yesterday by the beatles

Personal favorite

Former blogger

Oftentimes , you come across occurrences that just leave you utterly puzzled . Five months ago , I stumbled upon the blogging world and was amazed at the community concept involved . I then proceeded to create my own blog that I had initially set out to build in the shape of a personal diary . I thought , if anybody had any business listening to the rambling of a stray soul , then by god , I'll churn out enough material to last them for years . I started out with a couple of intimate notes about how my boss was giving a hard time at the office ; the regular work-related moaning which , I had noticed , drew much interest on other blogs. But then , I grew tired of it and thought I might dip a toe into something altogether different : fiction . After all ; I had been an avid Stephen king's reader and was keen to try breaking into the genre , setting up this twisted little world of mine where I can just about do anything I pleased . Things like , contriving psychotic characters , building endless ten-dimensional plots , the types of which you get confused into trying to fathom. In a nutshell , sporting a shaq-like tattoo reading : TWISM , the world is mine . At first , I had a bit of trouble mustering up enough imagination to go all the way through say a 3500 word novella . But then , just like that , character names , long forgotten words , whole sentences began springing out of my fingers . I couldn't for the life of me , figure out what prompted such a creative drive. But decided not to wonder too long for fear , whichever it was ; would just peter out . My approach was rather simple ; it was mostly stream of consciousness. I would sit at my desk , turn on the computer , open up a Microsoft word window and start typing away . At the end of the day , whatever it was that wrote itself I would call a novella and post on my blog . It was kind of funny to discover , once the process was through , whatever it was my screwed up muse came up with on any given day of work . the stories , in every respect , we're poorly written . However , what caught my attention was this underlying pattern that kept on coming up . All the stories revolved around basically the same character . A single working guy whose life starts off being miserable before undergoing some drastic change and becoming glamorous ,almost otherworldly . That character I came to think of was an ethereal version of myself . Sort of like an alter ego , but one whose natural qualities largely surpassed mine . for instance , whereas I would almost always shy away from a social situation , my other self would shine through his mastery of language. Whereas I would feel insecure talking to a girl , my other self would rake up an unbelievable number of gals at a drop of a hat . Needless to say , this exercise had a way of pleasuring me a lot . I would make alter ego accomplish stuff I couldn't even dream of getting close too . If I had a bad day at work , my other half , the better one , would inversely , get a promotion and numerous taps in the back for his achievements . If I noticed some cutie walking around my block and was unable to ignite a conversation , he would find a way to lure her into bed . I kept this on for quite a few months and all the while , my readership grew to unimaginable proportions . I would get messages from people asking me to go on writing If I'd taken a couple of days' breather and I would randomly come across blogs with my websites name pinned into their favourites category . I also had some guy stalking me for a couple of weeks . I didn't know his name for sure but I figured It would be the nagging little fellow whose nickname was something like Ader Lilad . That was the surest bet , yet , I'd narrowed the possibilities down to a bunch of four blog fans amongst which he stood first . Come to think of it , It was really frightening spotting him at every café I went to , every show I attended , even at work-related conferences that were supposed to be closed off to the general public . Still, he would be there , usually sitting crouched in the back of one of those huge conference centers' rooms , gazing at me from afar and making sure to turn his head away if we established eye contact. It was about that time where I got fed up of the whole blogging thing . Well , I had a career to take care of and my writing all night had me look like some living dead when I got to the office every morning ( usually late) . Plus , I got warned by a highly paranoid female colleague that rumours of downsizing have started filtering out of management lately. She said I had better shape up if I didn't want to grow the ranks of the unemployed. Besides , My writing became increasingly gruelling , it ceased being the walk in the park it had formerly been . And the realisation that all this wouldn't amount to anything serious , ever , further pushed me down the stopping lane . I had to face up to the fact that I lacked in the imagination department and that having had a lifetime reading of 5 books tops , I just didn't have it in me to write . Five months of verbal raving was more than enough for me to explore how crippled I was in that department . Now, there was a fan base , people whom for some reason unbeknownst to me , had cottoned up to my B-side writings . And I felt I owed it to them to go out in style . I thought instead of deceivingly announcing the blog termination , I'd write something that would repel every last one of them , something so dark and bloody nobody would ever want to log on my skyblog anymore . For that , I got an idea which I thought was one of my finest . I would look beyond the classic narrative box and would have a fictitious character square off against his very own creator , i.e , the writer. Using those premises , I had alter ego turn into this blood-crazed serial killer who goes on a massive slaughtering campaign across the city and ends up piercing through the narration screen and exterminating the very hand that penned him . It was juicy indeed but no more than shelley's Frankenstein except my character didn't stand as tall and didn't have screws jutting out of his skull , it was a regular guy with a regular temper that suddenly turns ballistic . That dichotomy I thought would scare the bejesus out of everybody . It took me an all nighter to write the damn thing sort of in a frenzy .Fact is , I'd started around 10 PM thinking I'd knock off a thousand words or so before going to bed but instead , I got so hooked in the frenzy I wound up typing away until prayer's call made me realize how long I'd been working and most importantly , how long I'd gone on without smoking a cigarette . Most of the scenes in the novella displayed out and out savagery . Nonetheless , the final one , the one in which alter ego gets his writer, topped pretty much anything I'd read in the horror department . It goes a little like this : the writer is out relaxing by his porch at night sipping a lemonade and reading the papers when something , a silhouette comes trudging through his garden ; Heavy , solemn steps that tell of resilience , of fury . the silhouette goes on walking towards the porch and crosses into a beam of floodlights , the face is ravaged with blood and a piece of its upper lip is missing or maybe chewed up to a hideous mass of flesh . It then dawns upon the writer that the silhouette, now entirely visible ,belongs to alter ego , his own contrived character , and senses trouble . What comes next is a series of torture drills I'd nicked from a medieval book which I'd gotten from a gothic friend of mine .Stuff so ridiculously gory , the very mention of which would seem absurd . Just for the record , the writer's body is later found dismembered ( all fours), a bloddy axe lying on its side , but still twitching with the faintest breeze of life . The rationale behind that was conscious torture , actually witnessing what's hitting you while hoping to god you were dead.
The novella sure had the wished for impact . In fact , my readership dwindled so fast I could , within a timeframe of a week , shut down the blog without the slightest little hint of guilt . Sadly ,by the time I got through with my writing venture , the harm had been done as far as my career was concerned . I had already amassed so many hours of absence and gone behind on so many projects and blew so many deadlines , there was nothing I could do to save my spot . the downsizing rumours turned out to be right and I was among the wretched few that got kicked out on account of "patent unprofessionalism" . What followed was a couple of weeks during which I 'd locked myself up in my ground floor apartment eating raw vegetables , drinking the lifetime supply of overgone apple juice my mom got me last christmas upon a journey up north and brooding over what glory my job could've have brought me to if I'd been smart enough to keep it . But mostly , just sleeping and watching TV and losing grip with a pair of formerly clean-shaven jowls . Slowly though , as all things operate in cycles , I began easing away from the dismay and decided on a ,spur of the moment thing , to get out of bed and shave and perhaps fix myself a cup of tea and drink it at the parlour which had a big glass panelled window facing the complex's ramshackle courtyard.
There was no tea left so I settled for yet another can of apple juice and sprawled on the old armchair I'd gotten off of a friend whom I'd helped move out a few years ago . I was immediately struck by how tidy the room was and recalled I actually had a maid coming everyday to clean up . She had a key to the apartment and would show up really early to take care of the chores and cook before leaving, so early I'd never usually see her or even feel her presence . All I would do is leave her daily money on the mantelpiece , wake up at around nine to find the money gone and the house shiny new . Some people are just so staunch it's not even funny . I got a little doe-eyed thinking about the maid continuing her routine while not getting any dough in return . Indeed ,it seemed like ages since I hadn't thought of leaving her any . A pile of newspapers lay beside the Armchair and I leaned and picked up a few just for the sake of doing something . They dated a couple of days back and I figured the maid must have found them in someone's mailbox and brought them up .She's sort of a kleptomaniac , I knew she was ,as plenty of my stuff had gone missing since she took the job but I'd been too lazy and oblivious to confront her on that. Anyway, I proceeded to read the papers , just leafing through and glancing at first until I got hit by DA news story . It was splashed on all the headlines . Someone had been perpetrating a stream of absolutely horrendous murders ; some sort of a serial killer whose killing patterns we're yet to be dug up by the inquiry . The streak must have been going on for quite long as the press had found time to peg him as " the shady ripper" . There were all sorts of articles about the murders one of which caught my attention as it was quite violently written , and I remember wondering how such crude depictions of the murders could slip through the censorship net. The article aimed at giving an intimate bioscopy of the killings , it showcased extensive accounts of the crime circumstances and whatnot . The article was very lengthy and as I'm reading , this eerie feeling is creeping up on me , a inordinate sense of déja vu , the sort of paralysing daze you go into when you come out of a crucial exam only to be told you got it all wrong . I was being peppered by all too familiar elements : axes , dislocation , blood gushes . and before long , I had it . It seemed as though I'd been reading my own story, the final one , the one about the alter ego , the one about the creation turning against its creator and slashing him to pieces( while somehow keeping him alive) using ancient medieval techniques .Chances are some twisted freak had been enacting it . I'd screened up seven murders all in all , the last one being the writer's and " shady ripper's" record so far was six .

Two much data to process and I am quite unable to put two and two together when I hear a horrendous thud on the window , I'm sitting in my parlour reading the papers and sipping
lemm... apple juice , Ader Lilad' face , a combination of a gnarl and a disturbing grin is splattered across the window glass , his lip is chewed up into a hideous clot of purple flesh and I'm sitting there wetting my underwear . Soon , another crashing sound ensues and before I know it , I've got broken glass splintered on my lap ; the steps , heavy and wilful , the axe shiny and dripping with blood . Before long , extremely long, excruciatingly long , I am no more.

Why is everybody so down ?

There's a real sense of loss that seem to be all-encompassing . A huge load of hitherto pleasurable things have totally lost any and all smatterings of interest . Come to think of it , perhaps it could be chalked off to the aging process , although , such statement , at age 27 would , in actuality , sound rather preposterous . In fact , I do not really believe there's an overwhelming cloud of melancholy swarming upon everybody . Well , if there is one , I for one do not really feel it . The thing is , everybody is so adamant at making a point there actually exists some sort of sneaky despair , I decided I 'd join in the ranks of the thinking majority . It feels as though one has to guilt-trip themselves for just feeling ... well .. plain good . We came to a point where if you displayed the slightest little hint of sheer bliss , fingers start pointing and eyebrows popping up . As someone who would have much to lose if alienated by my peers , I am taking it upon myself to bow down to the reigning mood frame by lamenting and trying hard to see a half-empty glass instead of the opposite . However , it may not be easy for a score of reasons . For one , it is not raining today , therefore what could have been a serious source of complaint just isn't there . Secondly, i have just gotten myself a girlfriend and everyone knows how exhilirating those first instants of " getting to know each other" can be . so , that too is missing. I would have to be on the brink of breaking up with someone , if I wished to convey the least bit of melodramatics . Thirdly , I just heard it through the grapevine that I might be eligible for a hefty raise in the days coming .Well , In the light of everything nice happening to me , it would take a genuine miracle , some sort of unheard-of godly wink , an unprecedented twist of fate to shift down my currently soring high spirits . Ok let's play it by ear . what is the single most appalling thing about me that I can think of right now . Well there is that freakish xanax hound of a groupie that constantly rings my phone into battery shutdown , but that could actually be , if anything else , a mark of desire " she likes me so much she can't stop dialing my number" on the other hand she's so terrible-looking , perhaps she insists thinking she can only get laid with the likes of me , and that would make me a sorry loser . Interesting ; but not quite aggravating enough . Let me see , I am the owner of an antiquated cell phone , one of those you would much rather squash into pieces when it starts ringing in your pocket , than fish out and answer before the scornful eyes of anybody there . That could , in other circumstances drive me into a horrid state of pain . however there is so much juicy stuff going on in my life right now , it just won't do the job . On second thought , it might , yes it just might . If I attempt and get deep into that thread I could make a case that this rift between me and my father is totally connected to my cell phone . Sweet , after all, there has been a tiff which is why I am currently on bad terms with dad. What happened was : I was sitting at a café with this girl whom I'd just started chatting up and she was sitting alone and she didn't mind talking and she was giving me those looks and she was shifting head stances , throwing back a delightful mane of auburn hair and I thought I just might score right there and then, when all of a sudden, I felt Da thing shaking and rattling in my side pocket ( the cell phone of course) . Well of course , I was so embroiled in the conversation I couldn't just get up , come up with some pathetic fib , walk out of her eyesight and answer . That would have been just deadly . Therefore , I just slid my hand in my pocket and pressed the tiny hanging-up key everytime I felt the faint little tug . I must have done that some 35 times . Needless to say , Dad , who had needed me to pick up my stranded little sister outside her school , never thought the world about it . My sorry little sibling ended up waiting and weeping three hours in the raging rain ( yeah , that day was a rainy day) ,My dad straight out cut me off and if that wasn't enough , continuous hanging up on whoever was calling me ( which at that point I didn't know who) got me so unerred, I bummed my act altogether and and got home bleary eyed , blue balled and most of all ALONE . Hey , Wait a second , wasn't that just me bitching . Great , I'm whole .

A Bawl

Last night was a bit awkward. We were out celebrating my birthday with my regular posse . A bunch of extremely close friends I ‘ve had for as long as I can remember. However, what made that particular evening special, was the presence of a charming Irish girl who came along with one of my friends’ cousin. I felt an eerie connection slowly building up with her as the evening unwinded , and hit an all-time high as far as being funny and coming across cultured and all that bit. We started off going to a Japanese restaurant called the Kyotori . Any misgivings I might have had about Japanese food quickly vanished after my first mouthful of sushi. The food was great . Although having her sitting right across the table from me topped everything else including the occasion i.e my birthday. I sort of convinced my self straight away that a girl that good-looking could never spare me a second gaze. Little did I know that she would steal glances at me from time to time on the very few times I dared look up and meet her eyes. Still I couldn’t bring home that I might have piqued her interest. I mean here I was just a petty Moroccan battling stoically against heavy third world contingencies and there she was , probably reigning over an empire of countless pretenders and even more would-be wooers ( basically every male she crosses paths with). Yet the realization finally hit me that it wasn’t altogether impossible . As much as the food was good , the absence of booze made it a bit tough for me to get my groove on and stir up any real bravado . Therefore I offered to take the party out onto the coast strip to perhaps hit the karaoke scene. Well we did just that . Something in the air had been holding tremendous promise , it just felt right to sit there side kicked with the happy few I call « friends ». Now and then we would pick and sing and song and were genuinely enjoying ourselves.
yet , I sort of had the feeling that my friend’s cousin took up the buffer part all night . As she was sitting sandwiched between the two of us , it made it altogether tedious for me to slip any lines through . MY frustration grew even bigger every time I’d notice her giving me looks left sadly unmatched on the account of the cousin’s very presence. All in all the evening sort of soured up when , following last call, we all haphazardly headed for the bar exit and parted so swiftly I couldn’t even ask for her contact info. The general feeling is one of incompleteness , my guess is the night’s probably ended before it should have…