floating face down

hello again

2011-02-04T17:36:00.000-08:00

sorry i haven't been updating you, blog, that everyone ignores.

i'm sorry, my other blog is older and needs more attention.

also evil psycho mubarak turned off the internet, we're trying to overthrow him, and he doesn't like that very much.

twitter has also been taking up some of my time now, apparently it's a much more efficient way to spread information (yes, yes there are grandparents more tech savvy than me, i know)

..i'm so mad at the pseudo religious people who are telling the revolutionaries 'حرام عليكم' -do you want us to line up for food like in palestine? (that was a direct quote from someone)

yeah good luck explaining to GOD why you value money so much you support a dictator and a zionist genocidal regime

hmph

but i'm so happy about tahrir :) i believe in THAT egypt, and all those grumpy businessy farts can leave the country or sit around and wait for their day in court as far as i'm concerned-- i'm not arguing with them anymore

i'm just going to hug the images in my head of people taking care of each other, strangers being family, streets being our streets, our country being our home

i know we're going to be okay, we already changed, now it's just crossing the Ts and dotting the Is

i'm too moved and inspired and happy to worry about a few meaningless arguments that mean nothing under the magnitude of whats happening here

in the context of this pure love explosion

this is the best day-- ever :)

Sorry-- I can't avoid Politics today

2011-01-25T15:38:00.000-08:00

CALL FOR NATIONWIDE STRIKE IN EGYPT TOMORROW

Nobody go to work or to school or to university-- let's bring this country to a standstill until those recently arrested (and all political prisoners) are freed, until demands are finally met (or at least HEARD)

Forces waited until the cover of night to start attacking protesters with water cannons, and huge numbers have shepherded large groups of activists out of Tahrir.

Other protesters are choking in a cloud of tear gas after several cannisters rained down on them.

Many suffering from asphyxiation.
Large number of arrests, even of people in side roads

They think that they can swoop everybody up in the middle of the night and make this go away.

STRIKE TOMORROW or even better TAKE THEIR PLACE IN THE STREETS

Let's show them WE AREN'T GOING AWAY UNTIL THIS REGIME DOES

January 25 protests in Tahrir #jan25

2011-01-25T09:46:00.000-08:00

#jan25 #25jan

LIVE STREAM OF TAHRIR

yeah take this one down too assholes, there'll be five more

please everyone in tahrir, remove the passwords from your internet networks

also, food and blankets and water are needed-- nobodys going home tonight

H.M "Yala Suzan, pack your bags"

2011-01-25T08:31:00.000-08:00

#jan25

watch this live stream of Tahrir-- thousands still marching towards the square

It's labeled "a preview" :)

2011-01-24T11:31:00.000-08:00

Click here to watch Egyptians demonstrate in front of the UN in NYC

some unnecessary clarifications

2011-01-15T13:55:00.000-08:00

i think you have to be a black southern woman well into her fifties to qualify as someone who can call me " suga' "

furthermore, i can remain " chill " whilst engaging in the process of connecting words together in a grammatically correct and occasionally clever manner-- speech does not stress me out

and for your information, the only thing i find inhibiting is bad company so i promise you, honestly--this is what i'm like when i'm sober

---

highlight of the week=

cuba libre and reeeally salty 'marketing ploy' popcorn.

HA your saltiness can't force me to buy more beverages-- i'll drink more than i can afford because i'm completely wasted like any other self respecting lush :)

happily ever after

2011-01-11T08:39:00.000-08:00

my baba was telling me about his morning exploring old mosques in the mountains--

and about this one sufi poet who was known for liking to be alone all the time.

he especially liked to be alone in this particular mosque, that had meditation rooms for people with his sort of inclination.

the rocks crumbled apart after all these years and now the only way to see the mosque where the poet lived is to stare at it looming over you -- baba walked all around what was left of the mountain, there was no way at all to get to it

i was looking at pictures of the strange mosque, wondering why nobody was trying to build steps to it, when baba said to me-- 'i suppose he wanted in death what he wanted when he was alive'

'for everybody to leave him alone?'

'and so they did'

the end :)

---

Alexandria's Two Saints Church

2011-01-04T10:13:00.000-08:00

My stomach turns just thinking about it. This is all too sad for words--I know most people are talking about politics but all I want to say is that my heart goes out to all the grieving families.

I can't even imagine what they're going through right now, but I hope that they're being supported and doing as well as they can be under the circumstances.

Imma get a 7D bitcheezzz (and assorted notes)

2010-12-29T02:46:00.000-08:00

cameras make me maniacal and ghetto

---

dear stranger,

i've decided we need to start communicating by pigeon.

in fact i'm thinking of selling my phone and using the money to build a pigeon coop on the roof--maybe then people will think twice before contacting me and i before contacting them.

---

to za bjorkiness,

i know it's silly but recently cereal has cemented my feelings that you are my floating equal.

any old cockamamy fool can talk about songs and themes in common-- but how could you possibly have predicted the return of original kelloggs cereal to my taste buds? not minutes after our conversation, i found a box standing on my dining room table. the strange cataract eyed green rooster was staring at me while i tried to remember how long it was since i had his breakfast goodness. it's been eight years- now that's some hardcore kismet right there.

it's been a while in general. i almost forgot what it was like to not want to end a conversation. we're both notorious misanthropes. i don't know, somehow that makes this more fitting. it's like you waited for me. i was starting to worry and entertain someone else's paranoia and write sad songs--

you came over and you figured me out :)

---

i just want to thank:

- tita tessie for that twinkle in her eye and believing in me the way my mama does.

- those beautiful peoples that live in the jungles and the deserts for helping me see why any CV, award or bank account is a trap

-color, for being spiritually edible and powerfully unassuming and gently fulfilling

-wodehouse and stephen fry (and not just because he managed to make the adorable jeeves even cuter)

-my family, for being dramatic, insane and inspiring everyday

---

and in case i miss you-- happy new year everybody!

alternative alternative meditation style (by guru lala the fish)

2010-12-18T11:37:00.000-08:00

I've been looking into psychonautics recently. And no, that doesn't mean I've been popping mushrooms and hanging out with urbane shaman wannabes.

I did something a lot more trippy-- I read and watched documentaries.

Shocking, I know--don't worry, it was harrowing but I'm still in one piece.

There are common experiences people describe, but the one that fascinated me most was this feeling of overwhelming empathy. It kept coming up-- whether it was in the form of out of body experiences from the point of view of someone else in your life, sometimes a stranger or even an animal.

The stories that really resonated with me though, were the people who described a sort of general state of connectedness. As though they were feeling the collective joys and pains of everyone that is, ever was and ever will be.

I remembered what the brilliant and adorable Stephen Fry was saying (in an interview on social media) about connecting--that it's an ancient and defining human craving--pre-dating language. It's why we have language at all-- "a neural technology we've created to answer this need for connectivity".

And I went through all the creation stories I've ever been told, scientific, pagan, abrahamic-- they all have this theme of separation, differentiation-- from a once existing unity.

And then I watched Milos Forman's Hair again :)

And then I realized it was 5 in the morning, and I lit a cigarette, looked out my window and waited for the sun to come up.

\o/

2010-12-18T10:43:00.000-08:00

my new hero!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9TpWW-fBOKo

even more reason to sneer at the ipad :)

go ken banks!

history

2010-12-16T14:46:00.000-08:00

i wonder what would've happened if i never read camus

or if i never discovered the hole in the wheel of that antique tea cart where i used to hide my letters to 'future self'

or if i never saw bette davis performing 'defiant' and 'woman' while she flickered on the screen with her fiery eyes

or if no one ever told me about the stars and planets that came out at night when the city turned off

or if i never ran into that abandoned cathedral

or if i never saw that big green tank roll in on the horizon

or if i never stopped to watch the lady bugs

or if mrs. baker never said 'write about your dream last night'

all of that constitutes the quiet thing threading through all those years--

the rest doesn't matter much

flues and fights and failures

the events that were supposed to define me could never compete with my inner story.

to sweet eric

2010-12-10T20:04:00.000-08:00

i haven't written you in a while, but then again i haven't been in that mood that connected me to you in a while. i've had so much more reason to feel that way, but i don't. even now.

last time i wrote to you my carpet was burning in the background and pillow feathers were raining down on my head. i'm sure you were never as dramatic. maybe just on the inside.

you're right, i don't think i ever will be in that mood again.

why? well... i don't know, i guess i don't want to anymore.

no that's not true, i still want it. but now i want other things too.

i wish so much that i talked to you. yeah i know i say that a lot but eric... i was never interested in your christmas mug. just those rings around your eyes.

i have those too now-- see :) a lot of us do. whenever i see them, i reach out for them, and you're responsible for that.

i don't dream that i can take away their trouble. i just talk to them-- i make sure that they see my half moons too. when they recognize them--something happens eric, something small --and i think it keeps them from going to where you are.

i like to think that every time that happens some of you comes back.

i hope i haven't been annoying. i just want you to know that i would've been your friend for a while, if that means anything at all.

i'm so sorry. about everything, but especially about all those times by the fountain. i hope your dreams are peaceful.

dont regret it now--just take in all that space you never had and breathe for us dark eyed children.

i'll never stop thinking about you.

ode to (unsatisfying) boy, or !إسترجل

2010-12-07T19:32:00.000-08:00

in the middle of it all is my bed,

the knowledge that too soon we'll both be dead,

an enduring affection for this deeply flawed head

in you? indulgence? in coffee instead!

so hold it, i've had my share

to rob you of suffering just wouldn't be fair

for you and your mothering, much less could i care

confession? can't function? i'm quite well aware!

dear God in heaven-- the cheese (UGH!)

that's supposed to bring me to my knees

chokes me with laughter as i splutter 'oh please!

i think i've heard a more emotional sneeze!'

thanks for a really good time, an excuse to ridicule in rhyme--

but wow, i've met primates less asinine

and as for your "thoughts" ahem,

no...no thank you, i much prefer mine

Possibly why I never declared Journalism as a major:

2010-12-05T11:28:00.000-08:00

Power drunk professor:

Do you even know what 'sic' means?

Yours obnoxiously:

Yep. It's a Latin word.

It means 'this isn't my shitty grammar' or 'I'd never let a typo like this slide'.

---

oh the good ol' days :)

a Bogart-er's monologue

2010-12-03T19:59:00.000-08:00

X-

i like you high.

O-

(shaking head)

No, no-- I mean, well, you're right...I'm stoned.

But this (points to J), this is not my creative vehicle.

I... I am unemployed. Now that's inspiration.

Or desperation.

A cavernous void of pure boredom.

I'm bored, I'm bored, I'm so bored and it's... humiliating.

How can anyone be sympathetic to having boredom as my life trauma, my life tragedy-- not my dying relative, not my stifled parents, not my bizarre sexual exploits--not even some justifiable existential ennui. That would be convenient. Who am I? What will become of me?

I couldn't care less, I could not give two shits:

I am and I'll die--good enough answers for me.

No, today and for quite a while now I've been bored--I've been bored and it makes me sad, and it makes me tired.

And I hate myself for it.

(inhales deeply and reclines on tattered sofa)

This is some good shit though.

exploit of an angry fish

2010-11-30T15:47:00.000-08:00

there's this big rock on a beach. nobody swims there because the waves are too ominous and there isn't enough sand.

the rock is more popular--at least with people who visit the sea without getting wet.

it's funny, everyone respects any given person's turn for some solitude on the rock. i've never seen couples or photographers. no one sits on the rock and eats a snack.

it's understood that being in that particular space of the world is an all encompassing experience.

you can hardly breathe because of the force of wind. or maybe it's because the air is so wet.

it's probably because it's just frightening. you don't expect to feel so small after climbing on top of something. gray and blue tower over and around you.

i like listening to the roar. i pretend it's my own.

i pretend i'm mute and i'm screaming.

i crinkle up my face and crumple in my body and ball my hands into fists and open up my mouth so all my teeth and uvula show.

i'd make a really bad siren :)

fear of making mistakes

2010-11-24T08:51:00.000-08:00

(for M.N.)

a gentle sort of turning

an outward grace that belies the spiders racing on every nerve

maneuvering in the dark around sleeping children

hoping someone will wake up and wait with you

but loathe to disturb or bear the humiliation of imposing

my friend you are not the kind of pathetic i can romanticize

or even the kind i can pity

you are unnoticed and unwilling

and only i know of the envy in your eyes

you cast them too often

upon mewling animals and smiling monsters

and i hate you

and i hate you and i hate you

and i don't know who i am without you

the history of my barbie

2010-11-04T18:23:00.000-07:00

one night when i was up late, i happened to catch an episode of Star Trek. Captain Kirk got it on with an alien lady. i later realized this was something he did quite frequently.

i was nine. Barbie had lost Ken years ago in a drawn out and bloody battle with my little sister's Cindy, resulting in the man doll's beheading.

it occurred to me upon watching Kirk discreetly usher yet another green woman behind some slidey doors, that the role of Barbie's gentleman caller could now be played by Mr. Ted E Baer.

i also realized that interspecies lovin need not be platonic.

unfortunately, not so long after Barbie and Baer's passionate tryst, the former succumbed to the fate of her first love in a tragic hairstyling accident.

so there her empty little mushy head lay (or rolled i should say) for years in the drawer of my desk.

in high school i thought it would be amusing to use it as a pin cushion...

until my father happened upon the thing and suspected witchery, haitian style.

-- so no, my biggest problem with my blonde haired blue eyed big boobed doll had little if nothing at all to do with self esteem or body image.

hey--

2010-10-28T17:57:00.000-07:00

I know you.

I know your laugh, and I already hate the jokes you like to make almost always at the most inopportune moments.

I know what you look like when you're pretending to be asleep, and how you breathe when you've finally drifted away.

I know what you're saying when you're mumbling quietly in the dark. I know that after a while all I hear is crackling. I whisper and you rumble, like a snake talking to an earthquake.

I know how you stretch and how you put out a cigarette.

I could recognize your elbow in a crowd.

I can smell you on our pillows, and if I close my eyes, I can feel you holding my head and hugging my shoulders and burying my nose into your neck (that you really, really need to shave).

I know you--and your stupid sunlit eyelashes, and your awful social habits and your ugly, ugly shoes.

I know you. All of you. You're what I want.

axel's social ballet

2010-10-27T16:53:00.000-07:00

i'm not sneering at the stage from a seat in the dark anymore,

i'm under that spotlight again, sweating again,

trying to look natural and remember the choreography again

and remember to work with the other dancers again

and remember that this is entertainment,

that it'll be over,

that i only feel awful because this moment is implicitly contrived

and that i want to breathe

and that i can breathe when i'm home.

i feel like a professional.

i feel like a professional liar.

i feel like a professional liar who's coming out of retirement.

The Return (in the style of southern televangelists)

2010-10-25T16:03:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I can paint your face off. I mix colors like prism sex.

You say you need an ancient geometric Coptic pattern that looks like one of those optical illusions you need to cross your eyes at to comprehend?

Pfft baby child it aint no thang! Two weeks later, et voila!

Framed on a metre long canvas-- sans Photoshop and fancy robot art programs might I add.

That's RIGHT--egg yolk and color oxides bitches, I'm talking old school color theory and hands steadied only by the incessant intake of caffeine, nicotine and the grace of those muses unseen--(gimme an AMEN!)

I'll worry about my art when I start worrying about my heart because as long as that blackened, enlarged, fleshy mass is still beating I'm going to want to say things visually.

So for now my friends, though I trade the brush for the pen--

my endeavors remain unaltered:

Simple

Emotive

Effective

And to be seen, somewhere,

by all of you...

Kind of whether you like it or not,

Cause hey--- how you know I brung it when it ain't even been brought?

Like it's swine flu season, Imma take my shot--

Warily, and with a puerile sense of adventure

--Sarah, Writer.

Un cafe?

2010-10-24T23:07:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Why87amw4KQ

a reason to swing

2010-10-20T18:09:00.000-07:00

he teetered down the sidewalk

the cut-out handle of an empty bright

blue plastic bag looped around his wrinkled pinky.

but he hummed

and he wildly flung

his arm in the air,

like a boy with a butterfly net leaping after flight.

his different sort of kite

inhaled wholeheartedly

and collapsed in unbridled defeat--

again and again,

it all but breathed,

and so it all but lived.

and this old man

who on other days

must have to ask, and ask,

and ask somebody,

who knows somebody,

to be somebody

that day, seemed so happy--

he just seemed so deeply happy to give

that ugly thing

a reason to swing

in the sun.

excerpt from facebook rant on france (because one cyber soapbox wasn't enough)

2010-10-17T17:33:00.001-07:00

this was written in response to someone who felt very frustrated by the recent incident in which a french woman ripped off another woman's niqab, and then proceeded to bite and scratch her when the munaqqaba attempted to put it back on.

the french woman said she felt compelled to do so because she had seen the way women are mistreated in the middle east.

here's part of my friend's status--

'forget the glaring generalizations and you know--PHYSICAL ASSAULT, it's all for the sake of feminism! AND THEN ALL THAT HAPPENS IS SHE HAS TO PAY 750 euro. I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE'

excerpt from my rant:

...fear mongering can only give desperate people the illusion of control for a short time before their situation is unmasked for what it is, in our generation's case it's a volatile economy. demagogs always fall, and when they do, the misplaced anger they inspire dissipates. i don't believe bigotry's making a comeback--i just think politicians are exploiting people who feel helpless.

of course that does not in any way justify crazy french zombie lady.

the idea of a fine as just punishment is ridiculous, the treatment of muslims there is intolerable, the roma expulsion was just freakin embarrassing and now they've decided to make pension reforms-- that government is in hot water. and they're in hot water because there IS a rational majority.
--

i then acknowledged that my rant was ridiculously long and said i was giving her an inflated version of my friends' reminders that sane people are too busy for media coverage.

i honestly do believe that--on good days.

like the day the bbc aired the doha debate on the ban-- and the levelheaded people won, by a landslide :)

take THAT suckas

also rioting continues in france as fillon and friends continue to push the reform bill. analysts are saying sarkozy wants to show that he wont be swayed by the streets.

yeah, that's a good idea. i mean ignoring the will people has always worked in fra... oh wait. um...

are they STUPID?

i'm no genius but even i know not to mess with the people who invented revolution. coup d'etat? french expression? no?

anyway i'm not scared of the far right trend in europe. i'm not scared of merkel's pointy finger dance. i'm not scared of wilders' 'evil racist guy in harry potter' hairdo.

you know why? because they're not going to give people job security, they're not going to guarantee people their homes and when everyone's done frothing at the mouth -- they're still going to be screwed.

can't blame brown bearded neighbor man then. can't very well say hassanein hiked up my mortgage, or munaqqaba lady made my company downsize and decide i'm useless.

and when everyone's done frothing at the mouth over there, it'll be easier to wipe up the drivel over here. yeah that's right-- over here. we suck too. what? we do!

(enter bizarre sense of nationalism and we can do no wrong song) of coooourse, we have no

poverty violence or oppression here! everyones perfectly happy! all our newspapers say so.

and those several unrelated political bloggers, well-- they've just been making up the exact same descriptions of torture and injustice! you know, for kicks.
yeah they just enjoy creating these stories so much that they don't mind being thrown into jail all the time and having their families harassed by the government. they find fiction THAT much fun.

also blowing up innocent people is the only option we have to protect us, clearly this approach has been working very well for the arab and muslim world. we've never been more united and prosperous! but let's not talk about that now, let's get more angry at those damn westerners ruining absolutely EVERYTHING in our lives-- you know, i think this mole on my back is their fault too, the bastards.

that sounds silly but i actually used to know someone that would have this knee jerk reaction to defend any criticism she heard from a foreigner about us-- her philosophy was basically-- NO we have to pretend we're okay and grumble in private.

hate

that

it's not like defending your husband when someone's found his dirty laundry-- oh that is most certainly not Omar's underwear on the street!

you can't say --oh that is most certainly NOT 70 percent of the population living in 3ashwa2eyat. how could you even imply something so embarrassing? are you CRAZY foreign lady? huh?

okay i'm getting off my soapbox now. will probably return with a surreal 'ive been unemployed for so long i've lost all sense of time and space' post :)

because it's late/early...and i watched the matrix again on tv...and this is my equivalent of screaming on a hill

2010-10-14T18:47:00.000-07:00

i wonder about the people who instantly Google on their blackberries when they find that they have to do something they consider very stressful.

we poor, tasteless people call this something 'thinking'

or musing...pontificating...pondering...deliberating--

see what i did there?! i obnoxiously demonstrated the once basic ability of listing synonyms as though it were theoretical physics... eh? eh? i'm cleverer than monkeys i am.

and i didn't even have to whir my oafish thumbs over teeeny little buttons

2 ask cyber thesaurus man how 2 talk gud 2 peeps.

that's another thing that incites a bizarrely disproportionate and arguably hypocritical sense of rage in me.

as you may have already noticed, i tend to take liberties with punctuation.

i concede.

i feel like tone is misread most of the time anyway and i believe a laissez-faire approach to commas and whatnot allows readers more breathing room.

i personally hear a welsh kindergarten teacher lady's voice in my head when reading and i don't like culturally fixed ink blots to interfere with her lilt. hmph.

but that VILE leetspeak. actually it's not even proper leetspeak it's that garbage bastardized version of leetspeak adopted by sinfully vapid children.

do not glorify this old people.

NO, no-- this is not the part where you futilely try to be hip again. you don't marvel at the shiny gizmo with so many buttons and say my, my, my aren't the babies getting efficient!--

PEEPS is not efficient, peeps is one letter shorter than people,

and it sounds ridiculous,

and it could be confused with the lovely and legitimate word used when describing someone looking in a surreptitious manner, perhaps over a fence or illegally, at unsuspecting naked ladies.

and and and (i have piqued)...

and when Googling beats out trying to remember, we're one step closer to our brains dying and robots eating us in our sleep. you have been WARNED rabble.

introducing Lord Sugardaddy and his eccentric, high maintenance, former student of art wife

2010-10-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

--Darling it occurred to me last night that it was the end of the day again.

--Oh?

--Yes, and now it's the end of the day again in October.

--That's very true dear.

--Well, don't you see darling? It's October darling and I've completely misplaced poor old September.

--Misplaced what dear?

--Darling I do wish you'd wake up. It's September darling, the sweet little whisker's nowhere to be found. And what's more I feel this whole ordeal is distressing enough without having to repeat it to you.

--I'm sorry dear.

--Well?

--Well...what, dear?

--What do you intend to do about this indignity?

--Em, right, well... Yes, we'll... We'll have the new manservant correct this predicament!

--Bravo darling!

--Thank you dear.

--Positively genius darling, September will be returned and that Eugene fellow may finally prove his worth in this household.

--Indeed, dear.

--I can rest at ease now darling.

--Goodnight dear.

--Oh...night, already? I am a silly goose, can you imagine I hadn't noticed? Well, goodnight darling.

green

2010-10-05T09:16:00.000-07:00

vested interests make me think of very beautiful men in vomit colored corduroy

as for the kitchen rat, i think he died back there, i think he nestled into his apple peel heaven and let his heart explode

i'm in no hurry, sometimes i think i am because i just want to get the waiting over with and occasionally romanticize the unknown--but eventually i slip back into a respectable crippling fear of it

before the war

2010-10-03T15:15:00.000-07:00

i remember a line of ladybugs, they were so red, they looked delicious. i didn't touch them. it was probably the first time i felt awe.

and i remember a red pinstriped book-bag with white plastic latches that were really difficult to handle, i hated that bag, it humiliated me, i was so afraid of seeming incompetent. i was so afraid of mistakes for a long time, until suddenly and dramatically i wasn't.

i remember the beach, the first time i felt thrilled, and i still feel that way every time

i remember cutting my hand on a metal fan, feeling stupid, lying about it

i said someone cut me but i didn't want to incriminate anyone unfairly, which kind of sums up my 'creative' take on morality until now. i hope i'm less proud. this still makes me cringe.

i remember watching a tank rolling in on the horizon. this is like a film. when i think of it i can't place myself by that window. i can only watch from far away.

i remember those windows, french windows, i loved them, for a long time i thought every house just sort of had a few transparent walls. i loved leaning on them and watching the road, steaming them up, leaving my sticky handprints on them.

i remember mama packing with a sad face, a big brown bag and i didn't want to ask her any questions

i remember a doll with eyes that lit up red, it was ugly

i remember the boat i remember the bunk beds i remember my parents laughed then and talked, it was more quiet before

i remember a really itchy lace blue dress and a keyboard

i remember watching a magician makes things disappear under cups in my parents bedroom

i remember louisa crying in the car and kissing my baby sister goodbye

i remember singing and half eating a microphone

i remember my dad without a moustache, i jumped, i didn't recognize him

i remember a small green school bus, a filipino bus driver and a banana shake

i remember hiding in the hallway, running from the windows

but it's strange, i don't remember being scared at all.

rudeness vs. being candid

2010-09-24T12:26:00.000-07:00

rudeness: so when are we going to have sex? (repeat fifty more times...in the next five seconds)

being candid: i am a whore. my blood supply has been solely devoted to my crotch for so long that parts of my brain have died.

rudeness: why are you so smart? ew.

being candid: i am aware of the mild brain damage i referred to above, and am thus very insecure. your big words frighten me and my tiny flaccid manhood.

rudeness: you're weird. why are you weird? why did you wear that? why do you talk like that? why do you eat like that? why do you laugh like that? why? WHY? WHY? JUSTIFY YOUR EXISTENCE NOW.

being candid: occasionally i believe myself to be the poster child of normalcy. i pride myself on the fact that i am in no way remarkable. you are different, and yet alive.

i don't understand why you haven't been driven out of the village with torches and pitchforks. i was made to believe if you don't repress things like...oh i don't know...emotion--deep, deep inside where it can fester--you will instantly be ripped limb from limb by 'the masses'.

rudeness: i say what's on my mind because i'm honest okay? that's just how i roll man-- i tell it like it is and if you can't handle that, that's yo problem, not mine.

being candid: i have lost all ability to consider other people's feelings. i believe insulting people is a reflection of their character, not mine. i think the only way to be straightforward is to be an obnoxious asshole, because i am not creative enough to come up with a way of communicating my thoughts without demoralizing whoever i'm talking to.

-----

For fuck's sake! We live in Cairo. Blatantly demanding sex isn't refreshing you moron. What do you think women are going to say?

"Oh my goodness! I've never been lusted after before! I mean in such a quiet little city where women are never harassed or grabbed at or made to feel like meat-- your looking at me like a piece of ass is just...just...unnerving! *swoon* Oh my, you big, scary man you!"

And how do you think we're going to react to being bossed around? Because we haven't gotten enough of that from conservative male family members and freakin society at large. "Please, please let me be your bitch baby, it turns me on!"

Em hate to break it to you but doing those things don't make you a man, they make you a pussy. A stinky, green, disease-riddled pussy.

If your greatness depends on making other people feel small, I won't like you.

Actually, nobody will like you-- ever. They might fear you for a while, but eventually they'll wait till you're asleep and stab you in the face. IN THE FACE.

it's not me, it's them

2010-09-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

i wondered whether i should point out that you're frothing at the mouth.

poor little empire of bacteria borne by your rage, celebrating unawares on the precipice of your lip.

this is probably, literally, unfortunately the height of their civilization.

i decided to let you keep gnashing your teeth together and buy them a few more seconds, it might feel like weeks to them.

the existence of everything they know depends on how long it takes you to spit out the words you deem suitably venomous.

"Whore!"

No!

i watched them fall onto the checkered tabletop.

their tiny homes crumbling in the air. i was staring so intently it felt like minutes. for them, they were hurtling towards the black square forever.

i cried and you were satisfied. but they were dead, and it didn't matter anymore.

You mean, smoking isn't cool?

2010-09-16T06:03:00.000-07:00

Em...if you start or stop smoking because of appearances you're a blithering idiot.

You quit because it's bad for your health and you start because it's a less stigmatized form of masochism.

No one's thinking, 'Oh, if only we'd told the Marlboro man the cowboy look was edgy enough to get laid...'

It reminds me of the time someone actually recommended that 'Thank you for Smoking' film as inspiration to kick the habit

For anyone who hasn't seen it-- this is your spoiler warning,

By the end of the film our anti-hero provides a valid argument for nicotine sucking and even has people applauding a claim that he'd buy his unborn son his first pack of cigarettes at eighteen if the boy so inclined.

Ugh--

"You don't look like a lady when you do that"

No! You're right, you're absolutely right--finally, after four years of a pack a day, I can suddenly brave the withdrawal because heaven forbid I look like I've got something hanging between my legs--

Where would I be without your concern?

And to be clear, I'm not encouraging anyone to turn their lungs into sacks of tar or to literally blacken and enlarge their hearts--

I'm just saying if you can't think of a better reason to change the way you live than OOO pretty! stay far, far, far away from me.

no. you aren't making love.

2010-09-14T03:36:00.001-07:00

fucking is just lust in love's clothing.

screw tea, there's nothing more soothing than a phone call and a day at fagnoon

2010-09-11T14:51:00.000-07:00

i love easy flowing conversations that feel like your brain is on standby

and everything around you suddenly looks like it's been shoved to the corners of your eyes

and you're not layering your words defensively

and you can stumble through a thought because you know the other person is going to pick you up and drag you to its conclusion eventually

and you aren't afraid of revealing how constipated lazy and inadequate you've been because that's just how you've been

and it doesn't even occur to you to disguise it with this person who's become second nature

i love that within a few minutes everything's okay because being understood makes any loneliness or hopelessness you felt before suddenly absurd

i love being ridiculous

i love that i can be identified by little idiosyncratic ticks that have become very powerful social filters

i love that being older means being simpler in a lot of ways

and i love you bean.

because as i lay on that net, suspended in the air, feeling like a fish drying in the sun, my toes caked with mud, blue paint dripping from my hair and tree branches fondling my feet-- it occurred to me that you weren't there, and that it was a pity

mr. monastic, mr. fantastic, mr. goody goody yeeah

2010-09-07T09:12:00.000-07:00

...aaand that's how i wooed him out of his cave.

how to be a proper Xenophobe in 3 easy steps

2010-09-05T19:25:00.000-07:00

1. Look up family tree, make sure none of your ancestors ever immigrated anywhere.

2. Don't buy any product made in any other country. In fact shut down your internet right now, this is how foreigners communicate with each other.

3. Try to get all the jobs that those sneaky immigrants are stealing from you-- as quickly as possible, you and all your friends must become housing contractors (remember to work for a lot less money), toilet cleaners and window washers.

I repeat, unless you are an inbred, isolated person who lives in the mountains and does menial work-- you are not a real xenophobe.

You have foreign blood coursing through your veins, your microwave was made in China and you aren't really threatened financially by immigration. You just want somebody to hate, because you're too much of a coward to look in the mirror and deal with your own insecurities.

I'm not so much ashamed of the bigotry, because that's always been there-- I'm ashamed that in so many countries now, those backward attitudes have been codified into law.

I understand-- I don't want to talk or argue with crazy people either, but allowing them to change the law?

It's so sad, and it's so scary.

catching up shenaynay

2010-09-03T13:42:00.000-07:00

well, to answer your question-- i've changed about as much as i've stayed the same.
these are the subtle differences between nearly 20 year old me and nearly 25 year old me:

20= 'i'm freakin depressed!' i say to myself before proceeding to develop a romantic tragedy with pieces of serrated metal and staring at the ground forlornly from waaay too easily accessible rooftops (yes, more than one rooftop--because contemplating suicide required the most suitably picturesque pavement...duh)

25= 'i'm freakin depressed!' i say on the phone with that deep sounding 'i've either been crying or i've had a sex change' voice before laughing hysterically, lighting a cigarette and engaging in a competition over who's more pathetic with my friend. yeah... nobody wins that game. (seriously, this isn't the self help section, freak.)

20= ooooo men are such interesting yet kind of gross creatures-- i want one, to like, put in my purse or something (i'm ashamed to say that is a direct quote from an old journal)

25= uggghh i'm bored of sex. i'm more interested in psychological warfare and free coffee...mostly just the coffee.

20= i hate people. everyone's staring at me all the time, they're whispering that i'm weird and untenably fat. i shall go cry in the library now.

25= i hate people... i'm very close to unapologetically farting in elevators.

so basically, same flavor--different packaging :)

...that sounded wrong.

uff you know what i mean-- i'm still in here, i promise.

when somebody tells you that you've got the AC on too low:

2010-09-02T22:14:00.000-07:00

tell them to read this-- http://www.counterpunch.org/waked09022010.html

rising energy consumption my bum.

this all reminds me of an economics course i took years ago--

some brown-nosing, over-eager kid thrust his hand into the air in the middle of class. you know the type, front row, quotes directly from the textbook and occasionally paraphrases when forced to be original. let's call him abdo!

abdo looked like he was flagging down a plane when our poor old (mid 30s but aged with over exhaustion) professor smiled like she was relying on muscle memory to express interest and asked, 'Yes Abdo?'

abdo allowed himself a moment to bask in the glory of female attention he clearly wasn't getting elsewhere before lecturing the class--to summarize his fascinating, freakin ten minute long presentation, he said something along the lines of --

'I believe that if we were to implement the theories outlined on pages 45-67 here in Egypt, we could solve several pressing issues in our economy'

many muffled snorts by the other students later-- poor, old prof lady very kindly addressed abdo by saying,

"As I've said before (seriously, many, many times before), Egypt is an exceptional case--
because of many underlying political factors *cough* such as plutocracy *cough, cough*, economists have found that most attempts to solve one problem in such a manner often leads to the creation of five or six others."

she paused for a while, i guess to just wrap her mind around everything she knew about the reality of the situation, before muttering, "Egypt needs a lot more than theory"

did i mention abdo supports the ndp?
oh and here's a random and completely unrelated point of interest--did you catch that 'ignorant' vs. 'evil' debate on the daily show about fox news? don't know why that popped into my head just then when we were talking about our government, which is clearly neither of those things! i must just be kooky that way...

as for that amazing article by waked-- i found it on arabawy's bookmarks, and in case you don't already know-- he's certainly worth checking out as well.

Hmph.

2010-08-31T04:13:00.000-07:00

I'm angry, ineloquently.

And I hate my bedroom. A few months ago it had the semblance of character, but a thorough cleaning quickly rid it of that.

I feel tightly coiled, but no pressure is being built here. I'm not springing up. I think I'm rusting into this position permanently, I think I'm hardening into a grump--forever.

This time I'll have resolve, just like every other time, no this time is different, just like every other time, no this time I'LL be different.

Poo. I want to be tied to a petrified tree, with the rope somehow doubling as a gag.

Fuck Ayn Rand.

2010-08-28T17:22:00.000-07:00

I have always held this sentiment close to my heart but the recent confirmation of this deeply held belief of mine by adorable funny face making, late night entertainer Stephen Colbert has emboldened me to say the following:

Selfish, selfish, selfish, selfish, selfish BITCH

You realize if you prescribe to the ideas propagated by her work and something inconceivably crazy happened to you, like oh I don't know,

The three major reasons Elizabeth Warren outlines as the cause of bankruptcy/debt for people today--

1. sickness (hard to imagine with the state of health care in the world),
2. divorce (because people are all about marriage nowadays with those cheap houses everywhere) and
3. being fired (what, in this volatile job market? nooo!)

You realize if one of those crazy, crazy things ever happened to you--The other people with your beliefs would ignore you for the greater economic good.
Seriously? I just said it in the entry below people

If the 'greater good' means being a FRIGGIN ASSHOLE-- it's probably a bad plan

Also a bad plan-- let's a make a white mob gather on MLKjr speech day! (good luck with that Beck, I'm sure incensing people to the point of thirsting for blood is a good political vehicle-- it worked befo...oh wait...)

And yet another-- let's upset Amnesty International again and try some civilian factory workers in military court after they protest against us killing their friend in our company with fucked up safety regulations! oh Hoshos- what will you think of next? And of course, I use the term 'think' very, very loosely when it comes to that man.

Definition of a Good Thought

2010-08-19T02:12:00.000-07:00

I find that people are careless in choosing their priorities.
Or even worse, they don't make any priorities at all.

You have to ask yourself what's important to you. Constantly.

And the irony of it is that the people who do ask themselves that question are often the ones that feel very aimless--but the truth of the matter is they're a lot less aimless than the people who don't even bother to care about anything.

I'm often told I'm confused. I've even called myself lost. But I've never been unthinking.
And no matter how much confessing that I doubt gets me in trouble with the smug people who have an answer for everything-- I'd rather have my head when I'm alone in the dark than their manifestos or books or club rules.

Hey know-it-alls, if your answers are so absolute, why do you need me to believe in them?

Why does even the thought that you might be wrong scare you so much?

If you've never felt everything you've believed in being taken away from you, you haven't grown.

You're supposed to change, because everything around you changes-- you aren't supposed to have your mind made up before you experience anything--because if you were, you might as well stay in your room and wait till you kick the bucket because somehow, you've figured out all there is to know about everything

How boring is the rest of your life going to be?

If disagreeing with you means that you have to hate me, if my opinion is that threatening to you then you're probably not that happy with yours in the first place. Your beliefs are not meant to be armor helping you battle through life. They're supposed to make you feel things differently, more deeply, including pain. Nothing will protect you from pain, probably because pain isn't something we're supposed to avoid at all costs--it's one of the most important ways to learn and it's from the same place we feel love and joy. You deaden your ability to be hurt and you also deaden your ability to feel love and joy.

Khalil Gubran says it better--

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater thar sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

So I doubt, and it hurts sometimes-- and it makes me look like i'm lost, but i'm never unthinking.

I try to think good thoughts.

A Good Thought never has to be argued with a loud voice or with violence

A Good Thought still sounds good when you think it alone, it doesn't make you feel like you have to make everyone or anyone else think it for you to believe it more

A Good Thought doesn't make you hate anything other than hate, or fear anything other than fear

and A Good Thought is you, when it's shared it can either make you feel very lonely or find you rare and true friends who love you, not what you belong to, not what you're supporting, not what you're denouncing-- friends who love just you

my fellow human bean (an old entry i wrote for my friend kaden)

2010-06-27T15:53:00.000-07:00

the pace of your emotional development is watered with miracle gro, i sit in the brilliance of your unnatural garden and all kinds of wonder around me say 'hello', 'hi', 'did you notice me?'

i'll be damned if we start to romanticize who we are or condemn the bubbling toxic waste that made us. we don't want to be different for the sake of a legacy.

i just happen to be fluorescent, you just happen to be neon, and that's how we can see in the dark.

there's no struggle in swallowing that burger, or buying that pair of shoes or spitting your gum out the car window--and you're as well aware of that as i

there's no fanfare and no flag that we theoretically live by, there's no nice summation of how and why,

the word should is not a part of our diction and waiting is our competitive sport

i like the way you hope.

it's not in a way that criticizes what is or what's been, and not in a way that makes arrogant predictions--

it's this unreserved conviction that things are so much better than we can imagine them to be, it's this humility that you aren't even aware of--and it pushes you so hard, you are so determined to live past your head and dear bean, you strengthen my desire to live past mine

the sweetest thing

2010-06-27T15:16:00.001-07:00

Right now, the person I understand most in the world is a chubby cheeked 5 year old who is incredibly proud of his Spiderman underwear.

Yehya, you are the sweetest thing that ever was--

yes you are, yeah huh, yesh yoo aaare

my company's code of conduct

2010-06-22T11:15:00.000-07:00

Rule 1-- Respect the club's guests:

Tuesday, a 50 year old man clad in nothing but a skimpy (wet) blue speedo walks into the kids' center.
Everyone (staff, children, a bee stuck in the window) tenses in horror/amusement/morbid curiosity.
We stare at the man, the man stares back, no one says a word.
He exits as mysteriously as he entered.

Rule 2-- Always remain professional in conversations with your boss:

E (my boss), 'I can't take much more of this'
Yours truly, 'Just breathe and say khebra E!'
At this point I'm fanning my hands elaborately yoga instructor style and gulping in air.
E inhales deeply, 'S, shut up.'

Rule 3-- Don't let the teenagers get to you:

Bags of hormones, "*whinge whinge whinge* I don't want to clean up, e7na zabaleen?!'
Bear in mind, they're taller than me and 16 years old.

They are 16 years old.

Me, "No, you're not. They're cleaner than you." I point to the floor that's been raped by glue, feathery bits of foam, oil paint, beads and sequins. "This is clean to you? I shudder to think how you shower in the morning."

Pubescent elitist pains in the...
And they still want to add me on Facebook. What is that?!

Rule 4-- Anticipate 3o2det el khawaga, I mean, teach in English:

Halfway through story time, 5 year old Karen gets up from her place on the mat to tell me, "Ya miss, mabakalemsh English"
But your mother named you Karen and asked specifically for American teachers...
Good luck with the rest of your life little girl.

I now begin an impromptu translation of Jack and the Beanstalk. Observe--
"Bean? Bean zay el foul ya Faisal-- 3aref foul?"

Rule 5-- Dress appropriately:

After learning that squatting 5 million times a day to talk to children at eye level/pick up everything, all the time-- is not the easiest thing to do in skinny jeans, I feel very clever walking into work Sunday morning in a nice comfortable pair of black sweat pants.

Lovely 4 year old Joey has not yet learned the art of projection and insists that I put my ear directly in front of his tiny mouth before speaking to me. While leaning forward to listen to Joey's pressing snack dilemma, 6 year old Zein decides my butt looks like a great place to practice his tabla skills.

I didn't even flinch.

After pulling glue off my eyelashes, physically wrestling an i-phone out of a 12 year old's death grip, restraining myself from smacking a woman that thinks her autistic child is stupid and has a speech impediment-- a tabla butt is just a mild and slightly amusing surprise.

I don't think I've ever had to learn so much and so quickly. This is the most physically, mentally and emotionally exhausting thing I've ever done. This is the most rewarding thing I've ever done. I can't believe I'm doing this voluntarily.

I no longer think my salary is inordinate. I wonder how much they paid my teachers?
Not enough, damn it.

"the idea of you?!"

2010-06-17T21:51:00.000-07:00

i wish i could show you how smart i thought you were, how kind and beautiful and serene and passionate and alive i thought you were

i want to show you what i thought you were so you can understand how wrong i was, and what you never imagined you weren't living up to

i want to show you because that person i thought you were, i loved so much

that person i thought you were, i still believe in and still miss

i get angry when you blame me for seeing that person i thought you were, and when you blame me because that person was never there

isn't it more important that the person i thought you were could be there, could be out there too, somewhere

why do you resent my imagination instead of your lack of one

besides, it's not really so incredible to believe that in this big big world, exists someone better than you

or even someone better than anyone i can think of

so maybe you're right, i loved the idea of you--thank you for that hackneyed revelation.

i only loved the idea of you because i thought more of you than you think of yourself

i'm not apologizing for that,

i only wish i could show you who i thought you were, because if you met the person i thought you were, you'd realize you couldn't possibly defend the real you.

the real you is an ugly discolored and out of place piece of shit.

i don't have any answers for you

2010-06-13T08:27:00.000-07:00

what the hell is a benevolent dictator?

where do you get the balls to talk about an inevitable war or revolution when you've never experienced murder, nevermind on a mass scale?

why do you think you're green because you can make your own electricity? is it because you spent enough money on those solar panels to feed a family for a year?

how come when you're protesting, you look for the cameras before you look to make sure your fellow protesters are alright?

why is democracy an american word now?

how is it oppression when the court rules that people who don't want to follow coptic law can get a civil marriage to remarry?

how is it not oppression when the alexandrian police beat khalid sa3eed to death, then take away his body before it can be put in an ambulance?
(they'd claimed that he had swallowed drugs, and i'm sure when they took the body away, they made sure he had drugs inside him)

why is being a teacher or a nurse equivalent to being a servant (khadama) in this society?

why don't you look that khadama, the person who cleans up after you because you're too god damn lazy, in the eye when you're talking to her?

why are the commercials looking more and more beautiful and more and more clever while the tv shows and films get worse?

why can a man think all women are whores except his mother and his sister?

do we really get what we deserve?

do you believe that we deserve this?

ejumakashon

2010-06-11T03:14:00.000-07:00

if you want to think you know something, curl up into a small scared ball in your room, convinced that the world is an evil (pronounced eeeee vell BUAHAHAHA) place--
watch the news for five hours straight.

if you want to realize you know fuck all and that the world is growing in a way you couldn't possibly have imagined, teach children.

also

dear icky girl,
my deep disappointment in you and great dislike of you is in no way an indication of how i feel about other people, how i treat other people and my nurturing skills. bitch.

i feel so bubbly :)
i can feel my head and heart stretching everyday and for once in my life i feel like all the useless and silly things i think have been put to use. also crouching down to talk to kids at eye level several times a day feels a lot better than a million squats in the gym but also produces the same butt and thigh burning effect.

i shall leave you now with a little ditty one of my kids created:
la vache qui rit! la vache qui rit! gebna gouda feeha douda, la vache qui rit!

how did you do that when you weren't trying?

2010-01-22T15:22:00.000-08:00

once in the dark he asked me 'what are you?'
and i laughed

i found cake. or shall i say cake found me.

she's a little girl in san fernando. she runs and eats and howls like an animal or a goddess.
she prays like a saint and her body is strong.
everything she'd wish for she'd receive, but maybe it was because she rarely wished, and when she did, not for very much.

i forgot i loved her. i love her so much and i miss her everyday. and i look for her in everyone and in all the wrong places.

when i was ready to lay her to rest you showed me her picture. i said you were beautiful and you held up a mirror.

leh
oh

lo
si
en
to

how did you do that when you weren't trying?

i'm here

2009-12-28T01:46:00.000-08:00

so i find myself being lovable.

with my light luggage and my foot out the door i find myself being lovable, missed, wanted and desired.

i suppose it might be the obscurity, maybe like a poem that means something to everyone and nothing at all.

he said "i don't love you" and i said "i don't care" and i kissed him

i with my hat shaped dot am doing the kissing and i with my hat shaped dot suppose that the power is attractive

i did a nice thing. i told him it wasn't his fault, i'm a lesbian. and he felt relieved. turned on and relieved.

him, him and him and another him i never got around to meeting

maybe they feel absolved. that a woman can be every bit as ugly as a man, can count her lovers on more than one hand (which is a sickness i'm told)

i don't feel offended. i feel vaguely curious, as though i were five years old wondering what the ladybugs were trying to tell me before that horrid boy smashed them to pieces beneath his feet.

i'm done, nearly. a few sketches and boring words and i'm done doing anything for anyone. in a matter of a week i'll be a functioning member of society, officially.

i like this floating weightlessness needlessness

i feel like shelleys frankenstein with a clue

or kunderas xavier with a passport

old notions

2009-04-15T13:42:00.000-07:00

running on rooftops under the rain, it was friday i last took a breath
we watched the sun sink into the waves and swam after it

he'll surface in memories that feel just like dreams
he'll tell me i'm everything i seemed

you might know better but you feel the same
taking two steps back to learn them again
and on the summit of our growing pains
the view's clearer

i'll see you in memories that feel just like dreams
i'll tell you i'm everything i seemed.

---

people talk about the whole package.
this irks me for several reasons. some of those being my tendency to be easily irked, my general misanthropy and my distaste for uncorroborated philosophizing.

but that aside-

once upon a time the whole package sold a bright eyed romantic on mythical creatures with long soft hair, distinguished noses and the fantastic ability to walk the line between illusion and reality without making their loved ones lose balance trip and fall

and for that reason alone the whole package should join cinderella, corsets and etiquette wherever they've been shunned to in the abyss

maybe one day i'll meet them there

possessions

2009-03-31T00:17:00.000-07:00

(for fresh, to be fresh again :))

to most, my great grandfather seemed fickle.
when he walked the land his acres passed him by.
he collected sickles,
trading them for plots to farm until the day he died.

the people loved him, my family didn't,
and only i know why he didn't mind.

i have as much to learn as those who want to teach me
i wouldn't take away their turn to talk
and if they're certain that they've reached me
i let them sow another plot and walk

your time is yours, my time is mine
and ours is only what we didn't mind

context

2009-02-13T09:38:00.000-08:00

like what happened and what could happen
like the dream that turned into a memory and the fiction that became your prophecy

and time is on my side but we never talked and i never got to know him very well

and it seems everything worth showing hides and everything i've shown lies in one way or another

and since the only safety a person feels is in hoping that their own thoughts are true i've become very scared

okay, i have a uterus

2009-01-22T13:26:00.000-08:00

yes i ask for directions, i don't understand why phone calls cant last forever or at least until both parties reach a point of physical exhaustion that renders their tongues peanut butter tired, i am incapable of politically correct diction and i'm terrible with numbers

but i happen to know that i have more understanding in my little pinky than in the collective history of your diplomatic organs and i know this because you still think it's uncool to cry

i'm trying to embrace the inevitability of human drama but the bitch really don't want a hug

i know i lack punctuation
believe it or not i am aware that i sound irrational-- maybe i can't cite the logical fallacy just yet but you'll always, always be short sighted

and i don't like you. i said it.
i don't like you mr. and mrs. i've got my worldview set in concrete and i think i'm making a difference because i can write it on my CV

i don't like you sir and madame self oriented self sufficient i put on my oxygen mask first because i can argue that in the end i'll be helping more people (and myself)

and myself

who's to say that in that air sucking moment you won't forget the dying person beside you?

it's not about helping more people. you want to help more people? look for the fittest, smartest, nicest person on the plane and make sure he, she, it's got their mask on--they'll make more of a difference

but that's not what you're after

self preservation. admit it. for all your acts of heroism, you're still afraid to die because you're afraid to live

do what you want, when you want, open yourself up to everybody's crap and you're selfish.
make sure you live, convince everybody that it's for their own good and you're a freakin hero.

okay. okay i have a uterus. i cry when i'm happy, sad, confused and pre-menstrual which can be rounded down to all the time. i want to feel beautiful all the time-- except when i'm angry, then i pretend that choosing to be ugly is empowering and maybe i am as silly as squirrel sex

but i try when i'm scared, and i listen to you
it already hurts, you don't have to hurt me

yikes

2008-12-28T13:07:00.000-08:00

oops doesn't quite cover it

maybe like...an army of hysterical monkeys in blue spandex

the trouble with floating face down is you forget things surface
sometimes when you least expect them
and all at once

oh help

Cake Ingredients

2008-12-11T02:32:00.000-08:00

So my whole life I'v been after chocolate cake.
I'd been calming the cravings with chicken--and that just made me sick.
Recently I've been looking at the cake menu, I just happened to order the wrong thing--just my luck.

So Lord, here's my order er..request:

cake should make me feel colors and make the back of my ears happy
cake should have a willing suspension of disbelief so we can dream together sincerely

At least I've learned that I'm ready for cake and somewhere maybe cake will be ready for me

I'll have you and eat you too. *nod*

Ode to the Insidious Cold Sore

2008-12-08T08:57:00.000-08:00

O, palpitating neural mush
Awash in a sea of mucus
Normally I'd make a fuss
But I'm afraid I'd puke-us

the nice thing about maslows heirarchy of needs is when you feel like you're dying, suddenly your temperamental boyfriend doesn't hurt so much--or as much, rather

and the nice thing about feigned apathy is when your unconscious body appears not to give two craps anymore, suddenly the temperamental boyfriend answers your cosmic call and actually...calls

and the nice thing about psychic bonds is they only kick in mid flu

it'd all be quite funny really, i'd laugh about it if my lungs you know, functioned

did i mention i'm failing shit? did i mention i failed an entire semester? did i mention i need to graduate?

my parents still arent talking.

i miss rational monkey. i miss being married to art. i miss that false sense of security when everything felt like it was coming together the day obama won-even though part of me knew even then it was a false sense of security

hm.

i think i'll go clubbing.

Clarification

2008-12-07T09:57:00.000-08:00

so k tells me exactly what i want to hear:

THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE!

so i call, and he's out, and far from miserable
and suddenly my truth didn't feel like truth
it felt like

gee if you were remotely interested in missing me i could tell you how much i want you
which is another assumption on my part

i guess i'm just chronically paranoid and fundamentally unlovable.

the regrettable suicide of rational monkey

2008-12-07T04:17:00.000-08:00

dear readers,

i have the unfortunate task of informing you that our deeply cherished friend, rational monkey, has indeed offed himself. the sad ordeal took place yesterday afternoon, when sweet monkey, after imbibing a substantial amount of vodka and artificial orange flavoring, took it upon himself (quite literally) to carry madame lovey dovey hippopotamus upstairs without using the aid of their trusty pink pulley mechanism.
despite madame lovey doveys desperate protests, monkey would not be deterred. indeed, in his last words recklessly related to miss dovey, monkey expressed his wish to either have the strength to command their household or die of his own will under madame doveys lovely bottom. sadly, it seems, monkey's wish has been granted vis a vis dovey's tush.
monkey was wonderfully disciplined and in the manner of his name, usually quite rational. i am sure many will agree that he will be sorely missed. adieu forever humble rational monkey friend!

your landlady,

sarah the cat of two fish

freud, a rational monkey holiday and smothering identities with pillows

2008-11-16T06:34:00.000-08:00

according to freud, dreaming of pregnancy signifies a growing fear and dreaming of a miscarriage signifies bad timing.

thank you subconscious for your morbid subtleties but trust me i got the picture.

i'm not deluded. i've been blessed with the faculty to recognize (and only that) the train wreck that is my love life.

i've smothered him within an inch of his life. it's like somebody put that lasic surgery numbing cream on my eyes and i watched behind my corneal windshield as i picked up the pillow, pressed it to his face and checked out.

rational monkey is on vacation indefinitely it seems, and the other monkeys are having a dusk till dawn parade in my head.

he likes cocacola zero and i like mirinda borto'an.
he likes smithy i like nessa.
he studies math i study art.
he needs space so he can be strong for me, and i need him so i can be strong. at least, i need him now.

it's funny how two weeks of feeling like someone is an extension of your head and your body can make you forget you functioned well enough for 22 years.

i've smothered myself within an inch of my life. i'm losing the person he fell in love with because i'm afraid and i'm not ready.

this won't do. this simply will not do. i'm fixing this. i'm calling rational monkey and dragging his shiny red butt back from barbados.

i'm naive, baby

2008-11-04T23:36:00.000-08:00

i'm a cynical 12 year old and i don't know how he puts up with me
and obama won :) and i cried before reverend jesse jackson did
and he gave that amazing kennedy-like speech and i cried some more and i met my boyfriend with poofy eyes and he looked at me and said if obama can we can and we SHALL

so i'm not ending third world hunger (or preferably the classification of third world) but i'm going to do my part and graduate and be a good daughter, a good sister, a good friend and a good girlfriend...
a good student *gag*...
and maybe the sum of all parts will result in a good person

MABROUK BARACK :)

my naive baby

2008-11-03T23:02:00.000-08:00

what's going on this week? he asks
besides irrevocably fucking up my life? i ask

that's impossible

is it, IS IT?

i used to be the type that had no regrets, i always believed it was never too late to revise and start over but now i'm starting to think there are certain things you just can't take back

knowledge for instance, i mean, barring a well placed blow to the head by a rogue frying pan

i can't handle the truth! i know it's cheesy, i know, i know it's the very cheese factory itself as freshy would say --but it's not so cheesy when you look at what the hell happened to Goya

that should be a movement, What the Hell happened to Goya?

he starts off all happy pappy with his funny group portrait of the spanish monarchy, and they're all ugly, and it makes me laugh

then may third comes along and it's bloody and moving, he's still with us though

then he becomes depressed prints guy with the sleep of reason and the creepy demons floating out--still sane, it's cool

THEN HE LOCKS HIMSELF UP IN A CABIN AND STARTS PAINTING CREEPY THINGS FOR HIMSELF

let me describe one of his dark paintings for you--saturn eating his (freakin) children
creepy old haggard looking man with bulging eyes finishing off a headless infant

this is what happens when you know too much for your own good! you can't take it back, you don't want to be nauseatingly happy, you don't want to be an idiot
all you have to comfort you is the knowledge that you're on a sure path to self implosion

he's a sweetheart though, maybe i shouldn't let him in on all that yet

AAAAH-ggravated

2008-10-19T23:55:00.000-07:00

why do i have to learn how to write for editing and publishing when i've edited and published?

i'm contemplating writing a paper with the following premise:

the death of writing (as we know it) can be marked by the arrival of e.e. cummings and web logging

so STOP MAKING ME DO BUSY WORK YOU DULL POOP FACE

*sigh*

off to kill myself inside, slowly and alone

j j jaded

2008-10-04T14:43:00.000-07:00

potato chips have lost their flavor--that's the last damn straw

i'm used to light being too glaring and conversation being too complicated and music being too heavy

but the pure and simple beauty of tomato flavored chibsy is NOT TO BE MESSED WITH

i suppose i have to acknowledge there's something wrong now
it's too bad, i was enjoying the denial

i don't want to figure out what's wrong. lifeless=functional. academically at least.

i'm on top of things! i get this maniacal little rush of joy when i jot things down on my calendar or cross them off my planner. now if i worry over screwing things up, i know exactly what i'm screwing up, in what manner and how long i have to fix it--and i love that

i'm really bored... but everything's the same. new campus, new house, saaame crap. i don't see the point in trying to do anything but graduate. i don't want to talk. it doesn't DO anything.

i know everyone i know and i don't want to know any more about them-- as for everyone i don't know, not interested in knowing them. everyone's more or less the same, and if they're different i don't really have the time to get to know them now. maybe i'll get to know them later when i'm done with uni.

one might argue, what if you die before you get a degree

well then that would be unfortunate and i may possibly regret the time i invested in trying to get that degree-- but i could just as easily regret the time i spend fucking up, and at least with the former, my parents will be nicer at my funeral.

it's so frustrating being in the middle of everything all the time. and it's very lonely. it's the kind of lonely that hates company.

people (shut up i know it isn't creative, this is a blog)

2008-09-04T08:21:00.001-07:00

i confess,

i, Fish, am a miserable misanthrope who is too cowardly to be alone.

(also horribly critical and utterly self absorbed)

------

there are two--

the kind who put people ahead of themselves and the kind who choose themselves over anyone else when the heat is on

and they're fatally attracted to each other until the end of time because the individualistic person is only tolerable to people who don't have their own priorities, and the self effacing loser confuses his counterpart's unyielding demands with strength

of course you can't draw a line in the sand and separate these people because at different times of day we're one or the other-- but there are only two

don't get over yourself, you're important

2008-09-01T00:23:00.000-07:00

the answer to recovering from a life of always compromising is not in becoming always uncompromising. it's as if instead of exaggerating all your inadequacies and adding a couple that nobody sees:

1. i look like jackie chan but i'm weak so it isn't cute
2. everybody secretly hates me on tuesdays

you just pretend to be absolutely perfect and forget that you have problems at all.
either way you aren't really seeing yourself.

when you don't have an accurate vision of yourself, your vision of the world and more importantly those around you is bound to be freaky. now we can get all technical and claim any vision is necessarilly subjective--yeah yeah yeah, "iiit's aaaalll relative!" --however, several subjective visions of something can bring you closer to the truth of that something than just one vision. or else we'd all have the same history book, right? and there is no harm in aspiring to be closer to the truth.

now it's my argument that learning about yourself can teach you much more about community and truth, than community can teach you about yourself and truth.

people assume that devoting yourself to a community and consequently interacting with different visions and ideas everyday, necessarilly means you're learning more about those visions and ideas, adopting them in part and therefore bringing yourself closer to the truth.

however i've found that the more i threw myself into community, the more i wanted to reject certain visions for a greater vision of coexistence. i didn't adopt other visions, i tolerated them because i wanted everybody to get along. the more i threw myself into community the less i wanted to entertain doubt because in the context of the greater vision, doubt is weakness, betrayal and disease. and i can understand that--i mean you don't want to be the snotty little brat who incessantly asks your parents "whyyyy?", and you don't want to question their authority and be a bad influence on your younger siblings.

but parents, like community leaders aren't saints, and do need to be questioned.
and i find the only place i can do that with any safety is in the context of my room before i go to sleep, where no one can reassure me that any one thing is right or wrong or true or false.
when i'm alone, i find myself entertaining endless possibilities and hundreds of different visions. by trying to figure out what it is i believe anyway, i go through a process where i don't simply tolerate other visions but give them the chance, if only for a few moments, to be the representatives of truth--for example, a train of thought:

maybe we're actually aliens, but maybe aliens are just tiny little amoeba looking things, but maybe that's conceited of us to think, but maybe we need to think that so we feel like we have some control because we're so helpless really....and so on and so forth

i wonder if that's why people think i'm judgmental. i don't speak the language of tolerance. i speak the language of family--which is intimate and consequently to some degree obnoxious and rude. i've held these different visions so close to my heart at different times that i'm not afraid to critiscize them. my critiques aren't coming from a place of fear and a need to exclude but from a sense of familiarity.

the freaking future

2008-08-30T13:01:00.000-07:00

stupid floating balls in the air
or figs on trees
or diverging paths

so there's this new beginning, an extra special one that you don't get every morning
and it's messy and awkward and difficult

it's like god poked his finger into the eggs, same elements, different consistency

but scrambled eggs really aren't sunny side ups and i'm going to miss the breakfast i had on so many good days and so many hard days

i hate that i said that

i get so jealous when anyone reminisces-- ANYONE

i love to sink in nostalgia and i completely understand why my best friend has chosen nostalgia as her favorite word

but at the same time i have this need to make every now the most amazing moment of our lives and i get fiercely envious when the past holds our smiles

i don't want to remember to feel good
i want to remember because i already feel good--
memories are not to be used like happy pills
it's cheap. yeah. i said it.

my superego's getting really angsty lately. i'm worried my friends will be forced to hit me...
actually i'm just worried that the hitting won't work

2008-08-17T10:35:00.001-07:00

ever get the feeling that you have so many people to talk to about nothing you want to talk about?

milan

2008-07-30T16:13:00.000-07:00

kundera says
the more alien things are to each other, the more magical the light that springs from their contact

he always makes togetherness seem like such an achievable miracle

in case saying it a thousand times isn't enough, i love him i love milan kundera i love him

introducing terry the treadmill

2008-07-30T15:01:00.001-07:00

you know that moment in the treadmill program where you're convinced that stupid machine is trying to kill you?

well maybe you do, but i didn't until this morning.
it was all i could do not to push that big shiny red stop button and throw rocks at the evil thing while eating chocolate

i didn't though.
i tried to be positive, focus on that new swimsuit fooocuuus
then i tried to be negative, focus on how mad he'll be when your abs make really beautiful spanish men tear (okay i threw a little delusion into the mix)

then i realized i wouldn't be trying at all if it wasn't pushing me
and i was really glad that my treadmill was being mean to me

and i kind of missed being pushed, and it was a surprisingly sad moment. i mean whatwith all the endorphins floating about my system.

then i realized the only reason the treadmill was being mean and pushing me was because i asked it to by going through an elaborate process of selecting preset programs, adjusting them to my specific desires and explaining my unique situation.

basically my treadmill told me that if i need help, i'm going to have to ask for it
and i'm going to have to do the thing i hate the most-- explain
and as embarassed as i felt sharing my age and weight with terry the treadmill (yes i named him), i'm going to have to learn to suck it up again and share a lot of things that i find hard to think about

i finished my hour session with terry and went upstairs to think in the tub.
i thought that the apricot scrub is tingly and happy, terry the treadmill is way more philosophical than yoga and finally, i concluded that i can't make excuses anymore

i've got to take charge everyday, in one way or another, even if it's something really small. i can't let another moment slip away from me without properly getting know it. i am determined to love without getting tired.

samoz

2008-07-29T16:55:00.000-07:00

my lovely friend sam should be a lesson taught to every little child around the world

she is kind, sacrificing, positive and generous

ALL THE TIME

and most of all, she's patient, really patient

and eventually she get's everything she wants --because she waits long enough to figure out what exactly that is

---

this summer i learned--

trickling water will break the stone into tiny pieces with a lot less effort than repeatedly hitting it with a bat and will save you looking like a moron

you can lose your pride, your dignity, your will to function but if you lose hope then you can kiss getting anything back goodbye

some people feel safe to love and some people feel dangerous to love but either way it's a lucky thing, to be able to love

how do you solve a problem called UGGHHH

2008-07-29T15:53:00.000-07:00

so i ask my literary friend,
what do you do with the most selfish, oblivious and kind of adorable person in the world?

she says,

make them fall in love with me

-and then?

wouldn't get too hung up on anything longterm

:)

i wouldn't make anyone fall in love with me if i could. i'd feel cheated you know? like i had to go out of my way to get love and even then, accept that it's not the fated kind of relationship i can snuggle into-- it'd all hang on this stupid thread i created because i couldn't be happy alone and i couldn't wait around

so i guess it's okay you trampled on the sunflowers
i suppose it's alright you crushed each little bulb
maybe it's fine you didn't take the time to see your own piece of yellow sky

i don't mind this time. okay maybe i do a little but i know that it's for the best

the trick

2008-07-19T15:26:00.000-07:00

nonchalance and odd timing = sincerity

you can't tell the truth in context, because nobody notices and you can't emphasize your honesty when you're being honest, because nobody will believe you

i don't have wit, charm, good looks or a particularly unique talent
all i have is the ability to be genuine and to recognize it in others

doesn't get you very far but it makes the trip more comfortable

i need to get out more, i forget that people like me

2008-07-17T19:16:00.000-07:00

occasionally there are days you find you've unknowingly done a lot of things right
and that all this time you thought you were still and alone--
you were actually in lots of different thoughts in lots of different heads

like someone was wondering if you could be their home
and the person who loves that first someone was wondering if you could help them
and someone else doesn't want to think about you (probably because you're too much to handle)
and someone else is happy to know there's another girl fish out there in the universe
and someone hated and loved and missed you
and someone wondered who the hell you are and kind of missed you too
and someone just plain old missed you (and probably the most)

it's funny, with the exception of those first two somebodys, all those thoughts are returned in exactly the same way

i did things...that worked...and were good!

i made somebody laugh really hard when he really needed to
and i touched someone when i really wanted to even though it was scary
and i let the new kid rub my feet, even though i kind of hate my feet
and i actually said goodbye instead of swimming in denial and pulling off chunks of flesh from my bones

i convinced myself at the bottom of the pool that nobody would wonder if i never surfaced.
i'm stupid. everybody's scared. even buddha-like new kid is scared. it makes me feel less hopeless because i know that they'll be okay, and if i can know that they'll be okay then maybe i can know i'll be okay too

i is alive

2008-07-15T14:08:00.000-07:00

snippet of e-mail i sent to friend:

my body hates me

just a tip-- drying yourself off under the ac after jumping in the pool and not eating for days while exercising like one of those deformed gladiator people is a BAD idea

my head hurt so much, i was lustfully staring at this frying pan wondering if i could hit myself with it and not become a vegetable

---

sometimes boys are like crack. it feels like i'm progressing into stronger drugs too. i wish to kick the habit, or his balls or something.

coffee and cigarettes

2008-07-11T00:50:00.000-07:00

tom waits and iggy pop sit down for coffee and cigarettes
and iggy's trying to make conversation
and tom's reading way too much into everything

and i don't want to be tom but i feel like if i'm iggy then i'm dealing with somebody acting like tom

i know it's not always black and white but sometimes that's where i end up

faith

2008-07-08T18:11:00.001-07:00

I believe things have been lost along the way.

‘Do not kill’ is now ‘do not kill without good reason’. And I suppose that when a very conflicted someone points a gun at your mother’s head, and you have the opportunity to end his life and save your mother’s—that edit ‘without good reason’ suddenly makes sense.

But it shouldn’t. The situation of a man trying to kill a fellow man doesn’t make sense—and that’s why dealing with it in a senseless manner makes sense. That doesn’t mean that ‘do not kill’ is not valid.

The beautiful things don’t fit in an ugly place. But just because they don’t fit, it doesn’t mean they aren’t beautiful. I believe in them. I believe in them even though they aren’t understood and they aren’t functional. I believe in them even though right now I feel like they are exactly the reason I won’t succeed here.

Some people are critiscized for only praying when they're in need. I'm only ever thankful when things are going well. When they aren't I'm suddenly less interested in being spiritual. So I've decided that now I'm low--but I don't have to be proud. I believe in the pretty things, I believe in the pretty things, I believe in the pretty things and I promise I'll never stop.

2008-07-06T14:51:00.000-07:00

dear you,

i remember a line now that i chose before i met you
'in a lifetime, what does it matter?'

and a decade after reading it i threw myself into one life changing decision after the other
over and over again
i think maybe i just wanted something to matter

what's funny is that after everything i've done, nothing really does

at least nothing that i didn't already have

IT'S ALIVE

2008-07-06T14:17:00.001-07:00

it works! my brother the computer wiz fixed it, of course. oh civilization, i've missed you!

i live nowhere.
i am officially nowhere man.

of all the beatles songs i never thought that would be the one to stick

i lock the door, i cry, i smoke, i swim until it burns
i don't allow myself to float
i play my sisters electric guitar at 430 in the morning and it's so empty here that no matter how loud i play it still feels quiet

i don't know what's going on with anyone at all
i've been complaining about feeling overloaded so much anyway i suppose it was only a matter of time before everybody backed off

tomorrow i get out :) my parents are so sick of my moping that they've sanctioned it
and i might even sing at this open mic thing with girlfriends
and more importantly i'll see a crowded street and choke on car fumes and get harassed by skinny greasy boys and drown in wust el balad

i miss it i miss out

uff 3alaya w 3la shakly

2008-07-01T17:31:00.000-07:00

lyrics to the new song:

the man in the sky, he floats face down
watching everybody drown
but i, i'm just waiting around in the delusion of silence
where every quiet doubt's so loud
and i can't seem to sweat it out
will you forgive her despair?
she learned to love to be scared
it took her somewhere far away
maybe if we weren't so stubbornly alone we'd try to find a home together
the man in the sky, he floats face down
watching everybody drown

---

i wish i could fix it all
i wish i could give baba a passion and mama a friend
i wish i could give tonz a brother and give laly sound advice
i wish i could give fresh an energetic friend and fou a call
i wish i could give S a clue and meemz a break
i wish i could give sammy a long conversation
i wish i could give M my letters
i wish i could give K a way to trust
i wish i could give the readers who care a blogger who cares
i wish i could give myself the will to fight just a little longer
i wish i could give God a prayer

how do people do it?

does everyone really answer calls and make them? does everyone sit down for lunch with their parents and just talk? do people have social calendars and life goals and quietness only to pray?

i have to work myself up to say hello lately.

they aren't bad people, my parents are good people--that's the problem. they're wonderful sometimes :)

that's what makes it hard to see them the way they are everyday.

it makes me so tired.

there was a band playing at the cafe down my street. i got dressed but i couldnt open the door of the house because i knew how empty it would be when i left it, how relieving it would be outside and how hard it would be to come back.

it's not that i dont want to leave. it's just that i'd have to come back after being so happy --and they'd see me happy and feel more alone

they're like little kids outside too. i can't tell that they're scared, that's why they stick to the places they know. mama's mean to everyone and baba's nice to everyone, all the time--their defense mechanisms.

i don't want to move. but i want my room with the lock.

i want to not feel so tired. the only way it'll be better is if i help them but the only way i can help them is if they help themselves a little first

blessed in conversation

2008-07-01T14:45:00.000-07:00

everyone wants to talk, but nobody wants to commit
i'm not just talking about boys

most people find me trusting, which they love and want to hold
but it's rare that someone thinks i'm to be trusted

and i feel it

i can't blame them, but it makes me feel like underwear hung out to dry

the funny thing is, as much as i'm critiscized for assigning people roles, i see people do it all the time

they assign themselves roles too and they assign rules and principles, they don't do it consciously, but neither do i

i happen to understand that i assign them, that's all-- am i supposed to change that once i'm aware of it?

i see that i've assigned you the role of proud and determined, so now i'm supposed to think of you as meek and weak-willed?

i know that no person is one thing-- but there's a 'most of the time' and there's a 'social face'

i know my role: i am the boy crazy flake who's fun to talk to and sometimes adorable and very self obsessed and moody

i know that i'm the person you talk to about dreamy things and the vulnerabilities you can afford to show

not about practical matters, not about depression, not about anything in which you might actually need me as more than a teddybear because then i'd let you down

i remember growing up i hardly ever saw mama cry. she didn't talk to me about anything that mattered until i was older, but even then i was just being talked at. "you're going to stay with your father. i'm going to leave." "you have to respect your father i can't leave." "you can't think that way dress that way". i know she loves me and thinks i'm wonderful but she doesn't think i have a head, a life of my own.

now i make her cry. i talk at her. i tell her then when i finally get the courage to leave i wont come back.

all my life i've trusted people who don't give me any credit. sure they believe in me and they love me but they don't trust me--and frankly i'm tired of trusting them.

the bare bones of it

2008-06-28T11:26:00.000-07:00

a fish once said to me,
'effort upon effort upon effort'

he likes the way the bubbles roll around his tongue when he says it

i spend most of my time staring at my phone light up with the life i should be living thinking about his words

effort upon effort upon effort

i've gotten in touch with an old friend of mine, mr. raccoon e.

he's a toy raccoon that looks like a panda. his tail squeaks. when we left kuwait after the invasion, my little sister and i were allowed to choose one toy.

she chose unicorny and i chose mr. e.

he's been hanging out on the bookshelf above my bed, watching over me through thick and thin with a mysterious smile he borrowed from mona lisa ,and a discerning look in his brown kohled eyes.

he's saying Stranger is right, it's never half as bad as you think it is

i don't believe mr. e very much at the moment, but i believe things could be worse

i believe that if you can't fill that hole inside with meaning, you're always going to want-- and you'll never know what you want, and whatever you distract yourself with will never be enough

and i believe that with a bit of luck a person can make their meaning

there is of course the chance that it's your lot in life to never find that meaning
but if you don't allow yourself to be open, to be in a state of readiness--that chance becomes a guarantee

i'm just so damn stubborn. i'm scared. i'm scared to believe in anything--well more specifically i'm scared of being let down, being heartbroken

my family is a disappointment. islam is a disappointment. whenever i say this i get the 'you didn't try hard enough' speech that people give to divorced women and the unemployed.

what if i did try hard enough?

if someone could hold the speech and entertain that possibility for a second and look at me.
look at me, because i did try

effort upon effort upon effort

just thinking about trusting something or someone makes me panic
and if you can't trust, you can't love

the people who become close to me tread softly and persist
and i ask why and they don't answer, their eyes just soften as if to say 'of course i love you and that's all'

i've made baby steps with fresh. i trust orange soda, fish and certain fashion statements.
i trust that i'm not horrifically ugly and i trust musicals.

philosophers often juxtapose reason and faith, and some believe that they're mutually exclusive

but it's like that old man with so much life and a broken heart always sings,
"still i look to find a reason to believe"

the romantic inside has committed hara-kiri, the overly graphic embittered chick is back though

2008-06-26T21:38:00.000-07:00

there was this really beautiful moment in one of the many movies playing on tv about american white women visiting europe and falling in love with exotic and yet still white men

the blonde falls for some italian called marcello. they should've called him mario the pasta maker.

so marcello was a bit of a whore. he couldn't wait around for the american lady who was busy building her villa and his constant need to prove his mediterranean virility drove him to 'chick in towel'--i forget her name

normally this would result in an ass kicking

but because they were in italy where everything is tragically beautiful all the freakin time, he held her face in his hands, gave her one of those way too intense david blaine looks, wiped away her tears and said in a ridiculously thick accent,

"Ees der aneesing to reegrettuh?"

and blonde lady pouted a little and shook her head in this half childlike, half rabid dog manner before making this constipated, sad look and stumbling her way down the italian road arms flailing

i choked up a little, i did

...

oh, who am i kidding?

if that were me, in that perfect white dress with that perfect belt, those perfect sunglasses and that perfect shade of red lipstick, standing like a fool under his balcony--i would've gouged his eyes out! 'yeah NOW there's nothing to regret bitch!'

but i suppose i'm just primitive, brown and not an idiot that way

straight from the horse's mouth

2008-06-26T21:24:00.001-07:00

okay fresh and i always suspected this but i have a male confessor, S, now to verify my claims--

most guys do in fact want outright superficial, physical relationships--they just don't want to know about it

did i hear a sane woman ask what the hell?

yes, you heard it right

most guys actually prefer that a girl pretend that she doesn't know the guy thinks she's a slut so that he can sleep better at night

YES, folks, yes!

they truly believe that god will say,
"hey as long as you didnt call her a whore-- the fucking around was fine with me!"

welcome to the liberal wannabe, typical, egyptian and conservative male.

warning signs:

1. he will never commit to a girl that sleeps with him because that is "wrong". he'll totally sleep with her though--that's fine.

2. he will never agree to a superficial relationship because that too is "wrong". he will instead say he MAY be serious--this helps him justify his slutty penis to god who he forgets at convenient moments when he's getting off.

3. speaking of god--he claims to be a man of religion...but seems to be systematically committing every sin in the holy book he loves so much

4. he's been with other really insecure women who he wasnt sure about either, oh yeah, been physical there too (all part of the endless search for the one he finally commits to, and it just might be you when hell freezes over!)

5. he's not comfortable with you seeing other guys, but is completely fine with calling himself single around other women

6. they're all freakin 'broken'. three different ones have used this line. boo freakin hoo, we all have issues-- putting up with their issues is not at the expense of your sanity! if their problems give you problems-- that's a problem

---

conclusion:

talk to them, be kind, but dont ever, EVER open your heart

they're amusing and sweet friends but definitely classified as unlovable--at least to you

whining. because i can.

2008-06-23T15:53:00.000-07:00

i'm starting to understand the alternate definition of stewing--
the one that doesn't result in anything edible--
and the slow, pressurized way in which it came to be

i have mini traumas like:
we're out of cocoa?!
i missed my cheesy syrian dubbed soap opera!
the cooler side of the pillow is so close...and yet so far
(blame the dramatic ellipsis on the former trauma)

i have no reason to get out of bed
notta one

oh i'm sure i could find something pleasant to do,
but pleasants no fun
it sounds like something someone who smells like medicine would say
someone in a really sinister looking floral print dress buttoned up to the collar

i'd rather be depressed than feel pleasant

i have no reason to get out of bed,
notta one

but maybe i'll go see van gogh.
he lives in a dinky old museum by some govt building.
he had no reason to get out of bed. despite the rolling hills and yellow fields.

i'll stand with my paint brush in my mouth.
a silent salute to the ultimate fuck up that we later discovered was worth a damn,
a show of appreciation for his allowance of generation upon generation of fuck ups to live under the now legitimized delusion that they're just unappreciated whilst encouraging merciful thoughts of suicide

don't look at me like that

yes okay yes i'm wallowing in pubescent self stroking sadness
but i have nothing better to do.

besides i was a relatively mature teenager.
i'm giving myself the adolescence i never had.

this is my skin

2008-06-22T09:47:00.000-07:00

my darling fresh says she sometimes likes being taken for granted
she's referring to the beloved who never occurs to you because they're so close, you never think to acknowledge let alone appreciate them
it's as odd as looking into the mirror and saying i love you

i've always written
i wrote my first story at six about an eerie leprechaun dream
at 9 i bought my first journal
at twelve i wrote a parody of romeo and juliet called woemeo and julifret
in high school i was part of the newspaper staff
i got my first writing job at 20 for a really ditzy magazine

i adore e-mails
letters feel better but they've always intimidated me
i adore blogging, as temperamental as i may have been about maintaining my blogs

i never thought to say i love to write
i always assumed it would be what i'd be doing till the day i die

i'm no academic and i'm no journalist
i'm no poet and no literati
but i do--i love to write

and i believe i've found a certain honesty with my words that's never made its way with quite the same strength in my art or my music

once i was told i should be more like my writing
i was so confused--i am my writing
this is me in my truest form
this is where i come alive
this is where i'm beautiful and fearless and comfortable
this is my skin

i love the modesty of the written word
open to its readers inflections, never daring to impose a certain way to be understood
so simple and shy, yet so naked

when i'm not on a page i'm
nobody really

i'm a collection of supposed tos and maybes and attempts that aren't even original
haphazardly put together and forcefully executed with the incoordination of a self-obsessed adolescent

i'm not very good at anything else

do people grow apart more often than they grow together or is it just a more common phrasing?

2008-06-20T14:49:00.000-07:00

my baby's a man

i remember when his little hand fit around my finger
i remember exactly what he looked like crawling around 'el parket' in diapers
i remember when i asked him to say kangaroo and i remember praying that he'd learn to speak soon so we could talk

now he can speak and we can't talk

i can't really talk to anyone at home and it's very lonely

i don't want to give up on them

i didn't want to give up on a lot of things and i didn't until i was forced to

i always ask what the worst feeling in the world is:
hunger
loneliness
regret
hopelessness
making a goal and seeing no way to reach it

i wonder now what feelings people miss the most
i miss certainty-- as ugly as it can be sometimes
it's a very arrogant and closed feeling but it's so safe

i'm tired of avoiding safety
i know most of the time the right thing to do is the hard thing to do
but couldn't it be easy every now and then

dear god i wish i could feel certain about someone
or someone could feel certain about me

and if i can't have that the second best thing would be to feel certain about something--anything at all

these are the certainties i celebrate:
no matter what fresh will always be in my life in some way shape or form
axel and i will always understand what we're trying to say to each other
the fish in my head will always argue and take control when they're supposed to because they're supposed to
i will forget as often as i remember that things are meant to be
people really do love each other, whether they know how to show it or not and whether they know how to feel it or not

yeah how to feel--because there's a way, as elusive as it is at times
there's a way to let go and hold on to the moments that move us

2008-06-19T15:30:00.000-07:00

if it's about love and not about you
then i certainly would not have chosen you
i didn't choose

if it's more about love than it is about you
i'm not sure i see anything wrong with that

truth be told i'm better when i'm banking on things going wrong

i'm terrified that it'll go right

i wrote two names in the sand and waited for the sea to wash one away

i never got to see which one drowned

I AM GOGO hear me whimper

2008-06-16T16:58:00.000-07:00

i want out of this phase in my life and i want it now
yes i fully understand this is a result of my instant gratification upbringing in this globalized and tasteless age of never getting no satisfaction
i realize i have a choice

TELL THAT TO THE NAGGING FISH SWIMMING IN MY RIBCAGE

the 2 year old fish
the 80 year old is napping...or hibernating
she only comes out in moments of inadvertent kindness by stepping on pride
but i was never big on pride

i dont hate myself, i hate self
it's stupid and reinvented
every other second with me

it's getting harder to step outside of everything i've done to just take a quick breather

i feel more still, but it's not my own doing
it's just that everything around me has sped up
and every time something big happens i stumble and lose balance
but before i have time to properly recover something else comes my way
and these little balance bombs drop by with the nonchalance of a longtime neighbor--
i'm kind of just left there with a puzzled look on my face thinking
"whatnow? who are you? why are you? did i miss an exit somewhere?"

and the bomb opens MY refrigerator to munch on MY pasterma
sits on MY couch to watch dr. phil and melody
paying me no attention whatsoever

i don't even feel invaded--
usually a dramatic usurper has the courtesy to slap me around a little bit
acknowledge i'm here, acknowledge they're taking away what's mine

but no,

these guys shrug it off as if to say, 'what, you didn't know? none of this is yours. not even the feet you're standing on honey--they're ours too... well until they're somebody elses'

WHAT THE HELL?

fine. fine. take away my street. take away my old school. take away my in betweens. throw in some new people from out of the sky. fine. fine. fine.

but don't mess with how i feel

you know i don't take transitions well, you knooow this

do i need to remind you of florida? how about the 'maybe i'm into hair maybe i'm not' phase?
and 'do i really fit in with the people asking if the genocide tapes are going to be on the exam'?

why are you doing this?

you think i'm stuck in a rut. this is the jumpstart that was supposed to happen 15 days from when i landed in cairo 5 years later.

and didi says, get out, you're at home, which means you're thinking, which means you're thinking too much

but what am i going to get out to? i'm just going to spend more money on being distracted and feel like even more of a waste of space.

i've got to stay here.

i've got to work on my body--because i can--because it's a step--because didi's doing it too and i can't be the fatter friend, i'd become bitchy to compensate.

then there's the installation. and everyday there's a new idea. just like the comedy.

GOD DAMN IT I HAVE TO DO THESE THINGS.

first installation. then comedy.

remember: styrofoam and dirt.

i think i'm officially sick of my beautiful surreal distractions.

gogo has landed.

read old poems you're a new person

2008-06-12T12:26:00.000-07:00

i liked this poem before
now it hurts to read it-- so naturally i've come to love it

------

From – Twenty Poems of Love

The Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

-Pablo Neruda

Unraveling, Deb Talan

2008-06-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

You tie your shoes too tight, you know
cause it feels better that way.
And when you don't, all night you are dreaming
you walk, laces streaming down the street behind you.

A river of tangled string
you are unraveling
and no one else seems to mind.
You keep it to yourself, stay numb and act fine.
You wear the truth under your sole, like a pebble
it makes you limp and sway
but it will out someday.

Take it from me it is no use
washing your hands so often they are clean and cracked.
You never get your old skin back
once you have loved like that

You're a river of tangled string
And you are unraveling,
No one else seems to mind
Keep it to yourself, stay numb and act fine
You wear the truth under your sole,
Like a pebble,
It makes you limp and sway,
But it'll out someday

He is inside you, he loved your marrow.
You think you could cut him out with a knife
if you went deep enough
I don't think so.
Maybe sing him back to living
'cause he might rise like a snake in a basket
or he may close his eyes
and wait till his life is a full-fledged casket, floating on

i'm the same

2008-06-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

hello. i recently got my heart broken. again.

he said that we're all the same.
when he first said it, i felt insulted.
i heard that i wasnt special, or at least not special enough, to him.
it hurt, he's so special to me.

then i began to wonder if we really are all the same
we all aren't special--enough--to him
not worthy
these beautiful women i'd heard about
successful, creative, talented and soft
were suddenly unworthy, like me

and as i cried i realized these were not the first nor last tears to be shed for him
and for exactly the same reason
he has the nerve to tell himself it's okay because we're not worthy?
i wonder if he was this way with them
i wonder which ones were more forgiving, less forgiving

i told him it's not his fault if he's honest
and he said he's straightforward
i later learned he was straightforward about being vague
i realized he wasn't straightforward in choosing

he said give what you can give
if only he understood that he shouldn't give when it promises more
i wonder if i'll be one of the bitches or one of the ones he wronged
i don't think i was passive enough to be one that he wronged
i wonder why i care

a man of science who can't understand that he's the only constant variable in all these failed experiments
a man who twists facts to fit a sick theory and believes himself to be einstein
a man who's still a very little boy
the violence of a child in the body of a full grown man
and the sweetness of a child
the innocent longing of a child

i hope one day he feels more than he fears, and i hope that he finds her
and i hope this only so that nobody else gets hurt,
not another girl and not him

in the meantime i hope to recover far, far away