I’ve been an embodiment of Jeckyll and Hyde for quite some time… except that I oscillate between happiness and sadness, rather than good and evil. Along the lines of that novel, my transition phases used to be more painful, but the lulls in between were long enough to adapt to… with time things have changed… the transition has become part of my being, it’s neither painful nor unique, it just is… the lulls can no longer be called thus, they are way too short and way too instable. I could transform several times a day, I no longer notice myself transforming. I wake wake up in this state or that. I blink, and bam, the nutcracker is squeezing my heart, bam, I’m the king of the world… The lulls are painful. They are now merely phases spent in anticipation of the next change, phases where I exxagerate everything, where I pretend to be ecstatic, in hope of convincing myself that that is a fact, and storing some positive images for the inevitable fall.

It’s joyful, it’s painful, and I don’t trust myself anymore.

I’ve been expecting this for a while. It’s happened often enough before that I’ve learned to live with it, to feed off of it, even, somehow, to enjoy it.

It’s been a struggle staying happy and cheerfull. It shouldn’t be that way. I’ve tried forcing myself, I’ve tried convincing myself, hell, I’ve even tried force-feeding it to others…. but enough. It was always hollow… it’s not right when you have to make an active effort to feel joy, satistfaction, relaxation, or passion. It’s just wrong.

Four issues have been weighing me down. Emotional, Carreer-related, Academic and Familial. Between yesterday and today, all four came to confrontations. I did a stupid work-thing out of sheer frustration. I was able to resolve that this morning…. that, at least, will be OK.

I’ve been waiting for my results, which I should have gotten a couple of weeks ago, to no avail. I called today, and it seems that the only thing missing is the grade from the secondary examiner. Don’t know him, don’t know how important his grade is, don’t know anything…. but at least I’m relieved… there was no snag with the first examiner.

Again, I’ve decided to risk it and just talk over my familial issues…. what’s the worst that could happen?

Here’s the thing, I believe in communication. Which brings me to the fourth issue that required some sort of resolution. Strangely, it’s the one issue that really holds me down, and keeps me unhappy. In ways, it’s the least important, but to me, it has occupied center-stage, if only because It’s the one area that can make me feel like I felt yesterday. It’s the only one that can squeeze my heart and not let go until I almost faint. Still, clarifying things up, by itself, is beneficial, regardless of the outcome.

Apparently, she had no idea I was attracted to her. This is where I started laughing. Wholeheartedly… for the first time in a while. I have the unfortunate gift of being able to see through people… and right there and then, I was shocked that I’d even liked her in the first place.

Apparently, the other night didn’t happen… I was laughing even harder…. Suddenly i’m seeing things? Suddenly, everyone around me is seeing things?

I’m secure enough to tell someone I like them, I’m secure enough to put myself out there…. I hate people trying to out-smart or confuse me. I’m good at that game, and that’s why I don’t play it. I can run loops around her as well as anyone else…

I won’t deny it. It hurt. That was to be expected. You like someone for a while, and then you realise it’s not going to happen… it’s not the greatest of feelings. I am able to get over that. But for that person, who you admired, to play dumb and try to put one past you…

Anyway, I told her not to flatter herself, indirectly, and that it was my issue to deal with… she was just a face. Lie. Whatever.

And then, I couldn’t smile anymore. It was another stab in that self-same spot. It aggravated old injuries, and left me weak and faint. I sometimes doubt that I can take these wounds… they’ll never heal, I think… and that’s what keeps me from being truly happy or at ease.

In ways, I’m still a fucking teenager.

I got wasted last night. I’ve rarely ever get drunk. I can keep my alcohol down. I never get drunk just from alcohol.

Here’s yesterday’s recipe:

Stab. Stab. Stab.

Realise that happiness is a far-off idea, that you’re in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

One carnation-instant-bitch.

9 large shots of MGFJ (My Good Friend Jack) downed within 30 minutes or so.

I vomited. I vomited in the bathroom. I vomited in the subway. I vomited on the street. I still am vomiting, on the inside. The vomit covers my wound, again, in something resembling a healing… but I know that wound is just waiting to be ripped open again. I know that I will probably let number four do the exact same thing. And that it will hurt just as much. And that I will blog it. I know all of that. And I vomit inside, at the knowledge.

I’m still vomiting. But that’s ok. I’ve learned to rise from this pain… it motivates me… I have my doubts, and my fears, and they grow every day… I’m not happy, I’m not at ease, I’m not enjoying my life. That’s also ok. I can take it, and more. I’ve dealt with this crap, and I can deal with it again… Each time, I’ll come out from the fight looking fresh and victorious. Each fight drives another nail into my coffin.

I told a friend last night “I’m not drunk… I’m disgusted”. I was drunk, but the only reason I got drunk was the disgust. Sadly, that’s how it’s always been.

M… you’re the best, thanks for being there yesterday.

On the subway ride home, a few days ago, I happened to glance at the wagon behind mine, and was pleasantly stunned to see it exclusively occupied by hotties. Two of them were keeping themselves busy by looking at me, whispering to each other, and giggling. I had half a mind to go over, but thought better of it. With my luck, they’d all be going to some lesbian convention across town… or more probably, they’d all be in committed relationships.

That’s been the case more often than not recently. Speaking of which… I’ve been interested in this one girl for a while. She’s got a boyfriend, but had shown definite interest in me as well. It was, as far as I knew, and according to people we both know, mutual. I’d enjoyed the innocent flirting, and the constant contact with her, since she’s an awesome girl.

Then, a few days ago, as well, we happened to go drinking with a few friends. From the onset, she was taking the initiative. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure. I enjoyed the closeness the intimacy, and the soft touches,  but the fucked up gentleman inside me kept chewing my brains out. A cool new friend who was there kept trying to convince me to go for it. In retrospect, she had a point. We left together, and I walked her to her station. I regretted it from the beginning, but on the other hand, I wasn’t completely unsatisfied.

It didn’t help that she also looked ridiculously gorgeous.

She’d turned it on, and she’d went for me. It wasn’t a complete loss.

Was I pleased? Yes.
Was something going to come out of it? I didn’t know. I still don’t know.
Was I satisfied? Well, tie me up, spank me silly, and call me Judy.
Do I regret it still? Yup.

Deliver us from temptation, they say? It gently ripped me apart from inside, and yet I resisted. Is that all you got? I say. Bring it on, papa bear.

That was then, we’ve seen each other again since. I took her aside, and told her (stating the obvious) that I really liked her. I didn’t expect anything in return, but I wanted to let her know.

The end result, I still don’t know. She didn’t move away, she didn’t mention her boyfriend, she just looked at me with those big, gorgeous brown eyes. Some happiness, some sadness, some signs of understanding. Nothing new.

It felt good getting it off my chest, it felt good knowing that once again, I’d played by my own rules, and not followed society’s stupid norms.

I’ll probably just wait and see.

That makes three. Third time’s a charm, they say… no?

I’m a coffee addict. I’m also a cafe addict. I spend a big chunk of my time in cafes. After a while, I’ve realized that I tend to go to places that are a little pricier. The reason is not the coffee itself, although that’s usually an important factor.

If you go to regular cafes, particularly in Germany, it’s not a relaxing experience. I don’t gulp down my coffee and rejoin the ratrace, I chill. I savor the experience. Regular cafes means you have to savor the experience with just about everyone. Average grunts, bad service and wooden chairs mean “NO” in my book. Pardon my arrogance, but that just won’t work with me. On the other hand, frequenting chains (A.K.A. Starbucks) means you run into a never-ending stream of tourists… another hassle. Going to fancy places means sitting in uncomfortable chairs, dealing with, again, unfriendly service, and having to leave after a short while. The stuffy atmosphere doesn’t work with me.

My cafe must have sofas or couches, cool people, a very relaxed atmosphere, and a wide selection. However, it must also be a place that isn’t frequented by just about anyone. Paying twice as much for your coffee, over here, implies an assurance that you won’t run into people you don’t want to run into. So, that’s what I do.

On the other hand, I can NOT have my coffee to-go. That has never ended well. Case in point: this morning. Off to work, passed by my favorite cafe, and got my order to go.One step out of the door and a drop of coffee hit my coat. I managed to reach the office still dry. Took off my jacket, took a sip, and wet my t-shirt. Another sip turned my shoes brown. I clean up, sit down, eye the cup, and decide to take another sip. The cup is now sporting a veritable leak, and my pants are soaked.

End result: No caffeine in blood stream. Clothes in the laundry. Edgy, jittery Ramz. Can I plead caffeine-defficiency if I murder someone today?
Life may be short, but there’s always time to sit down and savor your coffee.

Bitch.

You feel insulted? Go live in the friggin’ desert.

Hello! Welcome to the 21st century.

Things have changed a lot in the past millenium. Nowadays, there are moving pictures that let you “watch” real things happening in real places all over the world (it’s round, by the way). You can write a letter and send it across that self-same world in a split second. You like porn? it’s all there….

Here’s a trick you may not know. Your eyes… they close. Your mind… it makes decisions. You no likey porn? you no go to www.sex.com.

Pretty simple, innit?

So, what’s the big deal? A few caricatures… right… let’s blow up the world, that’s an appropriate reaction.

Let me tell you a story… A Danish author was writing a book about the Prophet and founder of Islam, Mohammed. He complained that no one would illustrate his book. A big Danish newspaper challenged anyone to make those illustrations and promised to publish them. That happened on September 30th.

One young Imam felt insulted. Instead of doing what normal people would do, SUE those involved, he tried to ignite the masses. The Danish muslims weren’t completely infuriated as (they seem to have mastered those two aforementioned tricks)… so the Imam took the caricatures, added a few that were not part of the story, but that would definitely incite anger (the prophet as a pig, the prophet as a dog); very blunt caricatures that would easily light the cummulative fuse of the muslim world… and toured the muslim capitals, showing these photos and building up anger….

wham… bam… burn the embassies! Acting like terrorists ought to show the world that you’re not…. That makes sense.

Down with Europe. Ignorant fools. Death to this and that… What a prosperous industry. We produce banners, t-shirts, molotov cocktails… Give us a name, any name, and you can have your “death to …” within the hour. Burn yourself, it’s all for a good cause. Blow yourself up, that’ll send a message.

Welcome to the 21st century. We discuss our problems, we try to meet on middle ground, we try to resolve conflict by dealing with its root. You see the everyone and everything as your enemy, you see violence as the only way, you blow yourselves up.

Welcome to the 21st century. The struggle of our day is not one between the east and the west. It’s a struggle between ignorance and knowledge. You’ve chosen your side.

Extra (photos from the Mohammed Image Archive): These are the original drawings

These are the three drawings that that liar added to incite the ignorant masses.

This sums up a major part of the issue… lack of perspective (from Filibuster Cartoons):

It’s like you’re frozen and the whole world is going on around you.

The last week or so before handing in my thesis, I ran out of all necessary ingredients. I fought through the last 72 hours purely on the aspirations I had of what was to come. I can’t deal with discussing this all right now, because it’s not all over, but I wanted to talk about those aspirations. What drove me was very simple. I’ve always been about the simple stuff, actually. I believed that after getting my degree, I could settle down. I wanted to stay in Berlin for a few years, and that seemed settled. I wanted to get some comfortable work that would support me and that seemed settled as well. I wanted a little stability in the personal aspects of my life, a little relaxation, some time off. I wanted to stop and smell the roses.

I had visions of sunshine, to be honest. But suddenly, things turned sour. Maybe not, but to me at least.

Nothing has really changed, a status quo of sorts… but for how long? Already things are starting to unravel. I’m not superstitious, but I was never really comfortable when everything (apart from the academic stuff) was falling into place. I felt wary. I was constantly watching my own back, looking up to the sky expecting to see a grand piano or a 2-ton weight dropping.

What do you do when you realize that you can’t have something you want? Do you keep going after it regardless, or do you look for something new? What if you’re caught in a vicious cycle, and everything’s a deja vu? What if you keep moving from one goal to another, constantly lowering your expectations?

I’ve always wanted the simple stuff. It’s gotten to a stage where I’m certain that it’ll be the glue that holds everything else together. It’s the same thing I’ve wished for since I blew the candles on my 17th birthday cake. How lame is that? Or is it cheesy (it WAS a cheesecake, by the way)…

It’s the one thing that I’m not allowed to have, seemingly.

I’ve been on a high, slightly self-induced but mostly genuine, the past few days. Now, a trickle of uncomfortable doubt is making it’s way in there… do I shrug it off, hold on to the cockiness and pee into the wind, or do I give in and keep it natural?

For now, I’m keeping the smug, satisfied grin, and I’m enjoying it… fuck it all…

How long will it last, I wonder?

I’m done with my MSc. Much, much more on that later… suffice to say, it’s as good as over and done with. Not as good as I wanted. Not as good as I am capable of. Whatever. There’s still the defense next week, which would decide severl important things for me, but it’s not that tough. I’m not pleased, but I’m relieved. Does that even make sense? Seriously…. I’ll be disecting this phase of my life… but I want to wait till next week first.
It’s not like i’m on vacation. I’ve dived right back into work… but that’s easy and fun… and it makes me money, which I can spend…

Here’s the thing… I’ve missed out on a lot these past six months… the last month or so was ridiculous.

Freedom is still taking root… I want to sing. I’ve been singing non-stop… I’ve been drinking non-stop… reciting poems in the subway… smiling all the time… I can’t wait for the parties, the drinking, the chicks, photos, the exhibitions, the drinking… life… LIFE!

I finished on tuesday… I’ve hit a fashion show, and went out twice since… I’ve got plans for the next week or two, i’ve got two dates, and an open slot on saturday for a third…. I’m hitting the ground running and ain’t nothing gonna stop this train… chooo choooo!
Life has resumed, and i’m there for the ride. Last night (or a few minutes ago, relative to when I actually wrote this), a friend showed me her playlist… as someone mentioned a poem (we were at rehearsals)… the portion of my being that had been hibernating was overwhelmed… It was as if I had put on shuffle mode… thirty songs, ten poems, twenty movie quotes and boobs floating around my head… a veritable cocktail of pleasure…

The old me… he’s returning. He’s hungry, happy and horny.

Smile for me.

And beware…

ps: F. was right…. why were you people worrying? It’s the realm after all!

It don’t work that way… you earn your daily bread… how you eventually accomplish that may be very mundane, or very suprising.

For example, last week, I earned my daily bread translating a movie. Granted, I also earned my daily coffee and cigarettes, and my nightly nightcap that way as well..

Next week, I might earn it prostituting myself. Nothing is given.

I’m behind as always, but I am at ease because this time, it’s not for long. I always talk about the puzzle, well the pieces are finally falling into place. Who knew it would gain a foothold so easily? Who would have guessed it would gain traction so exponentially!??!

Uni-wise, the meeting last Monday was apparently very successful, athough I barely managed seven of the eleven tasks I’d set for myself, and neither handed in the second draft nor demoed the system. My professore said, and I quote: “this draft is the best thesis I have read in a long, long time”. That’s a Prof. Dr. Dr. (two doctors in one!!) saying this. True, I now have to actually do the stuff I’d bragged about doing in the paper, but just finishing those basically guarantees me a good grade, a very good grade. My thesis and system are due on the 31st of January. I defend my thesis on February 8th.

Workwise, I’m working right now, and I’ve got two gigs coming up in the coming weeks that should support me for some time. The plans to stay in Berlin and find my own flat are also now written in stone. It’s all happening, one skip at a time.

All that’s left is clearing out the PhD issues, which shouldn’t be that complex, and that would imply even more funding and financial security. In 13 days, my time will be my own again. I’ll finish this blog’s design, create my website, and start taking photos as frequently as a few months ago. I’ve got a part in a play in may, summer draws ever closer, the soccer world cup is soon as well. A vacation in february or march is all but certain, the first real time off in almost three years…(not really, but close to one, at least)

Yeah it’s good… and it’s all taken or earned. None given.

So much for maxims.

I injured myself in drama group yesterday. I haven’t been hurt in ages, but yesterday, while “acting”, I managed to twist my thumb, cut open my upper lip, and bump my nose. All whithin two minutes.
Ok, let me rewind. We start out every rehearsal with some “acting exercises”. Occasionally, these include games. It was during one of those games, with me chasing a girl that I slipped and slammed my face on the side of a chair. The group oooh’d and aaah’d and asked me if I was ok. I said yeah and continued chasing, and caught the girl. It was her turn to run after me, again, I slip, and manage to put a hand out there to save my face. Bam. Twisted thumb. I get up again, finish the game and get back in formation. I actually have a very high pain threshold, and that was doubled due to a little machismo act I was put on for someone’s benefit.

Talk about putting your everything into the part. Yeah!

I guess a week of next t no sleep at all (more on that stuff soon) could be held responsible as well.

Anyway, all this taught me was that I’ve got to be more active again. My pain tolerance is still as high as ever, but the days of playing three hours of gruesome football on the beach, hitting, slamming, tackling, grinding it out against people twice your weight, and returning home all bruised are long gone.

Those days marked my mid-to-late spring, when the ski season would be fading, and the sea would be still a bit too cold for swimming. I miss those violent, bloody, days.

In other news, I’m a confused little boy. There’s a friggin’ babelfish in my head, but instead of automatically translating Venus lingo into Earth-speak (or Mars-speak, in keeping with the cheese), it’s gnawing at the insides, swallowing those few remaining brain cells that overnights and my good friend Jack haven’t dealt with. C’est la vie, eh?

However, democracy is a shelter behind which hypocrites hide, measure legitimacy, and weigh righteousness based on the numbers of the ill-informed masses.

Queen Carla had arrived a week ago. Tonigh, her royal consorts were delivered, the numbers are complete and court has convened. Carla is my camera, an old Canon A-1 SLR, full with several lenses, filters, add-ons, etc… it was THE camera to have in the very late 70s, early 80s, and has since developed into something of a cult camera. Still, the options it has, as well as the quality it delivers are still top of the line. It was given to me on my 16th birthday, when I first showed signs of falling in love with photography, but I didn’t really use it to its full potential, and couldn’t carry it with me when I moved here. I recently started feeling the urge to have it back, and since I’ve decided to stay here a while longer, it makes more sense.

Why Carla? Well… I have names for a lot of my essential equipment. It’s not geeky, and I’ll tell you why in a second. My digital camera is called Natasha. She’s good. Very good, actually. But soon enough, I’ll want to move up and move on. Natasha isn’t a permanent name, in my mind. My laptop, on the other hand, is called Leela. Girls whose names start with “L” have been a staple of my social life, and all variations of the L****L*** have passed through the realm. Except for Leela. So, that name isn’t particularly meaningful, but there you have it. My external hard disk is called Heinrich. I need him to be strong, durable, reliable and supportive. Heinrich is a strong name. My mp3 player is Tom. I couldn’t find a more generic name for such a generic tool. Also, a certain Tom played a role when I acquire the thingy. I couldn’t care less about cell phones (mine or others) so it’s not included here. This brings us back to Carla. I love the name, and I haven’t met a single Carla which I didn’t admire, respect, lust after, drool over, or all of the above. Carla is a beautiful, musical name. But still, one that sticks with you, and not something you could try on for a day and then move along. I would marry a Carla (no particular one). So, my A-1 is Carla.

Geeky? Not at all. You see, in the days or yore (a long, long time ago) knights used to name their horses, swords, spears, maces and what not. So why not now?

In other news, I’ve started reading fantasy novels again. That’s a good sign, because, for me, it goes hand in hand with being productive academically, or for work. Which is what’s happening. I’m running out of time, but I’m finally moving full speed ahead (sort of)… actually, I’m still picking up speed, but it’s good. I’ve got to meet up with my Prof, demo the system and hand in a second draft on monday, and I just might finish. I’ve got fifteen main tasks that must be done by then, and another 15 or so that should be done before the whole thing is over. Tonigh, I’m doing 6 smaller tasks. Then, i’m taking a break (just a couple of hours) and starting on another set of 5 tasks. Two of which are major, and the rest, relatively smaller. That would leave tomorrow evening, and friday for the remaining four, one of which is really major.

So, I should have saturday and sunday to go over the stuff, maybe do a few of the smaller remaining tasks, and tweak some of the complete ones before my meeting. I’ll sleep on saturday, but only because I need to overnight again on sunday for a different reason (I can’t get up at 6am to catch the bus to H). I haven’t slept since monday, going on 63 hours… but that’s ok. If I make it till saturday without sleep, i’d have broken my old record by something like 40 hours or so.

Not that I’m bragging or anything, nor have I worked the entire time (20 percent productivity, maybe)… but yeah. Thought you’d like to know where I stand, and why I’m behind on blogging and flickring. I’d still have 14 days following monday, but if the next few days are successful, those should be more than enough time to put the whole thing together and package it nice and pretty.

I also instilled some revenge. I was hurt, a while back, she was playing games, or maybe not, but regardless it pisesd me off. I recently paid it back twofold. I promised the party involved that I’m post the email here (it’s nothing special, just a rant… worthy of the realm)… It’s not a drama, but it just felt good, because revenge is sweet, and it clarified the situation to me, somewhat. Maybe not, who know. Either way, the ball is in her court. Which is the way I like it.

Now, I go back to work. I’ll keep you updated, if only to preserve my sanity, and to give myself a virtual fan-base. Tadaa.

The show ends, the theme music comes on, the credits roll, they break for advertisements…

In all TV interviews, regardless of the situation, or topic, the host and guest  always act as if they’re talking, very emphatically, as soon as you can’t here them for one of the above-listed reasons… A 3-hour interview, and they still have 20 seconds of info that they feel forced to exchange in those 10 seconds of music, credits or what not.

What the hell do they talk about?

4:21am. Can’t sleep.
I tumbled around in bed for an hour or so, and then decided, fuck it, I’m not forcing myself to sleep. Naturally, the moment I slipped under the sheets, my brain (conscience) went into overdrive.

It started out with thoughts about my Thesis. It’s not going too well, every pothole is magically magnified into a chasm, leading me to stop working and lament. It’s natural, with me, I need to feel the pressure before getting down to business. But I’m tired, and I’m bored. I want to be done with all this crap, and have 2 weeks, just 2 weeks, where everything’s simpler (that’s not going to happen in all cases…).

Anyway, the next stop was work, my PhD, deciding where to live, finances, figuring out a possible slot for a trip home, etc…

As for the final point on the agenda, I knew what it was from the moment I decided to call it a night. It’s the one that rarely allows drifting into unconsciousness to be a pleasant feeling. A non-issue (to some), that matters a lot to me, and has been magnified over time, and repetition. It’s, of course, one I can’t share. How I wish I could. But I can’t. Shut up.

No, but yeah, but no. Well, it’s something, or nothing, that I decided to resist. I didn’t feel like it tonight. So, I get out of bed, make coffee (i just heard it, it’s done). Smells good, by the way. Lebanese coffee… friggin’ awesome. So yeah, anyway, I get out of bed, and decide to blog. And try to figure out a snag in my system, that would really put me back on track. If I fix this (miniscule) issue, the rest of that task would be done in no time. Leaving only one other task to finish, and some touch up for everything. Manageable before january 9th.

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m ranting. Regardless of how I try to polish things, of how I try to act, of what I (supposedly) achieved and am achieving, I’m a sad person. It’s pissing me off. But it’s true. I yearn for simple, small things, that so many others just take for granted. So it is. Fuck it all.

I’m edgy. Begging for trouble. I was literally hoping someone would bump into me twice on the dance floor, on new year’s eve. I need to take it out on someone. (preferably, not a 6 foot, 220 pound skinhead… but if need be…)

I think my virginity is growing back on. I need to get laid.

I yawned a few hours ago. It wasn’t a normal yawn. I.LITERALLY.DISLODGED.MY.JAW! Searing pain! I don’t yawn. I’m a very energetic person.

Granted, I’ve slept an average of 4 hours a day since monday. Which is a good thing. I’m somewhat in the zone. Finally. It’s been at least several months since I’ve found myself in this state. Let me explain.

I used to be VERY productive, and had a lot of endurance. My record stands at 4 days on end, working on my final project (undergrad). Four days with long, concentrated, and very productive hours. Since that time, since moving to G., I seemed to have lost that. I still crammed, and managed to learn a lot, or get a lot done in very little time, but this was more pressure than passion.

Doing my research project almost a year ago, it took me a month to actually start, another month to actually start work. Luckily, some logistical issues were in the way and my deadline was extended. I managed to pull my act together and produce a great quality project in the last two weeks. Too many things are involved in this story for me to really tell it. Personal issues, disappointment, lack of motivation, academic issues, lack of perspective and vision, etc…

Anyway, it was better when I started on my thesis. I managed to work relatively regularly, but the hours were neither long, nor productive. Finally, a week or so ago, I got the bug. I am back in the zone. Again, numerous factors played a role. I’m still not as productive as I’d like to be, or can be. I’m not REALLY working the long hours. But I’m up early, in bed late, and getting decent amounts of work done.

The yawn comes in here. I’m tired. I think that’s one of the first times I’ve admitted it. I’m glad that I’m tired because of work, and not due to laziness. You know lazy tiresomeness? I hate that bitch. I yawned. Damn near sucked in the ozone layer.

The purpose of this rant? I yawned. And I’m working well. And I should go to bed.

Night y’all.

4 am.

hearkening back to the days of Hamburg. The misery that kept me up every night, and lulled me to sleep at daybreak is gone, to a certain extent. There’s no fulfillment in replacement. True, there are good days. Hell, there are great days. But the bad ones are all the worse for that.

I’m withering away. It’s always been an effort to make through any given day here. True, it was an effort back in the old days as well, but the grass is always greener. If I let myself go, I know that there are a few I can rely on to catch me. That’s not what I want. I want to stop thinking about letting myself go.

In the subway, on the way to meet a friend, I was hit with a mild case of the blues. Thanks to Mr. Morrison, it passed as quickly as it came. I have better friends than I deserve. I have better opportunities than I deserve. I do better academically than I deserve. I’m better thought of than I should be. I’ve loved, and lost, but loved nonetheless. And it was beautiful, and more than I deserved. Wallowing in self-despair isn’t as bad as some make it out to be. Those thoughts left me smiling, and happy.

I’m not posting to nag. We just thought that it was high time for me to share some observations that I’ve made recently. I would have filed them somewhere and done this later, but I’m not alone here. Jack is a persuasive gentleman.

-The “Atheist Alliance, intl”. Why do atheists need an international alliance? Why do they need to identify with something larger and more universal than their own being? Isn’t that what God’s for? I just don’t get it.

-I recently went to prolong my residence visa in this great nation. I was given a 2-month extension, but not a real prolongation. You see, the government had sent out a request for a “Terror report” on me. They hadn’t received an answer, and hence, couldn’t prolong my visa.
The thoughts that crossed my mind, in order:
“Racists”
“Is it cause I’s black” (Ali G, what can I do?)
What I said:
“About friggin’ time”. They let the scum of the world come here, and then they start to complain. Look no further than Paris.

-Bathroom attendants. What’s the deal? What the hell kind of a job is that? Who needs someone to hand them a towel? Lack of creativity? Remnant from the age of kings and knights? What the hell?

-My son’s first word: ’sup

-The little things that I appreciate about this city: I only need to strike one match to light a cigarette. In H, it was a glorious struggle between man and nature.

-If a girl says ouch during sex, and you know you’re not doing anything wrong, should you be worried, or take it as a complement.

-I hate having to feign sympathy… People regaling me with their petty problems and I can only say oh no, and oh I’m sorry… In reality, I couldn’t give a flying fuck. If they knew the shit that I go through, not to mention the crap the goes on all over this planet… Pathetic.

-I’m postponing the inevitable. Going back to my plans to go for a PhD. I’m not ready to get a job and join the rat race, so, there you have it.

-Normalcy; interviewing a girl for a vacant room in my flat, she felt the need to say that she’s a lesbian. That’s not NORMAL. Normal means I don’t need to make an issue out of it… I have no qualms with homosexuality, it’s a person’s personal life choice. Their ‘in your face’ attitude bugs the hell out of me. If you’re normal, that’s it. I don’t go around telling people that I have to cut my hair, otherwise it would just keep growing.

Now, I bid you adieu. A half-full (half-empty?) bottle of Jack is sitting at arm’s reach, wooing me. Tempting me with that golden, devilish concoction. ““Uisce Beatha””. Nectar. The drink of gods. The water of life. A sultry mistress, to say the least.

Beat that.

I’ve seen gay couples that just match. You immediately realize that they were made for each other somehow. I’ve seen gay people kiss more passionately than I thought possible. On the other hand, I’ve never seen god. Now, explain this to me, who do religious people - who worship invisible things, and believe in invisible places - think they are, claiming that homosexuality is abnormal?

One side believes in an invisible force that controls everything, is attention seeking, and sets ridiculous rules that one could only accept centuries or millennia ago, and that, for no particular reasons, apparently toys with, teases and punishes humanity.

The other side, you run across as you go about your life. Real people who live, struggle, work, laugh and cry. But, who happen to think that they fit in better with a partner of the same sex.

Call me Thomas, but I’d rather believe what my eyes see.

A-propos God, I still don’t understand this… if god is all knowing, why did he createSatann, knowing that the dark lord would eventually betray him? Why didn’t he create us perfect? Why did he taunt us with that evil apple, and are we to understand that we are all the result of an incestuous relationship betweenCainn and eve (and possibly any of his siblings…) Or maybe he slept with apes? That would make Darwin smile, I guess, his theory proven, somehow. Incest, or evolution, which is it?

On the subject of homosexuality, I DO have a few qualms with them. A) They’re too loud. You see, I don’t walk in parades proclaiming that I’m straight and proud, they should cut that out. If it’s a normal thing to be, it needs no parades, protests and movements. Normal means you don’t need to make an issue out of it, if you do, it means you just want everyone else to recognize something (that you yourself aren’t so sure of) as normal. Also, I’m totally anti gay marriage. Marriage is a religious thing, and religions have the absolute right to decide who they allow to marry. They should have the same rights as church-married couples, but call it something else. Call it Symbiosis. That’s a cool word, deep, and not attached to this or that religion.

Something just doesn’t add up.

I feel like shit. I feel murderous. Don’t ask why, don’t feign sympathy. I don’t want that. The only reason I’m writing it here is because I’ve got absolutely no one to say it to that I can/want to. I need to say it, nevertheless, out where people can hear it. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Jack only postpones the eventual realization of self-loathing. I’m a sad little turd. Asphyxation is ok when there’s no oxygen, otherwise, it’s banal. If you know you can only have three nice evenings. Your choice of when, but only three. Would you ever? Are we moving on a pre-ordained track? What happens if we derail? Have we already derailed? Who the hell’s driving? Screw that. Is the hangover part of the previous night, or just a new day gone down the toilet? I’m trying to think of more smart-sounding stuff to say. I’m fucking pissed.

Ah well. Fuck.

Apparently, hollywood is to blame for the rise in STD and unwanted pregnancies. Hollywood movies seem to promote unsafe sex without warning/mentioning the consequences. The article specifically mentions James Bond and Basic Instict. I mean… COME ON!

They wouldn’t be called movies otherwise… they would be called 80-million-dollar-awareness clips. I can just picture it. James Bond sipping on an alcohol-free martini and watching his out-of-wedlock children, in between stopping a plot to evaporate the pacific ocean, and another to blow up uranus. Then talking about how he regrets sleeping with every single sex-bomb from Ursula Andress to Halle Berry. I would do that. The world needs to know.

Or, Sharon Stone, moving from the standard missionary to a more entertaining tribadism, pausing and telling us all how, if we concentrate on that infamous split second where she crosses her legs we could see the herpes she contracted from unsafe sex. (I should mention that she was being interrogated for stabbing numerous men with icepicks… but that’s not important… murder isn’t bad, sex is)

Yes, there should be disclaimers all over the movies. People are stupid. Superman should warn us not to try to fly before he takes off, and after he lands. For that matter, Santa should tell everyone he’s not real, and Jesus should note that turning 5 fish into 5000 was a special effect, and that we shouldn’t try to walk on water, or crucify people, because, in real life, they DO die.

I’m all worked up, damn it.

[Edit: BBC is also running this story... must be a slow news day, no hurricanes or fuckheads blowing themselves up]

A friend just came back from a vacation in Spain, a few months earlier, he was in Krakow… I met up with him, and a friend of his, she had recently returned from Edinburgh where she worked for a couple of months. She’s going to university till June, then working in Dublin for 2-3 months… After that, it’s off to a vineyard in France to work with dozens of other young people during the harvesting season… She’s then taking a year off of university, trekking across asia, doing a couple of months’ internship in Australia, then spending 5 weeks in Venezuela, two weeks backpacking across south and central America, 2 weeks in the US and then back to Berlin. They’re both, naturally, supporting their lifestyles themselves. They work, and do things the cheapest way… they make ends meet. They’ll probably finish university in a couple of years, by the time they’re 28-29.

Three years younger, I worry about careers, financial stability, and my future, and am still looking to take the chance. I have seen fewer places, experienced fewer cultures, and had way less fun along the way.

Something is wrong. I’m beginning to believe that my way was not the right way. Is it the culture? The mentality? The difference in responsibilities that we have?

It’s seeming more and more nonsensical to graduate and start work at 23. To join the rat race, to breath in 5 weeks of free air a year till I retire, and to sweat like a pig for the man.

Speaking of pigs. I went out with some friends yesterday. On the way, one of them decided to grab a bite at a ‘Lebanese’ restaurant. We walk in, and naturally, some persian or khaliji music is playing in the background… Pictures and drawings adorn the place… I point out the pictures that are of Lebanon (cedars, baalbeck, sidon, beriut, etc…) saying “this is Lebanon”, and then the drawings of camels and palm trees and deserts and what not, saying “this is not”… Some guy, sitting in a corner, starts mumbling things to his friend, and he calls me a zionist, and a pig. I ignore it. Again. Again. I was really considering doing something stupid, but thankfully my friends were there. Not that they held me back, or anything, just having them their made me rethink things, I didn’t want to be another one of those trash foreigners that fight other foreigners… I was better than that. So, I ignore him and move on.

Later that night, tens of people adoringly looking up to a great DJ, girls salivating as they gyrated to the music…

The point? Too many points… it’s more like a line. The end effect is…

I’m not retiring.

It was considered for a while. It had been a possibility for a while longer. I don’t want to be judged by my blog (or at least by one or two posts in it). I took myself offline (actually, I just changed the address…) and mulled over it for almost two days… I’m staying.

I took away some posts… I’m going back to being anonymous. It was either that, or watching what I say… the latter is out of the question. My profile page, photo, info, etc are all gone. What remains is a white webpage with black text. You’re welcome to read and comment.

I started this blog almost two years ago, it was a way out. A release. Singing in the shower. Working out. Listening to music. Walking around. Masturbation.

It was also a way of letting a few people stay uptodate with my life.

It has grown with time. I’ve gathered a few readers. People that I like, and that seem to like (or at least, seem to be interested) in what I have to say. I’ve made some friends, real-life and otherwise, and strengethed some friendships.

My posts might have pissed some of you off. They might have had you ‘tsk tsk tsk’ yourself away. They might have made you nod in agreement. All welcome. I write to elicit emotions, outrage, laughter, or what not. I’m rarely as extreme as the way I sound, but where would the fun be otherwise?

The bottom-line is, selfish as it may sound, this is my space, and these are my words that soil this corner of the webosphere.

I decided that I won’t change what I write because of who’s reading, or what they might assume.

I will return to being anonymous over here. This blog won’t change in content, but that content will point to ‘Tempest’. He/she can take all you can dish. Give it your best shot. I, on the other hand, don’t feel like it anymore.