Sleepyhead.

Moving on down my street
I see people I won't ever meet

And I cannot remember
What life was like through photographs
Trying to recreate images life gives us from our past

I was walking down the street, in the middle of the city, at 4 in the morning. With music blaring straight into my head. And no one in sight. The wind blowing against my hair, and when it stopped – strands would fall either back to their position, or in a completely new one.

Intoxicated by miss Mary Jane and a few pints, I was free of care. Ataraxic. Free from worry. All thoughts were clear. They were all in the present.

Having that isolation, but still understanding ego and I. Having that vivid perspective and perception of self. Like a close up head shot, in a group of pictures. But the only one in color.

So your attention is all focused on it, instead of the bits and pieces. The universe. God.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about myself. About who I am as a person. About where my life is headed and why, and I’ve realized something that may be miniscule but still very important to realize.

I’m not doing this for myself. None of it is, really, if you look at the broad picture. And therefore, I do not care so much about it. I’m doing it for a cause that is not greater, or less than, but just different. And therefore responsibility has a different label and idea.

Life is abstract. It has no dimensions. Dimensions are vivid and surreal, but limiting. There is no limit.

It is vast. Like the sky. The sky is life. And I’m skydiving right now. And I don’t ever want to hit land.

You thought you might be a ghost.
You didn’t get to heaven but you made it close.

I like tapping my fingers really gently on the keyboard. I like the sound it makes.

Two really weird things just happened.

One of them is the following:

I’ve been getting calls from a ‘restricted’ number since the last two days. Someone calls, I don’t get to see what the number is, and after I pick up, they don’t say anything or hang up. And it’s been happening for 2 days. And almost non stop. 15 times in a row, at once. Someone obviously has a lot of time on their hands.

It just happened a while ago. And it’s almost 5 in the morning. I picked up, and no one said anything on the other side. So I hung up. I’m talking to Belal after that, when we hear his phone ring, and it’s a ‘restricted number’ too. But unfortunately, he doesn’t pick up.

Fortunately though, it rings again, and it’s a restricted number again. He picks up, and no one answers on the other side.

So yeah, I’m not freaking out. It would be stupid to. Because this isn’t a teenage, slasher movie. We don’t have a black friend here, we’re all brown skinned, how would the serial killer know what sequence to kill people in? And which one would he save? And our skin colors aren’t light enough for one of us to be the serial killer either. We’re not THAT crazy either.

Laugh out loud.

I’m going to stop trying to write, it’s probably not working as I would hope it does. –sigh …

… being intoxicated, I wonder – what’s it worth? But then again, what is anything?

“It’s so hard to find you. Even when you’re close.”

This is sweet.

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<3

The one about time.

I’m sitting at the edge of my bed. My laptop in my lap, and face book live updates in front of my eyes.

I’m running my bony fingers through the length of my gravity defying anime hair. I can’t remember the last time I got my mum to do that for me, and I miss it.

Thinking about another 13 hour flight was making me cringe last night. But waking up today in the morning thinking about it – if it’s 13 hours just to go back home, it’s probably worth it.

I think I saw a couple of more dreams. I don’t remember them anymore. I rarely do.

Listening to Hush by Deep Purple.

I just felt like it’d been a while since I wrote. I don’t really know how long it’s been, my last blog post probably isn’t that old. My sense of time is pretty shaken.

And if not shaken, just so different than your sense of time.

Time being just an illusion, I think I’m going to start ignoring it completely. And if not completely, to the extent at least, that I don’t remember when certain events took place. Or how long ago. Or for how long. But it’s ok, the flow of time might just be subjective too.

It’s one of the many things the human mind controls, but we don’t realize it. Which is sad, really.

It’s been a year that I’ve been in Philadelphia. I can remember like yesterday.

I went to the subway near CCP after a really long time, yesterday. I remember going there when I first started going to CCP. I remember going through that solution-less loop, and being worried and tensed. I remember getting lost, on my way to CCP, like 6 times. I remember getting lost inside the CCP building itself.

I remember not knowing where things were, near the apartment. I remember having to use Google maps, and then writing directions down. I remember still getting lost.

I remember being all alone for a month. My first month here. Inside an apartment, with no internet, and no friends. With nothing.

The ability to control time, or at least the sense of it, and how we contemplate it, is wonderful.

What’s even more wonderful is realizing how far you’ve came within just a year. What’s even more wonderful is, realizing a year can be as long or as short as you want it to be.

What’s wonderful is also remembering the things you wouldn’t want to remember.

Like people telling you how certain things you dreamt of, would probably just stay that way. In your mind, in your imagination. Because some things are impossible. And you can’t always get what you want.

What’s wonderful, is knowing you proved people wrong.

I’m sitting at the edge of the bed, running my fingers through the skin of my face. Pushing against it, so it feels like rubber. But it doesn’t. Tiny shard-like hair brushes against my rough skin, and I can hear friction.

It’s wonderful how there is no limit, to what fascinates the human mind.

There is no limit.

Not to time, not to the human mind’s fascination.

The only thing that can limit us, is our stupidity. Our standards, and contemplation of the world so far – falls under that category.

Hush by Deep Purple has stopped playing for the fourth time. I should get up, shave, maybe shower. Get something to eat. Go downtown, try to sell my books. Indulge in a little lower level human activity, and let my mind rest for a bit. Let me rephrase. Try to rest my mind, for a little bit.

I’m getting late. Or am I?

So.

I have this sudden urge to write.

I was thinking of creating a blog, one that’s not public, and pouring out on that. I’ve been contemplating it subliminally for a while now, just never get to it or put much voluntary thought into it.

No matter how open and public I go with voicing my thoughts and everything, a part of me always insists – that it’s somewhat fake.

And that I can’t help it.

But I try. Sometimes I can’t even tell myself. It’s not easy when all your thoughts are jumbled up in such a manner, that you can’t really tell what you want or are feeling.

Being bipolar isn’t easy.

Like being bothered severely by something, and not being able to figure out what it is. Specially when you’re so good at figuring things out, and figuring out what other people want, need, or feel. It’s ironic that it’d be so hard to do it for yourself.

Poetic justice, maybe. It all falls on paper so much more beautifully. When there’s some ironic misfortune that entails it all.

It’s what you’d want to read, at the end of the day. Not just some happy bullshit.

Like how I get surprised feelings from people when I tell them I’m happy or love life. It confuses them.

Which is kind of sad, if you think about it. People tell me I’ve become predictable.

Yet it confuses some people when I’m actually happy for a change.

Then it confuses me, when I’m not happy anymore, out of nowhere, for no reason at all.

Life is confusing that way.

End of transmission.

Letter to Cigarette Smoking Santa.

I love your profile picture.
And it is SO ironic, that the other day, my project for Philosophy class was to look at this set of old Cigarette ADS, and your profile picture is one of the ADs I had to write a paper on.
It was about whether we thought ADs like those were Ethical or Unethical. I ended up writing about how stupid Ethical And Unethical moral values are.
Hehe, good stuff.

The average man.

Sam brought this to my attention, and I feel that I couldn’t have said it any better.

Alan Moore, ladies and gents.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! You've read about it in the papers! Now witness, before your very eyes, that most rare and tragic of nature's mistakes! I give you: the average man. Physically unremarkable, it instead possesses a deformed set of values. Notice the hideously bloated sense of humanity's importance. Also note the club-footed social conscience and the withered optimism. It's certainly not for the squeamish, is it? Most repulsive of all, are its frail and useless notions of order and sanity. If too much weight is placed upon them... they snap. How does it live, I hear you ask? How does this poor pathetic specimen survive in today's harsh and irrational environment? I'm afraid the sad answer is, 'Not very well'. Faced with the inescapable fact that human existence is mad, random, and pointless, one in eight of them crack up and go stark slavering buggo! Who can blame them? In a world as psychotic as this... any other response would be crazy!"

~ The Joker’s monologue, from Batman: Killing Joke.

Like sand.

Holding on to me is probably not in your best interest.

It’s not that I’ll let you down.
It’s just that, I’m probably too fast for you.

It’s not that I’ll leave you behind.
It’s just that, you might end up feeling that I have.

It’s not that you will start holding me down.
It’s just that, you will probably start hoping that you can somehow.

But it never works that way.
It never has. I don’t know if it will.

So, my floor is occupied with a million broken hearts.

And I feel like I’ve written this before, or at least something similar.

You probably find it similar too.

Something crazy must always happen. I’m here to entertain you.

But please don’t fall for it, no matter how bad I want you to.

There’s a thin faded line in between what you want, and what you think you want.

I’m here, only to give you what you really want. Not what you think you want.

But please don’t end up thinking that you can probably hold it in your hands for too long – think of it as sand.

Think of me as sand.

And maybe you’ll be ok.

See, the problem with me getting everything I want is, it ends up fucking things up that other people want.

Me getting what I want, probably means you won’t get what you want. Not for much long, anyway.

I’m not trying to brag. Not trying to be cold hearted.

I don’t want to be misunderstood.

The beauty of this illusion is. You might end up believing I have everything I want.

Maybe I do.

But I probably don’t.

Do I?