I was studying when I felt my brain rebel against my actions and proceeded to dismantle the words that I read. So I decided to take a break, do something else but what? The internet bores me half to death and for some reason all the movies I saw today included faggy, beta, prepubescent kids (Extremely Close and Incredibly Loud/ Malena).
For some unknown yet definitely malicious reason, I decided to browse the old photographs that had gathered a considerable amount of virtual dust since I 'retired' from competitive photography.
It was one of the worst decisions I've made since I started smoking back in '06.
Apparently, I tend to not remove certain photos of... Certain people, shall we say, after... Certain incidences. I saw one. I was surprised at first, I couldn't remember taking them. As usual, the curiosity overwhelmed me and I began to virtually tear open folder after folder, seeking down these stealthy morsels of forgotten memories.
It had a massive impact simply because I remembered tiny details of each photo. Not every detail; I saw a black guitar in one of the photos and I'm still trying to figure out how it got into my house. I remembered the smell of perfume, I remembered the way hair felt when it slipped through the crevices of my fingers, I remembered the warmth. That was what made it feel like hell. I remembered the warmth.
And it came back to me. The wrongs. So many of them. The missed birthdays, the forgotten anniversaries, the complements that sounded like insults. All the tiny details that I thought had had no value (Which incidentally; I still find very perplexing. What is the purpose of anniversaries? A celebration to indicate how happy that a couple managed to worm their way through a certain period of time? From my eyes; that's kind of dark), they came back in worrisome proportions.
They looked so happy in the photographs. Oblivious to the hell that they were about to go through. And I was upset because they had every fucking reason to stay away, to not step foot into the icy waters but they did it anyway. They had ample warning. From so many people and especially from me. Yet they disregarded the warnings, they said that they could weather the storm, it would be child's play.
And then when it inevitably happened, they pretended that it was just a phase. When it continued, they grit their teeth, shut their eyes, covered their mouths and they plastered on a fake smile. And it went on and on until eventually they explode from all the repressed anger and hate and they ask: How could you do this to me when I gave you everything.
You demanded honesty, I would say. Not like this, they replied. Not like this. Then how would you have liked it? A tiny pinch served with a big helping of sugar coating and laced with lies? Or perhaps you would like to replace that honesty with delusions instead?
And then they'd leave and I'd be labelled as a fucking demented hellhound.
This post is turning into a bloody sappy piece of cock juggling ranting.
*
I'm writing a piece about a post-apocalyptic world infested by demons. The main character is a katana wielding woman who is being interviewed by a doctor turned journalist. The idea came from a friend who has now mysteriously disappeared from the face of the planet.
I thought it was a very... Boring subject to write on, to be honest but fuck me, it's surprisingly refreshing. Especially when the focus is shifted away from the fact that she's a katana wielding awesome fucker towards a more humane point of view.Very... Max Brooks' World War Z-ish but not as good, of course.
I finally gathered enough courage to send a submission to an online literary magazine called The Epiphanist. I have no idea what will happen. I'm not even sure if I sent it to the right mail. Hm. Perhaps I should check on that. No hopes up to be honest. I have the uncanny ability to hate all my creations as soon as they're completed. Probably will be the same with what I'm writing now. Fuck.
*
I finished reading G.R.R. Martin's A Feast For Crows which I had to download on an e-book because I'm too lazy to go to a book store. The ending nearly made me spontaneously combust if not for the fact that I have the next one in hard copy. I'm not sure if I should read it now or wait until exams are over. This one month elective period is making me feel more and more like a slug.
I thought that my reading has regressed to a non-existent point because I was lazy during the class term. It turned out to only be half true because I've already finished four books in the span of eight days which still is a laughable notion but progress nonetheless.
My coffee store is also running very low. I should be alarmed. I'll have to revert to Egyptian coffee in a few days. That'll suck.
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