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.”