Work in progress

And so I left.

I left him dying there. Alone. As usual.

As I started to walk away from him, I heard his muffled cries of pain. They were slowly turning into a voiceless echo in the night. This echo did not have any sound, but it burned inside my mind. It was etched in my brain, after that night. Sluggishly is moved away, and as I lit a cigarette, I heard the sweet continuous gurgling of his blood.

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It never gets to me. I never stop and think about what I am doing. I perform them in a sequence of unconscious acts. The only thing that I know at the times of the acts is the music. The music I hear in my head. It is always the same music. Always Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. I find myself humming it. This piece of music is my only key to my past. When that car crashed and I was alone in the world, the radio was playing that piece. What happened before or what will happen afterwards is just a blur. It is not of great importance or consequence to my tale. My only care is the present. Everything, every minute was once present. Our present is what affects us the most. Past and future are secondary and resultant of it.

You may think that I am mad, crazy or a lunatic. That is neither here nor there. That is all a matter of perception of reality. If you care to know who I am, then you curiosity will soon be quenched.

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The first time was the hardest one. Well, before this at least. When I saw his face I could not bring myself to do it. This made things much more arduous. I do not know what he had different, but I knew that this subtle distinction made the world of difference. It could not be seen from a photograph. But when one is close to him, you could sense it immediately. To this day I do not know what it was.

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My name is Vengeance.

Saturday night

IT's time. Go get ready, take a shower, choose what to wear, take a swig out of the hipflask,fag in mouth and away we go. Away to our island's night mecca.

The streets already filled with kids, which with each passing year seem younger. Girls with miniskirts, heels and face painted with make-up. Boys the girls age, trying to look cool and macho in their converse and Diesel jeans. All of them eyeing each other up, looking at future victims and conquests and notches on their bed post. As I wade through them I feel old and wrinkly. I touch my forehead and try to find the imaginary wrinkles.

Next stop - the liqour shop. I finf myself engulfed in these little kids again. I pay hurriedly for my bottle and I run away. I find a dark corner of the street and I start drinking. I drink and drink. I'm seeing everything in a much brighter light now. I try to get up but I stumble and fall flat on my face.

I get up and make my way through the sea of people. I stop abrubtly. I have just seen a vision. Her face is bathed with white light and her delicate features were highlighted. My heart skipped a beat. Slowly I made my way to her. Her eyes met mine. Oh wait. She is just looking through me. Who can ever look at me?

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This monster is inhabiting my soul and skin. This monster. This demon .But he is part of me. So killing him is like killing part of me. I cannot live like this but I cannot live without him either. It would be like cutting out a limb or an arm.

This quiet desperation is taking hold of me. I feel like drowning but I no longer offer any resistance. I just let it be. It is all useless anyway. No one would know the difference. No one would miss me and my annoying and disgusitng little tendencies. I wouldn't even miss myself. I would be glad that I'd be gone, because the world would be a bit better.

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How could anyone ever look at me? Who could ever love, or even tolerate me? That is why, when I see that the angel is coming over to me, I hurry up and disappear through the crowd.

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Some people think that one's mood depends on oneself. That happy people choose to be happy. And unhappy, melanchonic ones choose to lead life under a rainy cloud. That artists choose to be like that, so as to help them create art. All part of the creative process and all that.

Bullshit. This is all utter,total Bullshit.

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Do you really believe that I choose this? To cry myself to sleep everynight and have bloodshot and tearstained eyes behind sunglasses. Oh.

This life is useless and wasted, so I might aswell waste it away with my good friends Mr.Smirnoff and Mr.Daniels. Splendid. Life couldn't get any better.

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My mediocrity is killing me. My averageness. My illussions and denial of grandeur. Well I was wrong. I know that now. I am that much wiser now.

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I kneel down and try to pray. But the usual words refuse to come out and are rolling around my mouth and choking me. I forgot that God is dead for me. He/She may be alive and well for other people, but for me this deity isn't there.

Da Vinci

Just to update on the intrigiung saga of mr.marshall and the da vinci code. he has taken down the guestbook, once again. Surprise surprise....

Here are his beautiful words - MA AHNIEX NIES
Bhal ma ghad ahna ma ahniex nies basta nitkelmu fuq l-espresjoni tal kelma imma ahna EGOJISTI iridu li l-opinjoni taghna biss tkun tajba ahna maltin konna u nibqaw LAQQQQQQQQQQQQQQAAAAAA .Avzajt min qabel biex fuq il Guest Book ma ghandnix nihduwa personali imma dan ma sewwa ghal xejn li ghad jien mela issa kullhadd jibqa bl-opinjoni li ghandu u kulhadd ferhan . Pero il-protesta saret ma sarx il pellegrinagg imma saret il lejla ta reparazjoni tax xema li din l-ghajta mhux biss instemat Malta biss imma Finland u L-Awstralja u il film ma intlahaqx f`Malta kif kien mahsub u min mar jarah kif hareg min hemm kelma b`wahda u qall BLAJNA KANNA . "

Disjointed rambling

Bhalissa ghaddejja minn nixfa kreattiva. Ta vera. Ili ma nikteb xi haga sura zmien. Jista jkun li habba s shana. Jista jkun ukoll li hajti regghet hadet il qaghda tar ritmu ghajjien u monotonu tas sajf, li ghalkemm jkun mixtieq, dejjem bejn wiehed u iehor jkun l istess. Jista jkun ghax ghazziena wkoll. Jista jkun hafna affarijiet, li bhalissa fil hin tas 1.21 am ma tantx jkollok aptit timmedita fuqhom.

Viva l insomnia li tahkimni perjodikament... ole'

ok now this cartoon . let's analyse it

this cartoon is....whatever

can someone shoot me now pls? Like now. Thank you

Ole ole ole

Fratelli d'Italia,
l'Italia s'è desta,
dell'elmo di Scipio
s'è cinta la testa.
Dov'è la Vittoria?
Le porga la chioma,
che schiava di Roma
Iddio la creò.
CORO:
Stringiamoci a coorte,
siam pronti alla morte.
Siam pronti alla morte,
l'Italia chiamò.
Stringiamoci a coorte,
siam pronti alla morte.
Siam pronti alla morte,
l'Italia chiamò!
Noi fummo da secoli
calpesti, derisi,
perché non siam popolo,
perché siam divisi.
Raccolgaci un'unica
bandiera, una speme:
di fonderci insieme
già l'ora suonò.
CORO
Uniamoci, amiamoci,
l'unione e l'amore
rivelano ai popoli
le vie del Signore.
Giuriamo far libero
il suolo natio:
uniti, per Dio,
chi vincer ci può?
CORO
Dall'Alpi a Sicilia
Dovunque è Legnano,
Ogn'uom di Ferruccio
Ha il core, ha la mano,
I bimbi d'Italia
Si chiaman Balilla,
Il suon d'ogni squilla
I Vespri suonò.
CORO
Son giunchi che piegano
Le spade vendute:
Già l'Aquila d'Austria
Le penne ha perdute.
Il sangue d'Italia,
Il sangue Polacco,
Bevé, col cosacco,
Ma il cor le bruciò.
CORO

This Weekend

I think I have insomnia. I haven't slept well in ages. Always going to sleep really late.

Il bierah youngman faqana. Weggana id dj :) Now counting the days for Dave Clarke.

Madonna wasn't that bad. Just she didn't look like Madge, and she didn't sing like her. But we had fun dancing away to daft 80's music surrounded by people my parent's age.

This weekend was great, as I haven't really been that much at home. I went over to my friend's home ( as her parents are abroad) and there were always loads of people to hang with. Had fun chilling out and getting ready for some clubbing :D

Picture

Just felt like sharing this with you. I have no idea what this is. Maybe it's a cat trying to eat an eel. Or maybe it's an eel seducing a cat.... hmmm