Portraits.3. Mr & Mrs Nausea.

Night is falling: at dusk, you must have good eyesight to be able to tell the Good Lord from the Devil. (Jean-Paul Sartre. The Devil and the Good Lord)

There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk. (Jean-Paul Sartre. The Devil and the Good Lord)

Hell is Other people (Jean-Paul Sartre. No Exit)


Today I fancy drawing the portrait of Mr & Mrs Nausea. An asexual couple, or more like a unisex couple, an androgyne, a possible hermaphrodite, a castrated male, an eunuch slave...

That is to say that Mr & Mrs Nausea belong to both genders, yet they are terribly sexless...for there is nothing sexual about Nausea. Nothing sexual as nothing vibrant, nothing pulsating, nothing alive...a flat endomorphic mass of nothing. No-thing.

I chose to write about Mr & Mrs Nausea, because this is a couple I come across frequently...I am familiar with them. They carry different faces and different masks, but I can always spot them.
They are contemptibly too familiar...

Maybe I chose to write about them because they have visited me as of late...and one peculiar characteristic about their visit is that it lingers on...

I can tell when they are about to knock on my door, without prior notice...I smell them coming from afar...they have this distinctive odor about them. Something stale, like some unwashed garment smelling of old sweat and mothballs.

I can tell when they are about to land at my door step, because my stomach contracts, small spasms at first, giving way to greater contractions, like some labor pangs...like some pregnant woman about to deliver, on the floor right here, right now...

I can tell because even before they ring my bell, their slime seeps through the door fence, through the cracks...it is almost a bottle green, like some burst bilious bag of nothing but slime...just slime...a mucous like slime, like some obstructed tumefied green brown nasal catarrh that is finally discharged, discharged at my door step...

I can tell they are here, because even without shaking hands, their presence is visceral, I feel it mounting in me, like some swelling tide, like a damp volcano erupting with humid green larvae...

I can tell because I feel them moving in my belly like a colony of invertebrates, a colony of worms that have occupied my intestines, rising up to my duodenum, up my oesophagus, lodging at the back of my throat, right behind my larynx, I feel them at the edge of my jaws that crisp themselves, closing down like some prison, like some janitor trying to quell it down....

I can tell because they push forward, and I spit it the saliva, holding back, and they push even more, like some invisible finger stuck down my throat, forcing me to expulse them out, on my floor...

I finally vomit them out, out of my system...undigested, whole, unfragmented...and that mass of green slime comes gushing down on the floor, crushing down on earth, like some subterranean fountain rising from way down below and spreading itself on the surface like a carpet of moldy grass...

I finally vomit them out...vomit them out, the Mr & Mrs Nausea of humanity, the Mr & Mrs Nausea of daily life...


Painting : Iraqi artist, Ibrahim Rabi'e.

Portraits.2 . Mimi

The Incredible Heaviness of Being - Milan Kundera upside down.

I will call her Mimi. She is originally from Prague. I am a Czech she'd say in her imperious voice, I am from Czechoslovakia.

She owned a café, more of a small seedy bar, where all the drunks from the neighborhood gather after a long day, in the grey winter evenings, hoping to find a bit of warmth, at Mimi's.

Her café, as she liked to proudly call it, consisted of one small table and four chairs, and a long counter made of fake wood with high stools...the walls were decorated with old pictures, that resembled nothing, a bit like the regulars who visit her café...

There is something about Mimi, otherwise I would not write about her. She is difficult to "frame", and maybe this is what makes her alluring enough, enough to devote a few lines trying to capture her in words...

I don't know much about Mimi, except from bits and pieces, given in between serving the regular drunks...Mimi makes it a point to barricade herself in some aura of secret mystery...nothing is given free of charge...this I later discovered...

I don't even know her age. No one can ask Mimi such a question. One client dared once. He said to her " So Mimi, tell us, how old are you ?".

She pulled her reading specs down, and stared at him with those icy cold blue eyes of hers and said " Even if I were 20, you would not satisfy me". He laughed it off, we all did, but we retained the message...

Everyone understood that day -- Mimi was not to be asked any private questions...

There was no way of knowing much about her, apart from observing her in action...she was meticulous. Her small café was always very orderly despite the amount of alcohol that was poured out, daily...no cigarette butts, no ashes, no full ashtrays, no bits and pieces allowed to remain on the bar...she was always very quick to pick things up and wipe it all away, wipe traces away, a bit the same way she is quick to divert curious staring questions away from her...

And I could also tell she must be in her middle 60's. A full mane of chestnut colored hair, a big bosomy woman, with those icy blue eyes, who chain smokes and makes sure that her regular clients pay for her drinks...and Mimi can drink any man under the table...

She laughed, joked, and engaged clients, but there was this invisible wall with a huge sign marked "Off limits - do not trespass".

Whenever I went there to have my coffee, I always wondered what it is she never wanted any of us to find out...

The place was not really my type, I did not like her regulars whom I considered to be a bunch of lost drunkards, but I still went there, as if drawn by some enigma, some heavy secret...some heavy secret I already know, I can never crack open...

Portraits.1 - General.

Portraits...this is what I want to paint, this is what I need to brush on these pages...

Portraits keep me grounded in the here and now, in the simple, day to day life...some are uncomplicated ones, or appear to be so, some are more complex or appear to be so...

I am hoping this will be a series of posts, I give no promises...they are people I have met in my life, some belong to the past, some are still very much here in the present...

I want to write about them and I shall write about them in either the past tense even if they are still in my life today or in the present tense even if they are out of my life...or in whatever tense I prefer, giving them life in the present or just relegating them to a spot in the past.

There are no rules as to how I will approach them. Bottom line they are still alive, in my head...so if they are dead, or belong to some distant past, they surely can be resurrected and if they are alive, surely they can be made dead too...

Past and Present are dancing together, right here, right now...

Something to Spit...

One thing I like about REAL French songs, is that they always have something to spit, a message "à cracher".

I come from Iraq, I need not spit, I need to vomit...vomit it out...but spitting it out is good too...

Those who spit it out or vomit it out, have nothing more to hide...the stuff is out there, for you to deal with...

It is a bit like writing. I once met a Frenchman on a train ride, that was years back. We started chatting and I asked him what he did for a living. He said he was a writer...

I was impressed...I was younger then and things impressed me easily. And because I had always nursed that secret wish of becoming one myself...I probed with the aim of gaining insight, gaining knowledge as to what does it take to become one...

 I asked him - "What does it take to become one? "

The train shook through  dark tunnels, and I listened attentively to his reply...

"It does not take anything...you just spit it out at first, then you lay your egg. What people do with it is no longer your problem..."

What he meant was you just do it, present it, spit it, vomit it and the rest is no longer yours...

I like that...I like that very much.

Reflections on the Concepts of Duty, Obligation & Authority. 1

I can already tell this is going to be a complicated "rant" about the concept of Duty and Obligation in Eastern societies and in Arab ones in particular...

Whenever social concepts such Duty, Obligation are tackled, I like to think of them as social, religious, political, legal, family, personal constructs...in which the historical (political, religious, legal, social) narrative of any particular society is a dynamic one which feeds into the personal narrative and is in turn fed by it...

Anyway, I like to keep things simple, I always need to remind myself this is a blog and not a dissertation.

So am going to tackle Duty and Obligation today. A tough subject because it branches out into so many different areas, from the political, to the religious, to the social, to the family, to gender, to the personal...and am having a tough time knowing where to start.

I will start with my own observations. I think that is a safe place to start with.

I have noticed that in Arab societies (as a system) and by extension in Arab families,(as a system) Duties and Obligations play a very important role in maintaining the social order, the status quo. This is not a value judgement, it is just an observation.

I need to say though, that I will keep away from the Legal definitions of Duty and Obligation and stick to Cultural ones, even though these two concepts derive much of their raison d'être from the body of Law, and in this particular case from an odd mixture of both Secular and Religious law, but where in my opinion, it is the religious law that overrides in the social interactions...and in turn becomes a "culture". A passed on culture from generation to generation, with varying intensity - meaning in simple terms that People of an older generation or of my generation would view and consequently act upon the concepts of Duty and Obligation differently from a younger generation who has been brought up with a "modified" version of that same culture...

This is another bracket of nuances that need to be kept in mind but still an important one, because it points out that these systems, contrary to perception, are not rigid closed ones and they are in a state of flux...in the end it is always a question of degrees and not of fundamentals and I find that to be true for all societies...therefore to speak of Eastern/Arab societies as exclusive systems of their own, and hold them in comparison to Western ones as totally opposite systems, can prove to be a pitfall full of misconceptions.

But again, I need to keep to the subject matter, and get back to my personal observations, and obviously it is in comparison to other systems as other cultural constructs. And somehow comparison is unavoidable...

If one takes for example what is considered a "traditional, conservative" society and again I have a problem with definitions here, because concepts such as traditional, conservative, modern, advanced, free are also political cultural social constructs...and it all depends on who is doing "the looking" so to speak.

I am getting stuck here, because from that perspective, who is to say what is what ?

So I find myself, as am pondering these concepts, constantly withholding any value judgement at whatever cultural construct am dealing with, be it East or West. But is that really possible?

I do not think it is "scientifically" possible at all, when dealing with societies, because the subjective element, the personal narrative (culture, history, background, education, status, political affiliation, beliefs, gender, religion...) or the anthropological map of the onlooker, researcher, subject, always play a role in how he/she defines, perceives, explains, researches, tackles, expounds, observes, any particular construct, any particular system...

Of course, I have not even started writing about Duty and Obligation, because I realize that it is an impossible task to keep it objective, an impossible task of not comparing, and an impossible task of no reference to any personal narrative...

Which of course, in turn lends a big interrogation mark on the whole concept of social "sciences" and how it subsequently serves political decisions when dealing with Eastern, Arab societies.

Since all is a construct and a non objectively verifiable one, who is to say who is right and who is wrong ? Who is advanced and who is backward ? Who is secular and who is conservative ? Who is modern and who is traditional? Who is free and who is unfree ?

Can it be that at the end all is simply Power based ? and if so, where does this Power derive its legitimacy from ? Where does a predominant Culture derive its power from ? Be it in nations, in society, in the family, in the couple, in the relation between parent and child...

It does span from the most general to the most particular, and a predominant culture be it at global level (as in globalization) on on societal level, on a family level, or whenever there is a semblance of a system of interaction, derives its power from a position of Authority.

Whether that position of Authority is based upon power derived from money, status, age, role, gender, position, does not really matter...because from the most global to the most particular, in the end, it is Authority that ensures the maintenance of the social order and its status quo. And the Concept of Duty and Obligation are tools of Authority.

Authority is not necessarily a negative or a positive thing, it just is...again, the personal narrative (perception, experience, inherited beliefs held to be true, injunctions, family, tribal, collective history carried inside etc...) is very much at play in how one sees and defines Authority...

So one might speak of a benevolent/positive Authority or one may speak of a malevolent/negative Authority. And what defines Benevolence and Malevolence but a personal subjective experience when in contact with that "Authority."

I realize I may be going around in circles, but am not really...because when I come to think about it, nothing is fixed...how so ?

Well again, one's perception of Authority is very much marked by previous past experiences with Authority (whatever that Authority is) and beliefs about Authority (and again, belief and experiences feed on each other - another micro system, another circuit in one's head if you like)...

I will give a simple example to illustrate; If X has in the past been badly beaten up by a cop, every time he sees a cop, he will react to that Image of Authority of when he was beaten up. X has also developed a whole set of beliefs in relation to cops derived from his personal experience of them. In the end, X will have a conditioned response, which in turn will, in all likelihood make it that X will act/react in a certain way, thus confirming a self fulfilling prophecy i.e all cops are bad i.e all Authority is bad.

I do realize that this is a very simplistic example, and things are more complex than that...and one may argue that cops are small, racist tyrants, upholding a system of oppression etc...but one still calls on them when one is mugged, robbed, raped, murdered...

The example given was really to show how the personal narrative feeds into the system and is fed in turn by it...

And again, I like that idea of a dynamic where the objective, external, out there, feeds on and is fed by the subjective, internal, personal, in here... This idea is very appealing to me, because this state of flux, this fluid state is permanent, nothing is a closed rigid system but our perception and experience of it and to me that means that all is open to change...

I am not sure I will be do part 2, but why not...I can keep on "ranting" as much as I like.

Black Tears - Lagrimas Negras

A friend sent me this today, one of my favorites from Cuba. I really wish I can visit this place one day before America invades and occupies it ...as well....

On Youth...

Frankly nothing bores me as much as youth...by youth I mean the 20 to 30+ years old...

I find them empty, stupid and terribly hollow despite their hot airs of so called knowledge...

A misplaced ego combined with very little knowledge, seeking more idols, to derive a sense of existence.

The important questions are never asked, and the rest is parroted like empty clichés in a circus, in a boxing ring, trying to prove who will win...

This frankly tires me...I have no time for collective stupidity, nor do I have time for pubescent juveniles, flexing illusionary muscles in between two essays and the latest episodes from Friends and Seinfeld.

I am over the board, with hormonally imbalanced idiots, who can't differentiate between what is real and what is not, who can't differentiate between real and make believe...

I am tired of engaging eternal students who refuse to graduate from anything, emotionally and intellectually stunted morons, who find comfort in their predicament and in their assigned role, rarely challenging except to bark some nonsense,, by way of proving some individuality...

I am sick and tired of those pimpled students who believe because they read 2 essays and are working on a third one, they are suddenly bestowed with immense, unquestioned knowledge...

I am sick and tired of stupid online masturbators who mistake virtual life for real, and who find this terrain propitious enough to spread their non existent knowledge, their deep ignorance...masquerading behind some famous borrowed name...

I want the elders  to take over...I want them to infuse this space with wisdom and knowledge born out of years of seeking....and years of experience...

I want this smelly pimpled 30 years old to be silenced with Truth....I want them gob smacked, stripped naked of their idiotic illusions, made to face reality,and be held accountable for it...with the secret wish that they may grow a couple of inches...

Youth is no passport for delusions..it is just a training ground, a temporary one, a play field...and it takes maturity to slap you out of it...and hopefully I have done just that.

Erroneous Perceptions...

I have been thinking about that today...thinking about the gross, erroneous perceptions of the Muslim world in the Western mind.

This is no treatise on Orientalism, just personal observations that I have collected throughout the years...observations coming from remarks, articles, sentences, questions, attitudes...

I find it amazing that a Westerner, who has NEVER set foot in any Arab Muslim country, who has not read the history of the region, who is not acquainted with its food, tastes, colors, music, art, architecture, religion(s) -- apart from the regular hummus, falafel and kebab take away, and who CAN'T speak the language --  actually allows himself/herself to pontificate on it..with such assurance and sense of "expertise".

I find it amazing, that someone who can't even pronounce an Arabic/Muslim name, word, can actually allow himself/herself to speak on behalf of Arabs and Muslims...and come up with such generalizations as "in the Muslim word..."

In the Muslim world, women are...in the Muslim world people are...in the Muslim world things are...

How the fuck do you know what happens in the "Muslim World" ? How the fuck do you know what these people think or feel ? Did you ever ask them ? Did you ever befriend them closely, intimately ?

And No, fucking one of them is no passport to the Muslim world, nor is buying a kebab take away ...

I am saying that because I have heard so many Westerners, women in particular, say "I know because I dated one...for two weeks". Yeah, that makes you a specialist on the matter...for sure.

And then more crap like ; all Arabs Muslims are dark skinned and brown eyed...ignoring the fact that this part of the world has known much "métissage", a mix of races, ethnicities, invasions, conquests, and the rest...

The erroneous perception that the Muslim world is one huge monolithic bloc, all adopting the exact same ideas and concepts...regardless of the specificity of the social and historical context of each country...

It's like me saying a Spaniard and a Norwegian, or a Greek and an Icelander or an Italian and a Russian...are exactly the same because they believe in Jesus Christ.

This is not only ignorant, it is STUPID. It only demonstrates YOUR STUPIDITY.

Sure, there are common cultural and religious traits to Muslim countries, just like there are common cultural and religious traits to Christian countries in the West...but they are not exactly the same, and just because you are from the West does not automatically mean you have blues eyes and blond hair...

This cartoon, caricature like image is mostly felt when it comes to the subject of Muslim Arab women.

If I am to believe everything I read, I would go totally insane and will start living out what is being written...just to confirm the image...

Arab-Muslim women are so oppressed, they are all subjugated, they are all submissive, they are all forced veiled, they are all excised, they are all illiterate, they are all discriminated against, they are all harassed, they are all home bound, they are all at the mercy of the men in their lives...

The wordings are not exactly like that, but the image one is left with is exactly like that...and the pictures...

Take pictures from Iraq, or from Saudi Arabia, or from the Gulf, or from Egypt, or from Yemen or from any country you wish...and all of these pictures show the same over and over again...a veiled woman looking desperate...as if saying please save me., o' white man and white woman...

That is not to say there is no oppression, no subjugation, no forced veiling, no illiteracy, no discrimination, no harassment in this part of the world, there is...but that is not the FULL picture.

The pictures of Western women on the other hand are always those of liberated ones, free to choose, educated, (holding some book and therefore literate), exposed (free with their bodies)...as if there is no female subjugation, repression, oppression and exploitation in the West...as if there is absolutely no violence against women in the West...no violence in the forms of prostitution and human trafficking, no violence in the form of domestic abuse, no violence in the form of date and street rape...no violence in the form of the use of women as objects for advertisement and objects in pornographic material...

Come on here, who the fuck do you think you are fooling with all of this ?

Definitely not me...

In fact you are just fooling yourselves, perpetuating an illusory image that serves many functions :

1) fend off your inferiority complex and trust me you have plenty...and restore your fake sense of superiority.

2) appease your jealousies and envies and yes you are envious and jealous because you have lost much of the things you criticize in this part of the world - family ties and commitments, community ties, respect of women (believe it or not), generosity and hospitality as ordained by our religion and culture, (a total anti-thesis to your money grabbing mentality), and more I care not go into now...

3) cover up for your blatant ignorance in general and particularly of other cultures and ways of life...

4) perpetuate the myth that you hold about yourselves as saviors and redeemers of peoples from " a lesser God" which is really nothing but a cover for a vile racism

5) and last but not least, provide ideological justification on both a personal and collective level as to why you can continue in your criminal conquests of this part of the world...under the banner of "Freedom".

But not only...

I can give you another 100 reasons...but I will stop here for tonight.
Just take it as a small introduction of how I perceive you.


Painting : Iraqi artist, Dia Al-Azzawi, 1995

The Dark Blue Dishdasha....for you my beautiful Grandma...

By Allah, I found it...

It is so late here, but I kept searching...with an iron will, a warrior's will...just to prove, when you really, really, want something and it comes from the depth of your heart --- you are sure to find it...

This is the song that had to go with the post --over there, on the other side of the virtual wall...but wishes from the heart know no barriers and no walls...

They are friendly ghosts, luminous souls, angels, that walk through the thickest of the thick...

For what you desire, desires you most, in return...





And after this long search, the least I can do is translate...translate a little bit, imperfectly translate, as imperfect as my English...

" Awww she loves her grandma " they will exclaim...

It's not only about my Grandma, retards, morons of the "civilized world", it's about what my Grandmother, what the GRAND MOTHER of IRAQ represents. Get it now ?

And yes am getting all excited...

If you can get excited about some crack addict whore who sings crap, I surely can get excited about my roots, that you have tried to pull out, extract, destroy ---in vain...in VAIN.


A Blue Dishdasha, color of the Nile
just rise with nothing but this on,
and the lock of your hair,
how can one separate from
Take me, take me take with you
for I can't be without you, not even for one hour
promise that I will find you,
as my soul seeks...

And in a sea of amber, swims my love
and by Khizr Elias, (a saint),
this love is my destiny
take me with you, for I can't without you
not even for an hour
tell me where I can find you
so my soul can find peace...

You are my wish, my heart's desire
and my passion
enough of your hardness
have mercy for my painful wounds
take me to you, with you,
I can't be without you
and promise that I will find you

A dark blue Dishdasha
color of the Nile
just rise with nothing but this on
and the hair lock on your face
I can't separate from,
Take me with you
I can't without you, not even for one hour
promise that I will find you...

Fugitive...

I had a very powerful, distressing, disturbing dream...I woke up drenched in sweat, and it took me a good 15mn to regain some composure and assimilate the message.

I will not go through all the details, even though this is my personal blog, but I do wish to retain some things for myself, in private and in secret.

I dreamt that I was with someone, very dear to me, very dear to my heart, and whom I consider to be a mentor and a guide...to say the least.

So we were together in some rugged mountainous area, it looked like Afghanistan to me, and we were running and hiding from one cave to another.

Someone who looked like a Bin Laden was after us and we had to protect ourselves at any cost. As this Bin Laden look alike was pointing his gun at my Master and at me, we ducked and managed to run away again...like fugitives being tracked down...only to find ourselves in what looked like an American army base. There was steel everywhere, huge machines running on enormous chains, the grinding sound was overpowering...

We hid behind one of those huge metal pillars, and we saw an American General giving orders to his men to find and capture us.

I said to my Master -- Master I fear more for your life than for mine, you are more important, there is no one in that corner of the camp, please run away now... and Master replied to me - you go, you just run as far as you can....

I don't remember all the exact details, but Him and I parted and I found myself running alone like a fugitive, from one place to another....fearing for my life, trying to find safety somewhere...and terribly worried about our fate, worried that they will finally capture him...and me...

Thank God I awoke, because I could have been running for a long time in that dream...

As I said, it took me quite some time to recover from the dream's impact and make with the deep fear I was left with...the deep anxiety...the deep premonition, if you wish...

And the Message was all too clear for me :

Islam is under a huge attack from both within and without, from both -- the Bin Ladens of this world and what they represent and from the Americans and their death machinery and what they represent...

There is an attack going on at the Heart of Islam and its Message is the first and foremost victim, the first and foremost fugitive running for his life...

Hearts in Exile...

I noticed a "strange" phenomena in Iraqis I meet, and in myself...

There is a subject matter that we avoid talking about at all cost - Exile.

Every time the subject of Exile comes up, the standard sentence is " What can we do, this is the will of Allah - May God punish those who are responsible... "- subject closed.

One can read a few articles about Iraqi refugees plight and their VERY difficult conditions, but not about their subjective sense and personal experience of Exile.

The other day an Iraqi acquaintance called to wish me a Happy New Year, we chatted for a while and as usual Baghdad came up in the conversation, he said to me:

Please Layla, I have put an X on this subject and on this place, do not re-open wounds...If I ever return, I will be a stranger there, just as I am a stranger here...

This afternoon I went for a long walk and thought about this sentence, deeply...I felt very uneasy thinking about Exile. My mind played tricks on me, trying to divert my attention away, as I felt strong emotions rise inside of me, and wanting to save face and embarrassment in public, I tried very hard containing those tears...

I had to face my reality and come to terms with it. I cannot return to Iraq. I am a stranger here and will be a stranger there. Besides, I might get abducted and killed once I set foot...This is a real possibility, a very real one...

There is a Law of NO RETURN written for a lot of the Iraqis in exile, for the thousands of us in Exile...most of us refugees are either Sunnis, Christians or some other minority...all of us fled because of our sects...Some of us have lost our homes to the militias and their families who are currently occupying them. We are in waiting...I am in waiting and I have a feeling I will be waiting for a long time...

And if I assume nothing will happen to me there, and all will be fine, I would never be able to fit in there again...there in that society.

I do not want to be forced to veil myself, I do not want to be daily harassed, and even assuming this is not the case - where will I stay ? I can't stay at relatives indefinitely. And assuming this issue is solved, who will employ me ? I don't have the means to start my own business and would not even know how to...the only avenues are posts related directly or indirectly to governmental institutions...but then how can I possibly work for the Occupation puppets ? And assuming I could, who would employ an Arab Sunni, and a woman to top it all of ? Assuming they would employ me, would I be able to survive in a climate of fear and constant taunts and slurs because of my sect, fear that this person or the other belongs to a militia or to a sectarian party, a chronic state of fear of being punished for belonging to the wrong sect. I would not be able to survive it... And even if I did, then what if something terrible happens for X reason, who can I run to ? The police is a militia in itself, there is not state of law...just thinking about all of that filled me with the greatest of anxiety, almost to the point of a panic attack.

Whichever way I looked it and from whichever angle, assuming the worst and best case scenarios, it became all too clear for me that the Law of NO Return applied to me.. but not only to me. Many others share my predicament...the Law of NO return applies to them as well.

It's a non written law, it's a law we all understood and we all are abiding by. That is why there is no major return of refugees back to Iraq. We understood there is no place for us there anymore. Strangers in exile and even greater strangers in our own country...

I keep pushing away the very strong feeling of homesickness, talking myself out of it, not wanting to face it, shutting the door in its face, just like the doors were shut in mine...I too, try very hard to put an X on it, and not feel anymore...

I understood why Iraqis avoid speaking about their sense of exile and change subjects. The pain is too great and the realization that comes from that pain -- the idea that we might never go back is an even greater pain...a feeling I really can't put into words.

It's like an exile within an Exile...
It's a bit like standing on the shores and seeing a place at the horizon, the distance is not too great, yet it is immense...or standing on the shore and seeing a place you know all too well and you love deeply, and you look around you and there are no boats to take you over to the other side...

I continued walking, and kept thinking...saying to myself -- Face it woman, you are not getting any younger...and one thought led to another...will I die without seeing Baghdad again, ever again ? Is that a real possibility I need to contend myself with ? Not see my home, not visit my family's grave, not see Dijla again, not smell the smells I am so used to...the idea in itself kills me... Will I remain a stranger for the rest of my life ?

I continued walking and from somewhere deep inside of me this voice kept begging - please take me home...

I could not hold back the tears anymore...and when passers by stared at my face, I pretended to dab the corners with a tissue as if some foreign object lodged itself there, I pretended that my eyes were tearing because of some dust, or some cold wind hitting my face...

I returned home and my mother said to me out of the blue: the only time I will see Baghdad again is from my coffin...make sure to bury me there...




Old Iraqi song - rendition by Bashar Al-Azzawi. Hadha moo Insaf meenak. -- no merciful fairness from you.

youtube: MrBlawee, April 12, 2009.

Painting: Iraqi female artist, Betool Fekaiki.

Totally Fucked Up.

I tell you something, the most hypocritical men I have come across are -- Arab, Middle Eastern and Muslim men...
They are the biggest bunch of fucking hypocrites you can ever come across...
I smell their rot miles away. It stinks and it stinks bad. I mean real bad...

Islam has nothing to do with it, race has nothing to do with it, belonging to the Middle East (geography) is not the cause...it's the men that have everything to do with it. You cannot get a sickest bunch than them...honestly you can't.
You take your average Middle Eastern, Arab, Muslim man, and even Christian, and even your Jewish man...any man who lives in this land, gets eventually fucked up...

I know it sounds far out...but it really is not. Not when it comes to gender. .

This Middle Eastern terrain is as screwed up as you can imagine when it comes to male/ female dynamics. I suppose the Indian subcontinent does not fare any better. But, to each his own....

I would not even know where to start...honestly I don't. I can write page after page, I can write volumes about how fucked up this bunch is....

But I will not bother...because when I look around, I see other men from other cultures, I find them  to be as fucked up as this lot....albeit in a slightly different way..

Pharmaceutical industries are busy trying to develop a female Viagra -- waste of time, energy and money...

Cure your men first...and  the rest will fall back into place...female libido and all....