My love, I am the speed of sound.

I love El Paso. I don't think I need a reason, but I have so many.

When I was five, my parents, siblings and I all boarded a plane to the United States of America. I remember the flight! I remember almost peeing with excitement after I saw my favourite song (Sweet Like Chocolate by Shank and Bigfoot) being played on the little television screens on the backs of every seat. I yelled out to my parents across the aisle to tell them.

I made quite the scene.

We moved to this west Texas town and for the longest time I wanted to get out, to go somewhere big and bright and British . I don't remember when England lost it's allure, but I know why I love this border town.

El Paso, Texas has mountains.

Purple mountains, like the Crayola crayon. A couple of weeks ago, it was terribly windy and awful dusty, it covered up the mountains 'til they looked like they didn't even exist. It was positively awful. I will never live in a flat state. It must be hell.

El Paso, Texas has an amazing music scene.

At The Drive In, Sparta, The Mars Volta. Plus all those up and coming bands, not yet famous, but soon to be phenomenons. There's always a show playing somewhere, at some mood lit coffee shop or underground venue. I get so happy thinking about it. This desert town has soul.


El Paso Texas, home to ASARCO towers.

I do not care, I know that the towers are a cesspool of bacteria and cancers and ungodly forms of radiation, infecting our water and causing birth defects by the thousands. But I love the aesthetic effect they give off. They're so big and imposing. They are my favourite thing about El Paso. I love nothing more than driving down Paisano and sticking my head out the window as we drive right by the tower. I will scale it one day, I will indeed.

El Paso, Texas has the sweetest smelling rain in the universe.

That could be an exaggeration, Mars could very well have some delightfully scented weather patterns, but this is my blog, so get over the inaccuracy. When, and if it ever rains in El Paso, the air is filled with the lovely, flowery smell of the Creosote bush. It's a positively lovely weed, and it grows all over this city. They're of medium size, with millions upon millions of tiny round leaves on their scraggly branches. If you see some, just take a sprig, crush it in between your fingertips and take a deep whiff of my favourite smell. It's smells like love, it does.

I could write more, I really could, but I'm getting a feeling people don't want to read rantings and ravings about a city in the corner of Texas.


El Paso, you have my heart. El Paso, I love you.

I'm An Animal.

Love is born in smoke. Love is born in coffee shops.

I realized I find it many times more rewarding to have a deep conversation with a stranger, than it is to have one with a close friend.
Soon I'll figure out why, and I'll post it here. I want to have a 'turning point' in my life, some event of such importance that it completely throws off the intergalactic balance, shakes the Earth's core, and makes it snow in the middle of June. Everything I want to do with my life, involves affecting other people's lives.

I don't think I'd do very well on a deserted island.

In fourth grade, I think it was, our class read The Cay. I want to read it again. it was about a desert island, and a boy who goes blind. Though, surprisingly, only for the duration of his time on the island. How incredibly inconvenient.

I smoked a cigarette today.

I like the way the paper always burns a little faster than the tobacco. I realized I don't really like smoking during the day as much as I like smoking at night. I don't like smoking with people I know as much as I like smoking by myself in a crowded place. I don't like people who smell like cigarettes as much as I like the smell of cigarettes being smoked.

Ending statement:
I kind of wish I still believed that teachers just crawled under their desks at night and slept there. I kind of wish I still believed a lot of things.

Post-script;
Skepticism sucks.

Post-post-script;
But I don't really believe that statement to be true.

Riceboy Sleeps

I could not sleep last night. My mind was all flustered.

"It is a slightly arresting notion that if you were to pick yourself apart with tweezers, one atom at a time, you would produce a mound of fine atomic dust, none of which had ever been alive but all of which had once been you." -Bill Bryson A Short History of Nearly Everything

That up there is why I couldn't sleep. It's a hard thing to wrap your head around, but then again, wrapping your head around anything is probably extremely difficult in itself. My fingers have been lingering over the keys on the keyboard for several minutes just trying to put my ideas into words. I can only catch little fragments of an ultimately deep thought, the rest of it's just muddled up in my cranium. What really makes a human, human? What on Earth does it mean to be human? If you have an answer, a really good one, I'd like to know. Because right now I see myself as little more than a collection of atoms, hopefully some of Shakespeare's recycled ones!

Someday soon I want to go gallivanting around El Paso taking photos of everything I see. Whithered trees, whithered faces, whithered buildings. A good photo involves wrinkled, cracked, aging things, I've learned that from a year of a highschool photography class (shout out to Mrs. Haephner!)
True hipsters say they hate hipsters.



That's the closing statement for this one. I didn't really have much to say, but hey, it's a blog! I am almost 94% sure that the blog stands for Boring Log. Notice, I'm almost 94% sure. Really it's 93.873% sure. Thank you Mr. Paton for making me use significant digits all the time, even when it's really insignificant.

Post-script;
I forgot Iowa was a state today.
Post-post-script;
Sorry Iowa.

Holy Moly, me oh my.

This is the first posting on this blogging site. It's not going to be terribly interesting, because I've made this so if in the future, if I have something terribly interesting to say I will have a place to quickly type it out. So it's like a safeguard. A writer's safeguard against diminishing thoughts. Of course, it would be easier to walk around with a journal or a black and white, speckled composition book and write things as soon as I think of them. But then, my handwriting often makes me lose interest in what I was jotting down, so it'd be half finished thoughts and ideas. Also, I'm conceited, and am under the awful delusion that people might find what I think even the slightest bit entertaining, so I'm leaving it on the world wide web for your viewing ease. So you're welcome.

I had just paused now in an internal dilemma over whether or not to introduce myself, because really, I think the people who would take the time out of their surfing schedule to read my blither would be people that I know personally. But just in case, here are some few key points to Summer Nesreen Masoud;

-I am an Arab-American living in the West Texas town of El Paso.

-I like to take pictures (such as the one that is the header of this blog.)

-I like to draw (graphite is my favourite medium.)

-I like to play the guitar (and I'd love to be taught more.)

-I like to write (songs, short stories, poems.)

-I like to act.

-I like to listen to good music, and speak to good people.

-I am fifteen years old, born July 28th, 1994, in the United Arab Emirates

-I love my father and my mother and all my siblings very much.

-I can't stand kids who say they 'hate' their parents.

-I will write and act for Saturday Night Live.

-I have a photographic memory.

-I have anxiety.

-I have an anxiety induced stutter.

-I am usually not shy, I've only been shy in one case, goddamn you Javi Sandoval.

-I love to talk, and am very loud and exuberant.

-I really am a sweetheart, even if I don't always seem it.

-I am thankful if you've read this.