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  1. #61
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    "Ē'shkėrdhatė!" He declared thoughtfully (as He really deserved the "declared thoughtfully" cliche) while relating the conversation He had just had with Henri, who left us both feeling a little dumbfounded with admiration about his tactics of taking over... our newly found world. The next day Henri tested Him by giving Him meat from a chicken, a pig, and a sheep and timing how long would it take Him to cut them all up. He set up a record of an impressive 19 minutes. Just as He put His knives down, Henri burst out a Trumpesque "You're hired!" with a list of hours and benefits and the payment which was double than what He had received at His previous job, not to mention 3 kgs of free meat of his choosing per week. Being an expert, He would pick out the rarest and the most expensive meat he could find in the store. Being an expert, He never had more than 10 kgs of leftover meat by the end of the week, which in itself was more than impressive.

    By the end of the second week, two islanders who worked at the store came and complained to Henri that the payment was unfair. If Henri hadn't been a foreigner himself, they probably would have pulled out the all-too-classic-around-those-parts xenophobic card --- why should a foreigner, an Albanian nonetheless, enjoy such benefits. Henri pulled Him aside and asked him if He was able to repeat what He did during the interview and although I was not there I can imagine how He poofed up with pride or garipllėk, to be exact, and claimed that of course He could repeat the interview, any time, any place. The next morning Henri led the three men to the back of the store, set them up in three different tables and gave them each an identical amount of three types of meats. He did something mind-boggling to the pig's thigh, which was somewhat of a talent He had developed, by cutting up the meat so precisely without harming the bone that He could pull the thigh bone right out of the thigh with a simple movement of tugging at the knee. Henri had never seen that in his store. He beat His previous record by 7 minutes. Henri locked the door behind him so that the two men could not cheat by having the rest of the staff help them and took Him out for coffee and pizza across the street. I was terrified for Him, not in the sense that I feared He could fail, but from the uneasiness of being aware that there were people around us who, for no reason at all, wanted to crumble the citadel of ardor that I had raised all around Him in veneration, heartthrob by heartthrob. In a sense, it was my failure I feared. My own fortress was too human instead of allegorical, esoteric or abstract, even. Things without a heartbeat have a way of surviving.

    They returned to the store, and as Henri unlocked the door about 85 minutes later, the two men were pleasantly shocked and mildly horrified that the two butchers still hadn't finished cutting up the meat. Henri made them stop and with an air of cockiness and pretensious disappointment, told them that, gentlemen, he had given them an hour and a half to finish the job, and here was a man who did it in 12 mind-blowing minutes. He didn't just work twice as fast, like the wage indicated, but at least six times faster. Therefore, His wage was not a lot, in fact it was ridiculous when matched against His abilities. Henri apologized but he was going to stick with his decision -- He proved himself more than worthy of the wage and the job.

    We went to the beach that night. Someone was playing the guitar, talking in a rhythmic voice and breaking into a song here and there about a girl he had known when she was young. He must have been 26 years old (24 is too young, 28 is too old), dressed in carefully selected clothes whose purpose was to show the world that the wearer possessed a philosophy of not caring about what he wore or the image he gave out, because if people were that shallow, then they deserved not to know him. He looked like the unshaven Albanian teens in the mid '90's, with their torn jeans, faded T-shirts and hard rock bands, a philosophy book in one hand and an analysis on the religious history of Albania in the other... and a specific girl in their soul (she had to be young, silent, all-knowing, and lost to them). It would be too much, too forward, of me to say that I felt I knew a stranger, but I'll say that hearing the song and seeing the singer, recognizing in him some sort of an old archetype, it made me feel good in the way one feels when they've met a childhood friend.
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  2. #62
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    "T---a."

    "Yes?"

    "I saw you yesterday."

    "Where?"

    "Downtown. What were you doing there? That's a long way from your house."

    "I don't know. What was I doing?"

    There could only be one reason T---a would travel so far away from home. "You were with a man."

    "OMG! So you mean you really did see me."

    "Do you want to tell me his name or should I say it out loud?"

    "Ooooh no, no, I will."

    And so T---a elaborates about the older man she meets in so-and-so hotel doing such-and-such, and He sits there listening with a smirk on His face, trying not to laugh at her naivity and then finally saying, "What are you doing with a man 20-something years older than you? Are you not afraid that he'll die on your bed?"

    "Yeah, to tell you the truth, sometimes I am afraid his heart will stop in the middle of it."

    "T---a."

    "Yes?"

    "Why are you so stupid?"

    "Oh, come on, man! I just told you my secret and now you're calling me names. That's not cool."

    "I never saw you with a man, you dimwit! I only saw you getting on the bus alone -- I wasn't in that hotel room!"

    "OMG! You tricked me!"

    "You think?"
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 25-07-2006 mė 15:33
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  3. #63
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    T---a was one of the cashiers at the supermarket, 19 years old, came with some extra, but pleasant, baggage that caught His attention at the time as He likened the suggestive puffiness under her navel that came forth with astounding audacity to a cock's wattles. She liked that; that's why she wore extremely tight pants and flaunted it. She was vivacious, bright, unscrupulous in a pleasant way, brazen and lovely. T---a was my age with way more lovers under her belt and still a long way to go. Although for her age she was considered normal, I could not even begin to comprehend this baffling, free-spirited mentality of the islanders when it came to sex. I wasn't as tolerant and open-minded as I thought I was.

    L---a was another one of the cashiers. She was an Arvanitissa and knew all the curse words in Albanian but had no idea just how bad and embarrassing they were until she'd see the flabbergasted look on His face as she recited them so proud that she knew some words in Albanian. She had a defect -- she was freakishly tall and lanky and no guy would have her. As a result, L---a was shy and awkward in her movements, ready to throw herself at any man's arms and truly love him faithfully for the rest of her life. God knows how the loveless value love. She had recently found a boyfriend who was shorter than her but they were both so very much and publicly in love, not that relationships were a huge secret there, but they attracted attention as the pitiful, lanky girl nobody would have and that wonderfully, just wonderful, gift from God of a man who had a bigger heart than they could ever hope for or want of themselves. The problem was that love is not enough -- her boyfriend had never suffered for it in his life, at least not like L---a had, and was less compelled to guard it as fanatically. Therefore he still felt he had to sow his wild oats. Or maybe T---a's sister simply tempted him at the moment.

    One day, He saw L---a coming to work crying. He begged and pleaded with her to tell Him what was wrong, what had happened, why she was crying, but L---a wouldn't say a word. In came T---a and her glorious apricot split of a carnal tr@p that was her cooch with a metaphorical sword in her hand.

    "T---a."

    "Yes?"

    "Do you know why L---a is crying?"

    "It's that whore's fault."

    "Which whore?"

    "The whore, my sister."

    "What did she do?"

    "She screwed L---a's boyfriend."
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 26-07-2006 mė 14:17
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  4. #64
    failed & quoted Maska e IsiNYC
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    Leila, compile this shit into a comprehenisive single piece so I can print it out and read it on the subway and in the future brag that I read a best-seller when it was a mere manuscript.
    A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything. | Nietzsche

  5. #65
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    :)

    T---a's sister was 16 years old, with a brand-new libido, and convinced that she would take over the world with her piss flaps. No man could compete with her insatiable lust but they were all willing to try. She was flirtacious and downright banal, at least for our tastes, and was always seen with boys flocking to her. It would seem as if I'm exaggerating if I'm being read by audiences other than the islanders, who thought it only normal that a 16 year old girl could point to someone in the crowd and bed him that same night. They chalked it up to hormones. Nobody thought T---a's sister was a whore. In fact, even when T---a called her a whore, it was meant as a normal run-of-the-mill epithet. As for T---a's sister, she was OK with her conscience. After all, she had had no intention of taking L---a's boyfriend, but she did mean to do him just for the hell of it, because she could never imagine any man turning her down. Whether L---a wanted to make a big deal out of it and cry and be depressed and think her life is over, well, that was not T---a's sister's fault. She didn't even want L---a's boyfriend. For as long as I remained in the island I never saw L---a with another man.

    When T---a's sister came to the store the next day, He asked T---a, "Who is that by the window?"

    "That's my sister."

    "That's your famous sister?"

    "Yeah, you got a problem with her?"

    "Slow down. You act as if I'll devour your sister. She's not that hot anyway."

    "Yes, she is. Guys are all over her."

    "Yeah, little boys, rabbits, who haven't seen pu$$y before and then they see your half-naked sister winking at them and who is more than willing to show them hers, of course they're all over her. It has nothing to do with her or her looks. If you ask me, you're much prettier than her."

    "Oh, stop it." T---a blushes. She was used to being the chubby older sister.

    "I mean it. There's nothing memorable about her face or body. You, at least, have beautiful eyes."
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 27-07-2006 mė 14:22
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  6. #66
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    We saw one of the men who cleaned the restaurant we were eating in pace back and forth outside our secluded window, moving his lips and gesturing with his hands. And then he’d stop and grip the metal threshhold he was leaning on so hard, push himself back up and start all over again. He had asked me once if I were Russian. Maybe I said something that sounded that way. We both stared at him, vjedhurazi, knowingly, worriedly at his nervous gestures and his solemn face. We stopped eating and talking and just looked at him. Almost simultaneously, we each said something about him.

    Me: “He—“

    Him: “Look at his movements, the way he walks. Something is off with him. I’m sorry, what were you going to say?”

    “He's shaved his head.”

    “Who knows why.”

    “Maybe he’s thinking about something important.”

    “He’s talking to himself.”

    “Then he’s preparing for a big speech.”

    He shook His head, “You never know what can happen in life. The smallest things can ruin everything.”

    “I guess." I dug into His plate as He slid it closer to me.

    “He seems to be the type of person who’s very detailed, almost OCD-like, and reads a lot, and is very educated, because he recognized your tattoo which is a virtually unknown symbol. He’s like these unknown and unappreciated geniuses who works at menial jobs such as these.”

    “Yup! And he sheemshs to huv short ovv llosht contasht wish peepu, or a way ovv commu--" I finished chewing, "communicating like everyone else. He's not that 'Hi, how are you doing' type who wants to know about your kids' school play, your husband's promotion, your mother-in-law or your summer vacation. For him it's not natural to say stuff like that."

    “Yeah. Gjynah.” He brought His plate back over to His side.

    "Gjynah!?! Dude, he's perfectly normal! For me, the most painful of flaws would be one that would hinder me in some way or another, like not being able to walk for example. Everything else, such as having the wrong color hair, or short stubby fingers when I would have liked longer ones, is just nitpicking. And really, what would be worse? To lose your mind or not be with the person you love? To have no arm or no money? By saying ‘gjynah,’ you’re determining which fates are worse than the others. It’s different for everyone.”

    “OK. It's like this -- if rich people found themselves poor, they would die because they don’t have the survival skills. But if poor people found themselves rich, they would sicken themselves.”

    “Sicken themselves?! Why?”

    “They wouldn’t know what to do with all that money.”

    "What?"

    "Yeah."

    "That's stupid."

    We lost interest in our own conversation and stopped to look at the man in front of us. If he only knew that on the other side of the window there was a couple who was genuinely worried and touched by him. We continued eating in silence, saddened by something we didn’t even know.

    And then He lit a cigarette. "You told me you'd stop smoking, already."

    "This is the last one, I promise."

    "You don't have to promise me anything; I never asked you to stop smoking in the first place. But you still promised anyway and that counts!"

    "OK, we'll make a deal."

    "Do whatever you want. Burn your lungs and talk to our kids from some sort of device they'll hook you up on when they remove your throat! And our youngest child will think it's soooo darn cool that daddy's got a hole in his throat that he'll start jamming toys and fingers in there and asking you if you can shit them out, daddy. I'll start smoking, too, so you can stop smoking."

    "You already do smoke. You have been since you were 8."

    "No, I do that so you'll be out of cigarettes. Don't promise when nobody asks you to promise."

    "Listen!"

    "Hė."

    "Godless as I am," He lifted His finger towards my nose, "I give you my word," His finger began to travel downward, "not upon my honor or the fear of being struck down by lightning," His finger traveled further down my navel and He looked around to make sure nobody was watching, "but on something even more sacred to a man, this blessed spot--"

    He gave me a slightly cruel pinch. "Ow!!"

    "--right here, that I hold most holy and divine."

    "OK, fine."

    "My dear, ti duhet tė kesh dy zemra nė krahėror."
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 09-08-2006 mė 12:23
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  7. #67
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    Pse s'me postohet posti?
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  8. #68
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    E dashka me pikatore?
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  9. #69
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    The eerie and spacious ambiance that was everything like Charlotte Rampling's "The Swimming Pool" movie and John Cheever's "The Swimmer" short story was the first indication that I was dreaming. Tall buildings surrounded an ample open space where cement had dried on. There were trees with yellowed, droopy leaves that descended ethereally over the in-ground shallow pool whenever a breeze shook them loose every once in a while. It was the beginning of fall. Lavish, beautiful young women sat around the pool in their bathing suits.
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  10. #70
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    The afternoon sun shone selectively on the cement that I decided some landscape architect had poured on where grass was supposed to grow. Buildings and trees with defiant roots bursting out of the cement shadowed everything else.
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Leila : 08-03-2007 mė 15:54
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  11. #71
    in bocca al lupo Maska e Leila
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    I walked along the pool and was overcome with the desire to submerge myself in the comforting, clear water. I jumped in headfirst with open arms but remembered a moment too late that the pool wasn't more than 2 ft. deep. Being in a dream one can will things, I assumed, and willed and believed that the pool was 12 ft. deep. What kind of a moronic dream would it be if I smashed my face on the cement at the bottom of the pool and woke up from the supposed impact? I'd probably never again get this close to creating an amalgam of "The Swimming Pool" and the "The Swimmer," so it can't end this way. I never reached its bottom. It really was a dream. I resurfaced at the edge of the pool, finding Rod Serling dressed in one of his suits, leaning over and looking at me with an elbow rested on his knee.

    I hoisted myself up out of the pool and grabbed a towel. The breeze wasn't so summery and pleasant against a wet skin. Can I help you?

    He simply said, you're in a dream.

    I shrunk further inside my towel. What do you know about it?

    You're in a dream within a dream. This time you will not leave. You will stay here forever.

    He took a step toward me and I panicked. I never make physical contact with anyone in my dreams. He should know that. What's wrong with you? Stay where you are! Are you trying to shock me into waking up? I was having a great time before you came along. You can't wake me up now!

    But that's it -- you can't wake up no matter how much you try, no matter what I do.

    You wanna bet? Get away from me! It was then that I realized that the underlying theme between the movie and the short story was Tom Cruise's "Vanilla Sky" movie. I tried to blink myself into waking up, but woke up into the same dream.

    He was unfazed. See? You're stuck here forever.

    Why? I didn't agree to anything. You can't keep me here.

    It's pretty random, really. Some people fall asleep and never wake up. They will find you in your bed and will assume you're in a coma. They call it a coma but, he gestured toward the rest of the women, we know better, don't we?

    But I don't want to stay!

    Why wouldn't you want to stay? You will never get bored, that's for sure.

    Because this is a dream and it's no place for rationality, and frankly you can't blame me if that really freaks me out.

    Rationality. He sneered.

    Rationality gives you a sense of knowing what to expect, it gives you... I don't know, trust, it's security. Something I did in my philosophy class years ago about a lamp switch, who can remember. I just know I can't have that in here. Nothing is the way it should be.

    Oh? Are things the way they should be out there where you want to return? He laughs. How grim your generation is. It's a dream, for Pete's sake! You can make things the way you want.

    How?

    You just made the pool 12 ft. deep because you wished it that way. And all under a second. Very impressive. Obviously you've had plenty of experience manipulating your dreams.

    Can I wish you away?

    Sure.

    Can I wish myself awake?

    He laughs.

    You don't have a right to keep me here and yet you do. I just don't understand why.

    But if lack of rationality is the only reason you want to leave, what guarantee do you have that something like this won't happen outside your dreams?

    What? Why should it happen?

    There is no more certainty in the real world than there is here. The worst that can happen here is that you will torment yourself with your knowledge of what terrifies you -- and you only have yourself to blame for that. Out there others will torment you with anything they can, and then there's the prospect of physical pain that you can never have here. Governments change, there are wars, the twin towers fell when everyone was sure they would last for centuries, countries break from one another, people kill and die for no reason, you watch too many disturbing movies as if to prove that you, in fact, are only a spectator to these real-life nightmares. What will happen when, or I should say "if" to calm you down, you find yourself in the midst of it all? What will your rationality do for you? Excuse me if I'm not convinced with your reasoning about what is rational and what isn't.

    I'm not amused. Let me out. I can't stay here.

    I can't show favoritism toward anyone. Why should you get any special treatment? It's bad enough you think you're entitled to it with all the diseasters taking place in that real world of yours.

    Special treatment because I want to leave my own dream? That doesn't make sense.

    There you go with your rationality again.

    But it doesn't!

    Tell me the real reason you want to leave here. You love dreaming. I know you do. You wouldn't come here as often as you do if you didn't love it. You have the chance to be here forever. Take it! How many beautiful dreams have you lost because someone woke you up at the wrong time?

    You are fighting a losing battle. He will never let you keep me here. If I don't wake up, He will wake me up.

    He will think you're in a coma and will visit your bedside at the hospital.

    I won't be easy to keep around here. I want to go to Him.

    Jackpot! That's the reason why you want to leave here. Reality, not rationality, is more spellbinding than all your dreams.

    No, not reality. He is.

    He chuckled. To my absolute horror, his face changed a little as he came closer to me. It just changed, there really is no better way to say it, other than it became slightly gruesome. The danger in staying in your dream for too long is that your opponent (yourself) is very knowledgeable on what terrifies you, and if I stayed there long enough, sooner of later I would have created my own tr@p. Sofia, or maybe I, echoed. "Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Open your eyes!"

    Every time I blinked, I kept waking up into the same dream, but with each blink buildings crumbled one by one.

    He threw his hands toward me. Don't do that. Stop. Stop. You have to see! Look at me! Look at me!

    I couldn't look at what monster I had turned him into without losing my concetration. He knew that. Or I knew that. With each blink trees fell, leaves floated up into the air with dumbfounded little swishes that would inevitably have pierced my heart hadn't I woken up just as he stretched out his hand to touch my face shrinking away from him.
    trendafila manushaqe
    ne dyshek te zoterise tate
    me dhe besen e me ke
    dhe shega me s'me nxe

  12. #72
    echo Maska e Dara
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    Leila, compile this shit into a comprehenisive single piece so I can print it out and read it on the subway and in the future brag that I read a best-seller when it was a mere manuscript.
    That's what I just did. I am anxious to read it in one piece tonight.
    My whores left me no time to get married.

  13. #73
    failed & quoted Maska e IsiNYC
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    The Request or Flattery in Form of Demand

    I've been patiently waiting for an addition to this thread (about a year now)...and as you can assume by the mere fact that I am posting here, patience is no longer a virtue I posess. Leila, stop being lazy! I demand another entry. There is a fine line between Hero and Villain once their powers are exposed!
    A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything. | Nietzsche

  14. #74
    failed & quoted Maska e IsiNYC
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    Its a shame that this thread has been forgotten. This is easily the best thread in this category in the forum read it start to finish kids!
    A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything. | Nietzsche

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