Thursday, June 28, 2007

Stagnating waters





Bits of a bird-
On the sidewalk, remnants of the high sky and pieces from a sparrow
There is a boy with curled lashes empty stares behind the deep brown eyes
Thin skins had fallen in cracks of wisdom and the creases of tomorrow
Tears in the streams gun powder on the walls and hidden lazy sighs

Bits of a bird, twisted feathers,
Anemones draining on the concrete wet and oozing with silent sorrows
Thickened with ailment petals shriveled roots flailing stem standing shy
Venom dripping in the green veins growing stiff growing narrow
What makes a flower a flower- What makes a bird fly?

Bits of a bird, stuttering tunes,
There is a singing voice, shrieking voice fading in the shadows
There is a lady reenacting the nightmares of the past waiting to die,
Regret repeating, shame-
some of it new, some inherited and some borrowed
There is a singing voice, there is a prayer echoing in the corridors of time
There is a silenced voice, silenced dreams, silenced hopes,
A silenced sparrow …

Bits of a bird,
Bits of a soul,

What makes a woman a woman?
What makes a country a country?

What makes a bird fly?

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Love me by all costs

Love me when I do not deserve
That is when I need it the most
Love me when I deter you
When I hide and when I bleed in silence
Worry,
About me when I do not cry
Love my weakness, my failing heart
My fractured insides
Worry …
When I need you not to,
The most …

Love me when I push you away
When I leave you behind
When I speak a different language
When my limbs burn, when my people die
When I shy from help
When all is gone and none is left
And what stays behind is weak and gray …

Love me
You are all I have
All I learned all I owned all I lost
And all I am today …

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Last published June 4 ...

Eh dakhlak we ni7na lyom shou?
maba3ref.. walid 3ido was killed yesterday
tayyeb monot walla jimmayzeh
all the same.. all dead anyway.. it's a ghost town
and so i heard..
kiss ikhto malla balad
mafi a7la minno hal balad
halla2 kamen
we law shou masar
tu reviens toi?
je suis amoureuse moi. i went to the embassy and tried to explain.. ya khayye.. i live there..
where?
you know.. not here.. for now.. halla2 wataniyyeh?
yalla salami we cheese?
la2 za3tar
tayyib we ba3den biscuit 3al jimmayzeh and a chocolate shot
let's give it a shot... is it open?
they said they will except for sundays we lamma bisir infijar
wlak shou masar... ana hon sehraneh

Monday, June 04, 2007

June ...











My soul cringing in anticipation of the next disaster, a fate we have to master, at the lingering emptiness the clinging accusation of a wilting identity of a withering existence. Carrying life in suitcases afraid of the night under new skies afraid of tomorrow ransoming dignities blackmailed for survival at every arrival. Running away from hearts from a tear at every port from an embrace that takes you back that makes your world crumble that melts the concrete and wipes the colors away from the pages of your days. Hiding forever trembling at the encounter at the onset of a moment of truth a moment of belittlement of awe that ages you every step of the way.


powered by ODEO

Sunday, April 29, 2007

What’s left of life?

Empty is the life of a romantic, dark is a life of a poet, blissful is a life with no dreams… Table for one, trip cut in half and memories kept in frames …
So tender when he does not expect it. Sensitive when he will not want it. His alarming heart warming masculine vulnerability. Raw and child like when he cries, uninhibited. The tight lines around his lips that shivered when kissed .. That shivered when in rage… That shivered when touched, only by the skin on the back of her hand. That smirk he is left with, when struck by her smell, when deep in his thoughts. Almost blushing almost feeling her breath on his neck almost tasting her again. His naked tender musky face in the morning. His bare skin glowing without him knowing only to be tucked in under a coat of street dust at the end of the day. Under a coat of sorrows. His fine wrists juxtaposed to his overworked hands. His head resting in his arms when weary. His hair slipping between his fingers. The way he thinks he is immortal. The way he crumbles in pain. The way she turned out mortal. Her trace in his bed, her trace in his life, the trace she left on his chest with her carefully planned kisses… The trace of her face fading with every moment his eyes find rest. Every time he shuts his lids on the memory of her smile. An eternal sense of betrayal with every morning that meets him. His hollow existence meets him. His bare skin meets him. The tyrannous intimacy of winter fault of the warmth of her touch leaves him in despair.
Empty is a life with no feelings, dark is a life with no love, even with the alarming heart wrenching vulnerability that follows …

Saturday, April 21, 2007

I wear the gray pants laying carelessly on the dresser, a clean shirt, and the boots thrown in the back of the closet. My hair in a knot and some concealer to hide the marks of a night spent thinking of you.
I drink my coffee listening to the morning news; refill the cat plate and throw some papers together for work, carelessly…
I throw my coat on my chair, check my messages and run out to my eye exam. I am told my eyes do not relax enough and I laugh. I throw my reading glasses in my purse, carelessly and I pick up some lunch.
I sit under the sun and eat slowly, looking around me, carelessly. I make some appointments, hair … facial… I have an important evening coming up … without you …
I sit at my desk, I look at my screen, carelessly. I book my plans for the summer and make some phone calls. I let my hair down and I stare in the void.
What am I doing, here, without you?
You told me there is nothing that I cannot do but how come I cannot do this? How come I cannot forget you?
I call you …
I stop …
We did leave each other. This did happen but I cannot accept it.
I go back to work and I pass the time … I let the day go by in a daze of disbelief, just like the day before.
I let the day go by, carelessly, to go home and think of you. To go home and miss you silently and mourn, quietly …
This is too real. Too painful. Too great of a pain for me to handle.
Too real …
I lay down, helplessly and I close my eyes.
My eyes that cannot relax …
My tears warm up my pillow and i fall asleep ...
And I think of you …

Monday, April 16, 2007

From a distance ...
You caught me in the act. In the most devious act I committed. Why should I wonder how you know. How you always know. I project and you embrace. I explode in tone deaf words, no punctuations, no intonations and you put me back in order. You punctuate and i breathe. You are kept informed and i feel at ease. This is what you do. You bring order to my life. Time goes by and I get more short-breathed and you add calmer tunes to my episodes. You should have known by now. You should have understood that I am tired of your order. That for years gone by, I long for your voice coming unexpectedly through the night and waking me from my sleep. Your voice never comes unexpectedly. Your voice is allotted and your concerns studied and carefully delivered. It kills me. You know the first rain in New York. How wet leaves swaddle up the curbs and exposed guts of earth worms pave a nature disaster under your feet. I am rotting from within. My emotions are spread too thin. I am a prisoner of us. I am panting with ecstatic comfort chocking up with the known and dreading the unknown. I am pinned and I feel the heaviness. I embroidered the distance with stories not to let you drift. I flooded the hours with details and threw it all out. Fearing your estrangement, fearing that one day you will think you did not have all of me. You became a poet and drifted ever more. You drifted with your imagery and delved in your head. My love for you is not a projection of past events. My love cannot be studied and carefully delivered. Us. us? We cannot be a routine anymore. I need more. The Static is between us... The distance is suffocating ... The carefully planned silence is deafening ...

- Hello. Yeah did you hear that?
- I did but let me call you tonight and we’ll discuss it
- I’ll call you before bed. I’ll play our music as we talk tonight
- Later love …
I will not read you anymore ... I cannot read you ... I only have you from a distance

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Another break (3anjadd)

April ... My favorite month :)

The Lebanese wave of shou fi ma fi moved to facebook.. Blogs are down it seems.
Le2ouna hounik. Zouzou ba3d fi inta masheftak.
Anyway, khbar about this blogger and some pictures are over there for now ...
Posting again after coming back from Lebanon, in few months, and after settling down and will tell you shou bisir.. Shifnekon ..

Saturday, March 31, 2007

No hoods. No electric shocks. No beatings. These Iranians clearly are a very uncivilised bunch

Terry Jones
Saturday March 31, 2007
The Guardian

"I share the outrage expressed in the British press over the treatment of our naval personnel accused by Iran of illegally entering their waters. It is a disgrace. We would never dream of treating captives like this - allowing them to smoke cigarettes, for example, even though it has been proven that smoking kills. And as for compelling poor servicewoman Faye Turney to wear a black headscarf, and then allowing the picture to be posted around the world - have the Iranians no concept of civilised behaviour? For God's sake, what's wrong with putting a bag over her head? That's what we do with the Muslims we capture: we put bags over their heads, so it's hard to breathe. Then it's perfectly acceptable to take photographs of them and circulate them to the press because the captives can't be recognised and humiliated in the way these unfortunate British service people are.

It is also unacceptable that these British captives should be made to talk on television and say things that they may regret later. If the Iranians put duct tape over their mouths, like we do to our captives, they wouldn't be able to talk at all. Of course they'd probably find it even harder to breathe - especially with a bag over their head - but at least they wouldn't be humiliated.

And what's all this about allowing the captives to write letters home saying they are all right? It's time the Iranians fell into line with the rest of the civilised world: they should allow their captives the privacy of solitary confinement. That's one of the many privileges the US grants to its captives in Guantánamo Bay.

The true mark of a civilised country is that it doesn't rush into charging people whom it has arbitrarily arrested in places it's just invaded. The inmates of Guantánamo, for example, have been enjoying all the privacy they want for almost five years, and the first inmate has only just been charged. What a contrast to the disgraceful Iranian rush to parade their captives before the cameras!

What's more, it is clear that the Iranians are not giving their British prisoners any decent physical exercise. The US military make sure that their Iraqi captives enjoy PT. This takes the form of exciting "stress positions", which the captives are expected to hold for hours on end so as to improve their stomach and calf muscles. A common exercise is where they are made to stand on the balls of their feet and then squat so that their thighs are parallel to the ground. This creates intense pain and, finally, muscle failure. It's all good healthy fun and has the bonus that the captives will confess to anything to get out of it.

And this brings me to my final point. It is clear from her TV appearance that servicewoman Turney has been put under pressure. The newspapers have persuaded behavioural psychologists to examine the footage and they all conclude that she is "unhappy and stressed".

What is so appalling is the underhand way in which the Iranians have got her "unhappy and stressed". She shows no signs of electrocution or burn marks and there are no signs of beating on her face. This is unacceptable. If captives are to be put under duress, such as by forcing them into compromising sexual positions, or having electric shocks to their genitals, they should be photographed, as they were in Abu Ghraib. The photographs should then be circulated around the civilised world so that everyone can see exactly what has been going on.

As Stephen Glover pointed out in the Daily Mail, perhaps it would not be right to bomb Iran in retaliation for the humiliation of our servicemen, but clearly the Iranian people must be made to suffer - whether by beefing up sanctions, as the Mail suggests, or simply by getting President Bush to hurry up and invade, as he intends to anyway, and bring democracy and western values to the country, as he has in Iraq."
Saturday talk

- I’m killing myself this afternoon
- Already? I thought 33 is the age. And did you find the best way yet?
- Yes I did. Care to join me?
- No I can’t.
- Why not?
- I have an experiment planned
- On a Saturday?
- Keeps me from killing myself
- Will you miss me
-Block the sun, block the moon, don’t let the water specks kiss the shore
Tear down that smile and close your eyes now
Hold yourself, hide yourself cover up and close the door
And say you miss me, I’ll say I miss you even more…
- And you won’t be sad?
- I’m used to it by now. That’ll be the third time a friend of mine kills himself.

Friday, March 30, 2007

For the time being ...






I'll keep the picture up ...





























Tuesday, March 27, 2007

For the time being ...
- What did you have for lunch?
- I grabbed a tuna sandwich from the coffee shop
- I thought you weren’t eating bread anymore
- I was in a hurry. So what’s up?
- I’m leaving you
- Yeah I figured that much
- We’re not in love
- No we’re not. We tried though
- We did. We have a good thing here.
- Great but not enough yeah?
- Yeah. Right?
- I don’t know. I know I love you as much as I can love these days
- That’s bullshit
- Yes it is. Ok then
- Oh well. It is what it is...
- Aha yes. Anyone in mind?
- Not really. Well …
- You bastard
- What?
- See I still feel jealous. I must love you then.
- Na.. We both know how possessive you are
- Yeah you’re right but why am I always scared to leave you?
- Because you also hate change. This has nothing to do with me.
- Yeah true. See how much you know me? Who will know me like you? No we’re staying together.
- We are?
- Yeah. Hey for now at least. I mean I am leaving anyway. Oh did I tell you I’m leaving? Yes I found a job in California and I’m leaving in 3 months. Sorry I haven’t told you about my plans but I figured you were about to leave me soon.
- No worries
- Cool.. You should come visit. It’s a nice place on the beach
- You already found a place?
- Yes I did when I went last weekend
- You were away last weekend?
- See how distracted you are? So I went and found a place. The weekend was fun. We went fishing.. I used to go fishing with my dad when I was a kid…
- Who’s we?
- Oh… Did I tell you I’m wearing my hair curly again?

Monday, March 26, 2007

What sells?

Even if your heart is in it, even if your hard work and devotion was put forth, it is all in the presentation. This is the American way. It is all about a clean extensive consistent brainwashing propaganda.

From advertising to journalism, bridging the gap between manufacturer and consumer, between leader and followers, the means are by all means and the story behind the news is news in itself. Flooding the markets with rotten products and our life and brains with rotten concepts and mere lies, you have to leave some credit sometimes for their imagination and initiative and their respect of our intellect and our approval. There is nothing I like more than a smart ad. It gives me the illusion that I, as a target audience, matter.

What pains me today though, is that it is all there for us to see. Nothing is covertly hidden for our common basic human taste. The teeth of the empire snatch morsels from the world and it is all done in arrogance and distaste and condescension. How could we not wake up angered every morning when a quick glimpse into media outlets to check on our beloved world throws us in dire despair? It is weaved for you to believe that the world is too screwed up too angry to hateful for you to comprehend and that it should be left for the experts to handle. You are made to believe that you almost cannot carry a sympathy feeling long enough for a people who are trained to hate you and destined to die, let alone carry a thought long enough when journalism gives in to advertising to bombard your life with worries and needs and cheap entertainment.

What pains me is that it is all there for us to see. They are not even trying to cover up. The stupid nationalism that blindly drove us to believe in the absurdity of wars and being ruled and being told what to do and what to say and what to think, the fear that took over our dignity and right to live, the misanthropist drive that closes us up and tucks us in, will kill us all.

What pains me is that it is all there for us to see in so many ways if we only care enough and respect ourselves enough to want to know and to want to make a change yet we choose not to look, we look the other way. We are selfish and animalistic more so every day and we are endangering our kind. They are not smart enough to hide the abject poverty starting here, the injustice, the torture, the double standards, the cries for help from children all around the world.

It really pains me that they don’t care to hide it and that we have willingly given our freedom away.

Today's article
Today's lyrics
And from apartheid, read here (from transient's blog) and here.

Sunday, March 25, 2007


Don't want to grow up!


We don't want to give stupid lectures and have stupid jobs and carry stupid labtops around to stupid meetings ...

We want to dance and be silly and never grow up and never leave each other...

Why is it that we have to keep saying stupid goodbyes in this country every couple of years...

Bad enough it takes so long to make a home for ourselves from scratch, we have to do this all the time now ... Everything is changing and it is my highest stress level possible ...

I'm having meltdowns ... No i know .. A lot of people do it all the time and get adapted fairly quickly ... Bastards!

We invest in our careers but we also invest in the people we love. We don't have to drift apart even when we're apart? not true! It's not the same. If i don't see you in a couple of years i probably will forget your face and your habits and why i loved you in the first place.

Someone said to me that i'm always stuck in the past. Well of course i am. My present keeps changing and my future 3a kaff 3afreet. 3afreet eh.

When we were kids we wanted this life. Remember? Vivre comme des vagabonds. Fresh starts at every step. Never buy furniture and never get too close or too attached but travel light and carry a pad to write each other ... Two drifters ...

Yeah? Well i'm tired of drifting. You drift away. I'm settling again another time but for the last time. I'm saying goodbye for the last time. I'm buying furniture and a washer and dryer and maybe i'll even get a mortgage ... Who knows ... I'm shipping my cats for the last time ... No more moving sales, no more address changes and no more life changes ...

For the next ten years you know where i will be ... Stuck in my stupid new place, in my stupid apartment, in my stupid job ... I have to grow up ...

We're no longer students forever, no longer starting over ... no writing fellowship in London or an editorial job in Barcelona. kbirna we t3ibna we 3eefouna ... It's over ... This is it my dear ... Shou? Coming?

TUFFA7A



On a sleepless night ... She was born and she seemed sad ...





Broken hymns of the olive land ...







I stand with open arms a chorus behind me with nothing to say and my eyes teary
I hang by a thread from base to abyss, my neck stretched and my back weary
The years unravel throwing morsels of letdowns and putdowns my way
I wait in patience and good faith for a gift from above for a much better day

Dark are my words dim are the signs endless is the night scary is a life without quest
I would have lived as I wished thrown of life what I wished and taken the best
Hair avalanching colors of life and arms inebriated with the moist peck of the ocean
Chuckles breaking in the background and hearts racing skipping beats without caution

Their shadows haunted mine imprisoned my heart in shackles and tied the rest
Far on the hills echoes of my madness cascading pain of the world on their chest
Their eyes on my walls their fingers in my daily bread my olives a bitter potion
A story of boiling hate that masks by the weight of living the magic of creation

I stand with open legs with twisted arms stories behind me and my eyes teary
I lay sweating and shivering forever forgotten, my words forgiven and my back weary
I wait in fear for your light for your revenge for your wisdom and for a much better day
You ask of my children to live and forgive and to smile, eyes to the heavens and I say; until I forgive you my rage my grief, my torture, my ailing limbs and my dismay,
My children will stand proud will look away from your heaven and will smile my way

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Left alone ...


We are more and more alienated.
More and more dispensable.
More and more unfairly treated, belittled, left alone,
More and more …
More and more mocked
by our spouses,
mocked
by our bosses,
mocked
by our governments,
Left alone ...
By our children, our neighbors, our loved ones,
our friends,
left alone ...
By the world, by the gods, by the skies
More and more endangered, enraged, entangled-
together-
on a stage,
and at the end left alone ...
Used and abused and stepped on and pushed aside.
Used and overused flipped and thrown by the tides.
Used and seduced and laid flat and left alone.
Panting and chanting and ranting and spinning,
a fever of pilgrimage from dusk to dawn,
a fever of passion turned paper-
turned stone.
Behind the scenes behind the curtains behind the doors,
left alone ...
Oozing squealing tiny screams from heads thrown-
on pillows of hay pillows of silk pillows of tears-
sawn with strings of light strings that break,
that disappear,
that fall apart,
till the morning light,
Left alone.
Images and words and colors and lies and blindness,
rushed flushed crushed with rudeness,
with lack of kindness.
Rage of the skies on virtues slipping-
on hearts ripping,
on life wasting life,
to be left alone ...
We are more and more,

alone.
More and more atone-

to one heart beat,
to one opinion one idea one road.
More and more predestined propositioned predisposed,
Pre-packed pre-peeled-

our fate sealed,
our souls torn.
From dusk till dawn we spin we grin,
we pre-paste our little titles and self pack in little bins,
we self code self erode and explode from within ...
Behind the doors,
behind the stage,
and left alone …

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

The iron man
As the golden rays tenderly reinvade our days. As the shy Spring springs the first promise of summer and heat and fun, everyone around me seems to be falling in love. I am falling in love too. I am falling in love with Bobby Flay. I am. This is serious! I am clearly not one of those teenage girls who fall in love with television characters so where is this coming from? I really love him. I’m obsessing with the guy. I can talk about him for hours. I know everything about him. Anyone knows him? He’s a New Yorker so it’s not like I’m falling for a Hollywood personality. Now that would be tacky. He’s also very real so this is not coming from an immature fantasy. Real? He’s an iron chef.. How could that be real? Iron chef, how sexy is that? I need to be put behind iron bars, now that’s for certain. I have been staying up all night, every night for the past week to watch reruns of his show. I'm exhausted and very busy these days to be doing this. Again, anyone knows him? Seriously! Forget it. Forget I said all that.
Happy mother's day!

I recommend this website if you want to send flowers back home. It's always on time and their flowers are beautiful.
Suicide building, yeah right!

Palestinians need an impossible to obtain permit in order to escape the demolition of their homes built on land they own, while settlers get military protection but i gave up on fairness and empathy on the Israeli side long ago.

And nothing we didn't already know and argue here but i gave up on logic and honesty on that side long ago.

While you might be predisposed to some ideas growing up, the strongest opinions of others and the character-changing lessons in life are really the ones you form based on what you live and what you experience. We don't propagate hate, we just propagate ourselves. We are who society makes of us. We are the result of a global collective human interaction that will be affected by international politics, economics and culture. In today's wars, racism, commercialism and globalization of cheap ideas, cheap lives double lanes and fast gains, what a sad generation we must be raising!