Questions

vince.says:
does ur dad still erm go to church?

vince.says:
do you still go to church?



How the heck do I answer those questions? What answer do I give?

The Asking

And you wonder why.

You just cannot stop asking why.

You keep thinking to yourself, replaying the scenes in your head, flickety-flick, looking at every picture, every detail, trying to find out what went wrong, at which juncture, and to what extent and what type of damage the consequences lead to.

It becomes almost obsessive, almost possessive, as you lie half awake at night, the images in your mind's eye projecting themselves across the dark ceiling of your room, and they glaze silently across the walls in slow motion, freezing at every few points, zooming in and out, and you pore over every minute detail, dissecting it, examining every aspect to it, viewing it from reverse angles, pondering about the implications of the tiniest changes.

You stare into the pair of eyes and try to extrapolate every bit of what that glint means. You attempt to fathom that person's thoughts by pulling together every bit of significance from every inch of skin, hair, and most espcially the eyes, the eyes, those so-called windows to the soul- and what an esoteric term "soul" is!

You ponder and wonder and think and think and think.

You shift the frames in your mind, you rotate them, to see every single detail in its entirety and in its relation to every other detail's entirety. Colours fill some scenes, others are a grey-blueish blur, everything except the details that matter, which themselves are in the sharpest relief.

And every night- save those in camp- I have spent in this blurred half-awakened trance, re-viewing, re-visiting, reviewing- trying to see how the mistakes could have been avoided, how the opportunities could be seized to the fullest, and all the infinitum of implications had this or that been or not been.

It is a slavery. And I am enlsaved to this.

Phone Down

As of today my mobile phone went dead.

And no, its not because of the battery. It just can't be switched on.

But you know what?

I don't give a fuck. Not at all.

It's just as well because I'm sick of the bullshit some people like to spam me.

Oh the misery

Out of three cup competitions within a week.

This is sickening.

The most we can look forward to this season is third place.

I decided to watch only La Liga games from now on.

And the El Classico was really classic.

I quote from Soccernet.com:

"Messi was the topic of much of the conversation. Not only because of his historic hat-trick in front of a 98,000 crowd, but because of his ability to seemingly pass through spaces that to all intents and purposes do not exist. He runs with the ball seemingly glued to his left foot, disappears at speed into a crowd of opposing players, then emerges at the other end like a silent-movie trickster, darting and flitting at unnatural speed, virtually unstoppable. "

I've the answer for Arsenal.

Sell Adebayour and Aliaidiere.

Buy Fernando Torres and Lionel Messi.

Then we will return to our rightful place at the top, and go unbeaten for many more seasons to come.

I Thought I Thaw a Terroritht!

We all meet weird people on the bus.

From serial molesters to serial nose diggers who kindly wipe their nose shit on the stop-bell button you were about to press.

But this guy...

...takes the cake.

He first got on the bus, with a big black bag.

He looked around, then sat down in the seat opposite mine.

Then his behaviour started to deviate from normalcy.

He looked at the ceiling, then closed his eyes and then made the meditation sign with his hands (as in the one you see Buddhist monks do when they meditate).

Then, he opened his eyes, and counted to four with the fingers on both hands.

Then he clasped his hands in prayer and muttered to himself, and closed his eyes again.

Then he unclasped his hands.

Then he raised both hands into the air, palms opened and facing the ceiling, and opened his eyes, and muttered more unintelligeble stuff.

Then, still looking at the ceiling, he closed his eyes and made the meditation sign with his hands.

And he repeated the whole sequence at least 7 times.

I dont know what the f*** he was trying to do, but it scared the shit out of me.

I mean come on. This guy starts acting looney and he's got a great big black bag with him on his lap. And we've all been watching the stuff on the news about bombs and terror and blown-up buses and trains.

And you know how TV Mobile keeps playing that annoying track about "What to do with Suspicious Packages on the bus-they might be a terrorist bomb"?

Well that didnt calm me down at all with the weird guy sitting just across me in the aisle.

Just before he got off he took out his cellphone and began to fiddle around with it.

And when he finally left I thought he would leave the bag behind.

Thankfully he didnt, but, damn, that was one bus ride that scared the shit out of me.

Crawling

By Linkin Park

crawling in my skin
these wounds they will not heal
fear is how I fall
confusing what is real

there's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
consuming
confusing

this lack of self-control I fear is never ending

controlling
I can't seem
to find myself again

my walls are closing in
(without a sense of confidence I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)

I've felt this way before
so insecure

crawling in my skin
these wounds they will not heal
fear is how I fall
confusing what is real

discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me
distracting
reacting

against my will I stand beside my own reflection
it`s haunting
how i cant seem...

to find myself again
my walls are closing in
(without a sense of confidence I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)

I've felt this way before
so insecure

crawling in my skin
these wounds they will not heal
fear is how I fall
confusing what is real

crawling in my skin
these wounds they will not heal
fear is how I fall

confusing

confusing what is real

there's something inside me
that pulls beneath the surface

consuming,

confusing what is real

this lack of self-control
I fear is never ending

controlling,


confusing what is real