Sand and blood

He felt the smell of blood coming out from his nose, its taste on his throat. Blood that was dripping and mixing to the sand. He felt weak, he was dizzy and very injured, he saw distorted images and the buzzing in the ears mixed itself to the anger whines of his aggressors that were feeling pleasure in the violence.

“Don't hurt him or then U.N. won't give us political support if we show disrespect to the human rights” - the leader of the opposition said. And he turned to the injured man: “It doesn't mean you don't desert it, but for us is more interesting taking your place and restoring the republic than seeing you dead. We can provide it later”.

The Arab Spring had come and the king, that got the power through a coup d'état, was falling. His father had been the king, but he was murdered by the revolutionaries that proclaimed the republic.

The reign of the young and gorgeous king haven't last so much and he didn't feel motivated for this. He always felt that love was rubbish because since he was a teenager he could have the odalisques he wanted thanks to his beauty and power. Having a female company had never been a problem and he thought that it would never be. Untill the moment he found one and felt in love for true, intensively. As she had a bad reputation face to the society, he promised to run away with her for them to feel this feeling together.

It wasn't what happened. He got scared of what he was feeling, scared of ending up committing a huge mistake and giving it all up. He tried to convince himself that she was just his first passion of the never-ending summer and decided to dismiss her. He was about to become the king and needed a first lady of his high level.

The coup d'état and the marriage with the international actress had come, as well as the power but... not the happiness. He was the one before that woman but it wasn't the same. He saw a new world, wider, but he understood it as a curse because he wasn't the same one he was: he felt more vulnerable and his loss of security and psychological instability worried his allies.

After a diplomatic event the king started to show he wasn't fine. It was as if the craziness had got him. He decided to get rid of the knowledge and surrender himself to luxury once again. Conducted by Indian drivers and male chauvinist humor TV show female assistants from the East Europe, he burned the books, the wisdom, what he was feeling and was sexually devoured by the woman that made the Indian drivers to feel envy. This kind of self-exorcism session haven't helped because the king was getting worse and worse, more depressive and self-destructive.

The wave of the Arab Spring came to the Maghreb via Twitter and Facebook. It was a revolutionary wave against the tyranny and the fact of taking the power by non-democratic ways incited the opulent opposition to wish to take the power in a more nice way through United States and United Nations eyes. The king was very depressed to refrain any kind of uprising against his government and then, he lost the support of his allies.

Allies that changed their political support. Allies that gave his head to the revolutionaries group that beat him up in front of everybody. Nothing else mattered; losing the power, losing blood, losing his life. He had never felt in love so deeply and he hadn't lost any women yet to learn how to deal with his depression. His regret was stronger because he dismissed her. He loved Sakineh.

Ridiculous thoughts

I'm tired. I'm tired of being friend, of trying to be special for people who don't know how to value my gestures. Of being present for who is often absent. Of feeling guilty for doubting someone's friendship while this one was by my side when I really needed but... I don't know, I need much more than advices for hard times and that's it.

Don't misread me. I'm not in love, I don't want to be in love; this isn't the question, neither the solution. This text isn't for someone in special, but for some people, plural of person. I need presence, I need less words and good intentions and more gestures and attitudes.

Yes, I moved away. Invisibility doesn't please me. I was there, I was always there. It isn't healthy begging for attention and caring with someone who doesn't care, who treats me as a convenience because one day he might need me or then, he feels in debt about me because I was his friend in a moment a friend was all he needed. I'm tired of thinking of good metaphors, beauty euphemisms, nobody reads my blog anyway unless I force them to do it.

And well, would it work if I vomit and tell the truth of what's bothering me? People don't want to help or they can't, I already know the cliches. And even if they wanted to, they couldn't help, all they could do would be feeling embarrassed and feel ashamed of me and it doesn't help. It's disappointing!

This isn't a teenager disillusion, my body possessed by an emo spirit or a night crisis of foreveralonism. Or perhaps some mental problem, depression or misanthropy. Perhaps the problem isn't me but the group of blind people around me that I used to care about, to concern of, to listen to and to try to help. The human being is naturally selfish, he always want to be rewarded for something good he did even though his superego or the society moral rules say this is wrong. The human being is an animal trying to domesticate himself and getting rid of this nature. Well, I'm speaking for myself.

Anyway, perhaps I really shouldn't spend my time writing a text to play this role of seeming ridiculous or mentally disturbed, but I don't have the gift of pretending I'm not seeing, not feeling, suppressing me; not for so long. I guess I have no more patience to make the blinds to see what is right in front of their nose. I neither should take myself the trouble of writing a text with hints for a better understanding of the human psychology. I'm not talking about Freud: I'm talking about common sense, sensibility and lack of tact that people seems to have lost somewhere.

THE CRANBERRIES – Ridiculous Thoughts