Coming out.

People have been coming out on their blogs. One of the blogs of which I'm a dedicated reader just had his writer come out.
He didn't know why he wrote for all this time anonymously.

I know why I have.

I mean, yes, some of my "dedicated readers" if they, in fact exist, probably know who I am and what I do, and maybe even vaguely what I look like. Still, I prefer to not think about it, not make it too "out there" because I don't want to bump into someone in a class, or at a conference...then they would go "Aren't you depressed girl who's obsessive about time and whose boyfriend left and and and..."
Not exactly my idea of freedom of expression.

So for now, dear readers (whome I hope exist), we keep it low profile for the sake of not having a heart-attack when faced with the amount of little pieces of information someone who could meet me know about me.

For now I'm just silly obsessive young soul who has a special blogging position.

Some like it gray.

Something called insight.

For most people photography is taking pictures of pretty things, or just war pictures.

Photography has been developing like art, but if you think about it, there're so many people that pain, and people that sketch, most of which lack INSIGHT. That tricky word just keeps popping into my head since the art course that taught what painting is about.

I don't claim to have insight in my photography, but at least I'm trying as hard as I can to find it. To find something that will be striking, something that does a little bit of a shock effect. Something new and heart-felt at the same time. I'm trying to find a style that's not pretentious like those photoshop-edited pictures that are too bright, or too colorless. I'm trying to find morbid truths, as cheesy as that sounds, in photography. Diane Arbus did it. It's funny how she's one of the landmarks of photography even though she was the first to rebel against its rules.

I am just so eager to find insight.

Betrayal.

betrayal.

I am betraying my blog. I'm betraying this blog because, for some reason, Arabic just doesnt work here, all the punctuation gets messed up.
My arabic blogging is moving to same address except on wordpress.
http://cairenesniff.wordpress.com

Death Instinct - and other realizations.

So, there's a death instinct just like there's a life instinct, says Freud.

My death instinct is so weak. Yes, I do smoke, but it doesn't make me feel the death, not like when someone tries to kill herself. (yes, I'm trying the whole, SHE thing).

And,
Maybe I should go to a psychologist.
If we start counting since I was like 16 or 17, I must have seen myself dying thousands of times. Dying in a car accident, jumping off something. It doesn't matter whether or not it was an accident in my imagination, because if I imagine it, it means that it's a choice, right? Wrong. It happens in the strangest times. It doesn't matter if I'm happy or sad, I still see myself dying all the time.
While trying to reach a conclusion about why she acts that way, I discovered, through that conversation that the reason why I'm so pushy is because I feel like I haven't got much time.

I feel so old sometimes, it's not funny. I dream of myself losing my teeth at least twice or thrice a week. It's not funny to feel like it's the end when they say it's the beginning.

And, sometimes I let people go, but sometimes I push them. And I know that I shouldn't be pushing now, it's almost not a choice, though.
Even Vladdie, who asked me to push, didn't enjoy my pushing did he?

And, no one needs to grow out of me. Not like their mothers, at least...because I only push around when I'm asked to.
It's harder to stop when I'm not asked to, though.

So, yah...I love Alexandria. I never really liked it except in the winter, now I just love it whenever, and however.
I just do.

And I love its people. And it feels so good that there're still people to know, that I don't know everyone already.

head.

I've been having too many headaches.
Maybe it's the glasses, maybe they're not right, or maybe it's the evil eye!
.
.
..
...
....
It's too hot for candles but I don't care. Softer light makes me feel in peace. And the flowers that I got for my balcony know that I care for them, they grow so fast, and they bloom every day. I water them often.
I love my balcony now.
It's such a getaway. It's as if I own a little piece of the street. It's mine, I can smoke in it, I can drink, I can sing in it. It's mine.
And I love candle light.


I'm stuck. I don't know where the poem should be going.
And I want to travel. I need to travel soon.