Near Parenthood Experience

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the day she was found, she stood there doing nothing but cry out

She just stood there, poking her tongue out with ever cry for help she unleashed. And she never seemed to shut up.
I couldn’t let her go, since a baby her size would not last in the wild or the streets, esp. given that most the villagers don’t want a smelly loud beast as a goat near their homes.
I took her in with one intention in mind…. FOOD, soft tender sweet goat meat. That’s all I thought of. I wanted to fatten her up, and devour it within a month over a huge feast with friends and family.

But a goat her age and size could only breast feed, and I by no means have any breast to feed it. So, I tried feeding her powdered milk at first from a bowl, but she refused. So I went to the other obvious solution, bottle feeding. I actually bottle fed something I was going to slay later on.
Next thing, I gave her a bath, something nasty and not that easy with a something that moves a lot, but I managed to give her a bath. During the bath, I sensed something rather strange on her belly; I palpated, felt, and then took a look. An umbilical cord…. It was inevitable; the goat was no more than 2-3 weeks old. After the bath, I dried her up, tied her in the shade, offered her water, and sat away. But babies loved to play, and this baby wanted company, so she never stopped crying out for me to come sit with her. But I had other things to attend to, and couldn’t stay 24/7 with her… so just left her in shade till her other feeding time.

this is where i she stayed, under a tree, notice how the water bucket is nearly her size

this is where i she stayed, under a tree, notice how the water bucket is nearly her size

Time passed by, and the goat started liking me. It no longer ran away when I approached her, and with time, I grew fond of my food… I named her nour.

With time, I watched nour discover life. Her first experience with a cat is something worth mentioning. Nour was resting in the shade, when a super fat cat approached. The cat was almost as big as nour, and the cat is very familiar to the place, but not to the presence of beasts in it. And all of a sudden, the fat cat stopped, and stared at nour, nour stared back, and they stayed that way for somewhat of minute. Once the cat was sure that nour is nothing dangerous, she tottered away. But nour stood up, and walked to the cat, smelled it, and you could feel that she was asking the cat for something. The cat stopped again, stared at nour, and then continued its path.

Days went by, and nour continued to discover aspects of life, she learned to climb and jump off walls. But she wasn’t aware of the rope around her neck, so she jumped off the wall, and strangulated herself. Luckily I was nearby and managed to save her life before it was too late. She did the same thing several times, many, many times, and at some points, many times continuously, to the point I thought she was suicidal.

I grew obsessed with her, I started waking up early just to bottle feed her. And so did most of the family, except mom, who asked continuously to give her away.

By that time, nour started believing I am her parent, and whenever she would see me, she used to sprint towards me, and road would pull her back. BAM! She would snap back, twist in the air, and fall to ground. No harm was delivered when she attempted such stunts, but it was painful and somehow funny to see.

Some 2 weeks passed, and nour started sneezing, and she started eating less. But I used to force feed her occasionally since she would pass 12 hours refusing food.
Occasionally, I used to take her to a nearby forest just to change the scenery. She used to love doing that, jumping all the way, dashing into bushes and stumbling over them. She once got so excited when I was taking her, she jumped so high, and hit the ground so hard, her back bent, and I though she broke her limbs. But miraculously, nothing happened to her, not even a scratch, and she continued her parade.

“she will die if she doesn’t stay with goats, they will teach her how and what to eat, how to care for herself, and a goat that size, well, you are going to have to wait till at least 6-7 months you can eat her, and it’s a female, I suggest you keep her for her milk, or trade her for a male goat if you are want to eat her…” a person that’s knowledgeable on goat said once he saw her petit figure. He also warned me from abdominal bloating and diarrhea that might occur if she ate too many greens at such an age. I was also advised to give her to someone with goats, preferably a female goat with no kids, so she accepts to breast her feed her.

sun bathing, she loved to sit in the sun

sun bathing, she loved to sit in the sun

More weeks went by, and my daughter ate once per day, and jumped less. I barley hear her voice, and she craved more greens. I fed her greens in small quantities, but she continued refusing milk. She refused being taken for walks, and just sat all day. We considered taking her to the vet for some shots and pills to prevent future diseases and cure her sneezing.

And finally, I decided to give her away to a Shepard. I took her; she was running at some points ahead of me, and refusing to proceed later at other times. Goats are the most stubborn creatures I have seen so far, and I always have been afraid of giving a strong pull that might snap her neck… so I carried her when she went all goatzy and stood refusing to walk.

Anyway, we arrived at the barn, and she saw her own kind. And she looked at me with her blue eyes, a weird look not sure if she was saying “thank you for putting me with other goats” or “mom, you are giving up on me?”

I put her in the barn and stood to watch what will happen. There was two possibilities, they taker her in, or the beat her up till she dies.
Nour crumbled up in a corner as the two big goats approached followed by the little goats. The big goats stood on a higher platform than nour and looked down on her, as if it was court session. Nour was trembling at that point and giving me sad looks.
The female goat looked at the male goat, approached his ear, and whispered something; he did the same with her. And after much staring at nour, and all at once, the goats looked at me, with their naive looking eyes. And they looked back at nour. The two big goats approached nour slowly, but she ran away. They followed her till she got cornered again, and sniffed her ass. But nour, scared and trembling, ran to the other corner. At that point, the two big goats gave me another look as in saying “you can leave her with us”. But I stayed; I wanted to make sure they won’t harm my baby. The female goat touched the male goats’ nose and Nose Bridge, and approached nour alone. Nour was loss scared at that point, and she let the female goat sniff her butt. The female goat backed away, and a baby goat approached and touched nours nose and Nose Bridge, the big male goat did the same next. As I was sure nour is in a better place, I turned away, and as I did, I heard her voice calling out, the same call I heard the day I found her, she was calling for her mother. I turned and saw her staring at me.

I couldn’t go back for her; she needs to be with her own kind. But I will give her visits occasionally, to check on her with the new family.

nour

Necromancy and Love

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“Hey, wanna go out, I read your profile and it’s very catchy” that’s what he sent me as a message on a dating website. A good way to approach someone, I guessed, so I sent him my number. After several conversations, he asked me out. We agreed to a place, though I had no idea where was that place. But I did go anyway.

I didn’t recognize him at first sight, for he had shown me photos with special effects and that sort of things. He was wearing a long leather coat, with leather pants, long boots, and lots of jewelry on his left hand and arm. But his face, that was something else. Starting from his hair, dreadlocks, but raised into a Mohawk, his face was painted white, with his eyes lined with black and black lipstick, and he had fangs! Artificial, he got them at a dentist as I found out later. He was a Goth, something I have been looking for a very long time, and I finally found.

He approached me and whispered with the deepest voice I ever heard “you must be here for me”. I looked at him with astonishment and went all silent for a moment. He raised his hand to my shoulder and pressed hard on them “you have a fine posture, and your skin is amazing” he exclaimed. Things went good.

We went out several times later on, the conversation where normal. Football, cars, food, music, cultures. One day the whole concept of the supernatural was brought up. We thoroughly discussed the ideas of magic, witchcraft, paganism, wiccans, and other aspect of the topic. He couldn’t but appraise my knowledge and interest concerning the whole topic of the supernatural. That meeting ended by a phrase that echoed for quite some time… “Perhaps, we will discover more about that topic by ourselves next time”

He invited me to his place for the next meeting. His apartment smelled funny. The smell of blood and rotting dominated all smells. “Come in, we will do something different this time” smiling and revealing his fangs. He guided me into a room painted black with weird symbols and writings all over. “Witchcraft?” I said. “Beyond, way beyond witchcraft dear…. Necromancy!” he replied. He prepared me up for the ritual by a bathing in a special solution and placing me on the altar “you will be my medium for today” he hummed while fetching some equipment from a commode. He placed a dagger, a needle attached to fine tube, a grail and two black robes on a table. “We need some of your blood, if it’s okay with you” I moved my shoulders as in saying yes. He approached me and injected the needle into my radial artery, and filled half the grail; he added some powders and bones to it later on after taking few sips from it, and placed it on the left side of the altar. He instructed me to strip off my clothes and wear the robe, and hold the dagger in my left hand. He stripped down and wore the robe and stood in a circle drawn on the floor… He spoke in a weird language, things started shaking, papers started flying, and the blood in the grail started boiling. The grail fell, blood flooded on the altar and got scattered all over me. “Cut your right palm with the dagger now” he yelled, and so I did. I felt something in me move, my heart pounded harder and faster, I bathed in my own sweat, and my breath ceased. Things dimmed, and I blacked out. I woke up to the feeling of something moist on my hand. He was sucking the blood from my hand which I cut before. “We called for Belial, chief of demons, and I have to drink your blood to spare you some of his evil and so I can gain some of the underworld knowledge”. He cut his wrist and offered me his blood in return. It was the first time I tasted blood, and an addiction was born after which. That red fluid tasted like nothing I have ever tasted. It was orgasmic, that velvet warm feeling in my mouth. I sucked on his wrist vigoursly, and found it hard to stop; he pushed me away after a while. I left later on with a terrible headache.

He taught me about the dark path and necromancy on the following days. I started practicing some black magic on my own; I even participated in some black mass ceremonies. I suffered from terrible nightmares the following weeks.  He told me it is something normal, “the demons don’t like to be disturbed, and they have to punish whoever calls for them”.

We went out days later for a walk near the sea. After a long walk, we got thirsty, “I shall bring beer for refreshment” he claimed, I was 14, and an underage so I refused. But he had a strong influence on me; he convinced me that a can won’t hurt. He kissed me, and went to the shop across the street. The sound of tires scratching against asphalt shook me, and my heart plundered upon hearing the sound of a crash. I sensed something was wrong. I walked with discomfort towards the source of the sound. I saw him a lying on the street, impaled with a part of the car, with his precious blood forming a pond next to him. The earth stood still for years as I approached him, everything went silent, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. The sea was black, and the crowded street was deserted. I took his face into my chest, and wept blood. I felt him move, I asked him to stay still, but he looked me in the eyes and said “you made a very miserable and unhappy person very happy, your soul is blessed….and your blood, don’t spill it anymore”. Azreal descended to claim back his soul; it stabbed him with its claws, and ripped out the essence of life. I watched him die helplessly.

He died that day, leaving me alone after he planted the seeds of vampiric lust and addiction, darkness, and cruelty. He left me a fiend dwelling among those creatures called humans. A raptured soul, disfigured by darkness, tempted by the will of power, destroyed by hatred and contempt.

The Shame of the Male Virgin

Well, she said it all, we live in a woeld were a mans existence is defined by the size of his dick, his cum load, how many “bitches” he tapped, how any hot chicks are danglng around him, and the macho things he does. And if someone tries defying this norm, he is called names, treated as a “fag”, disrespected for not being a man whore. We live in one shit society.

TIME

What’s craziest about the story of the young man who killed six people and himself at UC Santa Barbara over the weekend is not that he was obsessed with sex, or even that he thought he was entitled to it. Reading his 141-page “manifesto” — and the series of YouTube videos he filmed and posted online — what was most surprising was how ordinary his complaint seemed.

Elliot Rodger had never kissed a girl. In a culture of casual sex, he was a virgin — at 22. ​He was lonely, angry, humiliated, depressed, and also likely struggling with mental illness. He couldn’t understand why others got to have what he didn’t; why girls always seemed to go after the “obnoxious jocks,” not the nice guys like him; why he had to see it all around him — from porn to campus party culture — as if taunting him…

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evil eye

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I have been a believer in magic and the supernatural ever since I can remember. Not just a believer, but fascinated with the whole idea of super powers. I remember I used to imitate magicians on TV, try creating spells, telepathy, bending elements, space and time. But of course, nothing worked. But I still had the desire and passion for the taboos. And recently I have tried getting in touch with wizards, shamans, sorcerers, witches, mages, you name it, I even searched for book, scripts, manuals, and everything in between in an attempt to experiment with the supernatural.

I spent far too much time on that shitty intro, now to cut the crap and go into main subject.

I experimented recently with the evil eye. For those of you who don’t know, the people in the Mediterranean believe that certain people especially with blue and green eyes are capable of casting spells just by looking at people. The spell causes various symptoms ranging from headaches, nausea, vomiting, fever, pain, hallucinations, weakness, nightmares, and so on. The symptoms may be weak, mild, and severe, all depending on the casters power. And the weirdest thing about the evil eye is that most people don’t mean to cast it, or they don’t even know they cast a spell. As for buffering the spell, it’s done by a small chant, or burning a special type of metals accompanied with a chant. When the chant is done, the person who says it either yawns, or the metal pops releasing a vapor that takes the shape of the person who cast the spell.

Back to our subject.

I wen tot a shop wearing some short shorts which revealed my unbelievably sexy legs, walking in a way that people would believe I am some prince. I got whatever I wanted, and went back home. The moment I arrived, I felt dizzy, and cold. As the night progressed, I felt the earth move under my feet, and everything looked disproportional and out of context. By 11, I decided to hit the bed, for the headache was terrible, unbearable, and unearthly. I slipped into the bed, and it was cold, and I lost my hold to the shadows of the night. I felt my skin itching, so I scratched till I felt a fluid, and a piece of skin fell off. I directly rushed out of bed and covered the spot with a gauze, I didn’t even look at it, nor looked for the torn off skin. I don’t recall I fell asleep. I spent the night viewing shades, trying to catch weird things that floated, and answering to voices of people I know are dead.

I lost track of time and space. I didn’t know if I was still in my bed, all I know is that it was black, dark, cold, and out of this world. I saw twilight, and a figure that appeared.

And I saw a face.

It had no features. Except that it was large. The body was stick slim, tall, and no palms where to be seen. I felt it got closer. I wasn’t sure if I got closer, or it approached me, for the light and the figure were standing still. I could feel my heart throbbing out of my neck. The light grew stronger, and the figure became diabolic. I wanted to scream. But no matter how hard I tried, my jaw remained shut, I reached out to feel my lips, I felt them closed shut with wire, then I felt nothing. My lips faded away. I tried screaming again, I screamed in silence, again, and again, and again, and again. The figure caressed my skin. I felt it cut, then a cool rush across my face. I stared into the light, a hollow stare, and the light left me blind.

And then there was nothing.

I felt the sword of time as it pierced my skin, cutting me slowly, with every passing moment. I felt my limbs. They were distant; it was as if each limb was in a separate room, disconnected from my body, and the sensations alternated between tingling and burning.

I couldn’t move a limb, I was petrified. And I just laid there. Hyperventilating, sweating, and powerless. And as the sun broke off the dark, I felt some heat in my peripheries. Some comfort was regained. I breathed less heavily, and felt my lips again.

At 6 am, I had enough power to move my eye lids. Sometime later, I mingled my fingers, and later I got out of bed. I checked for where the skin fell of, there was nothing, but I could feel a sting.

I managed to buff of the evil eye later on. I am not sure if it was an evil eye or some disease, I don’t care what it was. I am glad it’s gone.

Not the same old story

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So here’s the thing, there is a short story competition being held by the ministry of culture of Lebanon.

I previously (some 4 or 5 years ago) participated in this competition with the cliché crime scenario of a rich murdered aunt that get killed and the only surviving heir gets framed with the crime while a surviving long forgotten and lost heir is the one who did it. The real murderer bribed the judge and everyone to frame the innocent person. However, the wife of the innocent person helps him escape and they find a homeless poor man as a replacement to be executed. Sometime later, the real killer finds the other guy, and kills him and the wife.

I have no idea why it won, it was really dull. I guess the whole concept of corruption, murder, and evil wining over good signifying that life isn’t fair is what shocked the judges.

Anyway, I was tottering around campus the other day and noticed that the competition is back. So, I went home, played the goriest and most satanic music I have, turned down the lights, had a little sip of the forbidden juice (but not too much), and just waited for my deep inner darkened personality to be summoned up. I lay down, tossed myself, slit my skin, rolled in my own blood (there wasn’t that much blood), and kept waiting for the ugliest, bloodiest, goriest, most disgusting and grouse scenario to get summoned. After some while, I guess near midnight or sometime after that, it just hit me.

There it was something, so grotesque, so inhuman, and so unearthly. I have no idea how the innocent simple me could get into such a state in order to drive out similar ideas. I was trembling during the writing process. I scared myself. Those scenes I described in the short story, they made me drop the pen at certain points and have me worry about my sanity and mental state. If someone wouldn’t know me, they will believe I need to be tossed into an asylum.

What I came up with, is nothing close the same old scenario of love\hate\divorce\marriage\death\revenge\flashback\cancer\politics. It was something inspired by death and evil. However, the main character didn’t see what he did as evil. He believed what he was doing is bringing down justice unto a tyrant.

Hers a small flash of the plot (I can’t post it, as the submitted items to the competition must be unreleased)

The story starts describing a man that everybody hates, but I didn’t mention why. He has done terrible things to people, and he lives perfectly fine. One day he disappears, few days later appear with a private nurse. The private nurse had a plan for that terrible person, as he chooses his client wisely. Anyway, the private nurse starts selling the guys organs, while the guy is still alive, liver, kidneys, eyes, skin, blood, lungs, even bones and muscles. And for his escape from the mess he got himself into, he fools someone to enter the house, and burns the house…. So you have two burned bodies, supposedly the nurse and the client, while the nurse escapes.

But here’s the problem, I can’t submit it through my university, as they might consider me mentally diseased, and the story affects the image of nurses (I am a nursing student). So the only challenge I have is mastering the language and editing all the grammar mistakes. Wish some could help me in the Arabic grammar: p

Anyway, leave a comment about what you think of the scenario

The pissed of syndrome

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A syndrome is a group of manifestations that occur simultaneously in response to an external or internal factor that alter the body’s natural physiology.

A pissed of syndromes is in short, being pissed off at everything all the time no matter what.

Signs and symptoms of this syndrome are as follows

You wake up frowning, angry, upset, and slap the first person that speaks to you, whoever that person is, your mother, your father, your grandparents, siblings, wife…etc.

You have your breakfast with a frown, food is partially chewed, and you might spit the breakfast at some time. Occasionally, you might just release your jaw and the food will fall out, you are too pissed off to even spit it out

You leave the kitchen tottering to the bathroom, the bathroom door is slammed just to express to the entire family how pissed off you are. The toilet seat mocks you; you roll your eyes with disgust, and turn towards the sink. And you see this ugly structure in called the mirror, you want to punch it, but you’re beyond disgusted to lift your hands. Again, eyes roll, and you walk away.

Your body is dragged into the bed room, remember, you are filled with hate and anger, you are wishing that whole building just collapses and ends your life. You lift the heavy arms and open the closet. A pile of stacked garments appear, but nothing appeals to you, nothing satisfies you when you’re on the pissed off syndrome.

You wear the clothes over your pajamas, then you piss off a bit more for being so slow and pathetic. You remove the clothes off, then the pajamas, more disgust, and more eyes rolling. You put your horribly disgusting clothes on, and just leave, fuck the bags, fuck the books, fuck the wallet, and everything else, you just want to get through this shit day.

The sound of the door opening just drives your into utter hate and disgust, and these feeling amplifies you hear the door shut behind you. You reach the stairs, and you are loaded with hate, and you feel the whole world pointing at you with every step you take down, you hear them mock as you lay down the other leg and designing the stairs. And it goes on and on and on.

The whole day, it just repeats, disgust, hate, anger, contempt. And for what? Stress I guess? Pms? Depression? No, not really. Just savoring the hate I guess.

OR it can be due to being a pussy and not having the nerve to step up and tell others to fuck up, so you hate yourself instead of standing up to others. All those feelings, they convert. And you start hating yourself, and interpret it as hate and contempt to the world

On my way home (part 2)

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Ah yes, the many weird thing you see and hear when using the public transportation.

This is something that most of us experience or hear about. No, I am not talking about sex, or sex related things. PERVS!

Anyway, this time, and on my way home from university, I witnessed to supposedly best friends review their 7 year old friendship in 30 mins.

Boy: I still remember the day we met in school, I pulled your hair and you spit on my face

Girl: worst way to get to know someone, why would you pull my hair? But it was funny, we made a scene, and both got detention on first day of school.

Boy: oh yeah! The new kids became legends on the first day of school

Girl: detention! Omg, the first time we went into detention. All those chalks we threw at each other.

Boy: and that poor teacher who couldn’t do nothing. I still remember the look on his face!

Girl: oh please…. Stop it! Stop it! Ay, ay, ay, common, enough childish behaviors… hahahahahahaha

Boy: remember all those pranks we pulled on each other, then the whole class!

Girl: *gasps* enemies who turned out real besties for life. We are so awesome

Boy: oooooh yeah! Speaking of which…

Girl: speaking of what

Boy: well, you know, we have known friends for ever

Girl: and ever and ever, we should so go to the beach next week

Boy: well, yeah, and we go out a lot

Girl: and some people actually believe we are dating and in love! Haaaahaaaaaa

Boy: yeah that’s what I want to talk about

Girl: you mean we should do a break up scene in the university tomorrow just for more attention?!

Boy: not exactly….

Girl: then?

Boy: ugh, ummm, *deep breath* I think, it would….be better if we, you know

Girl: know what? *worry signs on her face*

Boy: become more than just friends

Girl: what? Euw dude, I can never

Boy: but, but, we are soo much alike, and we know a lot about each other, we won’t have drama and all the shit other couples have and go through

Girl: oh! Hell! No! I can’t believe that you think of me in that way

Boy: no, no, no, no, no, I don’t. NEVER!

Girl: oh yeah you don’t! You’re a prick just like all the other boys I have been with

Boy: and I burn when I see with another boy, holding hands and whispering

Girl: you fucked up perv.

Boy: shut up, I love, I always have, but you never gave me the chance

Girl: of course I won’t, why should i

Boy: I care about you, for starters

Girl: just shut up, and forget about it

Boy: I have been ignoring it for the past 4 years

Girl: was that when you started masturbating to my pictures

Boy: stop saying that, I love you, you dumb bitch

Girl: oh thanks a lot, you know, just thanks, you dumb shit

Boy: yup, my first impression of you when you spit on my face WHORE, and you still are one, and became even a bigger one

Girl: BUS DRIVER, I WOULD LIKE TO GET OFF HERE

Boy: don’t ever talk to me again, ever…

Girl: I deleted your name from the contact list, don’t worry, you shit

Boy: fine, fuck off

And that’s how a 7 year old supposedly awesome friendship ended.

Moral of the story, don’t step out the friend zone. Unless its Aprils fool, then, in case things go bad, just throw the “APRILS FOOOOOOOOL!” sentence and bam! Nothing happened, and you get to save your supposedly good friends.

So, let me know if you have ever been frienzoned and sucked as bad as this guy in trying to get out of it.

Peace out

The Language of Dude Feminism

Well said

The sort of language used to assert men’s dominance over women has a pretty recognizable pattern across the cultural landscape. Men, we are told, are in charge of things because they have something women (supposedly) lack: physical strength, honor, higher cognitive facilities, or the mystique of the male organ itself. Women, sadly “lacking” these qualities, need to be “protected” from the all-consuming lusts of strange men.

This can be spun as noble chivalry, brutal domination, or a playful battle of the sexes, but at the root it’s the same: women are denied the freedoms that men take as a God-given right, assigned subordinate status, and coerced into performative gender roles.

In this dialectic, men’s protective abilities and ravaging urges come from the same place and are both aimed squarely at women. Language, of course, did not create the patriarchy, but language is a powerful method of inscribing the possible, shaping…

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a singing career?

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Well, i think the world is overcrowded with bands and singers, and all types of music and lyrics, but i still insist on becoming a singer.

every time i hear a power ballad i can only imagine my self-performing it on stage to thousands loving loyal fans, the sweat dribbling over my face, while i unleash those extremely impossible notes, while the fans go crazy, light up their lighters\candles, scream out for me, reach out, as i offer them new refuge and a whole different existence. An existence and a world only possible to exist by the power of music.

But that’s not the case.

I recently had a terrible band experience that ended up by the band parting away due to style preferences, or that’s what they said. 

Before that i also auditioned for a band, but they were “looking for a much cleaner face”

And before it, that’s when it all started. I was reading the newspaper, and noticed an ad for auditions. Auditions for an NGO, in order to perform for a gala party and raise money for their cause and, and, and, etc… Oh well, i had nothing to lose, i signed up, and after some emails, the songs were assigned, and the so were the dates and timing. But that’s not how it went. I couldn’t tell people i was auditioning; i don’t like sharing a possibly failing experience with family and friends. i hatched up a plan, a master plan, one so complex, that every time i recall it i have to bow down to my intellectual abilities in planning thing. i won’t go into the detail, for that would take so much typing, and its late, and i am sleepy, and all i want to do now, is get this post done. So the plan went according to plan, and nobody knew that i auditioned. On the day of auditions, i woke up early, i couldn’t sleep in first place, got dressed up, but nothing too fancy, nothing to crapy, i didn’t want them to think i am a slacker, nor an uptight bitch. I put on some rings, then took three of them off, and kept only two. I decided not to show up as the emo\Goth guy, nobody wants to go to a gala to see an emo\Goth weaning about his life. and i didn’t go as the laid back guy as well, slackers aren’t most welcomed, and i had to show i am serious and up to the level. Anyway, i arrived early, the first person actually, but i asked to audition a bit late, i wanted to see the type of people that applied criteria of judging, and so on. I nibbled through my fingers while waiting, and watching people sing. And wow, some people were terrible, others were good. The room got empty shortly, and it was my turn. That’s what i wanted, performing for the judges and the judges only. I took the stage and the microphone. They started whispering. “You look young” one bolted, then more whispers and pencils squealing on papers. “What will you sing today” another hissed. “Heaven and hell, by black Sabbath” my voice was shaking, and fear was terribly evident. The music played, i sang. They stopped me “come closer to the microphone” and some mutters about not being used to stages and microphones were tossed. The music started again, i have practiced the song for a month

sing me a song you’re a singer
do me a wrong you’re a bringer of evil
the devil is never a maker
the less that you give, your taker
so it’s on and on and on, its heaven and hell

But i was too fast; i finished the verse before it was supposed to end.

-okay, stop, here’s your card, give it to the guys on the table outside”
-B? Wtf is a B
-it means you were shortlisted
-short what? Wtf is that?

I thought i fucked up badly.

I went outside, pupils dilated, sweating, shaking, breathing loudly. I took out my instant coffee pack, asked for hot water, drank coffee in a huge sip. “WTF IS A B” i growled quietly. “Don’t worry, most the people that auditioned didn’t make it this far” i still was convinced i messed up badly; i went to the other judges, for another performance. I was supposed to perform another song, but i ended performing heaven and hell one more time. This time, i did it better, and did some air guitar on here and there.

-you should have chosen something by deep purple” said one.
-i know, I had iron maiden and Judas priest in my chosen songs, but had to change them in the last moment, since no instrumental versions of the songs I practiced were found, and the new songs, I don’t think they are crowd friendly
-okay, place the microphone back and…
-when will the results be announced
-shortly

One day, one week, and another and I stayed waiting for phone call, or email, or anything. But nothing was received. And I kept building higher hopes. The dream got bigger. And tension became unbearable. I finally decided to send an email inquiring about the results. Few days passed, and my inbox received good news, or I thought so. The email had bad news for me. It said that even though I made it to the second level, I didn’t have to the top ranks.

First, it’s struck me. Then it took a different perspective, after I heard my self-singing. It sounded ugly, really ugly, and I said to myself “if something this horrible made it to the second level, then a bit more practice might get me to higher levels”. So I kept dreaming and practicing.

Today, on the date of typing this, I recorded something. It sounded like a hamster being torture, or a cow being hit reputedly with a mace on its knee. I hated everything at that point. I wanted to give up. I gave up hours after.

But I had to know, if it’s me, or if it’s because I have no music literacy, or if hating my own voice was normal. I recorded myself speaking like I usually do. And heard it. And broke the recorder. I heard it, even the video; I looked like a goof just by the way I talked. But if that’s the case, then why did teachers always ask me to read cause “you have a nice voice”.

Some search over the internet, and I figured out that hating my own voice and body movements is something normal. Well, that somehow convinced me, it’s by people wearing lab coats, so it has to be true. Part of the dream was restored, but it got crack in it now, and once something gets cracked, it never goes back the way it was