I was reading an article written by an Arab feminist or wannabe feminist on the sexuality of the Arabs and that of Arab women in particular - or the lack thereof...
This woman had some valid points - namely that women in the Arab world do not own their sexuality...their sexuality is more of a property of the other - either the collective other --society, or a private property that of an individual other - her husband. And she is correct. This is something I touched upon in my previous post.
The area of the required Virginity is the sphere where male appropriation of the female body is most felt. The Arab, Eastern male believes in that dick head of his ---if the woman I am to marry is not a virgin, then the likelihood of her cheating on me with another man is a high possibility. The Eastern male believes that virginity is his guarantee that his female goods have not been touched by another male, but also that these female goods will remain his...pure intact for him alone. And therefore his virtue, honor, pride, etc...are safeguarded through what is between the legs of his woman.
Fact is that nothing makes a dick head insecure like another dick head.
What this eunuch is really saying to himself secretly - if she is a virgin she has nothing else to compare me with...I shall be king in bed and king in the house just as am treated as king within my own little kingdom, my own little society...I am the man goddamn it...I have proved it to myself, I got a virgin. I penetrated her and she is unspoilt territory. She is mine -worthy enough of my royal sperms. She will give me much progeny in my own image, pure breed, pure pedigree like myself...you see, I am the center...and everything revolves around me...I am the beginning and the end. OK there may be a god out there, but he loves me beyond belief, he gives me anything I want, in particular virgin women, so pure, for me alone...My God is a copy of me...Him and I are the same...In secret I know it is so, in public, I pretend that am submitting to some higher force...but no, am the king of the zoo and my zoo is made of females...My mama said so...and my mama loves me oh so totally...deep down am an insecure asshole, so unsure of my masculinity, but mama said am a king, she must be right...
The Eastern male is a pathetic, infantile ego tripper, the king baby of Eastern and Arab society. I say Eastern because I include other males in this equation - Indians, Pakistanis, Asians, Africans, it's all the same shit...(do include others... Turks, Greeks, Italians, Spaniards -- and extend it worldwide...to varying degrees...I repeat --.it's all the same shit)
Once his little ego is crushed, he runs back to mama crying...she pats him and says -- don't worry darling, I will find you another...he sucks his big thumb, smiles, farts once more, and his mama exclaims --my little one has farted again, lo and behold - he is is indeed the miraculous boy !
And if his mother is dead, he will conjure up her image, cry in silence, and remember her tender face praising his farts...he will hop off again, full of self confidence, out there -- to conquer the world...and he gets himself another zoo where he can become a king again...and fart some more...some more of his royal farts just like mama promised...
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Sunday, 27 June 2010
Serail of the Mind.
I had a "strange" dream this morning...
I saw an Arab woman, she was Iraqi, wearing a beautiful embroidered Turquoise Caftan, and a lovely pair of ear rings made of precious gemstones, she looked all made up, and no where to go.
I remember seeing her seated in a corner of the room, with a closed window behind her, all alone, waiting...
I thought to myself why is this woman so abandoned and then I understood that she was debating within herself, if she should accept to meet a lover or not...I also understood in the dream that she was married but her husband had just kept her like a piece of furniture, and she was to wait faithfully for his return from his endless philandering - his affairs with other women.
In the dream, my first reaction was - she should not go and meet her lover, it is wrong. But then I changed my mind, and like some voice said to me - it is perfectly fine if she meets her lover, her husband is not living up to his deal of the "contract".
I woke up and felt perfectly fine with this. I thought about this dream the whole day...and allowed some free association...
I realized on some profound level, that for most Eastern women, Arabs included, they are really deprived from their OWN sexual pleasures. Meaning that -- from an early age, they have been socialized to remain virgins for the one man, the one and only - who 9 times out of 10 is no virgin himself. Having married, finally - 9 times out of 10 to have sex lawfully (forget all the other stuff about love and romance), the chances of their husbands philandering are another 9 times out of 10.
Not only that - the whole cultural surroundings keep hammering that it is "normal" for a man to do so, he is after all a man and has this unlimited reservoir of sexual needs, implying of course that she has none or very little and she is then urged to practice patience, much patience and much waiting - if she wants to keep her marriage. It is also implied that he will eventually come around...
Meanwhile, she must keep her own sexual needs on freeze. Literally. While her donkey of a husband is busy fucking his mistress, his concubine, his second wife, and God knows who else...
Entertaining any thought of having an affair is strictly taboo, even though some do transgress the taboo and the risks they run are enormous if they get caught. Really enormous. So basically her life is on hold and he (the donkey called a husband) is holding it...until, if ever, he comes around...
So it all boils down to the following - her sexuality belongs to him. First she must be a virgin, second she must be faithful no matter what, and third in the eventuality of him not satisfying her sexual needs, then she is to simply forget that they exist. Basically she has no ownership of anything but he does...not God, but he.
Now all the above put in simple terms -- and things are slightly more complicated than that, are all justified in the name of Religion.
All of it is justified and rationalized in the name of Religion.
Yet the religious text says nothing about :
- a woman having to be a virgin.
- it condemns adultery i.e extra marital sex for both genders.
- the maximum waiting period is one month with no sex, provided the husband is healthy.
- men are urged to satisfy their female partners (many Hadiths from the Prophet to that effect)
- Surat after Surat from the Koran urges men not to leave their wives suspended - neither married nor divorced.
- if the husband wants a second wife (for X reason - will not go into them right now) he is to ask permission from his wife first. (A parenthesis : Oddly enough, even Bin Laden asked permission from his first wife before marrying a second one. The first wife chose for him his second wife.
And I have more examples from the religious texts - and none of them condone the neglect of women. NONE.
Adding, the above was formulated in a different historical context. Furthermore, it is assumed all things being equal, these are the Divine prescriptions to follow... I repeat - all things being equal...
Getting back to my dream and this woman's toying with the idea of meeting her lover...short of divorcing the donkey (another ball game altogether) - should she or should she not ?
Must she stay in that serail or must she allow herself to live her sexual passion from which she was intentionally deprived ?
Well the voice in my dream said - There is no harm in doing so.
On another level, the dream may also mean that this woman is married to the culture of sexual (Life) deprivation and she is to allow herself to leave the serail of her mind.
I saw an Arab woman, she was Iraqi, wearing a beautiful embroidered Turquoise Caftan, and a lovely pair of ear rings made of precious gemstones, she looked all made up, and no where to go.
I remember seeing her seated in a corner of the room, with a closed window behind her, all alone, waiting...
I thought to myself why is this woman so abandoned and then I understood that she was debating within herself, if she should accept to meet a lover or not...I also understood in the dream that she was married but her husband had just kept her like a piece of furniture, and she was to wait faithfully for his return from his endless philandering - his affairs with other women.
In the dream, my first reaction was - she should not go and meet her lover, it is wrong. But then I changed my mind, and like some voice said to me - it is perfectly fine if she meets her lover, her husband is not living up to his deal of the "contract".
I woke up and felt perfectly fine with this. I thought about this dream the whole day...and allowed some free association...
I realized on some profound level, that for most Eastern women, Arabs included, they are really deprived from their OWN sexual pleasures. Meaning that -- from an early age, they have been socialized to remain virgins for the one man, the one and only - who 9 times out of 10 is no virgin himself. Having married, finally - 9 times out of 10 to have sex lawfully (forget all the other stuff about love and romance), the chances of their husbands philandering are another 9 times out of 10.
Not only that - the whole cultural surroundings keep hammering that it is "normal" for a man to do so, he is after all a man and has this unlimited reservoir of sexual needs, implying of course that she has none or very little and she is then urged to practice patience, much patience and much waiting - if she wants to keep her marriage. It is also implied that he will eventually come around...
Meanwhile, she must keep her own sexual needs on freeze. Literally. While her donkey of a husband is busy fucking his mistress, his concubine, his second wife, and God knows who else...
Entertaining any thought of having an affair is strictly taboo, even though some do transgress the taboo and the risks they run are enormous if they get caught. Really enormous. So basically her life is on hold and he (the donkey called a husband) is holding it...until, if ever, he comes around...
So it all boils down to the following - her sexuality belongs to him. First she must be a virgin, second she must be faithful no matter what, and third in the eventuality of him not satisfying her sexual needs, then she is to simply forget that they exist. Basically she has no ownership of anything but he does...not God, but he.
Now all the above put in simple terms -- and things are slightly more complicated than that, are all justified in the name of Religion.
All of it is justified and rationalized in the name of Religion.
Yet the religious text says nothing about :
- a woman having to be a virgin.
- it condemns adultery i.e extra marital sex for both genders.
- the maximum waiting period is one month with no sex, provided the husband is healthy.
- men are urged to satisfy their female partners (many Hadiths from the Prophet to that effect)
- Surat after Surat from the Koran urges men not to leave their wives suspended - neither married nor divorced.
- if the husband wants a second wife (for X reason - will not go into them right now) he is to ask permission from his wife first. (A parenthesis : Oddly enough, even Bin Laden asked permission from his first wife before marrying a second one. The first wife chose for him his second wife.
And I have more examples from the religious texts - and none of them condone the neglect of women. NONE.
Adding, the above was formulated in a different historical context. Furthermore, it is assumed all things being equal, these are the Divine prescriptions to follow... I repeat - all things being equal...
Getting back to my dream and this woman's toying with the idea of meeting her lover...short of divorcing the donkey (another ball game altogether) - should she or should she not ?
Must she stay in that serail or must she allow herself to live her sexual passion from which she was intentionally deprived ?
Well the voice in my dream said - There is no harm in doing so.
On another level, the dream may also mean that this woman is married to the culture of sexual (Life) deprivation and she is to allow herself to leave the serail of her mind.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Friday, 25 June 2010
On Pride.
I was thinking of Pride today - the concept.
Pride in the English language has negative connotations, as in false pride. Again the French are more sophisticated than the English - they call it Fierte. False pride is called Orgueil or fausse fierte
In Arabic, Pride has a different meaning - it is called Izzat Al Nafs. Izzat Al Nafs means you have consideration for yourself. It means you will not humble yourself down to anyone except your Maker. Izzat al Nafs does not have any negative side to it, as another noun is used for that purpose - and that is Ghoroor, meaning conceit, and can mean false pride - Ghoroor al Nafs - the conceit of the soul (false pride or false egos). A trait unfortunately seen in most Arab and Eastern men - which they deliberate mistake as Izzat Al Nafs...
In the Eastern male psyche,(Arabs and the rest of the clowns) since all is limited to his own ego, he has a hard time differentiating between what is Izzat Al Nafs (real pride derived from correct action) and Ghoroor (false pride derived from illusions of self). Hence our clowns are always justifying wrong actions in the name of Izzat Al Nafs, when it is nothing but Ghoroor Al Nafs, a Nafs (a soul) unable to confront itself and take responsibility.
Leaving this defeated specimen, aside - Izzat al Nafs is also used to designate honor and dignity. Pride, dignity and honor are a triangle - they are used interchangeably sometimes.
In the above context, the triangle does not designate some false sense of self, but something more permanent - a knowing of origins. Origins that are not necessarily related to clan, family, class or tribe...an origin that is beyond all these societal notions, an origin that derives itself from history in the largest sense of the word. A History with a capital H.
Maybe our specimens ought to dig into their History a little more, instead of having it limited to their crotch, to what is between their legs and which they often mistake for their Soul.
Pride in the English language has negative connotations, as in false pride. Again the French are more sophisticated than the English - they call it Fierte. False pride is called Orgueil or fausse fierte
In Arabic, Pride has a different meaning - it is called Izzat Al Nafs. Izzat Al Nafs means you have consideration for yourself. It means you will not humble yourself down to anyone except your Maker. Izzat al Nafs does not have any negative side to it, as another noun is used for that purpose - and that is Ghoroor, meaning conceit, and can mean false pride - Ghoroor al Nafs - the conceit of the soul (false pride or false egos). A trait unfortunately seen in most Arab and Eastern men - which they deliberate mistake as Izzat Al Nafs...
In the Eastern male psyche,(Arabs and the rest of the clowns) since all is limited to his own ego, he has a hard time differentiating between what is Izzat Al Nafs (real pride derived from correct action) and Ghoroor (false pride derived from illusions of self). Hence our clowns are always justifying wrong actions in the name of Izzat Al Nafs, when it is nothing but Ghoroor Al Nafs, a Nafs (a soul) unable to confront itself and take responsibility.
Leaving this defeated specimen, aside - Izzat al Nafs is also used to designate honor and dignity. Pride, dignity and honor are a triangle - they are used interchangeably sometimes.
In the above context, the triangle does not designate some false sense of self, but something more permanent - a knowing of origins. Origins that are not necessarily related to clan, family, class or tribe...an origin that is beyond all these societal notions, an origin that derives itself from history in the largest sense of the word. A History with a capital H.
Maybe our specimens ought to dig into their History a little more, instead of having it limited to their crotch, to what is between their legs and which they often mistake for their Soul.
Thursday, 24 June 2010
Working Class - my Butt ! 1
Working class this, working class that...truth is that people are people. The left loves glorifying the working class, as some mythical force that will bring this great change about...
What change ? This is all bullshit.
I had to have some working class men come and repair some things here, they are workers so I suppose you can call them working class, no?
Well, do you think that they are any different from any other class of men? Hell no.
Same shit different colors. Blue collar shit versus White collar shit, what difference is there? It's all the same shit collar.
The thing is these working class men that the left does not cease edifying and sanctifying, are part and parcel of the same overall political culture. They just want a bigger piece of the pie - which is fine. I have no problem with that.
But let me tell you something, they all aspire for that bigger piece, and that is no guarantee that they will not become ruling oppressing tyrants themselves, in turn oppressing others who are striving for yet another piece of the pie...
Anyways, leaving aside my simplistic version of Das Kapital, and getting back to the workers that visited me.
My mistake, my big mistake...I was too polite with them. I greeted them with a smile, offered them something to drink, patiently explained to them the problems that needed fixing -- I did not order them about, I was civil. Big mistake.
They took this civility as a green light, a sign of trespassing limits. Fact is, they noticed that there was no man about the house, no husband in sight, no patriarch, and no gorilla male to protect the territory...
They trespassed in some insidious ways, like dogs marking their own territory, something they would never dare do, had I been a man.
This is just one little example, I have tons of others, and I shall record them all...because piece by piece they complete the picture.
But let me stick to this one first, the most recent of the whole bloody working class lot.
One had to fix some electrical wall socket that was leaking and was causing a fuse. The other another leak in the drainage.
So here I was back and fro from kitchen to living room, and living room to kitchen.
While I was in the kitchen, asking the first worker, who was eying me up and down asking me questions that were none of his fucking business - my age, where my husband is, how many children I have, my nationality, am I renting or owning, etc -- all the while flicking his cigarette ashes on my kitchen floor, even though I provided him with an ashtray...which in retrospect, I should have smashed on his head instead -- breaking one drain pipe instead of fixing the one that needed fixing...and while his "assistant" was checking out the rest of my apartment, deliberately smoothing his tar filled hands on the white walls, the other crapola from the working class that is glorified by the red berets revolutionaries (who all incidentally are also dreaming of private mansions and swimming pools) was in the living room, supposedly fixing the electrical plugs.
And here I am on the brink of hysteria, with an eye on the wanker in the kitchen, another eye on his assistant who has deliberately ruined the walls with his filthy hands and dirty overalls, and a third eye on the other guy in the living room...and what do I see? You're not going to believe this, but am not exaggerating one bit. The guy was literally reclining on my couch, his legs stretched out, one arm behind his head, while the other hand was zapping on the TV remote control, his cigarette burning away in the ashtray...
What the Fuck ?!?!
- Excuse me what are you exactly doing ?
- Oh am just checking if the socket works, he replied, without flinching...
I saw RED, bright RED...I felt blood rushing to my head, and fire coming out of my nostrils...
- And why don't you check the socket while standing up mister ?
- uhh, oh, am done anyway...
Cutting a long story short, the luminaries -- respectable, respecting, glorified, working class men were expecting me to tip them -- over and above their hourly fees.
Now, had I been a man would they ever conduct themselves in this manner ? of course not...they would bow, bend, and comply...
Short Moral of the story -- Fuck your Marxism and Fuck your working class.
What change ? This is all bullshit.
I had to have some working class men come and repair some things here, they are workers so I suppose you can call them working class, no?
Well, do you think that they are any different from any other class of men? Hell no.
Same shit different colors. Blue collar shit versus White collar shit, what difference is there? It's all the same shit collar.
The thing is these working class men that the left does not cease edifying and sanctifying, are part and parcel of the same overall political culture. They just want a bigger piece of the pie - which is fine. I have no problem with that.
But let me tell you something, they all aspire for that bigger piece, and that is no guarantee that they will not become ruling oppressing tyrants themselves, in turn oppressing others who are striving for yet another piece of the pie...
Anyways, leaving aside my simplistic version of Das Kapital, and getting back to the workers that visited me.
My mistake, my big mistake...I was too polite with them. I greeted them with a smile, offered them something to drink, patiently explained to them the problems that needed fixing -- I did not order them about, I was civil. Big mistake.
They took this civility as a green light, a sign of trespassing limits. Fact is, they noticed that there was no man about the house, no husband in sight, no patriarch, and no gorilla male to protect the territory...
They trespassed in some insidious ways, like dogs marking their own territory, something they would never dare do, had I been a man.
This is just one little example, I have tons of others, and I shall record them all...because piece by piece they complete the picture.
But let me stick to this one first, the most recent of the whole bloody working class lot.
One had to fix some electrical wall socket that was leaking and was causing a fuse. The other another leak in the drainage.
So here I was back and fro from kitchen to living room, and living room to kitchen.
While I was in the kitchen, asking the first worker, who was eying me up and down asking me questions that were none of his fucking business - my age, where my husband is, how many children I have, my nationality, am I renting or owning, etc -- all the while flicking his cigarette ashes on my kitchen floor, even though I provided him with an ashtray...which in retrospect, I should have smashed on his head instead -- breaking one drain pipe instead of fixing the one that needed fixing...and while his "assistant" was checking out the rest of my apartment, deliberately smoothing his tar filled hands on the white walls, the other crapola from the working class that is glorified by the red berets revolutionaries (who all incidentally are also dreaming of private mansions and swimming pools) was in the living room, supposedly fixing the electrical plugs.
And here I am on the brink of hysteria, with an eye on the wanker in the kitchen, another eye on his assistant who has deliberately ruined the walls with his filthy hands and dirty overalls, and a third eye on the other guy in the living room...and what do I see? You're not going to believe this, but am not exaggerating one bit. The guy was literally reclining on my couch, his legs stretched out, one arm behind his head, while the other hand was zapping on the TV remote control, his cigarette burning away in the ashtray...
What the Fuck ?!?!
- Excuse me what are you exactly doing ?
- Oh am just checking if the socket works, he replied, without flinching...
I saw RED, bright RED...I felt blood rushing to my head, and fire coming out of my nostrils...
- And why don't you check the socket while standing up mister ?
- uhh, oh, am done anyway...
Cutting a long story short, the luminaries -- respectable, respecting, glorified, working class men were expecting me to tip them -- over and above their hourly fees.
Now, had I been a man would they ever conduct themselves in this manner ? of course not...they would bow, bend, and comply...
Short Moral of the story -- Fuck your Marxism and Fuck your working class.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Random Thoughts - not so.
I've been without a computer for 3 days and it just felt...WONDERFUL. Stress free and peaceful...
I did not have to check my mail every 3 hours, did not have to answer queries, requests, expectations, etc...I FELT FREE. By God I did.
Fucking technology...all this bloody technology - computer, cell phones, landlines, text messages, calls, emails, messengers, webcams, chats, blue tooth, white tooth, black tooth, black berry, ipod, ipad, all this shit...what's all this shit for ?
One would have thought that with all this communication technology, we'd all be on the same wavelength...you know, like get closer, communicate intently, make a difference in the world...
ILLUSIONS, ILLUSIONS and nothing but ILLUSIONS.
Bombarded with stuff from all sides, is exhausting, saps your energies, draws life out of you, the parasites of technology...false closeness, false intimacy, false everything.
Nothing beats the acid test of Reality. NOTHING
I hope my computer crashes again, big time and does not get repaired at all...alternatively I can just log off, for a long time, but knowing me I'd be possessed by this sense of urgency...
Another illusion.
And the thing is just because I happen to be online more frequently than not, am not a receptionist nor a secretary here. Meaning I am under no obligation to reply to every single demand, request that is sent my way.
OK enough, I'd rather go and listen to some music now.
I did not have to check my mail every 3 hours, did not have to answer queries, requests, expectations, etc...I FELT FREE. By God I did.
Fucking technology...all this bloody technology - computer, cell phones, landlines, text messages, calls, emails, messengers, webcams, chats, blue tooth, white tooth, black tooth, black berry, ipod, ipad, all this shit...what's all this shit for ?
One would have thought that with all this communication technology, we'd all be on the same wavelength...you know, like get closer, communicate intently, make a difference in the world...
ILLUSIONS, ILLUSIONS and nothing but ILLUSIONS.
Bombarded with stuff from all sides, is exhausting, saps your energies, draws life out of you, the parasites of technology...false closeness, false intimacy, false everything.
Nothing beats the acid test of Reality. NOTHING
I hope my computer crashes again, big time and does not get repaired at all...alternatively I can just log off, for a long time, but knowing me I'd be possessed by this sense of urgency...
Another illusion.
And the thing is just because I happen to be online more frequently than not, am not a receptionist nor a secretary here. Meaning I am under no obligation to reply to every single demand, request that is sent my way.
OK enough, I'd rather go and listen to some music now.
Saturday, 19 June 2010
Two Sparrows...
Gorgeous day, I can tell it's going to be very hot today...so am up early, to catch the morning's early coolness.
I just noticed two sparrows outside my wide open window.
The first one landed, and then soon after, another landed next to it, and they engaged in this long discussion...
I knew they were talking to each other, I am sure of it. But I have not mastered the language of birds, not yet...
After a long exchange, sounded a little heated to me, each one got the message. The first one turned his back and flew away, the second followed him in no time.
Maybe it was some important conference of the birds. Or maybe it was a she who was most upset, and he tried making it up to her. Maybe she was telling him, where were you last night or something alone these lines. Or maybe he was just flirting with her, and she was playing hard to get, or still it could be that he was the leader of the clan and was pissed off with one of his subordinates, or it also could be that they were just planning the day ahead-who would get which worm in which corner...or maybe, they were just singing...singing their message to me.
I just noticed two sparrows outside my wide open window.
The first one landed, and then soon after, another landed next to it, and they engaged in this long discussion...
I knew they were talking to each other, I am sure of it. But I have not mastered the language of birds, not yet...
After a long exchange, sounded a little heated to me, each one got the message. The first one turned his back and flew away, the second followed him in no time.
Maybe it was some important conference of the birds. Or maybe it was a she who was most upset, and he tried making it up to her. Maybe she was telling him, where were you last night or something alone these lines. Or maybe he was just flirting with her, and she was playing hard to get, or still it could be that he was the leader of the clan and was pissed off with one of his subordinates, or it also could be that they were just planning the day ahead-who would get which worm in which corner...or maybe, they were just singing...singing their message to me.
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Plenitude...
I did say once that the obvious is elusive for most...it is for me too, most of the time.
Like I switched on my computer, clicked to establish connection and waited and waited, nothing happened. The icon was right in front of my eyes - it said "click here to connect". CLICK HERE TO CONNECT. It was right in front of my eyes and I did not see it.
The same with everything else...I sometimes fail to connect, to click on the connect button. I am not the only one guilty of that, everyone else is too. This is our state of forgetfulness - our ghafla as it is called in Arabic. Ghafla is not only forgetfulness, it is a kind of forgetful sleep, a slumbering unawareness.
I am no preacher, no teacher, and I have no particular inclination to become either, however I feel this urge - whenever I come across the obvious - to 'report' it. That's a hell a lot of reporting to do. But so be it. I do it for me, so my ghafla moments last less longer...and if anyone else can "profit", then all the better...
What has that got to do with Plenitude ? Everything.
I like the English language, but I feel it a little limited, or maybe it is my own vocabulary that is limited and I am unable to dig into its depths, like I do with Arabic. I feel the English language holds no particular secret. It is kind of flat, like England itself. French on the other hand, is a little more sophisticated than English - as a language, that is.
So getting back to Plenitude. In French, faire le plein means to fill up something. Plein is full, and I am no linguist but Plein and Plenitude resonate the same.
Plenitude is a state of fullness, a state of being filled up to satiation, to satisfaction, to contentment but not only. It is a state of being so full that peace/tranquility can be felt.
This is no permanent state, just a temporary one. It can only happen when one clicks the connect button.
I am sure many of you have known such fleeting states, I know I have. When I click on the connect button, I experience them more often than not.
I remember many instances when they did happen. They were not volcanic, or earth shattering moments, they were just - a calm, breath taking, quietly moving - Oh my God - moments.
I can remember several of them, some date back a long time ago, some happened not too long ago, some happened yesterday, the day before and some are in the making, waiting just around the corner...
I will stop here, these are "mini" experiences, or come across that way because of their transient nature. These are experiences that can't be translated into any language, except maybe the language of poetry but even then, the language is limiting.
All I can say, is that these moments of Plenitude feel like a cup full of nectar. I am immensely grateful, filled with gratitude that I have the eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue...--- to taste, sense, see, hear, smell, and feel them...
And precisely because my cup can be filled in that way - it is my moral duty, obligation, purpose, mission, call it what you like, and it does not matter what you call it....it is my responsibility to remember those who have lost that capacity, many through no fault of their own...
It is my moral obligation to remember those whose cup has been forcefully, brutally and violently taken away from them.
I can only do it with language, with words...and I know how much language and words are limited, limiting...
I've posted that song 24 hours ago, I shall post it again here. Another moment of Plenitude for me.
Like I switched on my computer, clicked to establish connection and waited and waited, nothing happened. The icon was right in front of my eyes - it said "click here to connect". CLICK HERE TO CONNECT. It was right in front of my eyes and I did not see it.
The same with everything else...I sometimes fail to connect, to click on the connect button. I am not the only one guilty of that, everyone else is too. This is our state of forgetfulness - our ghafla as it is called in Arabic. Ghafla is not only forgetfulness, it is a kind of forgetful sleep, a slumbering unawareness.
I am no preacher, no teacher, and I have no particular inclination to become either, however I feel this urge - whenever I come across the obvious - to 'report' it. That's a hell a lot of reporting to do. But so be it. I do it for me, so my ghafla moments last less longer...and if anyone else can "profit", then all the better...
What has that got to do with Plenitude ? Everything.
I like the English language, but I feel it a little limited, or maybe it is my own vocabulary that is limited and I am unable to dig into its depths, like I do with Arabic. I feel the English language holds no particular secret. It is kind of flat, like England itself. French on the other hand, is a little more sophisticated than English - as a language, that is.
So getting back to Plenitude. In French, faire le plein means to fill up something. Plein is full, and I am no linguist but Plein and Plenitude resonate the same.
Plenitude is a state of fullness, a state of being filled up to satiation, to satisfaction, to contentment but not only. It is a state of being so full that peace/tranquility can be felt.
This is no permanent state, just a temporary one. It can only happen when one clicks the connect button.
I am sure many of you have known such fleeting states, I know I have. When I click on the connect button, I experience them more often than not.
I remember many instances when they did happen. They were not volcanic, or earth shattering moments, they were just - a calm, breath taking, quietly moving - Oh my God - moments.
I can remember several of them, some date back a long time ago, some happened not too long ago, some happened yesterday, the day before and some are in the making, waiting just around the corner...
I will stop here, these are "mini" experiences, or come across that way because of their transient nature. These are experiences that can't be translated into any language, except maybe the language of poetry but even then, the language is limiting.
All I can say, is that these moments of Plenitude feel like a cup full of nectar. I am immensely grateful, filled with gratitude that I have the eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue...--- to taste, sense, see, hear, smell, and feel them...
And precisely because my cup can be filled in that way - it is my moral duty, obligation, purpose, mission, call it what you like, and it does not matter what you call it....it is my responsibility to remember those who have lost that capacity, many through no fault of their own...
It is my moral obligation to remember those whose cup has been forcefully, brutally and violently taken away from them.
I can only do it with language, with words...and I know how much language and words are limited, limiting...
I've posted that song 24 hours ago, I shall post it again here. Another moment of Plenitude for me.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Je vais te chercher, Je vais te trouver...
I love this song by Salif Keita, I don't understand Malian, but the bit of French in the song I do understand very well....
Sublime...simply sublime.
Sublime...simply sublime.
About Layla Anwar - the Controversial Iraqi Woman. 3
So getting back to Layla Anwar...
Hussein Anwar mentioned at some point in his 1st post that I was very anti-male, like VERY.
Nope, not true General. Am not anti-male. I am anti male assholes. Meaning that I am anti men who abuse their powers, their privileges, their positions, their sex to abuse, demean, harass, betray, lie, cheat, repress, control, etc...in short inflict harm -- all types of harm on women, limit them, and subjugate them because of their sex.
I know that women can be bitches, I've met many bitches. But as a gender group, women are not as destructive as men. This is most evident during times of wars and occupations, the first victims are the little ones and the women.
Why is that ? Why is it that what is traditionally considered the most vulnerable, or the weaker sex, becomes the recipient of so much male wrath, abuse, dispossession, neglect, etc...
Why is that during such times the bestiality of men shows itself the most, comes to the forefront and exposes their true nature ? If men are by nature protective, then how come they are capable of so much harm against the so-called weaker sex ?
Why is that men in their frustration, be it sexual, political, psychological, whatever, lash out on women the most....rape, domestic violence, moral violence and the rest ? Why is it ?
What has gone wrong ? What has gone wrong with men ?
So no am not anti-men, I've met some good decent men, I had them in my family, I have them as friends, but these kind of men are a minority. They truly are a minority.
Taking my blogging experience as some form of yardstick to illustrate...
The amount of threats, death, rape, torture, all with very strong sexual connotations, I received are beyond anyone's imagination. I am not talking of a couple of mails, I am talking of literally hundreds. From Americans, Brits, Arab men -- you name it I had it...
Again that beast comes to the forefront, as if I was in a state of occupation, of war online, in the virtual...yet in my posts, no particular individual was mentioned, I left it at generalities. I'd say -- men, women, Arabs, Americans, Brits...but it did not matter...because I had hit a raw nerve, a truth, somewhere. I was perceived as a woman with a voice, a woman that reminded them of everything they hated about women with a voice, it reminded them of how small and insecure they are, it reminded them that a female voice can actually expose their impotence - political, moral and maybe sexual too. (most probably)
I even had one guy send me pictures of his dick. No kidding. He actually took several pictures of his dick and sent them to me, quite ugly fellow I must say. Well his dick was - if he can call that a dick.
Others tried the seductive route, the flowery emails, only to pour their psychosis and violence in between the lines...
So yes I learned even more about men through this medium...here -- they are themselves. The anonymity allows them to unleash that fear, that malevolence that is buried deep inside their guts against women and not any kind of women - it had to be an Arab woman and an Iraqi one.
They probably thought to themselves as the "predators"(haha) they are - here is a woman, she writes openly, she has something to say, but she must be vulnerable, she is here pouring her feelings therefore she must be somewhere "weak", she is an easy target, a "soft" target.
Oh poor dickheads, my very poor dickheads... what a surprise you were in for. Come on admit it. You were in for a huge fucking surprise - because you did not manage to defeat me -- not physically, not morally, not psychologically, not politically...
But what you did manage to do, is show the depth of your own hideousness, your immeasurable ugliness.
So this is where the crux lies....the minute a man perceives what he thinks to be a "strong" woman, his immediate reaction is fight or flight.
Now fight comes under different forms and flight does too. Men know what am talking about here.
Hence it does not surprise me, that even Hussein Anwar used the following terms to describe me - evil, malicious, rude, harsh, bitch...adding -- she was not that way, but you turned her that way.
Then he said at some point in his second post, Layla Anwar reminds me of the strong mother I had or the school teacher who was strict but caring.
Another projection is it not ? Another image. I am either the evil malicious woman/witch or the strong mother/teacher...one has to be destroyed and the other? destroyed as well ? conquered ? submitted to ?
I am sure Hussein Anwar was unaware of this dichotomous thinking. And he wrote in good faith. But it was interesting to note.
In any case these images are so common, these archetypes of the Feminine are so common, and am sure many men battle with them...daily. I just hope that they realize that they are first and foremost battling with themselves.
And the second thing I hope through my "anti-male" writings, is that men wake up to their true higher calling, to what they were truly created and destined for, and accomplish that "spiritual" mission, for themselves and for the women in their lives.
Hussein Anwar mentioned at some point in his 1st post that I was very anti-male, like VERY.
Nope, not true General. Am not anti-male. I am anti male assholes. Meaning that I am anti men who abuse their powers, their privileges, their positions, their sex to abuse, demean, harass, betray, lie, cheat, repress, control, etc...in short inflict harm -- all types of harm on women, limit them, and subjugate them because of their sex.
I know that women can be bitches, I've met many bitches. But as a gender group, women are not as destructive as men. This is most evident during times of wars and occupations, the first victims are the little ones and the women.
Why is that ? Why is it that what is traditionally considered the most vulnerable, or the weaker sex, becomes the recipient of so much male wrath, abuse, dispossession, neglect, etc...
Why is that during such times the bestiality of men shows itself the most, comes to the forefront and exposes their true nature ? If men are by nature protective, then how come they are capable of so much harm against the so-called weaker sex ?
Why is that men in their frustration, be it sexual, political, psychological, whatever, lash out on women the most....rape, domestic violence, moral violence and the rest ? Why is it ?
What has gone wrong ? What has gone wrong with men ?
So no am not anti-men, I've met some good decent men, I had them in my family, I have them as friends, but these kind of men are a minority. They truly are a minority.
Taking my blogging experience as some form of yardstick to illustrate...
The amount of threats, death, rape, torture, all with very strong sexual connotations, I received are beyond anyone's imagination. I am not talking of a couple of mails, I am talking of literally hundreds. From Americans, Brits, Arab men -- you name it I had it...
Again that beast comes to the forefront, as if I was in a state of occupation, of war online, in the virtual...yet in my posts, no particular individual was mentioned, I left it at generalities. I'd say -- men, women, Arabs, Americans, Brits...but it did not matter...because I had hit a raw nerve, a truth, somewhere. I was perceived as a woman with a voice, a woman that reminded them of everything they hated about women with a voice, it reminded them of how small and insecure they are, it reminded them that a female voice can actually expose their impotence - political, moral and maybe sexual too. (most probably)
I even had one guy send me pictures of his dick. No kidding. He actually took several pictures of his dick and sent them to me, quite ugly fellow I must say. Well his dick was - if he can call that a dick.
Others tried the seductive route, the flowery emails, only to pour their psychosis and violence in between the lines...
So yes I learned even more about men through this medium...here -- they are themselves. The anonymity allows them to unleash that fear, that malevolence that is buried deep inside their guts against women and not any kind of women - it had to be an Arab woman and an Iraqi one.
They probably thought to themselves as the "predators"(haha) they are - here is a woman, she writes openly, she has something to say, but she must be vulnerable, she is here pouring her feelings therefore she must be somewhere "weak", she is an easy target, a "soft" target.
Oh poor dickheads, my very poor dickheads... what a surprise you were in for. Come on admit it. You were in for a huge fucking surprise - because you did not manage to defeat me -- not physically, not morally, not psychologically, not politically...
But what you did manage to do, is show the depth of your own hideousness, your immeasurable ugliness.
So this is where the crux lies....the minute a man perceives what he thinks to be a "strong" woman, his immediate reaction is fight or flight.
Now fight comes under different forms and flight does too. Men know what am talking about here.
Hence it does not surprise me, that even Hussein Anwar used the following terms to describe me - evil, malicious, rude, harsh, bitch...adding -- she was not that way, but you turned her that way.
Then he said at some point in his second post, Layla Anwar reminds me of the strong mother I had or the school teacher who was strict but caring.
Another projection is it not ? Another image. I am either the evil malicious woman/witch or the strong mother/teacher...one has to be destroyed and the other? destroyed as well ? conquered ? submitted to ?
I am sure Hussein Anwar was unaware of this dichotomous thinking. And he wrote in good faith. But it was interesting to note.
In any case these images are so common, these archetypes of the Feminine are so common, and am sure many men battle with them...daily. I just hope that they realize that they are first and foremost battling with themselves.
And the second thing I hope through my "anti-male" writings, is that men wake up to their true higher calling, to what they were truly created and destined for, and accomplish that "spiritual" mission, for themselves and for the women in their lives.
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Dirt...
Wassikh in Arabic means dirty and comes from the verb Wassakha to dirty and the noun Wassakh meaning actual dirt.
Now if there is one thing I can't stand is dirty people. When I say dirty people I don't limit this concept to personal hygiene or to physical polluters...for me a dirty person is a person who is dirty INSIDE of himself and herself. And there are A LOT of VERY DIRTY men AND women out there. Plenty.
As a matter of fact finding a CLEAN person is a RARITY. It's like finding a diamond in thick mud or a needle in a haystack.
You see, many people try to be "nice" and take on this veneer of outward "kindness", and by God, I've been around and know people like the end of my own pocket. Do not trust appearances. Outer niceties and kindness are NOT necessarily a proof of inner cleanliness. People are just a bunch of fucked up hypocrites, always trying to make a good impression because they always have some ulterior motive, a gain...any gain...from material to non material.
And if there is ONE thing this blogging business taught me, it taught me the EXTENT of the dirt in people. My enemies -- I know them like the back of my hand, but God protect me from my "friends" and "sympathizers", the men and the women and in particular the women...a man is easy to figure out, he's dead easy to figure out, it takes me in reality maximum one hour, in the virtual world, a couple of emails or comments, but women are something else.
Now am not talking about female enemies on the front line, because hey it is a battle out there...am talking about so called female "friends". Again am decent here, because I can expose their names one by one...and go into great details of their ploys, plots, games, conniving, ego trips, lies, envy, spitefulness, and immense jealousy...immense.
Women who are jealous of other women are STUPID, they are profoundly STUPID. I don't mean women who are jealous about a male partner from other women, I mean women who are jealous of another woman regardless of the presence of a male. These females are parasites, they try to sap your energy, sap your being, sap everything about you...
And once I put an X, a cross on someone, male or female, there is NO POWER on earth, that will make me backtrack. The deal is over. I do not do dirt. I do not deal with dirt in personal relationships. I refuse dirt in my life.
I hope the message reaches loud and clear.
Now if there is one thing I can't stand is dirty people. When I say dirty people I don't limit this concept to personal hygiene or to physical polluters...for me a dirty person is a person who is dirty INSIDE of himself and herself. And there are A LOT of VERY DIRTY men AND women out there. Plenty.
As a matter of fact finding a CLEAN person is a RARITY. It's like finding a diamond in thick mud or a needle in a haystack.
You see, many people try to be "nice" and take on this veneer of outward "kindness", and by God, I've been around and know people like the end of my own pocket. Do not trust appearances. Outer niceties and kindness are NOT necessarily a proof of inner cleanliness. People are just a bunch of fucked up hypocrites, always trying to make a good impression because they always have some ulterior motive, a gain...any gain...from material to non material.
And if there is ONE thing this blogging business taught me, it taught me the EXTENT of the dirt in people. My enemies -- I know them like the back of my hand, but God protect me from my "friends" and "sympathizers", the men and the women and in particular the women...a man is easy to figure out, he's dead easy to figure out, it takes me in reality maximum one hour, in the virtual world, a couple of emails or comments, but women are something else.
Now am not talking about female enemies on the front line, because hey it is a battle out there...am talking about so called female "friends". Again am decent here, because I can expose their names one by one...and go into great details of their ploys, plots, games, conniving, ego trips, lies, envy, spitefulness, and immense jealousy...immense.
Women who are jealous of other women are STUPID, they are profoundly STUPID. I don't mean women who are jealous about a male partner from other women, I mean women who are jealous of another woman regardless of the presence of a male. These females are parasites, they try to sap your energy, sap your being, sap everything about you...
And once I put an X, a cross on someone, male or female, there is NO POWER on earth, that will make me backtrack. The deal is over. I do not do dirt. I do not deal with dirt in personal relationships. I refuse dirt in my life.
I hope the message reaches loud and clear.
About Layla Anwar - the Controversial Iraqi Woman. 2
I am actually using the same title Hussein Anwar used for his posts. Except he called me a "lady". Which is nice. I am not too sure what a lady is though. Maybe because in my mind ladies are associated with the protocol title of 1st ladies, wives of heads of states and other political characters, and I think of Barbara Bush, Condi Rice, Margaret Thatcher, Golda Meir, Tzipi Livni, and others, like Allawi's wife and Chalabi's wife were called first ladies and today Maliki's wife is called the first lady of Iraq (I want to cry)...and I shake my head with a -- no, no.
Or maybe because the word lady at least as commonly believed -- conjures up the image of some distant woman, reserved, well polished, prime and proper, who does not get her hands dirty, and has this aura of snobbery around her...and that too makes me shake my head with a no, no.
And it brings back other images of "ladies", which I will not go into now in great details, suffice to call them "high class hookers", using their names, charms, beauty, etc...to get where they need to get to and are eventually bestowed with the lady title. Again, a definite no, no.
What am really trying to say is that there are no ladies and no sirs in this world.
And if the title of lady or sir is used as a sign of respect -- then they better start EARNING that respect.
And as I said, this post and the coming ones are not ABOUT ME per se, even though the title points in the opposite direction. Maybe it's just a bait. We will see where it goes....
I have no coherent plan, no draft form, no synopsis and no pre-given conclusions...I shall write as the inspiration takes me. Short or long post, I don't know either...number of posts are a total mystery as well. And that's the way I like it.
Or maybe because the word lady at least as commonly believed -- conjures up the image of some distant woman, reserved, well polished, prime and proper, who does not get her hands dirty, and has this aura of snobbery around her...and that too makes me shake my head with a no, no.
And it brings back other images of "ladies", which I will not go into now in great details, suffice to call them "high class hookers", using their names, charms, beauty, etc...to get where they need to get to and are eventually bestowed with the lady title. Again, a definite no, no.
What am really trying to say is that there are no ladies and no sirs in this world.
And if the title of lady or sir is used as a sign of respect -- then they better start EARNING that respect.
And as I said, this post and the coming ones are not ABOUT ME per se, even though the title points in the opposite direction. Maybe it's just a bait. We will see where it goes....
I have no coherent plan, no draft form, no synopsis and no pre-given conclusions...I shall write as the inspiration takes me. Short or long post, I don't know either...number of posts are a total mystery as well. And that's the way I like it.
About Layla Anwar - the Controversial Iraqi Woman. 1
My what a pompous title - makes me blush with embarrassment.
Well this post is SORT of a reply to Hussein Anwar's posts/ tribute - if I can call it a tribute, about me.
First I'd like to thank him for having taken the time to write about Layla Anwar. I really don't know what got into him and he did tell me that he would do so, I said that I wanted to know nothing about it as it would feel am blowing my own trumpet and am not too good at doing that. It just feels odd and yes pompous.
I mean I receive emails, read other blogs and these folks do nothing but praise themselves....ad infinitum. It always struck me at best as strange behavior and at worst as a huge ego self narcissistic trip.
But since Hussein Anwar opened the pandora box, and it is a pandora box, I shall take the liberty of not so much replying to him or defend myself, as I feel I don't need to defend myself - I mean who is judge, jury and verdict here ?
What I would do is use some of his points, and elaborate on them, away from me, to more general issues and perceptions. I think that way, all can benefit, maybe even himself.
But first, I would like to say that I was touched by his words...some brought me to tears, some made me laugh, some were amusing, and some had a double edge sword to them and these did not go unnoticed either.
But above all I'd like to say to him that he is the only Iraqi who publicly acknowledged and who publicly thanked me for all of my efforts. And that shall never be forgotten.
Well this post is SORT of a reply to Hussein Anwar's posts/ tribute - if I can call it a tribute, about me.
First I'd like to thank him for having taken the time to write about Layla Anwar. I really don't know what got into him and he did tell me that he would do so, I said that I wanted to know nothing about it as it would feel am blowing my own trumpet and am not too good at doing that. It just feels odd and yes pompous.
I mean I receive emails, read other blogs and these folks do nothing but praise themselves....ad infinitum. It always struck me at best as strange behavior and at worst as a huge ego self narcissistic trip.
But since Hussein Anwar opened the pandora box, and it is a pandora box, I shall take the liberty of not so much replying to him or defend myself, as I feel I don't need to defend myself - I mean who is judge, jury and verdict here ?
What I would do is use some of his points, and elaborate on them, away from me, to more general issues and perceptions. I think that way, all can benefit, maybe even himself.
But first, I would like to say that I was touched by his words...some brought me to tears, some made me laugh, some were amusing, and some had a double edge sword to them and these did not go unnoticed either.
But above all I'd like to say to him that he is the only Iraqi who publicly acknowledged and who publicly thanked me for all of my efforts. And that shall never be forgotten.
Much To Say About Nothing...
It's past 4 am. Can't sleep. It's too hot and I don't believe in ACs. I hate ACs. ACs leave me stiff like a log...but I can't take the heat either...
So I can't sleep, so I use this blog as a diary...I kind of like the idea of having an online diary. Why not indeed ?! Other people's shit is not more interesting than mine. Their trivia is not any deeper and their rants are not more intelligent...
So yes, maybe I will turn this thing into a diary. I'll see how it goes. It's my space, my blog, I can do whatever I want and surely I need not give any explanations.
I did Fuck All today - literally.
I was supposed to go for a walk, I was supposed to clean the apartment, I was supposed to go shopping for food, I was supposed to finish writing a report, I was supposed to work on my so-called fiction, I was supposed to polish my nails, I was supposed to finish my post about cooking, I was supposed to go swimming...but I did FUCK ALL - all day.
Yet curiously enough, I felt so busy doing Fuck All. How to explain that ?
Well I did write that post about Iraq -- it left me drained and empty...
I wish I can change my life around, like re-write the script all over again, with everything I know today, right up to this minute -- alas that is not possible.
Another thing that is draining me is this wanker I met some time ago, and who keeps harassing me with his idiotic text messages, text messages that go like hey Layla, am having a cup of hot choco, want some ? Kid you not - this is how moronic this guy is. Well when I first met him he did not come across as a moron, just as a smooth talker, who was just full of bullshit, as I later found out --the retard bit came later. Or as they say in America - he's got issues I mean don't you just love it how things are done in America. Someone is raving mad, insane, a psycho, a lunatic and they say in the politically correct lingo of theirs with their nasal shit of an accent - " he's got issues"
Anyways, I should have never given him my number - big mistake. Now he's stuck to my ass like fucking glue.
One would think that with all this "attention" am getting, I'd be sharing my bed with some passionate lover...nah, all I get are fucked up morons. Is it karmic or what ? I mean, maybe I was some evil motherfucker in some past life and am paying the price today. Why oh why are all the men I meet such fucking losers ?!
I was told you need to kiss a few toads before meeting the prince. Fuck that shit. I have a whole pond of toads and no prince in sight.
Another Miss Cinderella, Miss Snow White complex ? I think not...I just think that most Arab and Eastern men are just very screwed up -- that about sums it up.
Toads aside, this bloody mosquito landing on my keyboard is irritating the shit out of me...another piece of glue stuck to my ass.
OK woman do you have anything positive to jot down in your past 4 am diary ?
Hmm not really Sir.
Then keep your peace and shut the fuck up.
OK Sir.
Good night
Good night Sir.
So I can't sleep, so I use this blog as a diary...I kind of like the idea of having an online diary. Why not indeed ?! Other people's shit is not more interesting than mine. Their trivia is not any deeper and their rants are not more intelligent...
So yes, maybe I will turn this thing into a diary. I'll see how it goes. It's my space, my blog, I can do whatever I want and surely I need not give any explanations.
I did Fuck All today - literally.
I was supposed to go for a walk, I was supposed to clean the apartment, I was supposed to go shopping for food, I was supposed to finish writing a report, I was supposed to work on my so-called fiction, I was supposed to polish my nails, I was supposed to finish my post about cooking, I was supposed to go swimming...but I did FUCK ALL - all day.
Yet curiously enough, I felt so busy doing Fuck All. How to explain that ?
Well I did write that post about Iraq -- it left me drained and empty...
I wish I can change my life around, like re-write the script all over again, with everything I know today, right up to this minute -- alas that is not possible.
Another thing that is draining me is this wanker I met some time ago, and who keeps harassing me with his idiotic text messages, text messages that go like hey Layla, am having a cup of hot choco, want some ? Kid you not - this is how moronic this guy is. Well when I first met him he did not come across as a moron, just as a smooth talker, who was just full of bullshit, as I later found out --the retard bit came later. Or as they say in America - he's got issues I mean don't you just love it how things are done in America. Someone is raving mad, insane, a psycho, a lunatic and they say in the politically correct lingo of theirs with their nasal shit of an accent - " he's got issues"
Anyways, I should have never given him my number - big mistake. Now he's stuck to my ass like fucking glue.
One would think that with all this "attention" am getting, I'd be sharing my bed with some passionate lover...nah, all I get are fucked up morons. Is it karmic or what ? I mean, maybe I was some evil motherfucker in some past life and am paying the price today. Why oh why are all the men I meet such fucking losers ?!
I was told you need to kiss a few toads before meeting the prince. Fuck that shit. I have a whole pond of toads and no prince in sight.
Another Miss Cinderella, Miss Snow White complex ? I think not...I just think that most Arab and Eastern men are just very screwed up -- that about sums it up.
Toads aside, this bloody mosquito landing on my keyboard is irritating the shit out of me...another piece of glue stuck to my ass.
OK woman do you have anything positive to jot down in your past 4 am diary ?
Hmm not really Sir.
Then keep your peace and shut the fuck up.
OK Sir.
Good night
Good night Sir.
Saturday, 12 June 2010
Welcome to the U$$
Hahahaha, you bunch of hot air farts - lesson will be well earned in Afghanistan and Iraq. A lesson you shall never forget.
AHAHAHAHAHAHA
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Your Place or Mine ?
Someone once asked me if what I write here are true stories, my reply : Yes they are. Which is evidently not the case for my fiction blog...fiction IS fiction, even though a good deal are way too stupid to realize that simple truism.
Here, I change the names to protect people's anonymity. I really don't know why am decent that way, because some people need to have their names fully exposed...
But still, the fact that they've become feed for my blog, confers upon them some privacy, even though some don't deserve it...not one bit.
So here's another true story, it happened about two weeks ago. I like this story, because in each story lies a whole other story, a vaster, more complex one...in each story lies an ocean of other little stories, big stories, destinies, fate, circumstances, outcomes, consequences...
In each story lies bits of my own - personal and collective...past, present and future...
And last but not least, each story is a microcosm for the bigger picture...the bigger picture being men and women, exile, occupation, culture, politics...a HI-STORY...
I went shopping one late afternoon, and before heading back to my place, I stopped at Starbucks. I usually don't go to Starbucks, but I really fancied a good Cappuccino, and even though I've boycotted Starbucks, I realized that those who urged us to do so, were still using Facebook whose owner is an even worse Zionist that the owner of Starbucks. Moreover, it also hit me that those who urged us to boycott supporters of the Jewish Entity, had zero qualms about consuming American and Iranian products, and I really don't believe that these two latter are any less lethal than Israel. So I guess that settles that.
The weather was mild and warm, so I seated myself outside, by the entrance, it was the best lit spot around, and after ordering my long awaited coffee, I picked the book I had just bought...
Making myself comfortable, I opened the virgin pages with excited anticipation as I was about to travel into someone else story...
A man, late 30's passed by, making his way into the cafe to order...he smiled and said hi there, in an American English accent. I smiled back, said hi and plunged my head back in my book...
But I knew that he'd walk out, and walk back in again to order something else...and I gave him exactly 10 mn to do so.
I predicted correctly...after 10 mn, he walked back in again, and this time stopped at the entrance, right where I was seated...
-Sorry to disturb you, but have we met before ?
I raised my head from my book - nope we haven't
- So can we now, then ?
That got me chuckling...novel - I thought to myself...had not heard that second line before...
He looked a bit like Richard Gere, had a pair of jeans on and a white shirt, and I liked his smile...there was nothing offensive about him...these were my first 2 nanosecond impressions...and he spoke to me in English, which for me meant that he was fluent and comfortable with it...which in turn meant that he might be just visiting...
- May I ? he said, approaching the empty chair...
I nodded, I was curious as usual...
So he introduced himself...he's a Palestinian, who lived most of his life in the U.S, returned home a couple of years ago to look after the family business and is heading out back to the U.S in a couple of months...and according to him he was single...
So we just talked...about this and the other... a basic conversation.
At that point he did not ask me personal questions like my origins, my age....etc..just general stuff, the kind of book I was reading, life here, job opportunities or the lack of them...so on and so forth...
I noticed that he was easy going, respectful and considerate...and I appreciated those qualities...I also liked his smile, it was charming...
After a couple of hours and time did pass quickly, I said I needed to leave...so he asked if we can meet again, soon...
I saw no reason not to, so I accepted to meet him again.
Two days later, we met again...we went to this newly opened terrace bar/cafe.
Again, he was pleasant, courteous, had a sense of humor, easy going, the conversation seemed to flow easily, and he seemed interested in what I had to say about this or the other, and most importantly he listened when I spoke and did not interrupt like most men do -- in other words, he did not monopolize the conversation and I felt it was a two way thing...and I liked that about him...it was a nice change from the kind of specimens I had met before...
Meanwhile, he received several phone calls and text messages...he did not pick up the phone which was a good sign and he volunteered to show me a few of the messages he had received -- mainly female admirers...I took it with humor, I did not feel bothered by it one bit...after all, he asked me out and not them...
Several hours passed and the evening had run its course...I was going to hail a cab back home but he offered to drop me on his way, since he did not live too far off...
While driving back, he played some of his favorite music, which lo and behold consisted of Pavarotti, some Buble Jazz and some Latin tunes...I was surprised...all in his favor...
And a little before we reached my place, he said :
- By the way, we've been talking in English all this time and I did not ask you, where are you from ? Are you from here?
- No, I am not...
So he tried guessing...making a tour of all the Arab countries...
- I'm Iraqi
- Oh, Iraqi !
And I could sense something change in him, I felt it strongly...like he backtracked...his tone changed, his expressions changed...and before we reached my place, he said " is it going to be your place or mine ?"
Even though I felt shocked, somewhere deep inside I was expecting it...
After 2003, Iraqi women have been viewed as easy preys and have a stigma attached to them --that of prostitutes...even though nothing in my attire or demeanor could have suggested that...still, he had to slap me with it.
- Stop the car, now ! I ordered
- What ?!
- You heard me, stop the car ...my tone of voice rising...I unfastened my seat belt, and opened the car door...
- What happened, what's wrong with you ?!
- No, what's wrong with YOU ?! Had I been one of the local females you would have never dared say what you just said, but because am Iraqi...
- Hey I thought you were an educated, cultured woman...
- And I thought you were a gentleman...but you turned out to be a piece of shit.
-Listen, I don't accept that you insult my "karama."(honor/dignity)
-Karama ? because you folks have karama ?!
I slammed the door and walked the remaining back to my place...
Meanwhile mister called several times - calls which I totally ignored and then sent a message with " okay am sorry...now pick up"
I switched off my phone and threw myself on my bed...I stared at the ceiling of this dark room, tears rolling down my face...bitter tears from a story with no end...
Is this what we have amounted to ?
This great Iraq, with its arduous, brave, hard working, intelligent, educated, resilient women and men amount to ?
Is this what all those years of suffering, sacrifice and endurance amount to ?
Is this what the cradle of civilization amounts to ? What Sumer, Uruk, Babylon, Gilgamesh, Ishtar, Hammurabi, Nebuchadnezzar, Nimrud...amount to ?
The land oft the two rivers, the land of the Tigris and Euphrates, the land of the Rafidain, the land of the prophets, of the Abbasids, of Harun Al-Rashid, of the thousand and one nights, of princes, of poets, of writers, of thinkers, of inventors, of discoverers...the land of music, of art, of sculpture, of poetry, of literature, of epics amount to ?
Your place or mine ?...that sentence kept repeating itself in my head until the first rays of dawn...
And in that sentence the whole, bigger story was revealed, once more...
Here, I change the names to protect people's anonymity. I really don't know why am decent that way, because some people need to have their names fully exposed...
But still, the fact that they've become feed for my blog, confers upon them some privacy, even though some don't deserve it...not one bit.
So here's another true story, it happened about two weeks ago. I like this story, because in each story lies a whole other story, a vaster, more complex one...in each story lies an ocean of other little stories, big stories, destinies, fate, circumstances, outcomes, consequences...
In each story lies bits of my own - personal and collective...past, present and future...
And last but not least, each story is a microcosm for the bigger picture...the bigger picture being men and women, exile, occupation, culture, politics...a HI-STORY...
I went shopping one late afternoon, and before heading back to my place, I stopped at Starbucks. I usually don't go to Starbucks, but I really fancied a good Cappuccino, and even though I've boycotted Starbucks, I realized that those who urged us to do so, were still using Facebook whose owner is an even worse Zionist that the owner of Starbucks. Moreover, it also hit me that those who urged us to boycott supporters of the Jewish Entity, had zero qualms about consuming American and Iranian products, and I really don't believe that these two latter are any less lethal than Israel. So I guess that settles that.
The weather was mild and warm, so I seated myself outside, by the entrance, it was the best lit spot around, and after ordering my long awaited coffee, I picked the book I had just bought...
Making myself comfortable, I opened the virgin pages with excited anticipation as I was about to travel into someone else story...
A man, late 30's passed by, making his way into the cafe to order...he smiled and said hi there, in an American English accent. I smiled back, said hi and plunged my head back in my book...
But I knew that he'd walk out, and walk back in again to order something else...and I gave him exactly 10 mn to do so.
I predicted correctly...after 10 mn, he walked back in again, and this time stopped at the entrance, right where I was seated...
-Sorry to disturb you, but have we met before ?
I raised my head from my book - nope we haven't
- So can we now, then ?
That got me chuckling...novel - I thought to myself...had not heard that second line before...
He looked a bit like Richard Gere, had a pair of jeans on and a white shirt, and I liked his smile...there was nothing offensive about him...these were my first 2 nanosecond impressions...and he spoke to me in English, which for me meant that he was fluent and comfortable with it...which in turn meant that he might be just visiting...
- May I ? he said, approaching the empty chair...
I nodded, I was curious as usual...
So he introduced himself...he's a Palestinian, who lived most of his life in the U.S, returned home a couple of years ago to look after the family business and is heading out back to the U.S in a couple of months...and according to him he was single...
So we just talked...about this and the other... a basic conversation.
At that point he did not ask me personal questions like my origins, my age....etc..just general stuff, the kind of book I was reading, life here, job opportunities or the lack of them...so on and so forth...
I noticed that he was easy going, respectful and considerate...and I appreciated those qualities...I also liked his smile, it was charming...
After a couple of hours and time did pass quickly, I said I needed to leave...so he asked if we can meet again, soon...
I saw no reason not to, so I accepted to meet him again.
Two days later, we met again...we went to this newly opened terrace bar/cafe.
Again, he was pleasant, courteous, had a sense of humor, easy going, the conversation seemed to flow easily, and he seemed interested in what I had to say about this or the other, and most importantly he listened when I spoke and did not interrupt like most men do -- in other words, he did not monopolize the conversation and I felt it was a two way thing...and I liked that about him...it was a nice change from the kind of specimens I had met before...
Meanwhile, he received several phone calls and text messages...he did not pick up the phone which was a good sign and he volunteered to show me a few of the messages he had received -- mainly female admirers...I took it with humor, I did not feel bothered by it one bit...after all, he asked me out and not them...
Several hours passed and the evening had run its course...I was going to hail a cab back home but he offered to drop me on his way, since he did not live too far off...
While driving back, he played some of his favorite music, which lo and behold consisted of Pavarotti, some Buble Jazz and some Latin tunes...I was surprised...all in his favor...
And a little before we reached my place, he said :
- By the way, we've been talking in English all this time and I did not ask you, where are you from ? Are you from here?
- No, I am not...
So he tried guessing...making a tour of all the Arab countries...
- I'm Iraqi
- Oh, Iraqi !
And I could sense something change in him, I felt it strongly...like he backtracked...his tone changed, his expressions changed...and before we reached my place, he said " is it going to be your place or mine ?"
Even though I felt shocked, somewhere deep inside I was expecting it...
After 2003, Iraqi women have been viewed as easy preys and have a stigma attached to them --that of prostitutes...even though nothing in my attire or demeanor could have suggested that...still, he had to slap me with it.
- Stop the car, now ! I ordered
- What ?!
- You heard me, stop the car ...my tone of voice rising...I unfastened my seat belt, and opened the car door...
- What happened, what's wrong with you ?!
- No, what's wrong with YOU ?! Had I been one of the local females you would have never dared say what you just said, but because am Iraqi...
- Hey I thought you were an educated, cultured woman...
- And I thought you were a gentleman...but you turned out to be a piece of shit.
-Listen, I don't accept that you insult my "karama."(honor/dignity)
-Karama ? because you folks have karama ?!
I slammed the door and walked the remaining back to my place...
Meanwhile mister called several times - calls which I totally ignored and then sent a message with " okay am sorry...now pick up"
I switched off my phone and threw myself on my bed...I stared at the ceiling of this dark room, tears rolling down my face...bitter tears from a story with no end...
Is this what we have amounted to ?
This great Iraq, with its arduous, brave, hard working, intelligent, educated, resilient women and men amount to ?
Is this what all those years of suffering, sacrifice and endurance amount to ?
Is this what the cradle of civilization amounts to ? What Sumer, Uruk, Babylon, Gilgamesh, Ishtar, Hammurabi, Nebuchadnezzar, Nimrud...amount to ?
The land oft the two rivers, the land of the Tigris and Euphrates, the land of the Rafidain, the land of the prophets, of the Abbasids, of Harun Al-Rashid, of the thousand and one nights, of princes, of poets, of writers, of thinkers, of inventors, of discoverers...the land of music, of art, of sculpture, of poetry, of literature, of epics amount to ?
Your place or mine ?...that sentence kept repeating itself in my head until the first rays of dawn...
And in that sentence the whole, bigger story was revealed, once more...
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
A Hard Headed Woman
I guess this song sums it all up - I need not comment.
Cat Stevens is still my hero after all those years. I love you Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam. You're one of the BEST.
Cat Stevens is still my hero after all those years. I love you Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam. You're one of the BEST.
Monday, 7 June 2010
Swimming against the Current...
Summer is here, what better thing to do than go to the pool and swim off all the accumulated stagnant energies from the cold season, just swim them away...
A friend of mine joined me, I like being with her because she does not talk too much, she is no chatterbox which is really a relief...which means each one of us can do her own thing - read, swim alone, have a walk without having to be Siamese twins joined together...which is what most girlfriends expect...incessant babbling...
I'll call her Rima. Rima is about my age, divorced, a creative and attractive woman...we drove to this relatively distant club hidden behind tall palm trees - the pleasant surroundings made for a nice change from the stifling atmosphere of noise, clamor, screams of children, loud crap music, shouts from street vendors, and away from my proverbial vulgar neighbor with her high heels stomping on my head 24/7.
When we arrived the place was practically empty - which for me is always a good sign. It kind of fits in with my misanthropic side which, alas, does not seem to get any better...nay, it's getting worse...but then that's another subject...
Rima and I slipped into our bathing suits and headed with anticipation to what looked like a fresh blue lagoon...or at least we imagined it to be...
We picked our spot - shade for me and scorching sun for her...she wanted a suntan fast...a monstrous thing to do to one's skin...but that's her skin not mine...still -- roasting oneself in one stretch is not a good idea at all...
Rima remarked that she had put on some weight as of late - around 5 kilos and she said it with a sigh of despair. She's been battling to lose these extra pounds, they're no big deal in my opinion, and I told her the more she obsessed about her weight, the less kilos she will shed...she then added that she bought a new bathing suit that she fell in love with the minute she saw it, but that she was not going to wear it before she loses "all that fat".I told her that she did not have "all that fat" on and that it was a distorted body image she had of herself...okay, granted she does not have the silhouette of a top model, but Rima is attractive and frankly I could not see why she was focusing on a few extra kilos when she could focus on her fine features...
- It's a pity you did not bring your new swimsuit I would have loved to see it on you
- Oh Layla please, I can't...I feel like a whale
- Rima, you are really exaggerating here, you don't look like a whale for starters
- I' ll wear it once I lose this damn flab
- But the summer would be over by then...
- I'll wear next summer then
- Can you guarantee you'll be around next summer? I mean there are no guarantees in life, so why not enjoy what you like now, instead of postponing it till later...I always hear people say -- they will wear a dress on a certain occasion, or save their favorite perfume for that special day, or use those plates only when they have speical guests...for them these are precious items that they enjoy, so why not enjoy them now...why always wait for the "right occasion" to present itself...now is the right occasion...
- Layla, I can't let anyone see me in this new bikini, really...
-Why not ?
- Because they will see how fat and ugly I've become
-Who is they Rima ? This does not make sense to me...
- They, people...
- Which, what, people ?
- People around me
-You mean men, right ?
- emm, yes I guess so...
I knew that Rima was hoping to meet a new man, and I guess she was on the look out everywhere...but I got this feeling that she was not living fully until she became the right woman (physically), until then everything was on hold, and that included her new bathing suit...
That kind of reminded me of my teen age years...when I would keep my t.shirt on, on top of my swim suit because I feared what others may think of my body and how they looked at it...I was 13 or 14 and I remember keeping that t.shirt on when everyone else was having fun in the sun...
Looking back, I realize that this was normal behavior for teens coming of age...unsure about their bodies, unsure how they scored with the opposite sex, unsure of everything...also the fact that I always heard boys "evaluating" the girls and looking at them critically did not help one bit. I remember hearing them say - look at her-- she's too thin, she's too fat, she's too short, she's too tall, she's too dark, she's too white...and I could hear them laugh as if they scored....
Thankfully I grew out of it...I stopped wearing that darned t.shirt...ages ago...but I notice till this day that even grown up men "evaluate" all the time...with the same sentences they used when they were pubescent pimpled boys...well I notice many things...maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's not...
And somewhere along the line I decided for myself and that decision came gradually but firmly...that I will never allow another - male or female belittle my appearance and it did not matter if I was a supermodel or your average run of the mill kind of girl...I would not allow them to get to me, to get to my insides, to my head...
I said to myself - this is my body, it has carried me through all those years and by God I am not going to let any fucked up son of a bitch demean it in any way...my body is sacred.
And I also noticed another thing -- all those who make value judgments, in particular the men, well what can I say ? They don't look at themselves in the mirror long enough...
Mashallah, pot bellied, wobbly all over, with three hairs left on their scalp and they have the audacity to criticize...ha!
These guys are no bodybuilders for sure...as I said, I notice things. So really they are in absolutely no position to hand out any judgments and evaluations, none whatsoever...
That is when I decided -- fuck what others think or how they perceive me...let them go and tend their own "gardens" first...and if a guy does not like the way I look, then to hell with him...the door is wide open, wide enough for a camel to pass through -- to the other side.
So I told Rima, having sensed where she's coming from...
- What if guys don't like your physique, or don't approve of you, so what ?
- What do you mean so what ? I want to be desired...
- Yeah I understand that...but do you want to be desired by every single guy that passes by ? I mean does every single guy have to give you the stamp of approval first ?
- No of course not
- So you want to be desired by one special guy right ?
- Yes that's right, doesn't any woman ?!
-And you really believe that that one special guy will care if you are a few kilos overweight ? I mean is this the only thing he's going to see ? is this the only criteria with which he will judge you ?
- I certainly hope not...
- So what you're really saying Rima is that you fear meeting that special guy and he will not approve of you because of a few extra kilos and therefore will not be interested in you...lack of reciprocation, right?
- emm, well the way you put it...yes
- So really how special is that special guy in your head ? to me he does not sound terribly special...
I left Rima with her thoughts and took a plunge, I swam and swam ...there was a wind blowing, shaping the water into waves, and I imagined the pool to be the sea...and it felt as if I was swimming against the current...and it just felt right.
A friend of mine joined me, I like being with her because she does not talk too much, she is no chatterbox which is really a relief...which means each one of us can do her own thing - read, swim alone, have a walk without having to be Siamese twins joined together...which is what most girlfriends expect...incessant babbling...
I'll call her Rima. Rima is about my age, divorced, a creative and attractive woman...we drove to this relatively distant club hidden behind tall palm trees - the pleasant surroundings made for a nice change from the stifling atmosphere of noise, clamor, screams of children, loud crap music, shouts from street vendors, and away from my proverbial vulgar neighbor with her high heels stomping on my head 24/7.
When we arrived the place was practically empty - which for me is always a good sign. It kind of fits in with my misanthropic side which, alas, does not seem to get any better...nay, it's getting worse...but then that's another subject...
Rima and I slipped into our bathing suits and headed with anticipation to what looked like a fresh blue lagoon...or at least we imagined it to be...
We picked our spot - shade for me and scorching sun for her...she wanted a suntan fast...a monstrous thing to do to one's skin...but that's her skin not mine...still -- roasting oneself in one stretch is not a good idea at all...
Rima remarked that she had put on some weight as of late - around 5 kilos and she said it with a sigh of despair. She's been battling to lose these extra pounds, they're no big deal in my opinion, and I told her the more she obsessed about her weight, the less kilos she will shed...she then added that she bought a new bathing suit that she fell in love with the minute she saw it, but that she was not going to wear it before she loses "all that fat".I told her that she did not have "all that fat" on and that it was a distorted body image she had of herself...okay, granted she does not have the silhouette of a top model, but Rima is attractive and frankly I could not see why she was focusing on a few extra kilos when she could focus on her fine features...
- It's a pity you did not bring your new swimsuit I would have loved to see it on you
- Oh Layla please, I can't...I feel like a whale
- Rima, you are really exaggerating here, you don't look like a whale for starters
- I' ll wear it once I lose this damn flab
- But the summer would be over by then...
- I'll wear next summer then
- Can you guarantee you'll be around next summer? I mean there are no guarantees in life, so why not enjoy what you like now, instead of postponing it till later...I always hear people say -- they will wear a dress on a certain occasion, or save their favorite perfume for that special day, or use those plates only when they have speical guests...for them these are precious items that they enjoy, so why not enjoy them now...why always wait for the "right occasion" to present itself...now is the right occasion...
- Layla, I can't let anyone see me in this new bikini, really...
-Why not ?
- Because they will see how fat and ugly I've become
-Who is they Rima ? This does not make sense to me...
- They, people...
- Which, what, people ?
- People around me
-You mean men, right ?
- emm, yes I guess so...
I knew that Rima was hoping to meet a new man, and I guess she was on the look out everywhere...but I got this feeling that she was not living fully until she became the right woman (physically), until then everything was on hold, and that included her new bathing suit...
That kind of reminded me of my teen age years...when I would keep my t.shirt on, on top of my swim suit because I feared what others may think of my body and how they looked at it...I was 13 or 14 and I remember keeping that t.shirt on when everyone else was having fun in the sun...
Looking back, I realize that this was normal behavior for teens coming of age...unsure about their bodies, unsure how they scored with the opposite sex, unsure of everything...also the fact that I always heard boys "evaluating" the girls and looking at them critically did not help one bit. I remember hearing them say - look at her-- she's too thin, she's too fat, she's too short, she's too tall, she's too dark, she's too white...and I could hear them laugh as if they scored....
Thankfully I grew out of it...I stopped wearing that darned t.shirt...ages ago...but I notice till this day that even grown up men "evaluate" all the time...with the same sentences they used when they were pubescent pimpled boys...well I notice many things...maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's not...
And somewhere along the line I decided for myself and that decision came gradually but firmly...that I will never allow another - male or female belittle my appearance and it did not matter if I was a supermodel or your average run of the mill kind of girl...I would not allow them to get to me, to get to my insides, to my head...
I said to myself - this is my body, it has carried me through all those years and by God I am not going to let any fucked up son of a bitch demean it in any way...my body is sacred.
And I also noticed another thing -- all those who make value judgments, in particular the men, well what can I say ? They don't look at themselves in the mirror long enough...
Mashallah, pot bellied, wobbly all over, with three hairs left on their scalp and they have the audacity to criticize...ha!
These guys are no bodybuilders for sure...as I said, I notice things. So really they are in absolutely no position to hand out any judgments and evaluations, none whatsoever...
That is when I decided -- fuck what others think or how they perceive me...let them go and tend their own "gardens" first...and if a guy does not like the way I look, then to hell with him...the door is wide open, wide enough for a camel to pass through -- to the other side.
So I told Rima, having sensed where she's coming from...
- What if guys don't like your physique, or don't approve of you, so what ?
- What do you mean so what ? I want to be desired...
- Yeah I understand that...but do you want to be desired by every single guy that passes by ? I mean does every single guy have to give you the stamp of approval first ?
- No of course not
- So you want to be desired by one special guy right ?
- Yes that's right, doesn't any woman ?!
-And you really believe that that one special guy will care if you are a few kilos overweight ? I mean is this the only thing he's going to see ? is this the only criteria with which he will judge you ?
- I certainly hope not...
- So what you're really saying Rima is that you fear meeting that special guy and he will not approve of you because of a few extra kilos and therefore will not be interested in you...lack of reciprocation, right?
- emm, well the way you put it...yes
- So really how special is that special guy in your head ? to me he does not sound terribly special...
I left Rima with her thoughts and took a plunge, I swam and swam ...there was a wind blowing, shaping the water into waves, and I imagined the pool to be the sea...and it felt as if I was swimming against the current...and it just felt right.
Saturday, 5 June 2010
" A Madman"
I've just been called a "madman". My what an insult ! If you really need to call me crazy, at least have the courtesy to refer correctly to my gender and call me a "madwoman" instead...that is way more fitting...
And besides, I need a little Madness to survive the Insanity...the obvious my dear, the obvious....
And besides, I need a little Madness to survive the Insanity...the obvious my dear, the obvious....
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Very Amused...
I just love it...absolutely love it...
I got shit loads of criticisms for my "totally foul and vulgar language"....so fucking unladylike ...Oh will I be able to survive it ? This "scathing" criticism has totally destroyed me....I will never recover from it...
Hahahaha....
Today I see that those same shits who threw their poison my way, are making ample use of the F word...now that they are in hot dire straits...and a little angry - the F word is in vogue...
But not from a woman...not from an Arab woman...only they can say fuck...and only they can fuck...
And only I can say fuck you hypocrites and smile in total amusement....
I got shit loads of criticisms for my "totally foul and vulgar language"....so fucking unladylike ...Oh will I be able to survive it ? This "scathing" criticism has totally destroyed me....I will never recover from it...
Hahahaha....
Today I see that those same shits who threw their poison my way, are making ample use of the F word...now that they are in hot dire straits...and a little angry - the F word is in vogue...
But not from a woman...not from an Arab woman...only they can say fuck...and only they can fuck...
And only I can say fuck you hypocrites and smile in total amusement....
Now You See Me, Now You Don't...
This poor uncensored blog...how many a times I closed it down only to re-open it to the "public"...
Stupid assholes piss me off...I can't stand stupidity... especially when they actually bother to go through the whole -- open email, compose mode, send email.... only to blurt out garbage...
I can't take fucking garbage no more...I have been a witness to piles of garbage...moral, political, emotional...garbage....just get off my back and FUCK OFF and stop bothering me with your SHIT !
Stupid assholes piss me off...I can't stand stupidity... especially when they actually bother to go through the whole -- open email, compose mode, send email.... only to blurt out garbage...
I can't take fucking garbage no more...I have been a witness to piles of garbage...moral, political, emotional...garbage....just get off my back and FUCK OFF and stop bothering me with your SHIT !
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