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Z yrmve’k befne pfl cfex Rcztzr, slk Z yrmv tfdv kf befn r gzvtv fw kyv givjvek pfl reu wfi kyrk Z rd yfefivu. Pfl uf efk pvk befn pfli nfiky reu kyrk zj fbrp. Pfl nzcc cvrie fev urp kyv ivrc ivrjfe pfl nviv glk fe vriky zejkvru fw ileezex kyiflxy kyv wzvcuj ze Rixrevv. Pfl riv kyv dfjk gfnviwlc gvijfe ze pfli czwv reu pfl uf yrmv tfekifc. Z befn pfl yrmv vogivjjvu pfli wvrij fw efk befnzex nyrk kf uf evok reu Z rd yviv kf kvcc pfl kyrk ze kzdv pfl nzcc wzxliv zk rcc flk. Pfl yrmv jyfne kyrk pfl riv re votvccvek nizkvi, uf efk xzmv kyrk lg. Fli nficuj riv tfeevtkvu kyiflxy kyzj drxzt gfikrc, reu pfl tre ivrty flk kf repfev yviv rk rep kzdv. Uf efk xzmv lg fe pfli uivrdj, pfli gifwvjjfij yrmv jyfne pfl kyv svxzeezex grkynrp kf tfeevtkzex nzky fkyvij kyrk jyriv pfli grjjzfe. Uf efk wfixvk nyrk kyvp yrmv krlxyk pfl!
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Cooking with Anger was really fun! My list was:
cheap red wine
1/3 smidge of frivolousness
1/4 cup of agitation
Have you ever been so in love with someone, your heart aches when there’s distance between? That slow, agonizing torment that creates a nervousness in your blood. The rushing you may try and ignore that flows through your warm, soft skin, if you drink an espresso when your usual cup of the day is nothing but a cool glass of water. The anxious, palm sweat forms as you try to remember the last time you saw their face. Heard their voice. Felt their skin. distance that stretches across oceans of minutes, to a place where you hope she can remember the sound of her cell phone…
I am a loser. A loser of keys and wallets and cell phones and receipts. A loser of memories. Memories of forgotten calls and texts. Of missed birthdays and anniversaries. I am no better than the vinegar that attracted the flies from your lips as you spat ugly, horrendous adjectives in my direction. I am no better than the cheap red wine that flew through the air, and crashed at the base of my retreating skull. Ruby red still trails from the spot you once stood, to the bedroom where I packed you in a suitcase, and left you by the door. I am no better than… or so you once told me. The sound of your voice was once one that left me steaming in a hot cup mixed with a fourth of agitation. The shrill sound of each beckoning call, the sureness of your words, the raspy whispers that escaped your throat as you once called me by another name. Once.
We called each other husband and wife. And once, you looked at me with the longing eyes of some distant memory. A memory that faded to a lull as your taillights disappeared into the drunken night. I see you in the kitchen, the bathroom before work, in the hallway at night, the bedroom the morning after you left.. Your figure is no more than a hologram, but the ghost of your presence haunts me like needles pricking my delicate skin. I see you in the broken promise of hot coffee which was no more than a frivolous suggestion. I see you for what you became. The monster you revealed.
The distance of you creates nightmares in my stomach as the waves crash and the air stands still in my lungs.
Exhale and remember, everything in life is temporary.
My name is Avicenna Alrazi, but my friends call me Avi. I am from
My profile card can be seen here:
A performer is said to have the following traits: A performer Is not strictly an entertainer, though they are popular– the Performer brings ideas, stories to life in a way everyone can appreciate and understand. They deeply understand what moves people, what makes them react. The performer extends immense amounts of energy on communicating, so much that they may have trouble relaxing. In fact, there are no reports of relaxing performers. What the do takes place not only in public performance spaces, but also online, in small groups, in writing. Performing is very effusive communicating. They often struggle with their own existence when they deeply take on other characters. I have found that sharing stories with others in a new medium has helped me grow as an individual and I am glad life took me down this path.
Not only do I enjoy performing but I have other hobbies as well. One of newer hobbies is observing. I like to watch how other people go about their day. The problems that individual has faced can sometimes be noted on their brow, or in the way they bite at their frayed and nubby fingernails. I take these observations and I learn new ways of performing to tell their story…It sounds odd, but trust me. It’s a perfect technique. I also have always and will always love to read. Books are a way to help me escape when the shadows of Russia become a desolate prison. You can also find me on Twitter from time to time. You can find my page here: https://twitter.com/AvicennaAlraz. I often wonder about other Alchemists like myself. Do they too go through periods of feeling trapped and slaved to this world as well? Or am I in this alone? To be a performer can be a daunting task and sometimes I feel the stress of life clawing at me. I sometimes don’t remember who I am, or who I’d like to be. I take on the multiple masks of my stories and I bring the words to life off of the page. To take on those faces can be an exhausting job, so I commend any like me who struggle. Some advice to those who feel life as I do: Do not give up.