Happy Belated St.Valentine...

Oh! Ah! A week ago was St Valentine's. How very sweet...how terribly romantic.

I called a good friend, an Iraqi woman with a Masters in Sciences, now working as a manicurist, checking up on her.

She lost her husband in 2006, and escaped Iraq to file nails...the nails of nouveaux riches ladies whose husbands and fathers made their fortune since 2003, since Iraq started spilling blood by the gallons...

"Maysoon, how are you ?"

"Layla, can't talk, it's very busy today, St. Valentine, Sheikh Valentino."

And I can hear the voice of one of the nouveaux riches ladies...

" Noooo, change that color, I want red...bright red…" referring to her nail varnish.

"What's with the red ?" I ask Maysoon.

" Fuck red " she mutters, in her perfect English, "everyone wants red nail polish... what's the matter Layla -- it's fucking Valentine ! "

"Oh fucking Valentine...Happy fucking Valentine to you too" I replied, giggling away.

"To you too" she giggles back, "call you later."

As it turned out, the "ladies" here all want red nail polish because of Sheikh Valentino...

Red on this very special occasion...

I personally hate red nail polish, and even pink...

I find red nails looking as if they have been dripped in fresh blood. OK, maybe it's a reaction to having seen so much fresh blood around...

But frankly, why do women need to paint their nails red? Did you notice the lipstick that goes with it?

Terrible, truly terrible...

Don't get me wrong, I have absolutely nothing against women looking their best...but why the red nail polish ? That is my gender - existential question.

I mean is that a turn on for guys, hands dripping in blood ?

Is that like some subliminal reminder of the killing instinct that has characterized Animus since Adam had his bloody fall from Eden ?

Is that a turn on for the modern Adam parading as Mr.Valentino on the 14th of February ?

Never mind the nail polish...hear the rest will you ?

I and and a bunch of single friends went out on that night.

Am all for having fun, it's my survival instinct in contrast to your death instinct. If you see what I mean...

Again, my bloody sense of observation. I noticed 3 of the women with bright red nails.

The guys on the other hand had plain colored nails...but a few had invisible peacock feathers -- multicolored ones...

One talked of his bank account, the other of his properties, the third of his business deals, the fourth of his booming business with...Iraq.

Next to us was sitting what looked like to be a lone guy, early 30's and next to him, a woman, who had so much make up on, you could actually sink your fingers in and take prints -- digital prints. Her eye shadow was very dark grey, she looked as if someone had punched her, and her lips burst with a shiny scarlet red with the nails to go with it bien entendu.

She chained smoked, and ordered diet pepsi, one after the other...adjusting the collar of her black shirt and pulling down her skirt every time it moved up to reveal a pair of legs hidden behind a pull me up/down, sheer tights...

The lone guy who spoke with an American accent, "oh yeah" tinged with heavy Arabic, received a call from his "love"...

" Habibtee, my Darling I missed you so much...so wonderful to hear your voice, my love...Why did you not call me earlier on...I've been waiting..."

Oh so romantic !

Mr.Lone guy babbled on for about 30 mn with his love...then proceeded to chat up Mademoiselle Short Skirt covering Sheer Tights...

Around 30 mn later, Mr Lone guy walked out with Ms.Hooker following him, leaving his "love" fantasizing about what it might be like once she is "legally" with Mr ex Lone on next Valentine's...

I can already imagine Mademoiselle Valentino lying in bed fantasizing about Mr Valentino, and how it would be like once Mr and Mrs Valentino are lawfully wed.
Whilst Mr. Valentino is bonking away Ms. Short Skirt in sheer tights...

Of course you could argue, had Miss Valentino accepted to bed Mr Valentino he would not be with Ms. Hooker. But had Miss Valentino accepted to bed Mr.Valentino prior to Sheikh Valentino's visit, Mr Valentino would have not married her. As simple as that.

Mr Valentino -- you deceitful spermatozoa.

Let's do away with pagans, their gods and saints...

Let's reclaim the Night.

Let's reclaim Love.


Painting : Iraqi artist, Jaber Alwan, 2007

To my Friends in Al-Andalus -Spain.

I dedicate this song to You.

A beautiful duet with Wadi Al-Safi and Jose Fernandez. Jannat i.e Paradise.

This must be Love.

I've spent the last three hours writing an article for the other blog.

Ok, I can understand you might have difficulty keeping up. But...

I am having great difficulties keeping up too. And it has nothing to do with blogs.

I just read this and having experienced it "All Iraqis will go to heaven, because we've all been to Hell." - I know there is never a good time to give up.

I am not a politician, am not a poet, nor am I a writer...Am just a survivor.

And like every survivor, we seek little things...

Sentences here and there. Maybe a poetry line, a piece of music, a work of art, the eyes of a stranger that bring on a sense of familiarity, a memory, a song, an embrace or a heartbeat...

A heartbeat and the heart breaks open and says "finally"

And the heart breaks open and sighs...or sheds a few silent tears.

Let your heart breathe - Open it.

I have to keep the lid on most of the time, because am a survivor.

Am a survivor of many things I will not share with you. I can't afford to unlock the bolted door. I need to keep going...but occasionally...

There is a popular saying that goes - you will never realize how much you love something/someone until you lose it, her, him.

This is very true. This is why I believe it is important not to take anyone or anything for granted. Especially, not those you love.

And I absolutely love Iraq. I never realized how much I loved Her until I lost Her.

This is so hard to explain. But those of you who feel the same will understand.

When I get very homesick, I watch pictures and videos. Most of them are of bad quality, but it does not matter...Love does not care about appearances.

I watch Dijla and Furat, (Tigris and Euphrates) and I need to say it in Arabic-Dijla and Furat...and I see them running in my veins - like my own blood.

Someone sent me several snapshots of palm trees. It has become our common symbol, our common bond...

We send each other palm trees with pictures of dates hanging loose, hanging in freedom, waiting to feed, waiting to give nourishment, waiting to be picked and savored...

And when we share those pictures, we understand everything we need to understand.

We don't need analysis, theories or political parties to define "it" for us...we just understand.

Because when we look at the pictures, we smell the same smells, feel the same sensations, smile the same smile, we become one again in our common memory of what it was like...good and bad, does not matter. We have a past reference...even the youngest amongst us, has it ingrained in him/her.

And I become that palm tree...my hair falling down, sometimes across my face, sometimes blown by the winds...and they become the leaves and the branches...

Th trunk is my spine, my backbone...Everytime I catch a glimpse of myself slouching, slouching under the weight of "it", I remember Her and redress myself...

Everytime I feel I have no fruits to give, I compose a few silly lines like these ones and hope they become nourishment...

Everytime I feel dried out, I remember Dijla and Furat running in my veins...

Everytime I feel lonely and cut off, in a world of indifference, I remember Her.
And I see images of my grand mothers, my great aunts, my grand fathers, my great uncles...

I see my father, my mother, my sister and my brother. I see my aunts, my uncles, my cousins- even those I dislike...I see my nephews, my nieces, my neighbors, my friends...

I see the men I loved and the men I hated...

I see them all running in my veins.

We have become part of one another.

Hell brought us closer, hell brought us together again.

And I start missing each single one of them.

I reach out to revive them, even though they are already dead.

And those that are alive, I reach out to keep them going...

Sometimes our fingers touch and sometimes it is too late... "Destiny" was quicker, faster than my grasp.


I don't even know if this will be published, we are having acute problems with our "servers" - nothing new here.

It took me ages to log in. And it will take me ages to give up and stop loving...Her.

I don't think it will ever be possible.

After all,

She is the rivers that quench me.
And She is the branches and leaves that cover me
And She the trunk that keeps me upright, free and proud.
And She is my memories etched on a tablet
And She is my life turned into an immortal Sumerian stone...

After all , She is my Beloved.

Yes, I think it must be Love after all.


Photographer: Iraqi, Nadhem Ramzi

Don't you just love Black & White? I do - for it contains all shades of gray.