Wednesday 24 December 2008

Dating 101 or another Rendez-Vous

I need to kill time. It is 6.30 am here and I have an appointment at 8 am sharp. If I lie down, I will never make I need to keep myself very awake.

What better way to do it but to write about my latest "rendez-vous" with Y.
This Y. is not to be confused with the other psycho Y. from previous posts.
It is a different Y. altogether. I am making progress in the Y's...Well, I like to think that I am.

This Y. is less deranged for sure. Mind you, I cannot vouch he will not turn psychotic on me at some later point...given the opportunity.

Y. no.2 has been wanting to "get together" for some time, actually months...
I did not give him the chance, until recently. Not that is ugly or anything. Quite the's just...I guess, the time was not right then.

Anyways to cut a longish story short, sends me a message. " Would love to see you, very soon..."

Of course, typical me replies -- " how soon is soon ?"

And the answer comes promptly - "today, early evening ???"

I was just testing really...and he passed test no.1.

So we met. He was pleasant, well groomed, well shaved, nice smile and looked rather eager in a benign sort of way, which is not a bad thing compared to psycho who looked as if he was about to violently stab me any moment...

An important detail I missed. Before we met, he messaged me and asked " where ?"
I suggested a café not too far. He said "no way" it was not his "kind of café."I messaged back saying - "it is only a café and it is an okay café." He insisted " no way." Fuck it I thought to myself. So I messaged back with "tant bloody pis."

He demonstrated some intelligence and messaged back with - "I really want to see you, but please not this café."

I still could not understand what was wrong with that particular café as it was a café like all other cafés, nay a bit better than other cafés. Anyways, I thought to myself, play it easy girl - let him come up with suggestions. So I text messaged again, and said "you suggest another place, but am taking no cab."

I figured since he eagerly wanted to see me, he could move his butt to where I am at.

I suppose you can call that test no.2. He text messaged back and we agreed on another place that is convenient for me, next to that café he disliked so much for some odd reason I still can't figure out.

I hate text messages unless absolutely necessary or if the person I need to contact is far away. But frankly he could have called instead of that back and forth...

I mean here I was carrying three bags full of shopping, looking like a friggin polar bear with layers of clothes, perspiring and hot, my woollen hat sliding over my eyes and I could see shit and still had to figure out the friggin alphabet on the cell phone so I can message Monsieur. He could have called. After all he wanted to see me, no ? Anyways I could already tell that he would not pass test no.3.

We finally made it to his "acceptable" café. He was late, 15 mn or so...that gave me time to quickly nip to the ladies and comb the flattened hair on my head (from the damn wollen hat) and wipe away any smudges of make up that may have trickled down in sweat, while I was frantically busy figuring out the letters to text message Monsieur.

I ordered my coffee and Monsieur finally landed...

The first 10 mn were quite tense, because Layla had to let him know that the café she suggested was not so bad after all and Layla wanted to know why he was being so complicated...bearing in mind that Layla was carrying heavy weight shopping bags and was suffocating under layers of clothes...Of course, Layla wanted to add -- could you not bloody call me for 2 seconds and agree on a meeting place instead of those silly text messages ? - but Layla bit her tongue as a good polite girl. (who would have thought huh !?)

You must admit, hardly an enticing welcome. But he did take it with a smile...I thought to myself okay he might pass test no.3 but I still had serious doubts...

Monsieur, seeing that I already had a coffee in front of me, ordered an expresso.

The rendez-vous lasted two hours. And Layla was staring at her empty cup of coffee, thirsty and waiting to see if he would come up with - would you like another drink ?
I mean one expresso over two hours !!! But no, he did not.

I felt like saying - listen I will pay for the coffee, just suggest it - but no such miracle happened.

My throat was dry, I was thirsty, I was starting to get a splitting headache, I was hungry and cold...and all I wanted was to run back home...seeing that I could no longer stoically bear another DRY hour of listening to Monsieur's verbal shit.

Towards the end of HIS conversation, he said " Layla, why not plunge ?"
I replied " plunge where ?"

This guy expects me to plunge with him in his dry pool ? He could not even offer another cup of coffee after 2 hours of me listening to his nonsense and he wants me to "plunge" with him? Hahahahahaha, what a wanker !

Of course, I could have said, "I am thirsty, I want something to drink", and pay for my own. I have no problem doing that, paying for my own -- but I deliberately did not. I was assessing...

He failed test no.3 big time, and with a big F.

But to be fair, he did offer to drive me back home...hoping to make it to test no.4.

I don't think that will ever happen.

This guy has still a long way to go. I'm afraid he will need to repeat class 101, several times before passing, let alone "plunging"

Au suivant ! Next !

And a (sarcastic) song to go with the Flops.

Quick translation : Wow to the magic in his eyes when we first met, face to face. Wow to the cuteness of his words....and with one word and one smile, my heart went on fire...He made me lose my head and made me forget my name and where I was...hahahahahaha.

Painting : Iraqi artist, Wasma Al-Agha.

To Iraqi Art.

How can anyone not love or at least appreciate Charles Aznavour, is beyond me.
Whether he is 30, 50 or 70...His songs remain a classic.
Who can produce similar songs today ? Britney Spears or Ricky Martin ?

No way.

Some things refuse to die, constantly defying mortality...

Iraqi art is the same. It refuses to die. Even though the geography has changed, so did the streets, and the names...

But some things remain eternal, even though they have been turned into shadows of themselves... They remain alive - unbeatably, unbearably - alive...

Painting: Iraqi artist, Saad Al-Qaabi.

Tuesday 23 December 2008

" Les Nourritures Terrestres"...

The title is borrowed from André Gide's famous work, best translated as "Earthly Nourishment." However, I don't think this translation does it much justice...nor would "Earthly Food" because all food is earthly and by the same token all nourishment starts on an earthly basis...first with the mother's breast.

I find it quite strange that this relationship to "earthly nourishment" is rather
skewed in the West. Let me give you an example.

Today I met with J. I met J. in some conference some months ago and we exchanged numbers. She calls me and suggests we meet for coffee. J is from Europe, from France to be more precise. Although J. has a pretty face, I noticed her body kind of emaciated, almost anorexic. From afar she looked as if she had the physiology of a male. Flat all over. No hips, no buttocks, no breasts...I was not sure if this was due to severe repeated dieting or to a "natural" constitution.

When we ordered our coffee, the waiter asked if anything else would "please us", and he mentioned a list of freshly made pastries - forêt noire, millefeuilles, apple tart with vanilla ice cream...I don't really have a sweet tooth but every now and then I like to indulge in pastries. So I asked J. if she would like anything from the pastry trolley.

Her reaction quickly dispelled my sense of curiosity as to her physique. She refused with an emphatic, strong NON Merci ! At first, I was slightly startled. After all no one hurled an insult towards her nor made an inappropriate ouverture... My initial doubt was confirmed. J was horrified by the idea of enjoying "forbidden foods".

I wasn't. So I ordered a millefeuilles and took my time savoring it...

Our exchange, or rather J's conversational exchange with me was as flat as her physique, which left me wondering why did she contact me in the first place...

But J.did mention, en passant, that she found Oriental dancing "grotesque" yet she never missed an occasion to watch it. I found that paradox equally startling.

I left our meeting with a sense of if I had come face to face with a living dead. Not your usual - lost it all, bereaved - living dead but another kind of living dead. A Western living dead.

Here was a woman who had a good job, and who according to her, was enjoying herself "in such a foreign country", had friends and had hobbies, one of which was travelling throughout the Middle East to "learn more about these foreign countries" , yet she was so dead... flat affect, flat expression, flat dead.

Even when she talked about subjects that excited her, she was equally flat, as if nothing gave her if she has been going hungry for so long, and no food, any kind of food will ever satisfy...

This uneasy feeling did not leave me and to tell you frankly I was very glad to leave...That kind of death - a soul death - is the most difficult one to deal with...and the most unattractive too.

On my way home, I stopped by the grocer's to pick up some "earthly nourishment" for this evening's dinner.

And in reaction to this emotional zombie I had just met, I bought way too much food, more than actually needed, as if to unconsciously compensate for the "waste land" I had just visited and maybe to defiantly affirm to myself that despite it all, my soul is still alive and kicking in earthly matters, be it food or other forms of nourishment...and as if to drive the point, even further, I deliberately took extra time in picking up the food items I needed, smelling them, touching them, enquiring about their freshness, their "place of birth", feeling them, contemplating their colors, and even tasting them...

And this evening I cooked differently from most evenings. I watched with awareness what I was doing, heightening my senses, observing, listening to the pots simmering...I had to turn it into a ceremony of the senses, wanting to shake off the lingering impressions I had retained from that deadly meeting.

Later on, I went into an orgiastic mode and listed all my favorite (moods) <- that is an uncorrected Freudian slip, I meant foods. Then I listed all my favorite smells associated with food - a solitary orgy of earthly nourishment. I concluded that Rice is my favorite grain. Rice with saffron, dried raisins and almonds, rice with cardamon and cinnamon, rice with green fava beans and dill, rice with lentils topped with golden brown onion rings, rice with sour cherries, rice with spicy minced meat and carrots, rice with shreds of dried orange, rice cooked in a well scented tomato sauce, rice with vermicelli, rice salad with peas and tuna fish and tomatoes adorned with parsley...

I also realised that prawns are another food "aphrodisiac" for me. Prawns sautés in fresh coriander and garlic, curry prawns with mango chutney, prawn cocktails with avocado and lime juice, sweet and sour prawns, prawns with bamboo shoots, prawns with tagliatelle and fresh ginger, spicy prawns cooked with onions and rice...

I also noted that I love a carrot salad in orange and lemon juice, mixed with black olives and cinnamon. Actually the list of salads is too long, but I will also add fatoosh, with rocca, cucumber, tomatoes, mint, spring onions and sumac plus olive oil and lemon juice and of course tabouleh - parsley, bulgur or cracked wheat, mint, onions and tomatoes.

The list is getting too long and I can't write it all down...

But I do have a special place reserved for desserts and mind you I don't have a sweet tooth !

Sorbets - in particular flavored ones with cardamon and cinnamon, topped with pistachios, walnuts and almonds, mocca ice cream with fresh cream and chocolate sauce, cheese kunafah with little syrup, kahee - an Iraqi delicatessen made of thin layers of puffed dough and filled with fresh buffalo cream, ma'amool- semolina based - either stuffed with pistachios or walnuts and covered with a dust of ice sugar, crème caramel, orange salad with cinnamon and roasted sesame grains soaked in honey and rosewater, rice pudding with rosewater, orange blossom water, sugar and topped with a cocktail of nuts, lynchees in syrup, mangoes blended into a purée and served with mint leaves, baked apples with cinnamon, honey and cream...

I think I better stop here...J. is missing out on so much. And mind you, I don't even consider myself an epicurian nor a hedonist...I guess as an Arab woman, I am not considered "liberated" enough to be either...Ha!

And before I sign off, I leave you with a short poem from André Gide which I will try to translate for you.

"Nourritures !
Je m'attends à vous, nourritures !
Ma faim ne se posera pas à mi-route ;
Elle ne se taira que satisfaite ;
Des morales n'en sauraient venir à bout
Et de privations je n'ai jamais pu nourrir que mon âme.
Satisfactions ! je vous cherche.
Vous êtes belles comme les aurores d'été."

Earthly Food
I am awaiting you, o' Food !
My hunger will not pause half way ;
it will only be silenced when satisfied ;
Morality will not quench it
and from Deprivation I was only able to feed my soul,
Satisfaction! I seek you.
You are as beautiful as a Summer's dawn...

P.S : Of course, you do understand that this post is not only about Earthly Food per se, well at least I hope you do...

Painting : Iraqi artist, Saad Ali.

Saturday 20 December 2008

On Younger Men and in praise of Older Women...

I don't understand what the fuck is going on...the older I get, the younger men I attract...or let's say, they are attracted to me.

It can't be my high levels of oestrogen neither my oxytocin or pheromones, so the biology of hormones theory is out. There must be something else, for sure.

And damn it they are getting younger and younger...or maybe am getting older.

Seriously now, can anyone explain this enigma to me? Is this the last, kind, gesture from Mother Nature before I wither away ?

I tried researching this new phenomena in my life, and discovered that they have a name for older women with younger men. In America they call them "Cougars." What the fuck does that mean, "Cougars" ?

Examples were given - Demi Moore and some juvenile delinquent. Susan Sarandon and some acne ridden boy. Sharon Stone and some other dude. And Madonna and her ex to whom she had to pay 75 million dollars for him to bugger off...
I don't personally have that kind of money...

Anyways, my research left me rather disappointed, because 10 times out of 10 ,it is the younger men who pursue me and not vice the mystery is left unanswered...

When am talking of younger men, I don't mean 5 years younger. I mean 10, 15 and 20 years younger...One of them told me candidly - use me as your toyboy.
I thought to myself, I never played with toys when I was a kid, surely am not going to do it at 40++ !

I guess my only consolation is that I can postpone botox injections, for the time being...but what to do with the law of gravity ? Can anyone lift this one UP ?

I could not find any plausible "scientific" explanation for this sudden outburst of interest from younger men towards Moi.

And then it clicked...

Why did I need to go searching the web and psychology books for answers...It was right there under my nose.

The prophet Mohammed, at age 25, married Khadija who was 15 years OLDER than him. And that was 8 centuries ago. They did not have terminology such as "cougars" then.
It was a non-issue. It certainly was a non-issue for the Prophet of God, himself. Neither was it for Khadija, his first wife.

And the Prophet at age of 40, when he was still married to Khadija, received his first Koranic revelation. Khadija was the first one to convert to Islam, and it is in her arms that he sought comfort and re-assurance... Re-assurance that he was not hallucinating nor going insane... And I must add, that while married to Khadija, the Prophet was very monogamous. Khadija was the Materia Prima for him, the quintessential Feminine.
A lesson in total Wisdom to ponder here. I shall not say more...

And one thing I have to admit about the Gulf region, Saudi Arabia in particular, they don't have taboos about age. I saw and heard of many partnerships with women much older...This does NOT seem to be a "problem" for the Saudis and some Emiratis as in the UAE, contrary to the rest of the Arab world -- like Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan, Egypt and Iraq...

Countries, where I heard women in their very early 30's, from the "Levant", calling themselves "old". And other women, mothers in particular, when "searching for a bride" for their dick - oops sorry meant - son, calling a woman in her late 20's or early 30's, "old".

Old in the Arab world is when you reach your early 30's and when you are not married and have not tied the proverbial knot nor have you produced any bambinis...babies.

I only have one thing to say to these idiots. Follow your Prophet's example.
He defied all these nonsense "tribal" laws... And he lived up to God's precepts...and one of them was marrying someone 15 years older than him.

I do not wish to go off on a tangent here. So let me bring it back to Me...Moi... Away from Prophets and Seers since am neither...I am just a Woman. An Arab, Iraqi Woman.

So what was I saying ? Ah right, younger men...

I went through my psychodynamic books to elucidate the mystery. And this is what I came up with.

- A Mother figure. Reminding him of the mother he had, the one he wished he had, the one he never had, or the one he wished he never had...

- A figure from his past. A teacher, a nurse, a doctor, an air hostess, the neighbor next door in her skimpy dress whose husband abandoned and whom he had a crush on...

- An actress who titillated his senses when he was 16...reminding him of how he squeezed his pimples before going to bed and lulled him to sleep...

- Or maybe the "initiatrice", the "initiator", the "Eternal" Woman, bearer of secrets with her promised revelations...Keep on waiting for the revelation, darling.

- Or some archaic Archetype...stored in some collective unconscious, nudging him in one direction or the other...Some Isis, some Ishtar, some...

What the fuck does it matter ? What the fuck does it matter whether you are his mom, would be mom, his teacher, his priestess, his Goddess...or the neighbor next door...

Defy the Law of Gravity. All is possible for those who think they can...

Enjoy it, while it's raining men...

But do excuse me. How old did you say you were, are...?

Painting : Iraqi artist, Saad Ali.

Thursday 18 December 2008

Simple Things...

Nothing makes me happier than simple things...I am a firm believer that nice things come in small boxes. An ex thought I was after some diamond solitaire in a small box. He was stupid, no fault of his own, he was born that way...He missed the point.

I was actually alluding to simple things...

For me, happiness and moments of pure joy are made of those little simple things...
You know what I mean don't you ? Those little things that leave you feeling complete, grateful, blessed, alive and in love with life. Those little things that restore your sense of fulfillment, of purpose, of connection, of mission...

Those little simple things that murmur in your ears - you are still here, all is not gone, all is not finished...

You are touched, again...somewhere deep inside of yourself. Touched in a manner that you know is true, that is real, as if someone has caressed your soul...

It is really an inner state. An inner state of receiving...And you've got to be ready to receive it, to receive those little simple things...because they are around you all the time but you have never paid any notice, or when you may have just skipped over them, believing they are unimportant, thinking to yourself that you have greater more important things to do, say or see...

I made a list of these little things, those simple things...I imagine them like tiny beads, like little pearls, invisible pearls that have always been there, always preciously present...

I made a mental list of them, those simple things...I am sure you have your own too.

Mine are and in no chronological order:

The smell of coffee in the morning, a sunset, a full moon, flowers blooming in a vase, the smell of a damp wet earth afer the rain, a good book well read, a piece well written, a hearty laugh with a friend, an embrace from someone who cares for you, a passionate love letter, a sincere act of charity, a gift given or received in genuiness, cooking with love, setting the dining table with artfulness, a good glass of wine with a well prepared meal, champagne and strawberries, the smell of incense lingering at your altar, kneeling, prostrating in prayer and feeling so close, lying on the grass and observing clouds pass by, the sound and smell of the sea, watching trees swirling in the wind, a bird's flight, a desert storm that leaves red trails in the sky, a full starry night in the summer, hugging your parents in mutual forgiveness, a painting that can still leave you in awe even though you've looked at it everyday for years, mixing and matching colors, touching fabrics and feeling their smoothness, planting and watering your plants and see them grow, burning candles and watch their light flicker in the darkness, a kiss that leaves you breathless, an allegre or slow danse à deux, a top quality cigarillo with a café crème, the smell of baked apples topped with cinnamon and honey, strolling in any old city and listening to the ancient secrets and wisdom that permeate its walls, crying on your friend's shoulder, listening to your favorite songs, a piece of music that moves you to tears, a sight that leave your heart wide open, strangers smiling at you, an unexpected visit/call/message, that makes you jump with joy, rummaging and haggling in markets and bazaars, a good film, contemplating patterns on hand woven carpets, a hilarious joke that leaves you laughing for many hours, principled stands that leave you in total admiration, a stranger offering you a flower out of the blue, walking barefoot in the summer rain, reading your favorite poem and making it your mantra, writing your favorite poem in many different styles, a job well done/ well completed and leaves you with a "yes" feeling, making a small/big difference in someone's life, quiet, tranquil moments of total solitude, beautifully framed mirrors, getting a "high" feeling after having finally cleaned your own place, giving away things you no longer use or need, browsing bookstores and the smell of the printed page leaves you in an enchanted state, peeing after you have held it back for so long because no toilet was available, a sensual scented warm bubble bath, having your feet/back/neck/legs/arms massaged, walking alone in the early morning hours on the sea shore, picking fruits from trees, watering your garden and splashing yourself or each other with water to cool down, sweeping your terrace, balcony, barefoot with buckets of water and feeling the cold water refreshing your feet, making funny faces, dancing, kissing yourself in front a mirror, jogging/running and imagining yourself transformed into a ethereal wild horse, longing for the one you love and finally meeting him/her and your heart misses not one beat but a hundred beats, eating mangoes and having your face covered in juice, dribbling down your chin, onto your lap and not giving a damn about it, stroking your pet and hear it purr and have it snuggle next to you and feeling it pulsating with life, caressing your lover's hair/head/face...and vice versa, holding hands in complicity, remembering his name and his name repeats itself in your head like a prayer...

And the list does not stop here, it goes on and on...The little simple things that you have either taken for granted or never paid enough attention to...

The simple things...

Painting : Iraqi artists, Saad Ali.

Monday 15 December 2008

Celebrating Shoes - From Iraq with Love...

An Italian acquaintance promised that he/she will send me a 100 pairs of hand made high heels Italian shoes...just the way I like them...
I also know that Y. loves Pizzas...
So combining both, on this memorable occasion, I am dedicated this song to well as to all other parties concerned...
Ain't I sweet ?!
And, back in old Baghdad, it's Amore too...

Wednesday 10 December 2008

Love Conquers All ? Not So.

Do you remember an old post I wrote about my relative Tara ? It was called "Love and Sectarianism".
In it, I shared the story of my relative Tara, a beauty in her late 20's who fell in love with a Shiite.

Wallahee, by God, I warned her. I told her - this guy will never marry you and it has nothing to do with your looks, family name, status, has to do with the fact that you are not a Shiite.

She refused to believe me. She is still young, she believed that Love conquers and overcomes all.

How stupid can one be ?! The writing was on the wall. I took one look at him and figured him out...maybe she needs to reach my age before she is granted that same talent...the talent of figuring out people within seconds, in an age of Occupations and Love...sectarian Love.

He finally told her - after many emails, after many stolen meetings, after many phone calls, after many love parodies and silent hopes, after many secret embraces...
He finally told her - Sorry Tara, I love you, but...


Poor Tara who believed that Love conquers all, even Shiite sectarianism...

He told her, bluntly - I can't marry you. You are a Sunni.

Of course, when I met Tara, Tara was in tears. I bit my lip, and did not want to rub it in by telling her - I told you so.

Mind you her Shiite was a Lebanese, not even an Iraqi. But what does it matter, whether he was a Lebanese or an Iraqi Shiite ? Tara is another victim of an illusion called - Love conquers all.

In the beginning her Shiite, told her he did not care what her sect was...until he satisfied his conquest instinct...And now he came up with the truth. But as I said, his truth was clear from the very beginning.

No one in his family married a Sunni. His parents were totally pro-Shiite and consequently anti-Sunnis. They were/are very active supporters of that megalomaniac Sayyed Hassan bateekh. They loved Iran and visited that whorehouse many times...

It was so fucking obvious. This wimp would never go against his family's traditions. It was too obvious, but Tara refused to see it...

Ya Allah, why are women so blind ? What is this desperate thing that drives them to blindness when it comes to matter of the heart ? Why can't women understand and finally accept that when it comes to "love" and "politics" - politics will win.
Whatever the "politics"...

I accept that there have been exceptions in history where love primed over politics -beliefs, ideologies, sense of belonging, sects, religion, roots.. and the like.

But not since Iraq 2003. Not today. It was like that before, yes it was. I have too many examples of mixed marriages, to count. But not anymore. The turbaned ones have made sure that Love does not conquer all...

Tara graduated from the "old school", she was taught that these issues are a no,no.

The other day, I was talking to an Iraqi and I mentioned sects, he is a Sunni Arab, from the "old school" as well, he said to me "Do me a favor, don't mention these words again, Sunni/Shias, that is shameful..."

Tara's beau, on the other hand, did not find it shameful to mention it...

Not at all, he made it a point, to break a love story that has been going on for over a year...and break a heart in the the name of whom exactly ?
Ali, Hassan, Hussein, Khomeini, Khameini or Sayyed Nasrallah ?

He forfeited a pure love in the name of a turban and a fake ideology. And some women are stupid enough to believe that Love conquers all...still.

There is no Love under Occupation my darlings. The only Love there is, is the one you carry for yourselves, your close loved ones, for those who are on the same wavelength as you are and for Truth...that kind of Love will conquer all...

All the rest is politics and...illusions.

And a song that goes with it...
Haramt Ahebak - I promise to never love you again, ever again - by Warda Al Jazeeriah.

A quick, short translation - Please don't "love" me anymore. Keep your "heart" away from me...Leave me alone and let me live...

Arramt ahibbak - Orchestre national de barbes

Painting : Iraqi artist, Saad Ali.

Sunday 7 December 2008

What Love ?!?!?!

I like that song by Umm Kulthum, played on the Oud solo with no lyrics.
I remember a few introductory lines so I hummed along as it was being played.

" What Love are you talking about. Do you know what Love means first...
Love and you are so far wide apart, worlds apart. A world you would not even reach in your imagination...You oppress Love so much, had you loved for even 2 days, Love would have metamophorsed you into an Angel...So before you come and pontificate about Love, tell me what Love are you talking about..."

So on and so forth...

Saturday 6 December 2008

To an Arab Motherfucker...

Truth be told, I, an Arab woman, no longer like Arab men.

Let me qualify that - before you get on your high horses, the masturbating, Anglo-Saxon, English, American...notice my wording. I said - I no longer like Arab men.
I did not say Muslim men, I did not say Arab Muslims, I said Arab men. Full stop.

Yes that is the truth. I don't like Arab men, no more...

I have a few exceptions, but overall, can't stand them.

I don't care where they come from, which part of the Arab world, I don't like them.
And am talking here as an ARAB woman, not as some Westerner, or some white female tourist in search of a bit of exoticism to beat the winter blues with sex, sea and sun...and the local gigolos oblige, be it short or long term.

When it comes to Arab women, REAL Arab women, Arab men suck.

This is my own personal opinion backed with many years of experience. I can tell you that as an Arab woman, they are the most vile, horrid, fake, hypocritical sons of bitches around.

Wait a minute. That asshole is not that way with a non-Arab, but with a true Arab he is.

She becomes his sounding board, his punching bag, his scapegoat, all the shit he wanted to exteriorize but dared not with someone else...A cumulation of his own history, both personal and collective.

As I said it before, that Arab man, in front of the Westerner is like a DOG, he bows down and obliges...And he is only good at showing ME his might - his might akin to a limp dick in need of a thousand Viagras. Push it up with one more fake bravado...and bravados, I have heard. So many of them...Like an empty pot which you strike, and its sound reverberates miles away. An empty echo that strikes one flank of the valley and falls back into a pit of utter darkness - his.

The Arab man when it comes to a Real Arab woman, is an eunuch growing a penis, trying hard...trying to.

An observer does not understand that, does not understand that intimate dynamic where all - his history both personal and collective gets played out.

And I have some who write to me and tell, "Oh but they are so nice to me" - to which I have a standard reply - "Of course they are, you are not an Arab woman."

Arabic Music 2003 (HipHop Darbuka RemiX) - AdemCan and Jay-Z

Painting : Iraqi artist, Saad Ali.

Thursday 4 December 2008

To a Faceless Man...


Is this the faceless man,
dressed in smoke ?
One minute he appears
and the other,
disappears in a
cloudy fog...

One minute,
his shadow silhouette
on satin cushions,
holding to his lips
a silver goblet
flowing with red,
red wine
pressed from Love stanzas
and the other,
he is a beggar with no abode,
erring in the wilderness,
searching for crumbs...

Is this the faceless man
out of a thousand
ethereal nights
a king with no palace
a warrior prisoner
in his own fortress,
fortress of bricks
and steel wire
wires turning
to ink,
and the faceless man
becomes poet...

A poet in a jasmin
perfumed garden
a starry night,
visiting him
with prose,
carried by a tired
evening breeze...

Is that the faceless man,
sailing on
unfriendly tides,
taming the unnameable
or is he just
a supplicant in the Ka'aba
drowning himself in a sea
of pleas and prayers...

Is that the faceless man
or some magician
changing hats
bright colored hats
that fly away
and evaporate
like his face
in a thick smoke...

Painting : Iraqi artist, Saad Ali.

Monday 1 December 2008

La Vie en Rose - Bollywood version

Since am on the subject of India and Pakistan, I thought I should brighten it up a little bit with a Bollywood version of La Vie en Rose...

La Vie En Rose...Indien - Pascal Of Bollywood