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Tuesday, July 20, 2010

LESS

Sleep-LESS that’s what I have become, the weird voices of Farsi1 dubbers echoing in my head , Happy birthday Farsi1 , happy happy birthday for the channel who encourages the sophisticated cultures of Korea and 3rd hand countries of South America, where the most mysterious character of all time is a weird looking hippie.. .Lordi Lord.
My dog has pissed right in the hall floor since I have forgotten to take the poor thing outside,I forget to take myself outside while carry over effect is 80% with product margin of 27%, meeting is still on, I feel dizzy and try not to fall on the table sleeping…..shit, control yourself man, the guy is looking right in your eyes….

Is that little mazda who used to know everything when I was 6, is a sign of schizophrenia? Damn, I should spend less on the Net with this psychic stuff,,,I have become officially Mad or as my wife told me this morning, whatever happens on earth you stay sad…

Thursday, July 1, 2010

The Hours

Came back from a long drive, in endless narrow streets and villages out of town, found ourselves trapped for couple of hours in the circle of strange faces and strange Adour of sweat in the air… we are here ,couple of hours after midnight, fed the dog, take her out to pee (you didn't ,you just waited in the Lot for her to come back), had a sip of Pure Drinking Water, as it was claimed and turned on the TV…MBC MAX, The Hours, of the favorites which I have watched more than once and suddenly you caught yourself crying, crying and crying like a waterfall…You follow every move of Julian Moore, in a weird way, like you know her, like she is real, like you have followed her, stalked her for a long time and you know what she will do next….you gazed at melancholic gesture of Virginia Wolfe, staring endlessly at nothing…..and FEEL the emptiness inside yourself so real, so Moore…try to breathe, assure your wife that you will join her to sleep, it's just another scene of a favorite movie (my God my hand hurts) and your stomach turns…you fly inside with magical Philip Glass sound track, like the flying turtle which your wife has seen in her dreams the other night..and you cannot stop the river of your tears…." You don't have to come to the party", says the woman. the AIDS-Sick writer bitterly looks back and says" but I should still face The Hours" and that's exactly that you fetch for something in tissue to wipe away the tears…and of course the box is empty, there has not been any Pandora's box, never been, the dream are not locked down there , they have been flown away..the Writer kills himself and you turn off the TV and go to other room to check something…decided half way to go to bed and for the first time in your whole 40 years of life you afraid of the dark ,your bed seems like a swamp but you let go and lie down……moments later you feel the unbearable lightness of being on your chest ….why so isolated, speechless, talkative, senseless, rude sad, ugly, lonely, insecure? When I have become all that?
I fly around and my heart aches for the loneliness of my mother in that ancient house, in all those years…I feel scared for my niece "hearing voices"….I wish I could have said what I have felt sometimes…it should have made things more complicated…it's 4:02 am now…still turns..