Wednesday 29 July 2009

A Burnt Heart...

I love the Arabic language. It is most expressive and most rich.

You don't need to be a master in classical Arabic to realize that. Even colloquial Arabic would do. Mind you, classical Arabic language is so vast and rich, no one can actually claim and profess to be a master in or of it, except Allah.

There are expressions even in colloquial Arabic that are so hard to translate into English. Like with some colloquial Iraqi. On some level it may sound very basic, almost rudimentary, but when you dig deeper, it holds all the wisdom of the world.

One of those sentences is - Batinha boordat.

Literally translated it means - her belly has gone cold.

This sentence is usually used when a woman fails to get pregnant - they say her tummy/belly has gone cold.

It is a most interesting expression because it implies that her belly was hot/warm and has gone cold...

Circumstances have made it that it went cold. So again, by implication, all bellies are hot/warm by design - unless....

This in turn implies that there are no mistakes in creation - all bellies are hot/warm unless something "outside" interferes and makes them cold.

Bear with me because this is most subtle...

For me it is not subtle - it is fact, but for you, high-tech people - it may be.

I have studied some Chinese medicine, and in Chinese medicine, the belly is the seat of Heat. Or Prana, Energy. Everything starts from the belly. I am making it very simple for you here. The belly is also the seat of emotions. Whenever an outside trauma cuts the energy - SEPARATES the circuits, the belly goes cold. It becomes divorced from the rest of the body.

Take another example in colloquial Arabic. "Tagalee Marartee or Fa'aalee Marartee".
It literally means - He made my gall bladder explode. This implies that "bile" is circulating in the body.

Again in traditional medicine, the liver, the gall bladder, the bile are the seats of "anger". When someone makes you very angry - your gall bladder explodes - symbolically, that is. The French have a word for it - il a de la bile - he has bile. Meaning he is angry and in second lieu - daring, courageous.

Take a third example from colloquial Iraqi Arabic - and is also used in all parts of the Arab World - hiragle'ee galbee, or hir'alee Albee, depending on the accent you use. This literally means - he burnt my heart.(she is also applicable) .

Oddly enough, we don't have the sentence equivalent to - he broke my heart. For us, it is - he burnt my heart.

For me this is another interesting difference. Broken can be mended. But burnt cannot. It has to be be born again, like a phoenix. Broken can be negotiated, repaired, but burnt cannot.

But come to think of it, we do have the usage of the verb to break - like in "kassarlee khatree". Like in he broke my rib but not the physical rib.
Rib here stands for solidarity. Khatree is very difficult to translate. It means - the seat of sentiments from deep expectations from someone.

A literal translation would mean - he broke my deep expectations of him. But it does go deeper. Khater is not only expectation, it is almost like a sacred vow. Breaking my expectations, breaking what I believed to be sacred...this is what kassarlee khatree means. This is what allegorically - breaking my rib means.

As I said, the Arabic language is very, very rich, both in its classical and colloquial form.

Where does that leave us ?

Where does that leave us with cold frozen bellies from/by outside/external traumas, burnt hearts by the "other", exploding bilious gall bladders and livers, and broken ribs - broken expectations and "sacred" vows.

Come on, you can guess.

Painting : Iraqi female artist, Betool Fekaiki.

Tuesday 28 July 2009


Went with Z.and Co. to our usual place. Unfortunately this place is full of expats - meaning Brits and Americans.

I usually prepare myself psychologically before heading there. Not because I don't like Ali the barman or the place - but because I know, almost invariably so, that I will hear, see, witness some American, British piece of shit - pontificating.

Across from our table - like 7 tables apart, was this wench of an American "woman" with her brother, "touring the country".

Whenever I hear an American saying he/she is touring the country - I think - OCCUPATION

Reminds me of this joke about this Jew landing in some airport. The customs officer asks him

- Occupation ? (as in profession)

The Jew replies.

- No, no, just Tourism.

Getting back to this wench and her voice. Trust me - it is ugly. Very ugly. North or South, East coast or West, it is fucking ugly. And loud. Very loud.

It's as if you guys have a chronic inflammation of the sinuses. A mousy, squeaky, meowing, drawled out, shit coming out of your mouths...

I heard the whole bloody conversation.

If I were a guy, and had a "woman" like that, sitting across of me , with this nasal shit, I'd remain LIMP for the rest of my days... For as long as am exposed to this horrid, horrid, nasal accent.

Take heart, it is reversible - the limp bit. Provided that you have not been exposed to it for too long. Arab American "men" are beyond repair, though. Pity.

Never mind, you still have that old archaic castrated ego, to make up for it - when it comes to us - Arab women.

Fortunately am no guy. Am only a very angry Iraqi woman, ready to blow off any one's head.

Blame it on my PTSD. Hey, I am entitled to PTSD too!

So where was I ?

Ah yes, that American wench and her "bro touring the country"...

She started chatting up this North African wanker. Ali told me he's from Morocco and is working for an N.G.O.

The conversation went as follows. I heard it because your "women" are too fucking loud - nasally so.

Hiiiiiiiiiiii, ya' got a lovely country
.(me thinking oh no, they will fucking colonize the place) my name is X. and this is my "bro" Z.

Her overweight "bro" was wearing an XLLL t-shirt with a cap in the middle of the night. He just drank beer after beer and looked so fucking miserable.

She goes on...

- Where ya from ? Am from New York. (shit, who would have guessed !)

- am, am, am, from Morrrrocco.

- Geeee, Morocooow. Kewl place. My mom's been there. She's kinda international. She's been to Paris too. Ya' know, Champs Elyzeez nd all !

The Morroccan nods his head in great understanding.

- Ya' know the States ? I'm from New York.

- Neverrrrrrr been therrrrre, but I like.

- I tell ya somethin'. The only good places to visit in the States are N.Y, New Orleans nd Californyyyyaaaa. Ya know somethin' else, I "cried" when Bush was elected two times, man. But lemme tell ya somethin' Sadam (as in Saddam) was barbaric. So I guess it's not thaaat baaad after all...

The Moroccan sheep nods his head and gulps more of his beer...

He offers her a cigarette.

She says : Awww, Gawd, stawpt smokin' 2 years ago. But hell, am takin' one.

She inhales her cigarette, and so do I.

I see them "smokin' us out".

I see their barbarity written on each and every face of theirs...
I see them "smokin us out" and fucking our kids, women and men. I see their shaved heads and their fucking ugly tattoos and their stinking breath and body odor, I see them shooting us like flies. I see them smashing our doors in the middle of the night and that body odor and that fucking obnoxious accent that refuses to leave me. That obnoxious accent that has lodged in my ear drums, like a fucking squeak. like a meowing cat on heat - meeeeoooowwww.
Like some shit, techno, rap, sound coming out from a Humvee, where those armed pimpled shits of yours nods their heads to the rhythm, like some moronic retards...

Z. sensed me going away in my head...

- Layl, (he calls me Layl as in pure night instead of Layla)- is everything alright?
- Am suffocating Z. I want to get out.
- What happened ? Sorry was too busy talking to R.
- I want OUT, and now.
- Okay, okay, we will leave.

On our way out, the Moroccan wanker said to me in Arabic

- Good night.

I replied,

- You engage American garbage, you obnoxious junk !

I heard that ugly nasal shit voice follow me into the street, with:

- What'd she say, what'd she say ?

Painting : Iraqi artist, Mohammed Sami - Death of a Clown, 2008.

Sunday 26 July 2009

Make Me An Island...

Been reading this very interesting book review. As usual, the name of the author and that of the book, elude me.

Why is it that I have so much difficulty remembering names ? Yet, faces from way long before, remain so vivid in my memory, right down to their minutest details.

Maybe this has to do with the fact that names can and do change, but the face doesn't. The face is the person, in my mind. Not his name. The name comes later.

Anyway, now that I've given you an introduction into my memory lapses, let me tell you about the book in question.

It is a real story of some guy who had been involved in the "humanitarian" business for over 20 years of his life. He worked for the Red Cross, I believe.

In 1994, upon his return from Rwanda as a field officer, his life swung.

What he witnessed there and elsewhere propelled him into such an existential crisis, that he decided to leave everything behind and simply go...

Go to places where he'd have minimal contact with others. He thus embarked on this 4 months journey hopping from one Island to another...

From the book review, he was not there to discover Islands, more like to get away from people. I can relate to that.

When asked why ? He simply said - I needed to exorcise my disillusionment. My disillusionment about political solidarity, the humanitarian field, the ideals and values that were instilled in me...

He added - when in Rwanda, within the space of one week, 800'000 Rwandas were massacred. No one stopped it. I saw Priests tolling Church bells for people to gather, only to have them massacred in the church premises. I saw Nuns gouging eyes out. I saw children killing in exchange for food...

So his 6 Islands odyssey started...

Even though taken by the wild beauty of nature there, he was still no Robinson Crusoe. He came across people struggling to survive, ex-army men from Britain and the U.S playing masters there, boredom drowned in alcohol, a globalization that was squeezing these Islands out -- basically Islands about to drown.

Seems that No man is an Island. What a pity.

Because from way back and this is something I used to joke often about, with my best friend - I had this fantasy of just retreating to an Island - all by myself. Only allowing the odd visitor every now and then. My friend had this same fantasy. We'd sit for hours thinking out the logistics. We finally chose two Islands not far apart from one another and a boat for each - for visiting purposes. We added a few favorite books to be taken with us along with our favorite music.

Later on, I even devised this silly game I played with my friends. It was called --if you were to embark on an island, all by yourself - what food, music, book, film, clothes, gadget, transport...would you take with you ? Only one item of each was allowed. And each was allowed only one person to be there with them. It is an interesting game. Tells you a lot about a person.

Anyway, we embarked nowhere.

We stayed just where we were - not quite in my case - and lived in Islands inside our heads. I did.

I uploaded this song - a hit from 1969 by the late Joe Dolan. I remember adults, around me, listening to it with an air of rêverie, a call for evasion
elsewhere...only to return to the acrid reality state of humans.

Friday 24 July 2009

Early Morning Blues...

I hate it when people fuck around with me. They spoil my little joys and the little pleasures I got left...

All I want to fucking do is write. That's it.

Am no leader of some revolution, am no Amazone, am no Joan with an arc. All I want is to write.

But then these motherfuckers got to spoil your little fun, your little pleasures.

Hackers, wankers and pimpled shits...

As if these are not enough, my keyboard is fucked too. The letters of the Alphabet are getting unglued...The A, the B, the X and the Z...

I took some Super Glue and glued them back. But they are fucking stubborn...I need to press and press on that damn keyboard, so whatever it is - eventually comes out right.

Mind your alphabet - their voices rehearse in my head.

Your English is good, others say, you must be educated...

Only educated hard pressed keyboard wankers can speak English. And real education is only in proper English. You surely cannot be educated and have some fucked up English - they think.

Condescending right down to my panties - let me refresh my accent now.

The worse is when some motherfucker colored prick/bitch makes the remark. The White man has nested in his/her head and has taken possession of his/her insides...

"You have a good command of the English language - you must be educated..."

He/she says sipping English tea in colonial India and the Caribbeans. Next step for them is to whiten their faces, while the plum in their asses utters more correct English...Or maybe Her Majesty's office conferred upon them the status of Common Wealth subjects...and they secretly partied for the occasion.

There are no White Man Blues. There are only fucking Colored Blues.

Don't blame the White Man, when you try to fart like him - believing his fart will push you a notch up...

Don't blame the White Man when you speak his "Language".

Thursday 23 July 2009

Lonely Paths...

I have written about many subjects before, but have hardly ever addressed the lonely path of a blogger - a political blogger.

Not belonging to any political party, group or movement, ideologically cut off from the rest of the "real" world - this can prove to be a lonely place, indeed.

There is a side to you that you hardly ever share with "real" people out there. This side becomes your recluse, your secret corner, to which you withdraw, to find, construct and make meaning...

It is like you live two parallel realities that never is some form of schizophrenia - or just, well kept secrets...

Most people "out there", are not interested and/or are not on the same wavelength...

You develop two personas - one for "out there", and one for "in here". You begin to wonder after a while, which one is the real one.

Rest assured, both are real.

One skims on the surface "out there", fully aware of the limits of reality...and the other, delves into your own depths - if the case may be - trusting that you will find echo and resonance in the process, "in here", in virtuality.

Those "out there" in reality hardly know the virtual side of you and those "in here" hardly know the "reality" side of you.

But both are you. One is freer to express virtually, the other bends down to the demands of "society" "family" "the other"...toning itself down for the sake of "peace".

3/4 of what you express online, you dare not express in "reality". Unless of course, you belong to some group that backs you or you receive a regular paycheck from some well institutionalized source, organization, movement, party, government or country...

But if you are a loner, the stakes are are the "rewards".

So after doing your thing "out there", you rush back "in here", switch on your machine, and eagerly await for some echo...

You become friends with "similarities"...People who think along the same lines, or are on the same wavelength...

Nothing wrong with that. Everyone seeks similarities. Similarities bond, unite and strengthen...

The only problem is that 9 times out of 10, they are not "out there"...they are just "in here", just like you, "hiding" behind a screen...

In fact, come to think of it - we hide in reality and we hide behind our screens and some of us wonder why change never happens.

Those who dared, are long gone...We remember them on special occasions and write eulogies in their names...

Those who dared, really dared, were silenced by Death.

I guess this path will remain a very lonely one.

Wednesday 22 July 2009

Tuesday 21 July 2009


All talk about the 40th anniversary of Moon Landing, Moon Walking, Mooning...

Excuse me but who gives a fuck ? I certainly don't.

I remember when this first lunacy happened, I told my Grandma - may she rest in peace - I said to her, Bibi, bibi, they landed on the moon.

She just puffed on her cigarette and said - chathabeen - liars.

No bibi it's true - the T.V said so.

Then this will be the beginning of their end... Subject closed, she wanted to hear no more.

She was right, things got much worse on this planet since these American lunatics "conquered" outer space and planted that filthy despicable flag on the moon.

And what purpose did it serve ? What was the accomplishment apart from "conquering" the moon ? What scientific value does it have ?

The moon is habitable ? Trust that the Americans will go and colonize it. The moon has minerals, oil, water ? Trust that the Americans will rape it. The moon might become an alternative holiday destination ? Trust that the Americans will make big business out of it, and soil and destroy the place.

Ha! walked on the moon. So fucking what !

You walked on the moon and you raped the earth...You have done nothing in your short stupid history but terrorise and create more problems for the world, you and your stinking European Masters.

If you were a half way decent country and people, instead of spending billions of dollars "conquering" outer space, stop your "conquests" here on earth and go and remedy the ills that you have not ceased creating with your billions of dollars, war and death industry.

Instead of "conquering" outer space, contemplate its infinity and your position in this universe, how inconsequential you are, how infinitesimally small you are, in the grand scheme of things, how irrelevant you are, in the large pattern of the Cosmos.

But people like you cannot see farther than their noses. You are deaf, blind and dumb. Bunch of idiotic, senseless, lunatics who wrought havoc on earth.

Be done and gone. Your end is not too far off.

Painting : Iraqi artist, Mohammad Sami - Death of a Clown, 2008.

Controversy No.1

I have two controversial topics, I feel like writing about. One is motherhood/or on being a mother and the other -- male polygamy. I am not sure if they are related or not and I am not sure with which one to start.

Both are controversial. Well, I make them controversial...or I believe that they can lead to controversy. Hence I have titled my post - Controversy no.1, assuming it will be followed by controversy no.2.

Let me start with motherhood or on being a mother.

I noticed something quite strange - well maybe not so strange, and I found it particularly noticeable in this part of the world. I am not quite sure if it is due to some "Semitic" predisposition or it is some end result from an accumulation of cultural, political, economic, and social turmoil that this region has witnessed since...since ever, come to think of it.

There is something about Arab mothers and am sure it is applicable to Jewish mothers too, except this latter I find to be highly more neurotic...Ask any shrink.

Seriously now, there is something about Arab mothers, and I shall focus on this group, Jewish mothers don't interest me much. After all, they lost the milk of human kindness - ask the Palestinians.

Today I was in some public transport, and across me sat a woman around 40 who looked 70, with her son. She looked so depressed, so heavy with sadness, so unhappy.

She is no exception. I have noticed this over and over in many other Arab mothers, be it Palestinian, Jordanian, Egyptian, Syrian, Lebanese...etc and of course Iraqi.

I can understand Iraqi and Palestinian mothers, but all the others - there is something more to it than just ongoing wars of occupation.

Frankly, most of them look so bloody unhappy.

But it is progressive...I noticed that too.

Since am happily single, I can afford to notice these things.

To resume it in simple terms - this is the progression :

First there is the dating/engagement period. The woman looks her best, she smiles, she takes care of her appearances, she looks full of hope...

Then there is the marriage/post marriage years until the birth of the first child.
She still seems to be doing okay. Maybe looks a little more tired and slightly more frantic, but still in control...

Then comes the birth of the first, second, third child and about 7 years of marriage have elapsed...and oh boy, the transformation. The signs of depression are written all over. The signs of anxiety, worry, frustration, control freak...if unaddressed they become psychosomatic symptoms - she somatizes everything and the final stage is martyrdom.

Martyrdom - damn it, women are so good at playing that role.

Martyrdom is expressed in sentences like the following

Al Hamdullah for everything, what can I do ?!
As long as they are happy, am happy.
This is my fate and destiny.
A woman has to sacrifice so much.
Motherhood is so painful and so rewarding.
My life is for my children.
I worry about them so much.
- mind you, each one of her kids is by now around 20-25 and above, in good health...probably married with kids.

Oh but no, the martyrdom goes on and on...and since it is not socially acceptable to call things by their names in such societies - depression, it is called martyrdom instead. And a whole panoply of psychosomatic illnesses follow faithfully in the steps of this unexpressed misery...

Really it's all about being unhappy. This is what it boils down to.

This state of chronic unhappiness is enhanced and glorified by cultural myths with religious flavors - that of the virtues and glories of the all self-sacrificing woman.

Motherhood becomes synonymous with self sacrifice - sacrifice of self.

Now the interesting observation is that women belonging to different social categories - internalize this self sacrifice/ this martyrdom differently.
They all psychosomatize the unhappiness. But the more affluent ones, exhibit histrionic characteristics and the less affluent ones - a sluggish despair. Flips sides of the same coin. And some, a mix of both.

Of course, any woman/mother reading this, would say that is not only Arab mothers, I am the same or my mother is that way too.

Sure thing. I am not excluding that very likely possibility. But I am focusing on Arab mothers because this is a part of the world I know best. And of course, you are free to disagree. This will not make my observations any less accurate.

Is this progressive unhappiness due to an essentially patriarchal culture that sees no role for women beyond motherhood, or is it due to a combination of cultural/religious...socialization that glorifies martyrdom and self sacrifice as an absolute. Or is it due to a history of political, social, economic hardships and struggles and an accumulation of losses, both personal and collective. Or is it due to a very stringent monotheistic view of God the Man/the Male, to whom the Feminine needs to absolutely submit and erase herself - her sense of self for the "higher good", for the "collectivity"-- in the process...Or is it a repressed/thwarted, sexuality/desire that finds no one, no echo to dance with ? Or maybe just chronic abuse, sexual and otherwise - and the anger has no way to vent itself ?...

I have no answers. It is probably a combination of all of the above...and more...

All I know is that, that mother sitting across me looked terribly unhappy, reminding me of hundreds of others I have come across...and I just wished it were not so.

I am just thinking out loud now - if women in general, and Arab women in particular, screamed in the right direction more often, voiced the cause of their unhappiness, expressed their deepest selves with more candor and courage, maybe, just maybe they will not need to be and remain martyrs no more...

Sunday 19 July 2009

From a "Dirty Arab".

I remember when I lived in England, I was daily shocked by the lack of hygiene of the English. It is not that they lack hygiene, it is that they have no sense of hygiene. A subtle difference but important, nonetheless.

Of course, this shock was exacerbated when some stinking English who would bathe once a week - which consisted basically of filling the bathtub and soaking in his/her own muck, without rinsing, may I add - would call me a "dirty Arab.".

That happened on more than one occasion - being called a "dirty Arab." It happened in England and it happened in France.

Curiously, the English and the French, I find to be the most dirty Westerners around.

Dirty not necessarily as in race epithets but dirty as in hygiene. Mind you they do go together...

Overall, Westerners, and that includes Americans, and with particular reference to these two categories of English and French, their levels of personal hygiene leaves a lot to be desired...

How do I know ? I notice things. Little things that tell me about bigger things.

I will make a list, hoping am not being too offensive in doing so.

Did I say offensive ? moi ? never !

Call it payback time or just simple truths...

The first thing I noticed is that overall, the men and women don't wash their hands after the loo - when they leave the toilet. I saw that happen too many times and that really grossed me out.

I also shared lodgings with English girls, and trust me I saw worse...

Sorry to be so blunt, but toilet paper is not enough with the big thing. You actually need to wash your butts and not wait till the next shower...if it ever takes place.

Secondly, when the boyfriend is around for the weekend, a shower before and after is highly recommended. Dusting Johnson Baby powder leads to cottage cheese and not to hygiene...

Okay, that is being very blunt, but since you have allowed yourself to call me a "dirty Arab", let me give it to you the way it be a sport and take it well - I only harbour the best of intentions towards you -- really.

Furthermore, filling a sink or a bathtub is not what I consider washing. Running water has its virtues and soaking in your own shit is not one of them.

Moreover, kissing your pets on the mouth, and this is a very current phenomena in the West, kissing your dog on the mouth makes anyone with an iota of sanity, not want to kiss you ever...not on the cheeks let alone on the mouth. Love your dogs as much as you want but do you really have to French kiss them ?

Another thing, shoes.

When I walk into my dwellings, the first thing I do is, take off my shoes and wash my hands. I suggest you do the same. Your streets are full of dog poop...just in case you have not noticed.

And why do you have to stretch your legs with your shoes one on the bed and the couch ? Take off those shoes and do change your underwear and socks daily. Oh, and your clothes do stink of staleness combined with a smell of moth balls...So do wash your clothes - sweaters, trousers, shirts,...regularly.

You have running water and you have soap - no excuses here.

As for the French, maybe Carla Bruni and her monster of a husband Sarkozy better start giving their "populace" some basic lessons in hygiene.

A study showed that only 1 or 2 out of 7 French persons brush their teeth daily.
And only 1 in 7 showers daily.

That is enough to give French kissing a bad reputation, a public health hazard, a no-go zone.

Another thing that is most noticeable and here the Arabic proverb comes in real handy - the proverb says " min barra halla halla, min juwa, ye'lam Allah..."

Meaning - from the outside he/she looks so good, and from the inside only God knows...

This proverb can be applied to many circumstances but it is particularly pertinent when it comes to personal hygiene.

How many a times do you see someone well dressed, perfect hairdo, make up and dabbed with the best perfumes only to find out that they hardly ever wash!

This is a bad habit, a left over from the days of some rotten Louis XVI. The French did not use water then, they used perfume instead. Maybe that Arabic proverb dates back from the time of the Ifrange - the French.

Alas, a lot of the French have kept this bad habit since...transmuted into Johnson Baby Powder when it reached the Anglo Saxons...

So the recommendations from this "dirty Arab" is let the cleanliness and good smell emanate from the inside other words, no amount of cover up with perfumes, designers clothes and good make up will do the trick.

Last but not least in this chapter - towels and cloths.

I noticed that for example in England and France they use the same cloth to wipe ashtrays, tables, counters...and at home the same cloth is used for the kitchen, the toilet seat, the sink and the bathtub... This is a no-no.

Just like you have division of labour, you need to have a division of cloths. A cloth for each purpose. You cannot wipe your kitchen counter with your toilet seat cloth. This is totally outrageous.

The same principle applies to towels. How many times I witnessed the same towel used for so many things. The same towel to wipe your feet, butt and face. Again, this is not on. You need a towel for your face and hands and a towel for the rest of your body. Of course, assuming that you do have that regular wash.

I guess I will stop here for tonight. I have not exhausted the subject, but just given you headlines, some sort of short introduction into personal hygiene. Hope it will come useful next time you call any other race "dirty".

With my best regards,

Your "dirty Arab".

Saturday 18 July 2009

Mind Your Abbrev.

A friend said to me that this post is very funny and that I should refresh/repost it. Just in case you missed it. So here it is.


The first time I came across an abbreviation was years ago, when I was taking a statistics class in public health. I hate statistics to start with...but the biggest mind fuck was when I came across - n.a.
I cracked my brains trying to figure out what n.a meant. Did they mean nah as in no...can't be. I flunked that class because of the n.a. It turned out to be non-applicable or non-available. Am still not sure...

Things got stickier when I started using the net. I would see lol, roflmao and lmao.

I used to think to myself why I am receiving this lol thing in my emails ? Must be some secret code for something important.

It took me a year to understand that lol meant laughing out loud and its variations - rolling on the floor laughing my ass off and the shorter version without rolling on the floor just - laughing my ass off.

Then it got even more complicated with words like imho and rip. Again, too timid to ask what those meant, I pretended I knew...only to find out that imho is not the name for some secret organization and rip has nothing to do with ripping things apart. They actually stand for - in my humble opinion and rest in peace.

This mind fuck was not only limited to the net. Text messages on my cell phone bore the same cryptic wordings that left much room for major misunderstandings...

I remember dating this guy and after a series of back and forth messages, he typed
" btw, dinner ?".

I hardly knew the guy and he was proposing btw - in between dinner ?
What in between dinner, what does he want to do in between dinner ? I thought to myself...

O. put my mind at ease and told me to "chill out". BTW stands for by the way.

But things got even more complicated when abbrev. were used face to face, in reality.

My first exposure to it, in reality, was during one of those nights when I was bored out of my wits and was insanely zapping away - unlike me, because I hardly ever watch T.V.

Anyways, I fell on the Jerry Springer show. Prior to that, I had no clue who the fuck Jerry Springer was. WTF stands for who the fuck and what the fuck - just in case you need to add more abbrev. to your dic. - dictionary, that is.

So this yankee guy straight out of a trailer looking like a friggin elephant was whining about his yankee "woman" who looked like a hippopotamus, being caught with the guy from the next door trailer who looked like an tattooed ape...

I thought to myself, mashallah, this must be America.

And this elephant kept saying - ya know, ya know, basi, basi...she did me wrong...

Another boggling code. WTF is basi ?

basi...basi...maybe this hippopotamus girlfriend's name - g.f. was Basi, I thought to myself...

But no, it turns out that basi means basically.

This definitely is America.

But wait, it gets better...I mean, it gets worse, much worse...

Arab wankers have caught the disease too.

Take this acquaintance of mine. We were sitting in a café, some months ago and she said - do you fancy o.j. ?

The only o.j. I knew of, was O.J. Simpson and hell I did not fancy him at all.

So I said - no I don't fancy o.j.

She said - but o.j. is so good for you.

I said - the guy is a murderer

She said - Are you crazy or something ?

I said - wtf is o.j. then ?

She said - o.j. stands for Orange Juice.

I said - Orange Juice, ahhhhhhhhhhhh, orange juice. And why the fuck don't you say Orange Juice ?

She said - Everyone knows what o.j. means. You are so behind...

Of course this Arab wanker pretends she's American when she has just visited America for two weeks, and not only that - she is of Palestinian origins, to make matters worse. But the accent, oh my God, the accent. Beats any trailer trash of a yankee.

The plot thickened and Layla was still very the Americanized English language.

Here I was invited for coffee at another acquaintance's place.

While in the kitchen she shouted :

- Layla do you want some "areos" with your coffee ?


WTF is areos, I thought to myself...

I pressed hard and quick - areos, areos, areos...

Did she mean a rose ? Why would she want to give me a rose with my coffee ? Is she gay or something ?

No it can't be.

areos...aerospace ? Could it be an abbrev. for aerospace or anything to do with air ?

What is she planning to do - offer me an oxygen mask with my coffee?

No that can't be either.

Think quick ya Layla, think quick.

areos...areo...the only areo I know is a slang word in Arabic meaning...ahemm, his dick. Surely she is not offering someone's dick with my coffee ?!

She repeated - Shoo ya Layla, do you want areos ?

To be on the safe side - not knowing what areos meant, I shouted back - No thanks.

She walked in with the coffee and a bowl of cookies...

- Try them, I am sure you will like them, she said.
- Thanks, am not too keen on biscuits...
- Can't be. You must try oreos.
- Oreos ?
- Yes, you don't know oreos ?

I thought to myself wtf is oreos ?

- Ya Allah, ya Layla, you are so out of it. Oreos is the famous American bisssscuiiiiit.
- Oh, it's a biscuit is it ?
- Sure - oreos, how can anyone not know what oreos are ? Nabil gets them specially for me, whenever he is in Amrrrikkka.

Btw, I basi, lmao, sipping my coffee, thinking to myself, wtf, I prefer coffee to o.j. and thanking the Universe that oreos turned out to be n/a in my case - nothing but junk yankee biscuit. I also promised myself to keep away from Arab wankers - potential gfs trying so hard to ape Amrrrikkka.

Imho, the English language has been massacred by Americans who are too lazy to pronounce a full word. May the English language r.i.p.

Friday 17 July 2009

Life Goes On...

My friend Y. from Greece, sent me this as a present for my 3 years of blogging.

I love M Theodorakis's compositions. I had never heard that song before.I'm so glad I did. It is beautiful. Even though Shirley Bassey brings back so many memories. She was very liked in Baghdad. I guess this has to do with our romantic side.

Thank you Y.

Wednesday 15 July 2009

Never Tire...

If there is one French singer whom I never tire of listening to - it is Charles Aznavour. Whether he is 30 or 80 as he is now - Aznavour is Aznavour is Aznavour...
By the way - his real name is Aznavourian - he is of Armenian origins, so am told. But whatever his origins - his voice is just perfect. It has this "oriental" slant to it, it is warm, loving, inviting, nostalgic, passionate...

The text in French. Do find a translator because the lyrics are simply beautiful.

Toi et moi
Deux cœurs qui se confondent
Au seuil de l'infini
Loin du reste du monde
Haletants et soumis
A bord du lit
Qui tangue et va
Sous toi et moi
Toi et moi
Libérés des mensonges
Et sevrés des tabous
Quand la nuit se prolonge
Entre râles et remous
Nos songes fous
Inventent un nous
Entre chien et loup dans nos reves déserts
L'amour a su combler les silences
Et nous, ses enfants nus, vierges de nos hiers,
Devenons toi et moi, lavés de nos enfers
Au delà des angoisses
A l'appel du désir
Du cœur de nos fantasmes
Aux confins du plaisir
Que Dieu créa
Pour toi et moi
J'étais sans espoir, tu as changé mon sort
Offrant à ma vie une autre chance
Les mots ne sont que mots, les tiens vibraient si fort
Qu'en parlant à ma peau ils éveillaient mon corps
Fais-moi l'amour encore
Encore et parle-moi
Pour que jusqu'aux aurores
Aux sources de nos joies
Mes jours se noient
Dans toi et moi

Found the English version. I prefer the French one.

Saturday 4 July 2009

Standing by Me ? Standing by Us ?

Yes, a very few are -- very few.

Thank you KM and the few others...

Friday 3 July 2009

More on Stupidity...

In yesterday's post I wrote about the "state of being stupid". Today I will continue in yesterday's footsteps and write about one glaring aspect of human stupidity - the ultimate stupidity - the mother of all stupidities.

It's been a wondrous night. Just the right weather for me. Enough warmth and a starry illuminated sky. Good conversations, shared food, hearty laughter, eyes to see, nose to smell, tongue to taste, ears to hear, hands to touch, legs to dance, walk, and lips to smile and kiss...All those treasures taken for granted.

A wondrous night cloaked in much genuine simplicity, a free flow of words, good music, little simple things, that make up the whole canvas. Small applied stitches in a huge embroidery, dabs of colors in a painting in the making, the seeds of possibilities - the possibilities of a full life.

Nothing exceptional, nothing grand, nothing out of the the ordinary life in a non-ordinary way - from the heart. Savoring each moment, being in the present, being open, being aware without withholding, being yourself...

A wondrous night, pregnant with meanings...

Life is so simple.

So why do people complicate it ? why do they fuck it up so badly, the way they do ?
I never really understood that.

I have studied much, read a thousand books, meditated, contemplated, prayed but I was never able to come to terms with Evil and its flip side - stupidity.

What is this poison called humans ?

Don't you think there is enough misery as is, enough natural disasters, enough diseases, enough poverty, enough global catastrophes ?

Don't you think there is enough abuse, enough pain, enough suffering, enough hopelessness, enough confusion, enough desolation ?

I still can't understand why humans add more, and more and more of the same poison.

What is the matter with us, Homo Sapiens ? What the fuck is the matter with us ?

The way I see it - it's like someone giving you a gift daily, and you arrogantly bundle it up and throw it back in the face of the Giver...

This saddens me much, I have no words...

At the bottom of all of this existential self inflicted misery, lies us...lies the human kind.

It takes so much effort daily to renew that pact of faith...

No one has screwed it up as bad as we have. In fact there is no one else but us who are screwing it up daily...

If that is not stupidity, I don't know what is.

Thursday 2 July 2009

Summer Wine...

Strawberries, cherries, raspberries...
they trickle
down my cage
red contours
Adam's lost rib...

I look for Adam's
lost rib,
I search the red,
the bloody wombs
I see him standing in a corner
smoking a cigar...

Our lips meet,
like they have to,
ordained by Nature
I poke him in one of those
left out ribs...
He jolts
and sees trickling...
strawberries, cherries and raspberries
from an unknown tree
in the Summer heat,
pressed grapes
squashed fruits
in the Summer heat
like Summer Wine...

Layla Anwar, July 2nd. 2009. Nowhere. Now-Here.

On Stupidity...

Sorry to give it to you straight but a good majority of people are stupid.
Yep, you read me right - stupid.

Now what do I mean by stupidity ?

I am not into IQ's. I personally scored very low in one of them. I must be very dumb myself...

So stupidity for me has got nothing to do with low IQ's. Even though you may beg to differ and not in my favor...

Stupidity has nothing to do with the absence of "emotional intelligence" either.

Nor is Stupidity related to genetic predispositions, environment or level of education or lack thereof...

Stupidity for me is lack of insight. Simple.

And since insight is available to all, stupidity is only a temporary state.

You can decide to become insightful today, if you wish. If you choose that option, I can guarantee you that you will learn everything you need to learn, first about yourself, and secondly about the world around you. But you need to want it first.

I like the word insight. IN-SIGHT.

You will see what you need to see and consequently you will understand what needs to be understood. Because your way of seeing, your vision will be altered...

So stupidity is not a terminal illness. But most people are stuck in that state until the day they die...What a bloody waste and what an insult to the endless possibilities of Insight offered to you, at no cost.

However, to ask for insight, requires apart from willingness -- it requires courage. Because what you will see, will radically change your life but always for the good...ultimately. It also requires openness to receive - allowing.

That's all.

You need no training course, no higher studies, no Phd's, no gurus, no teachers...

You just need the committed, truthful, sincere, daily willingness, the courage and the openness to receive.

We call that state (of non-stupidity) in Arabic - Ayn Al Yaqeen. The State, Vision -- The Eye of Certainty.