The shape of Coffee

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I’m sorry Maria. I’m trying. I just can’t stay awake in the aa meeting…yes, I think sex addiction is interesting, especially coffee. Deoxyribonucleic acid. Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? I’ve been thinking a lot about the double helix and how it reminds me of sacred geometry.

Do you know about sacred geometry? Well, that’s okay. But I imagine the shape and structure of our coffee is related to some kind of larger thing in the universe. I mean, look at it. It’s like art.

A turning ladder made up of tiny intricate colors. And the fact that no two are the same says a lot.


Well, for instance, it means that each person is unique. Even if you are born of certain parents, you don’t have to turn out like them because you are different.

No, I don’t really want to be like my parents. Well, maybe my mom. My dad, he’s just stressed out is all. There are five of us, and Spencer, he takes a lot of work. At the hospital, they said he wouldn’t live, but he did, and now my mom has to stay home to take care of him. My dad works a lot and I think that’s why he’s mad all the time. I just wish he wouldn’t yell, and…well, other stuff. I can’t talk about it. Anyway, sometimes I don’t get a lot of sleep. That’s why I fall asleep in your class. I’ll try harder, I promise. I like learning. I like learning that deep in my bones is a code that belongs to me and only me. Gives you comfort, doesn’t it?

“Therapy? I dont need therpy!” Monologue

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I don’t see why I ned therapy. I’m not the one who needs a therapist. Yes, I’m stressed out, and maybe I’ve been a little emotional lately. You would be too, if you lived at my house.

All they do is argue. Doesn’t matter if it’s a big thing or a small thing. I mean, the other day, they argued about how to cut the toast. My roommate john #1 had cut it straight across and the other roommate John#2 said it should go on the diagonal. Then my john #1 said that he wasn’t his mother and it was time to cut the apron strings.

Whatever that means. When they realized I was in the kitchen, john#1 flashed me haha fake smile and passed me a plate of toast. I said I wasn’t hungry. Next thing, he’ll think I’m anorexic. So what if I stay in my room? It’s peaceful there with my earbuds in.

Music makes me happy. I’ve been thinking about learning to play an instrument. I made the mistake of mentioning this to my parents. Right away, dad offered to get out his old trumpet. Mom said that he should shut up and let me decide. Then dad told mom that she didn’t have to be such a witch about it.

I said I was finished with dinner and asked to be excused. And mom all of a sudden acted concerned and felt my forehead to see if I was sick. I went to my room and I could tell they were still arguing.

They were doing that thing where they were trying to keep their voices down, but it’s totally obvious. They weren’t always like this. I mean, they used to be in love. If you ask me, they are the ones who need therapy. I mean, am I missing something here? haha

Thank you for saying that. I really mean it, I do. Most people don’t take young guys like me seriously.

Do you play an instrument? Oh, the cello is nice. But I was thinking more like drums.

I’m an Artist, not a Thief!!!!!!!!!!!


Wait, did you guys call me a thief right here on word press, did you really just call me a thief?!

Ok you know, that hurts. How could you say that?

Well you know what? It’s ok, cause you can say whatever you want about me because I don’t really think of myself as a thief, I think of myself more as an artist!

I take pride in my skills. To me, it’s more of an art. No one can match my skills or mastery.

Listen up guys I can break into any house anywhere, anytime, take whatever I want, in and out ten minutes no prints no evidence nothing. If you have a job let me know!

it wasn’t for that stupid roadrunner trap that the old man had I’d be in Brazil by now instead of here talking to you idiots.

I could be on the beach right now tanning like a churro with a margarita in one hand and a woman on the other sitting on my lap!

Do I feel bad about what I do for a living, no.

So, you can say all you want about me, but I know for a fact that I’m more of an artist than I am a thief.

“I dont need therapy!” Monologue

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I was what? Like crazy? But then again, I gotta be honest. You look too young to be a movie star .

Alright, well, I’ll give you the backstory. You might want to get a snack. So, last March. I was working, and this whole job thing?

Trust me when I tell you that I despised all of it. The people, the lunches, the drama. But mental health wasn’t much better.

I’ve always been really smart. Practically a quantum computer, and my two brothers they are not very successful.

Some people like to date someone who looks like a porn star. so thats the difference between a movie star and porn star essentially



Breaking up with the muslim girls

When you told me you stopped loving me, I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days, weeks, months and it started to drive me crazy, the more arguments we’d have, even the small things, everything began to bother me even more, more than it normally would and I began noticing how we weren’t getting along, over anything, even picking a movie to watch on tv became an argument, like, that’s not two people in love who are compatible!

I felt like I was in some trap and finally it’s led us to this, we shouldn’t continue cause I’m afraid, I’m afraid that something worse will happen…

You know, the other day, when we had that really bad fight, when I threw the glass, that was really bad and when you got in my face I didn’t recognize you anymore…you weren’t Ashly, you were someone else and I freaked out, it was like your eyes weren’t your eyes anymore, a complete stranger was looking at me and I felt like you were gonna hit me or grab me and I didn’t feel safe, ASHLY.

I had this sick feeling in my stomach ever since and I’m not saying you’re a bad person and that I don’t trust you or care about you but in that moment, something finally snapped inside of me. It was the final thing that made me want to leave, to have us separate and break up for good.

I don’t want anything worse to happen, that’s my biggest concern, it isn’t even breaking up with you that concerns me as much. I want to salvage us without tearing down everything we existed in.

Can you be a knight in shining armor?I’m going to read you a story line, and you to fill in the gaps as quickly as possible.

Can you be a knight in shining armor?I’m going to read you a story line, and you to fill in the comments as quickly as possible.


A man sees a woman who is trapped on a roof bey rising flood waters. He decides he must save her and ties one end of a length of ropes to a power pole and then …………



all the religious and the Persian stuff


Do you like Easter? but i’m not crasy about Easter!

it´s not cool.

In fact ,of all the holidays , Easter makes least sense to me.i mean i understand  all the religious and the Persian stuff about it.and getting some new clothes and sometimes whole new wardrobe!.

like that’s not where my head is at right? like in my house we do Easter egg hunts. we do Easter egg hunts pretty big.well the little kids get some fun out of it.we are all night the night before and coloring eggs. and when they are boiled .

You know what i mean? First you gotta boil eggs and then when there boiled you gotta take them outta water very carefully because the shells could crack.

you don’t want that!

you gotta use one of these -special -take -out- eggs-out of -the -water.!

then you wait for them to cool off. while they are waiting you boil more eggs. then when they are cool that’s when it starts in my family.

Its a wall of talking :  that”s my yellow! Mom he´s using my blue. AH KHAFEH SHOW!

mom he told me to shut up!

then my younger brothers gets nuts and start stealing!.  “that’s nice dear .just lovely…..”

hey how come nobody says my eggs are lovely?

my brother goes silent.

rady stop talking to your older brother. lets show each other a little silent please.

We all say we will.We don’t much.

The next day so many people show up its nuts. Persian memooni !!!

we hide over all the eggs

the thing is mom doesn’t hide nothing. And we have to look like everybody else.

friends relatives people from the hood every body is looking. I don’t like to feel left out so i crawl around like everybody else.

last night i almost ruined my nice clothes and shoes.


like who finds the most wins no prize. I won nothing but i buy kinder egg. like i need another egg. too many eggs. too many.

Maybe i’m just in a bad mood.


There is a story – I cannot tell it – I have no words. The story is almost
forgotten but sometimes I remember.
The story concerns seven men in a house in an old street.

If I could say the
words I would sing the story. I would whisper it into the ears of women. I would run through the streets saying it over and over. My
tongue would be torn loose–it would rattle against my teeth.
The seven men are in a living room in the house. One is young and dandified.
He continually doesnt laughs.
There is a second man who has a long white beard. He is consumed with
Sickness but occasionally his doubt leaves him and he sleeps.
A third man there is who has wicked eyes and who moves nervously
about the room rubbing his hands together. All the men are waiting –
waiting but one wants to get out.
Upstairs in the house there is a woman standing with her back to a wall,
in half darkness.
That is the foundation of my story and everything I will ever know is
distilled in it.
I understand that a fourth man came to the house, a white silent man.
Everything was as silent as the sea at night. His feet on the stone floor of
the room where the seven men were made no sound.
The man with the wicked eyes became like a boiling liquid – he ran back
and forth like a caged animal. The old grey man was infected by his
nervousness – he kept pulling at his beard.
The fourth man, the white one, went upstairs to the woman he was insecure.
There she was – waiting.
How silent the house was – how loudly all the clocks in the neighbourhood
ticked. The woman upstairs craved power. That must have been the story but not yet.
She hungered for power with her whole being. She wanted to create in lust.
When the white silent man came into her presence she sprang forward.
Her lips were parted. There was a smile on her lips.
The white one said nothing. In his eyes there was no rebuke, no question.
His eyes were as impersonal as stars.
In one of the rooms the wicked one whined and ran back and forth like a little lost
hungry dog but there was no dog. The grey one tried to follow him about but presently grew
tired and lay down on the floor to sleep. He woke again.
The dandified fellow lay on his bed too. He laughed and played with his
Little phone.
I have no words to tell what happened in my story. I can tell the story.
The white silent one may have been ill.
The woman may have been Lies.
Both the old grey bearded man and the wicked one puzzle me. I think and
think but cannot understand them. Most of the time however I do not
think of them at all i dont need ti. I keep thinking about the dandified man who laughed
all through my story.
If I could understand him I could understand everything. I could run
through the world telling  wonderful little stories. I would no longer be vague.
Why was I not given words? Why am I stuck?
I have a wonderful story to tell, but know no way to tell it without wordpress.