pink embraced rose red in a beautiful mélange. This was a dream.

-He entered the kitchen and made himself a small sandwich for breakfast. He sat at the kitchen table eating silently. He felt calm and serene, even sitting there alone. He felt the serenity of a sunset. Crimson orange...

Image#4
7:35 pm
After landing he got out of the jumping clothes, back into his own and started walking away from the gearing spot and towards the exit of the field. "I don't dare ask for more, this was perfect" he thought to himself in a wishful manner. He knew he wanted to approach this rose red girl, but he didn't know how nor what her reaction would be.

"Hey!" he heard someone shouting from behind him. It was her. He turned around.

"Do you have a ride home?" she asked.

"Uh…I'm walking home. I don't live far from here" he replied.

"Well do you mind if I walked with you? I could use a walk" she asked.

"Sure, I don't mind at all" he couldn't believe this was happening. "Be careful what you wish for" he though to himself.

They walked together for long. He got to know her better and so did she. The more they talked the more that red rose color got engraved in his mind. They joked and laughed. He took her to an ice cream parlor near his house where they had a chance to talk more. She tried looking him in the eyes more than once, but couldn't. As they walked he always kept a hand on the fences and objects to his side.

"That's where I live" he said.

"Nice place. I enjoyed the walk" she said still trying to get a glimpse of his eyes.

"Thanks, me too." he replied always hoping for more.

"Well, good night" she said .

"Night" he said and started turning around towards his place .

"Wait. There's something I've been wanting to do" she called out.

"Huh? What's that?" he looked back towards her but couldn't hold his excitement in.

She put her hands on the sides of his face and slid his shades off. He was a bit startled but he didn't do anything to stop her."Don't ever hide your eyes, they're beautiful" she whispered in his left ear. She gave him a slight peck on the lips.

"Electric Blue" he thought to himself. "This is Electric Blue…Lighnting Blue". He felt his body quiver with emotion. The feel of her lips on his set his soul on fire. This was a dream.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at the coffee house?" she said placing his shades back in the palm of his right hand.

"Yes" he said , still stunned.

"Okay then, good night" she said and started walking away.

"Good night"

-He finished his breakfast and headed towards the corridor to take his things. He grabbed his book and keys. He put on his jacket; he reached into its right pocket and smiled. He took the shades out of his pocket and put them on the shelf to his left. He walked towards the door and started turning the door knob then stopped. He walked back a few stops, spread his hand to the shelf and grabbed his bright white cane...

"I can't forget that one. All my colors come from white."

The Song: You and I Both - Jason Mraz

To Walk On Water

2009-01-03T16:13:00.014+02:00

It took me almost three weeks to write this short story. It is my first attempt at a relatively long piece. It is a manifestation of raw emotion and experience...

Chapter 1

Another night passed by while he's locked in this dreadful room. He can only wish and dream to get out of this god awful place one day. "I did this to myself, I can't really blame him" he said out loud in a sad yet convincing tone. "It was my fault to let him in initially". He lay there on a bed in this room, staring at the ceiling wishing that one day he runs out of thought. For it was thought that was killing him and nothing else. When you spend too much time in the same place and the same mental state, thought becomes you're worst enemy. The room was poorly lit, as only a weak bulb hung from the ceiling. The room was part of a cabin in the middle of the woods. The walls of the room were consisted of vertical wood logs, their brown color was faded and they were cracked. Time has taken its toll on the walls of the room, just as it has on him. The room was cold and almost dark, a typical "4 walled" room. In one wall stood an ever locked door, opposite to which lay a wooden bed with white sheets and covers. On either of the other two walls was a mirror and on the other wall a window. The mirror was nothing but a rectangular piece of glass with several brown spots marking the beginning of the demise of the reflecting object. On the opposite wall the window looked on the woods outside, yet the vision was imperfect due to a combination of dust and morning mist added up through time. He got up from the bed and started towards the mirror, he took yet another look at his ever aging figure. He was a young man, yet by the current look of him all what could be seen is a man weighed down by sorrow. His eyes were almost shut, with dark halos under them, his beard untrimmed and his brown hair was a mess. The man looked simply sick. He stared at his reflection for what seemed to be ages, remembering the way he looked when he was happy. He grinned at himself in sarcasm and disgust, and walked away towards the window. Through the window he could see an endless stack of trees, yet he knew that beyond those trees stood the place where he first found happiness. If only he could go there again. He went back to his bed, sat on its side for a couple of seconds then reached under the pillow for the object he held dearest. A photo album, he took it in his hands feeling its leather covering softly. He was almost afraid to open it, for he knew the kind of pain the memories in it would cause. Nevertheless those memories were all he had left, they were what reminded him that he was alive one day, that he controlled his own destiny… not "him". I am just like a werewolf now, I let this beast come out with no sense or control over what it is going to do to my life. The pain and misery drove "him" out, to lock me in this place with the walls closing in on my soul one day after the other.

His agonizing flood of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Hey buddy, you still hanging in there?" said his detainer.

"Fuck off!" the hurting man snapped back at him with clear disdain.

"You're awfully angry today, a bit more than usual. What's wrong? Do you want a soda? Hehe..." his coarse sarcastic laughter crept in the cold room.

"Do you even know what you're doing out there anymore, you're just ruining our life" came the reply from inside the room.

"Buddy don't get started with this again, you know I'm only doing this to protect you. I'll let you out when the time is right". Boy did he hear this before.

"Puh, you really don't know what's going on anymore. Looks like you're a prisoner of your own mind yourself man" the prisoner said with another disgusted grin on his face now.

"Say whatever you want buddy, at least I'm keeping you from becoming the idiot you once were. Do you remember how disappointed and hurt you once were because of your idiocy? I didn't bring this upon us, you did. Deal with it. Being here in this room is a lot better for you, trust me." he started walking away from the door.

"Wait! Don't walk away! This is not over! I was not an idiot you hear me! I was not an idiot!" he hadn't realized that he was punching the door with both fists until he felt the pain from his bloody knuckles. He looked at his shaking hands with tears rolling down his cheeks. He dropped to his knees. He was yet again in another state of shock and pain. He reached for the photo album and opened it flipping through its pages, in a frantic manner. It was as if he was going to reach something by the end of the album, like a man finding a lake in the middle of the desert only to realize it is a mere mirage. He stopped at a photo, the photo. It was the photo of the beginning of his happiness. He passed his bloody fingers on the images in the photo with despair, and he smiled a sad smile through the tears. He wished he can turn back time to go back and change it all, to give this beginning a happy ending. In the midst of his pain and fatigue, he passed out on the floor. He woke up in the middle of the night, tired and disoriented from disturbing dreams. This time however, he decided to find a way out of this place. Nobody knew he even existed in this room, all what people could see was "him" and this wrecked cabin and that of course ruined whatever was left of their lives. He recalls when this cabin was piece of art, when music bounced off its walls throughout the day; he recalled how people marveled at its beauty. Everybody envied what he had, this cabin and how he came to build, for it was not without effort. He remembers the days before the cracks found their way to the cabin's walls. The days before the storm. He also remembered the storm.

He was afraid to go further with his memory, for fear of another agonizing mind trip. He decided that he would assume his way out of this hell hole first thing in the morning. It hurt him to think of this place with such negativity, but that is what it has become. "I'm going to change that tomorrow; it is all going to change. I will do what I should have done months ago". He got up and lay in his bed, waiting for the sun to rise, yet he couldn't get any sleep.

By the first ray of sunlight, he was up and waiting next to the door. Minutes later he heard "him" coming towards the door. "Hey man, I got you some nice breakfast. I thought this would cool you off, after our "incident" last night" the detainer yelled through the door.

"Thanks, but there is something else I'd like to ask of you man" he replied while taking the plate that was slid from under the doorway.

"What's that?" obvious curiosity can be detected in his tone of voice.

"Well you know I've been here for 5 months now alone and all, I thought why don't you come in and talk with me for a while" He told his detainer with hope.

"Ha! That's a first! No thanks buddy, we're fine talking the way we do" the prison owner replied in a sarcastic yet firm tone.

"Come on man! What's the problem with you coming in for only 5 minutes, I haven't seen people in so long! I have even forgotten what you looked like. Or are you afraid to show me what you look like now?" this was the last desperate attempt to convince him.

"You're hilarious you know that? I had forgotten you were so funny buddy! Why would I be afraid to show you myself? Get real man. However I am pretty curious what you look like now. You know what… I might just come in and have a little chat with you after all" he didn't know why he agreed on doing that, but he just did.

"Great!" the prisoner couldn't believe his amateur attempt was actually working.

The locks of the door started finally turning; the prisoner felt a glimpse of hope with every turn of those locks.

"You'd better not be setting up any funny business or I'll kick your ass man, you'll beg me to put you back in this room again" the prison holder shouted over the sound of the turning locks"Man, I neither have the tools nor the strength to pull anything off, I just want to talk really" he was completely honest saying that, he didn't have a specific exit strategy in mind.

The door finally opened, and the detainer walked in.

Chapter 2

A cool winter breeze came in along with him; freshening up the old stagnant air in the room. The prison holder locked the door quickly behind him, and he turned to face his prisoner. Utter silence hit them both. They both stood there looking at each other in paralyzing silence.

"Holy shit!!" the prisoner yelped in surprise. "What happened to you man, did you get hit by a train?!" he could not hold his sarcastic surprise in; he was actually chuckling for the first time in so long.

The detainer could hardly reply, for he was actually hit by something. He was hit by confusion. "I don't understand…this isn't possible. You're not supposed to look like that".

"What are you talking about? Did you take a look at a mirror lately?! You look like shit man! You look even worse than I do, and I'm the one in captivity here!" for the first time, the prisoner felt in charge.

The detainer could do nothing but be silent. "I'm outta here…this was bad idea" he started for the door.

"Hell no! You're not going anywhere man, we've got a lot of talking to do!" the prisoner grabbed his detainer by the collar of his shirt and shoved him towards the bed on which he crumbled and assumed a seated position right away. "Now what you're going to do, is stay the fuck where you are and tell me what the heck is going on and what you're keeping from me" the prisoner was furious, 5 months of misery were manifested in the form of rage now. The detainer kept his eyes locked on the floor, for he realized he was a becoming the prisoner, he never looked this raging beast in the eyes so as not to further ignite his state of rage. He almost nodded in obedience to what was being said to him.

The angry man stood there admiring his former detainer; his hair was long covering his face, as was his beard; his sad eyes were the only thing visible of his face. His clothes were torn, and he was barefoot. He looked down in unspoken agony. "What happened to you?" the prisoner asked whispering in an angry tone mixed with pity.

"It really doesn't matter what happened, the bigger question is why do you look almost as bad as I do? This shouldn't be what you look like, this is not how I planned it" the detainer felt regret take over him.

They were both on the same wavelength now for the first time, as they were both confused. The former prisoner sat beside his former detainer on the bed. "I don't understand anything, you owe me an explanation. What did you plan, what was supposed to happen?" his questions were met only by silence. "Speak up man! Please."

"Ok, I just want you to understand that I did what I did only in good intentions, I thought that this would be for your own good" he said tentatively.

"Just tell me what's going on" the reply was swift and specific.

"Remember the storm? Remember how it destroyed this cabin, took its walls from their roots?" his counterpart just nodded. "When I came by and saw you outside the cabin, drained of your energy and passed out on the floor, I took a look at the cabin's fallen walls only to realize that your fate would be the same if I left you that way. The storm ruined everything and it almost ruined you. Since the moment you started building it, I thought that you gave it way to much effort and attention. I thought of you as an idiot, because nothing is worth so much. That cabin was all your life, and even when you got it well structured, you wouldn't stop decorating it nor would you ever go out just to see what the woods outside looked like. At a point I really believed that this cabin would be there for good, you had me convinced that something was actually worth all the effort. My skepticism quickly became newfound faith. However as soon as the storm hit, I realized that I was right all along. Despite all your tireless efforts to strengthen the cabin against any variables, the first storm that came along tore it apart. It all went to waste, and all that was left were bittersweet memories. And I knew that in your efforts to rebuild it, you would shrivel up and die, you would end up in self destruction. That's why I decided to intervene and help you out, and protect you from your own foolishness. I am stronger, colder and less emotional. I knew I could get you through this transition, and break your extreme affection to this place even after its destruction. It was this affection that would kill you; nostalgia would tear your soul apart. That is why when I offered to help; you were vulnerable enough to let me in. This is why I had to lock you in, to protect you from more disappointment; any further shock would be the end for you. I was ready to take more nostalgic stabs, more disappointment from failed attempts, but you were too soft. That is why I locked you in, to detach you from this place give you some strength and isolate you from your misery. Little did I know that my methods would actually set your worst demons against you, doing this to you…and me. I thought that by doing what I did, I'd be able to save you from becoming a mess like myself. You still did however, despite everything"

Silence.

After what seemed like an eternity the shocked listener finally spoke "So you locked me in and put me through this shit just to protect me huh? You actually thought that you'd take all the pain and I'll be fine…"

Silence again.

"You son of a bitch! Do you know what you did to me?! Do you realize the amount of pain you caused me and the amount of people you hurt in the process?! That's why the place became deserted! People stopped visiting the cabin, because you were a cold jerk! The cabin is in even worse shape because of your lack of emotion and frigidness; I could have tried rebuilding it…"

"No you don't understand…" the confessor started.

"Shut up! Now it is my turn to do the talking, you're going to come with me to the lakes beyond the woods and we're going to get wood from there just like I did when I started building this cabin. We're going to bring this place to life again" the furious man stood up.

"But I just have one thing to say…" the seated now humble detainer tried to talk again.

"Save it! Now come on" he headed towards the door, the other guy just stood up and opened it for him, and they both walked out.

They both walked through the cabin towards the front door. "Holy shit…" the former prisoner whispered as he looked around. He didn't recall it to be this torn down and destroyed. They both walked out took one look at the worn down figure and started walking towards the woods.

Chapter 3

A couple of hours later down the road through the woods the now guilty man started talking. "Are you calm now? Can I say something? All I wanted to do is to help you, at least let me say this last thing"

"I don't want to hear it, and I have nothing to say to you. Let's just get this over with" he actually was calm, and surprisingly better looking. All the ageing and darkness on his features seemed to have somehow faded away.

"Look man, I'm just going to say it anyway. You can plug your ears if you want I don't care. I have to say this. The only reason I locked you in the room and held you from attempting to rebuild the cabin, was because the storm shook the cabin's foundations eternally. It could not be rebuilt, it is not the same anymore and it would not handle anymore attempts to bringing it back to what it used to be. The grounds on which it stands are not the same anymore. You're going to get your heart broken again, trust me. However I've done my share of damage, I'll let you do whatever you please"

"Damn right I'll do whatever the hell I want. We've seen what your lewd theories have done. So just stay quiet till we get there" his voice was shockingly perseverant for a man who'd just broken down only hours earlier.

With every step of the way the hurt prisoner started remembering his happy days all over again, only this time with optimism and hope. He remembered his first trip to the lakes where he found strong wood logs, to build his beautiful cabin. The trees there were not like any others, not like the trees in the woods. They were stronger, larger and more durable. Or were they? Was it just because his former trip to this place was a life changing experience that he thought of anything coming from this place as superior and more special than its counterparts? Maybe.

He remembered his "first step on water", when he took a chance for the first time. When he decided to build this cabin, and spend the rest of his life in it. He found comfort in it; he knew who he was embraced by its walls. He remembered with a big smile on his face. He started humming.

"What's that you're singing?" his partner asked curiously.

"Nothing really, it's this song I used to listen to when I first came here" he looked down reminiscing.

They were close to reaching the lakes now, and the closer they got the weaker the ex-detainer got. On the other hand the now optimistic man is looking brighter and healthier than ever. He looked at his partner, who was now breathing heavily. "Are you okay? You're state has been deteriorating ever since we set foot on this road. What's wrong?"

"No, don't worry about me. I knew this would happen, I'm not really built for this kind of "atmosphere" you know, all the optimism, good memories and happiness are not really where I function" he gasped between words.

"Yeah, I figured. You're built to handle pain, and you suck even at that buddy if I may say" he was actually joking with the person who screwed him over. "Nevertheless man, you're getting there with me. Let me give you a taste of gleefulness, then you can go back and to whatever floats your boat" he continued while reaching out for his weak partner to help him walk.

Almost an hour later they reached the lakes. The staggering man crumbled to the ground, and lay against a tree trying to catch is breath. His now joyful friend was jumping all over the place. "Yeah! We're here again man! Let's make this happen"

For the following period of time, he was collecting wood from all over the place tirelessly, carefully selecting every log and branch. His friend was almost unconscious laying against a tree.

After the process was over, and the ambitious man had collected all the wood he could need. He took his shirt off.

"What…what are you...doing?" his friend managed to ask.

"You can't come to the lakes and not take a dip man! Come on! Join me, you're gonna love this I promise" he shouted out. "I'm going to walk on water…again" he whispered to himself with a content silent smile on his face.

He jumped in. The cool water felt really good on his dry skin. He was absorbing its energy, it was rejuvenating him. He was starting to live again, he had no doubt in his mind that this was the beginning of his life all over again.

After a while, he got out of the lake. He looked towards his weary partner. "Why didn't you jump in?" He asked, his partner looked like an old man now.

"I can't. You've seen what being here did to me. You know what jumping in this water would do to me" he looked his friend in the eye while telling him that.

"Oh. I see. Well let's head back, I'm all done here" he said nervously

"You know I can't go back, my purpose is over. You've proved me wrong, you don't need me. I never had any faith or trust, and it made a mess of me as well as you. I made enough damage to your life and your surroundings. Had you not kept all the faith inside you, you would've perished. You're a stronger man now, no thanks to me. I watched you all along the road; the way you got stronger and more determined showed me that there is no place for the likes of me in the lives of the likes of you. Go back ahead and put your life back together. You already did just by coming here; the rest is just extra. Take care."

"What are you going to do?" he asked with tearing eyes

"I'm going to stay here with all your memories, that is where I belong" he said

"Okay, I want to tell you that despite everything, I won't forget you" he said while stretching his hand for the weak perishing man

"Neither will I old friend, I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me" he stretched his hand faintly

"Don't worry about it" they shook hands firmly.

He started walking away towards the woods again, alone this time. He was alone and fully in charge for the first time in so long. He didn't have to hear voices anymore. He had tears in his eyes, he didn't know why. But the thought of letting go of someone was torturous, regardless of what he did.

A few steps down the road he heard a loud splash coming from the lakes…

Chapter 4

Three hours later he was standing back at the foot of his cabin, yet again. This time he was alone…liberated. He stood there overcome by bittersweet exhaustion. He stood staring at the torn down cabin for a while, he didn't realize he'd been standing there for so long till night started pushing day out of the sky. He was shaken out of his endless gaze by a bluish white beam, the moon. He looked at the almost full moon and smiled. "Tomorrow I start, and by the rise of the full moon my cabin will be what it once was. Moon light shall reflect off my cabin in glamour once more. I trust in the full moon" he said to himself in calm self comfort. He walked towards the cabin, entered through the front door, walked back to his cell and collapsed on his bed.

By early dawn he was wide awake; he shaved and cleaned up for the first time in so long. He was full of faith and optimism; he stepped outside and breathed in cool early morning air. He smiled a very wide smile and started gathering the wood and equipment to begin his erroneous yet satisfactory day. He started working with one goal in mind; to get his life back together. He wanted to vanquish the demons that once invaded his mind; he wanted to be happy again. He knew what he wanted. He had no doubt in his mind that this would go exactly as planned, that he'd pull this off and re-arrange the pieces of his life's puzzle once more.

Tirelessly he worked putting the old pieces back in place, adding new ones and fixing the ones that were already there. He was in a race against time; he wanted to be ready before the full moon visited. It was as if he wanted to make the moon proud. For it was the full moon that witnessed the erection of this cabin a couple of years back, it was the full moon that saw this cabin thrive. It came to visit once every month, just to behold it glow under its light. He wanted the moon to see this cabin in beauty once more, just like it was when it first visited. He hummed his song again while re-bringing about the cabin's life…

A little before sunset he was done, almost at the same timing he had finished building it a couple of years earlier. He took a quick look at it. "Now, all I do is wait for the logs to dry from paint and glue. Now I wait for the full moon" he said while getting on his hands and knees beside the renovated structure. His body gave away and he slipped into deep sleep…

He had a blurry dream, he saw someone holding his hand and taking him somewhere he's never been. He couldn't make out the person or the place to which he was taken.

He was awakened yet again by the same enchanting bluish white light. The full moon was back…

He jumped to his feet and looked towards the sky, and there it was again. He smiled and looked back towards the cabin. He felt as if he got stabbed by a dagger. He dropped to his knees in astonishment and pain. His shocked gaze was locked on the cabin. The cabin didn't look the same…

His mind was going around in circles, he didn't understand. "This is not right, something is not right. I don't get this. I did everything right, I did what I could. Why is this happening?!" he murmured in disbelief. "He was right, I am an idiot…he was right to lock me in. I am an idiot."

The cabin didn't glow in the moonlight anymore.

He stayed there for a while, he couldn't even cry anymore. His shock paralyzed all his emotions. He stayed on his knees trying to wish this nightmare away, trying to wish the cabin to what he hoped it to become.

"Get up" a firm yet comforting voice called on to him.

He looked behind to see someone standing there in the shadows. It appears that he had come from the woods. "Who are you?" the unfortunate man asked in agony.

"It is a shame you don't remember me" the stranger replied.

The exhausted man got up to his feet and approached the mysterious person. He took a look at his moon lit face. He was dressed in a white shirt and light blue faded jeans. "You!" he cried out in happiness.

"There you go" the stranger smiled.

"How did you find me? I've been wishing for you to come back ever since you left" he could hardly believe what was happening.

"You're a smart guy; I thought you'd know that on your own. When you came back this morning to get wood to rebuild your cabin, you brought me back with you. I followed you back. Ever since you came the first time to find wood for your cabin I knew you were a man of belief, and that's why I stayed with you. But when the storm hit, and you let our dark friend in the cabin giving him a chance to control your life, I had to go back. I wanted you to find your own way, and it seems to me that you did my friend."

"I don't think I did. Look at the cabin. It is not the same. He was right. I am a fool" his reply was heaved down by sadness.

"No he wasn't, don't let that get to you. I'll tell you what he was right about however. The cabin lost its soul during the storm; it lost its essence and faith. However you would have never known that if you'd stayed in your cell. You went out and fought this one last battle to bring this cabin back, and you succeeded beautifully. You brought back its external layer, the surface shell. But you could never bring back its spirit. You are no fool my friend, in fact you now know what you want. You left no chance for speculation, nor did you leave a chance for regret. Regret is the most lethal emotion. You should know by now that this cabin is not what it once was, and it never will be. It will never be what it was to you before the storm. You know deep down that pursuing your life in this place would tear you apart. It will become your worst enemy after it had been your refuge. Move on, restart and by time you'll be able to build a new life. From this moment on, I'll be there to guide you again now that you've found your way back to me." the old friend spoke wise words of truth. Words of closure.

The torn man stood up, he heard what he needed to hear. He knows that what his friend said was true, he wants to be liberated. Liberated from what this cabin has become, and what it would do to him. It will be hard abandoning this place, the reminiscence of the feeling it once gave him and the memories he had in its comfort. Those memories are not enough anymore however. This is not the place he had come to love, nor was it the place he wanted to live in. It was now soulless. It lost faith, while he kept his. He had to leave. Maybe he would come someday to bring back its soul, and re-establish the grounds on which it once stood, but not today. Not now.

He realized that within his pursuit of happiness, he found himself again. This was his silver lining, his actual success. He actually did this for himself.

"I just need to take one last look at it, and then we can leave" he said that while heading towards the cabin. He circled the cabin, seeing images of the past. He had a smile on his face, and tears rolling down his cheeks. He walked in the cabin, looked around observing every wall and inch. He visited every room, till he reached his room. His cell. He walked in, passing his fingers over its corners and objects. He looked out the window one last time, stared at himself in the mirror one last time and sat on his bed one last time. He sat there for a few minutes, mustering up the courage to walk out. A brown object under the pillow beside him caught his eye, he reached out for it. It was the photo album. He held it, feeling its leather covering. It had every memory he once had in this place. He was reluctant and hesitant for a few seconds, but he laid it back under the pillow. He walked to the door, looked back one more time towards the room and the album, and walked out …

The Song: Storm - Lifehouse