Question:

As a Saudi (or Arab) guy  with a kind of open mindness (if you will), would you mind if a girl approached you because she liked you?  

So, its 7am, in the morning and I am absolutely wide awake. I tried sleeping, once, twice, three times by the forth time I just gave up on it made myself some DECAF coffee, I know what a traitor right? I mean, decaf shouldnt even be called coffee. 

So I made my fake coffee and sat down on my lovely little MAC comp and decided to actually do some work, I've been avoiding work for some time now, bad bad student, I know. I just didnt feel like it, and anyway, I'll be back in good ol' uni after easter and there will be no running from finals, nope. I am dreading finals, I cant do worse than last time, so whatever. 

I have 3 lectures left of one of my modules, I'm 2 weeks behind on another two modules and I'm done with one. Not bad considering all the slacking I've been doing, I'm just not stressing myself this term like I did last term, if I feel like studying I study, if I dont, then the hell with it, I dont study. 

... And I am blabbering on. Maybe I should go for a run or something, I dont know. 

All in all the day has just begun, screw sleep, who needs that fucker anyway. 

Yours truly,

Border line insomniac. 

x

I cant sleep. You've stolen my sleep.

The people we love end up haunting us for the rest of our lives, ghosts and flashing visions of what we chose to block out of memory because it just hurts too much to remember. An amazing human self defence mechanism, blocking out the memory of pain, loss and hate, so all that is left is the bruises and the tear stains on our pillows. Still, our subconscious remembers, its there in the back of your mind, that lingering sensation of pain, of love, of hate.. of insanity. Its all there, driving you to be a border line insomniac, because your thoughts wont let you dismiss their actions, because your thoughts remember the feeling, however vaguely, it still remembers and it just wont let you forget it fully.. and you just cant find peace. From sun down to sun up, your staring at the ceiling, hoping for sleep, for rest. 

No rest for the restless. 

No love for the unlovable.

I cant run away from you, wherever I go, your presence lingers. I cant turn my back on you, however way I try. Stop haunting me, I'm not that little hopeless kid anymore. 

The drugee hypothesis.

Yes, the “drugee” hypothesis. This may be my first real scientific observation ive made as a scientist well science student actually, hmmm… I didn’t think of it that way, makes this so much more fun.
A hypothesis refers to an explanation made from a general observation, and well, it’s a way cooler word than “theory”. The drugee hypothesis states that “every individual has a recreational activity/substance or a combination of both to which he or she are addicted to, the recreational activity/substance would be one that gives the individual a sense of happiness, or peace of mind. “
You are a drugee, yes, YOU. Of course the addictiveness of certain substances varies, none the less it is no less of an addiction. We all have our little drugs, those little things that get us through the day giving you a however brief sense of euphoria, that little piece of chocolate, that cup of coffee, that boy you flirt with, that high you get after a good work out.

Those are all just chemicals running through your blood, inducing that happy place in your brain. Endorphins, serotonin, adrenaline… their all stimulated for release from a certain stimulus in the environment, so you keep going back to those same activities/substances that make you happy by release of these “natural drugs” . That makes you a drugee. The actual drugs for instance let’s take cocaine, they stimulated more neurotransmitter release (endorphins, serotonin…) and a faster reuptake rate, and so they keep stimulating your neurons (sounds dirty). The way drugs act on the brain was actually the reason scientist found these “natural drugs” they assumed the existence of opiate receptors in the brain which drugs like heroine acted upon- don’t you ever say no good thing can come out of bad things.

So, what is your drug of choice?

Unbalanced

She stares blindly into space, seeing but not really seeing. Figures walk around her blurry, colours are bland, its not real its like a painting done by a delusional artist, beautiful enough with out all the boring details. Shes playing with the chopstick in her hand, round and round, staring and staring, she splits the wooden chopstick, still staring blindly, seeing but not really seeing. She looks at the chopstick in her hand, “unbalanced” * in her head shes laughing at herself “unbalanced” oh the chopsticks have no idea how “unbalanced” she really is, their a silly smile playing on her lips and a kind of crazy spark in her eyes. Her eyes finally meet the eyes of the person siting patiently in front of her, their tired, no spark, just wrinkles on brown sun kissed skin. 

“So?” He knows. She continues to stare. 

“So.” Its the answer and the question. Isnt the human mind beautiful? 

She shifts her gaze and looks away, he is breaking into a million little pieces and she, for the life of her, could not bring herself to give him what he needed, reassurance. How could she? When she had none of it to offer, reassurance was not her reality nor was it his and lies would only make it worse than it already is. Still, even if it a lie. They want it. Reassurance. 

She stares at her chopsticks, unbalanced. She sighs, wishing the universe would tell her something useful. Unbalanced. 

*(its a Chinese belief that if you break your chopsticks and they dont break evenly or cleanly that your life is unbalanced )

What if?

She smiles at him, it’s a soft shy smile “Where’s your heart boy?”
He lifts an eyebrow and grins “why, you should know.”
She gives him a smile that melts his heart away “I should?”

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He’s five, he’s gazing up at the sky in wonder, what is up there? Does the sky end? He’s five and he wants to know things. He’s five and he wants to know everything.
He’s 30 and still he knows nothing.

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She’s lying on her bed, she is turning 19 soon, she types away on her pink laptop, she likes the pink laptop.
She types and types, and she loves her words, they are a part of her. She writes and writes… until the words lose their meaning and fade away, until she is exhausted by thought and is taken away by sleep into a land of dreams.

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There’s a bottle broken on his arm, blood is pouring out, red warm blood pouring down, flowing down his arm in a somewhat soothing way. Tears streaming down his face, he deserves it. He is 17 and he deserves it.
Screaming comes from their room, he knows what will happen next. He tried to stop it… he tried. More screaming, he runs, runs, and runs. Blood stains on his jeans, on his shirt… on his life, his worthless life.

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What if we could see glimpses of others lives? What if we could see how much they suffered, loved, hated, achieved…
What if we could not only see but feel. What if our lives were interwind? What if we were all connected? What if we could share our life?

Maybe then we’d act a little more human. Maybe then we’d understand what it is were meant to do or who were meant to be. Maybe by seeing these little glimpses of reality falling apart or together we’d finally be able to understand our own short comings.
… What if eh?

You and your bloody addictive lies.

Somewhere, beneath the starry ski, between stormy seas and fiery earth life lies lost. Searching for answers and seeking truth, always seeking truth, what do we do when all these lies become our lives?
And all our lives revolve around deceit. Lies, big fat amusing lies… addictive lies.
Shadows in the dark background of deceit, whispering cold dark twisted lies, lies… addictive lies.

We claim, we say, we shout, we cry, we scream, we fight because we say we want to hear the truth, the truth, a truth we already have buried deep inside of us, embedded in our souls.
You want to know the truth? The truth behind life? The truth behind yourself? You run from the truth like it’s the plague. You deny the truth at every corner, you couldn’t tell what the truth was if it was there dancing in front of you in a bright fucking chicken suite. Even if you saw the truth, you will run, just like you run every time, just like everyone else. You will run, run and then lie some more. Lies lies lies, addictive bloody lies.

Lie until we cant sleep. Lie until our lies keep us awake at night, haunting us. Lies lies lies you and your lies.
Bullshit, my own life is full of lies. And I know it, but do you know it?
Funny thing is I know when im being lied to but I will accept the lie rather than the truth. Cause its easier for me to do that, than face the truth. Im a coward. There you go, thats some truth for you right there: I am a coward.


Im starting to think I should put maybe a little more effort in writing my posts, mmmm, maybe then I'd get some comments eh?