345 - Why [In the blue hell] Not?

I gave it hours of though. Over and over and over again.

It's my brain, that causes nearly all of the issues.

It's not like I can turn it off, I can control it, or any thing even slightly close to that. I've been picking up hobbies to control the rate of thoughts, the rate in which it slowly [ but surely ] intoxicates me from within. But what happens, when the newly picked up hobbies enter your unconsciousness, and you do them with out any thinking. This is when they don't decrease the rate of thought any more. This is now, when they leave me against the wild thoughts, all naked and disarmed again.

I've been running around, running away from every thing there is, changed my city, kicked the friends around and juggled them for a while, even changed the way I sat behind the table to work with my laptop. And no, it didn't work, at all. Well, it did for a week or two, but things got back to normal. And since the hobbies have made it to the "No Process" land, it's getting worse and worse.

Sat down and looked back at all there was, ever. Any thing that I could recall. And there is one thing for sure, this brain is working way faster than it should, nearly all the times. The issue begins here, but doesn't end.

I'm looking at a pair of numbers. I sum them, I divide the greater by the smaller, and calculate the smaller minus the greater. Just for the sake of double checking, is the greater minus the smaller the positive of the value I just calculated. What is this one times that one? Bla Bla Bla Bla....

Some times I come to my senses. "Dude, that was just two numbers on a cars license plate? Just why did you do all that?"

It's so cute when you do this with numbers... But is it cute when you start doing it with every single sentence that every one important around you says? Is it even slightly fun to do this with every single act of every one around you? No. It's not. It starts hurting you, and you start getting mad at people for their smallest mistakes.

Mom said this small sentence when I woke up. Did she mean this? Did she mean that? Did she .....?

Dear friend didn't show up for my birthday. Is it because he is mad at me? What is he mad about? Is it the incident that happened two months ago or the one that occurred 5 days ago? Well, if he was mad about the earlier, the later wouldn't happen now, would it? Or maybe he just played along and now he is mad at both. O GOD!

You know, people get tired. People are not normally cool to stay around some one crazy. And we are talking some hard level of crazy. [ Like right now I'm pissed at this scroll bar on the left side of my text. This obviously should be on left when I'm writing from left to right. This level of craziness is bad ]

What happens? Either people move away, and those who happen to be your level crazy stay around and you guys just take each other to the next level which is madness, or some of your friends stay to help you when they see this is getting out of control.

Now you know what happens if they stay? Your mind starts beating you up after five months. "Man, you are torturing them. Find a way to send them away. They were not born to tolerate you." This actually makes it worse. It just makes it way worse. You find yourself, torturing those dearest to you. And that just makes you bleed more and more.

Some one finally leaves. Probably some one close to you. It shocks you. You come to your senses. You start acting better. The mind takes a rest, for a while. But you haven't cured it yet. It is to come back, to hunt you again.

They might come back, they might never show up again. I mean the people who left. But the mental illness is bound to come back. The illness that wasn't cured, it just comes back. It hunts you down again.

I'm here, standing in the midst of this second rush of cold blood to my heart. I'm torturing my self, and every one around me on the smallest things that my mind manages to focus on. It just runs away. Some days I wake up pissed. Since the brain managed to find a small piece of dialog some where yesterday with that close friend of mine where she said some thing slightly wrong. "O GOD! This is Disastrous!". Damn it, there goes another sunny day I was planning to go out and make some money. It's 1PM and I find my self hugging my pillow, in the bed, in the most useless way a person can be. Totally beat and broken. Who beat me? My dear brain.

One of these days, you just sit down and think. Now what is the problem here? Is it where I live? Well, I'm not a tree, I can move. No it's not that. Is it the people around me? Nah, they haven't been but perfect to me since I recall. My job? My colleagues? Nope, Nope, Nope.

Suddenly, all the fingers come to this one thing. The brain. The mind. The thoughts..

Well.. You can stop this brain some how. Right? Looked into some medications, but then realized I can not survive the life dumber than this.

Came down to this one last thing...

You can always end your own life, or your own misery if you want to call it.

There is that way to stop the brain..

I was waking up to this every morning, and there was still this whole will to live keeping me from finishing it some how. It was even keeping me from thinking how to do it.

But I won't deny. I was thinking about going down this road somehow every day.

Took me two weeks, and an old picture to realize there are still things to live for.

Ah well... Now I need to find a way to fix this crappy mind and tame it again.

۳۴۴ - دلیل، مشکل، فاجعه، هر چی اسمش رو میخواهید بگذارید!

چند ماهی ه دارم دیوار ها و پرده های دور و برم رو پاره میکنم.
ریز ریز کردم دیوارهایی رو که روش نوشته بود فلان کار بده، بیسار کار بده.
خیلی از کارهایی که از یک جایی به بعد برای خودم ممنوع کرده بودم رو انجام دادم.
خیلی رفتارهایی که حس میکردم بده،‌ انجام دادم تا ببینم واقعن بده یا نه.
با خیلی آدمها گشتم تا مطمئن شم بدن، تا مطمئن شم برام خوب نیستن...

میدونی! تو این جوری نیستی. تو برای من بد نیستی، تو برای من ممنوعه نیستی.
من میخوامت. خیلی میخوامت. و از این خواستن وحشت زده ام. و بیشتر از این وحشت زده بودن، تو برام یه رول سیگار نیستی که تموم بشی. ته ش نمیتونم بندازمت دور...

از تجربه ت میترسم..
شاید چون میترسم فقط یک تجربه بشه...

343 - Utopia [ Or a fucked up dream I've had over and over, recently ]

Every one looks for some thing. Every one has a perfection in their mind, a view on perfection.

For me, this is not it. I do not mean where I'm living at, nor what I'm doing. This whole thing, where I came in the play is just not what it should have been. Hell, I barely understand my role and where I came in. I normally don't end up having the co-actors I want, or they just appear, and as soon as I realize how bad I want them to be in my acts, they just disappear, or the play would find them a way to be totally on another side of the story. [ Exceptions occur, and I'm totally thankful for those, don't know to what I'm thankful though ]

For me, deep inside, I'd rather live in my codes. Rather live inside my computer. I'm leading life there, I'm the creator, I'm the GOD!

I've had this totally screwed up nightmare which I'd rather call a dream, a couple of times in the past weeks. I see my self sitting in front of my computer, I grab a knife, and tear my chest apart. I can see my blood pouring on my screen, my blood going into the keyboard, and I feel, Ah, this is good. My blood is running where there is the act I wrote. Where I'm the director, and where I decide every single step.

And then I snap out of it. Call me a maniac or any thing like that, I'm sick, we all know.

I can see my self, my body, collecting all the blood back in. I can see that even last drops would not stay between keyboard buttons. It's not like putting the movie to go in reverse, no. The knife is elsewhere, and I start feeling my body again. I look down, and the skin is coming back together, and the last bits of blood are being sucked back in, since well, looks like my fat body needs all the blood it can get.

I get up, wash my face like nothing has happened. Looking at the mirror, I close my eyes again, and once again I feel the awesomeness of my blood running in between keyboard buttons, how I was one with my creations, how I was feeling like nothing can hurt me, my immortality. I open my eyes again, and as I stare into my face in the mirror, I wake up.

۳۴۲ - چند سال شد؟

می‌دونی دایی، جات خیلی خالی ه. خیلی.
خیلی وقته نیستی. از وقتی رفتی، بیشتر از نه سال میگذره. و می‌دونی، هیچی بهتر نشده. هیچی!
حتی یک چیز نرفته به سمتی که من حس کنم بعد از رفتن تو، جات خالی نیست... نه... نه تنها نمیشه حس کرد جات خالی نیست، هر سال جای خالی ت بزرگ تر میشه. داره میشه مثل یک سیاهچاله‌ی لعنتی، که من هی به خودم میام و میبینم دارم به در و دیوار چنگ می‌زنم که نرم ته‌ش فرو.
من واقعن نمی‌دونم بعد از این زندگی، زندگی ‌ای هست یا نه. ولی اگر هست من واقعن از طرف همه‌ی آدم‌ها ازت معذرت می‌خوام، بابت هر گندی که زدن.
نمی‌دونم برات از کجاش بگم، ولی بعد از اینکه رفتی، بعد از مراسم چهل ت، بعد سالت، من یکی از پسرهات رو دیگه هیچ وقت ندیدم. هیچ وقت. هیچ کس ندونه، تو می‌دونی من آرش رو چقدر دوست داشتم. من بعد از سال تو دیگه آرش رو ندیدم. اون یکی رو هم، یک بار دیدم. سر ختم مادر جعفر. کاوه، همون کاوه ای که واقعن مثل یه برادر بزرگ تر بهش نگاه می‌کردم.
بعد از رفتنت، خانواده ت جوری ما رو ول کردن و رفتن، که انگار هیچ وقت مایی تو زندگی شون نبودیم. نمیدونم می‌تونستی ببینی یا نه، ولی پسرهات ختم برادرت هم نیومدن. حتی یه زنگ به مادرت نزدن که تسلیت بگن.
ولی می‌دونی، واسه‌ی من این همه‌ی قصه نبود. ترجیح میدم فرض کنم می‌بینی، که دیگه نخوام این وسط برات همه‌ی گندهایی که بالا اومده رو بگم، چون خودم واقعن کشش ش رو ندارم..
میدونی، داره میشه نه سال و نیم که رفتی..
من تو این نه سال و نیم، روز به روز ش، جای خالیت رو بیشتر حس کردم. روز به روزش بیشتر درک کردم که نبودنت چقدر دردناک ه.
دلم برات تنگ شده.. خیلی..
و میدونی، بعد این همه وقت، هنوز، هر وقت هر چیزی هست که رد پایی از تو داره، حالا چه صدای ابی باشه و چه تقاطع رسالت و مجیدیه، یه لحظه، فکم میگیره از غم. یه لحظه، عضلات صورتم قفل میشه، به سفتی همون  کلوچه‌ای که تو دمای منفی فلان درجه تو راه کلکچال میخواستی با چایی داغ نرم کنی.

۳۴۱ - سرگردان

شکم پر ه..
خیلی پر.
قد پنج نفر «پای گیلاسی» که برام درست کرده بود رو خوردم.

انقدر پر شدم که به معده م فشار اومده، سر درد شدم.
دراز کشیده بودم و پاشدم نشستم.
یکم سر درد م بهتر شده.

یه لیوان آب بهم داد، کنارم نشسته رو تخت.
ازم معذرت میخواد که پای گیلاسی که درست کرده انقدر خوشمزه بوده که انقدر خوردم که شکمم پر شده که سر درد شدم.

بهش لبخند میزنم.
یکم سرم بهتر شده.
با هم یکم آهنگ گوش میدیم.
نگاه میکنم. رو پشتی صندلی ش شلوار م رو خیلی مرتب گذاشته، پیرهن م رو با یه چوب لباس از در آویزون کرده و کت م با یه چوب لباس دیگه از دسته ی در آویزون ه.

عکس این اسب احمق رو دیوار اتاق ش هست.
مامان ش گفته به «روابط» کمک میکنه.
میگه از شونزده سالگی این عکس ه اینجا بوده، و خب نمیدونه آیا واقعن چه کمکی میکنه.

از وسط لیست آهنگ ها، «مداد رنگی» ابی پخش میشه....

340 - Does that part even exist?

+ Aha, that would be perfect.

- Cool.

+ Wait a second, where did that idea even come from?

- Hum. From the feminine part of my mind. I mean, boys are allowed to have a feminine part in their mind, right?

339 - The effects of "Elly története"

- So how long did it last? I mean you and the ex-boy friend.

+ Four years.

- And what happened after four years, that you guys decided to break up?

+ Nothing special. Just, it didn't work out.

- And it took you guys four years to realize it wouldn't work out?

+ Well, it's hard to say good bye.

- Hum.

[ 1 minute passes ]

- So you actually took the endless bitterness, over a bitter ending for a while, didn't you?

پ.ن:

قسمت مجاری عنوان پست، عنوان مجاری برگزیده برای فیلم «درباره ی الی» در زمان اکران در مجارستان بوده است.