دراسات فى الثمانينات

لازم كل الناس يبقى شعرها طويل. الفرقة كلها والمزة أو المزز

- لازم المزة تلبس فستانين، واحد أسود وواحد أبيض ، هتقوللى ما المزة اللى عند أوزى أوزبرون لابسة أحمر ، هأقولك نفض لنقسك ، عشان الفساتين البيضاء واللينجرى الأسود كان مش موجود فى السوق اليومين دول



- لازم الموضوع يقلب دراما. البت تهرى نفسها عياط ، أو تلم هدومهما وتسيبله البيت وتمشى أو حد يموت

- الباسيست والدرامر وأحيانا الجيتاريست بيكونوا من مستوى أعلى من باقى البشر ، عمرهم ما يبصوا للكاميرا وعلطول بيعطوا تعبيرات مش مفهومة بعضلات وشهم ، وطبعا عمرهم ما واخدين بالهم أنهم بيتصوروا أساسا




- على طول شعر البت لازم يطير زى اعلانات صانسيلك وبانتين وأحيانا موبينيل

- لازم كادر الكاميرا يطلعلك حاجة سيريالية مش مفهومة ، حوض سيراميك بيتحرق أو قماش أحمر بيطير. وهذا اللونجيير لحد النهاردة مش مفهوم بيبقى تحكم من المخرج ولا المونتيير ولا المزة




- اجتمع معلمى الروك على آواخر السبعينات وراح قاللك يا جماعة مينفعش كدة ، جيمى بايج بتاع اللى اسمهم ليد زيببلين دول والتانى جيم مورريسون حطوا سمعتنا فى الحضيض من البناطيل المحزقة بتاعتهم دى ، احنا هنقضيها جينز وشعر طويل وبس. بس المنحرفين زودوا الماكياج والاكسسوارات من غير لما الكبير ياخد باله.


Whitesnake – Is this love?

Alice Cooper – Poison

Ozzy Osbourne – No More Tears

My “Hänsel und Gretel” Trick

The bowl is full of coloured bubble gums.
I have tried each and every gum of all the possible colours.
I have chewed, bubbled and popped and popped and popped…
I got bored of all the bubble gums,
I am searching for a newer land of candy…

My mother doesn`t ask about you anymore.

She approaches with a wide smile, a wine-coloured rose and her brown purse bag. She seems like the only coloured item in this grey autumn weather except perhaps for the green grass she rests on. In addition, the grey autumn weather doesn’t help in drying her shower-drenched brown curly hair, no, not at all.

“I know I am late, the traffic is just unbearable.” She starts.

“My mother doesn’t ask about you anymore – that’s really great for me” she says and then she sighs out “I am spared the headache.”

“Hey, I think I did well in my last two midterms…” she says with raised eye-brows, “It’s very weird since we’ve been spending too much time together.”

She gets out a small club sandwich out of her bag, “You hungry?” She offers the one she got and gets out another one for her.

“I don’t know why but everyone lately is being so nice to me,” she complains, “it’s not that I hate it or anything, I just find it awkward.”

“By the way, I passed by your place yesterday but probably you weren’t finished with work yet. Anyways the landlady kicked her son out but I couldn’t figure out why.” She continues as she munches on her sandwich, “I’ll never do that to my own son, if we ever decide to have one.”

Her phone rings; “Hold on, that’s my mom. Hello?”

“Hey, it’s time for me to go. It’s already late and I have to catch the last bus. Love you.”

By the time she leaves, her hair is nearly dry but the only coloured items in the arena are a rose and an untouched club sandwich lying on a not-so-old tombstone.

He called me the "Maws Tawt Gurl".

It all comes back to me now as I decide to start dieting. My weight had always been 62 KGs at all times, but the jelly-like fats I am gaining have another opinion. Dieting is the most excruciating process one might embark upon. I tell you, quitting chocolate is probably harder than quitting smoking. But with the summer and my graduation knocking at the doors, there is no workaround. Maybe that’s not the only motivation though. My chocolate greed has been enslaving me to do a lot of absurd things. Let me tell you the story…

Coptic Christians fast before Christmas – don’t mistake me for a radical or anything but one must fast at least the final few weeks. Now during those few weeks, I have the worst cravings and rushes and chocolate mirages. But finally on Christmas Eve, one breaks their fast. Back home after the fanciest meal in ages, in an empty house, all dressed up… I realize… This house has been that of fasting people for weeks. NO CHOCOLATE !!!! My eyes widen and my veins get bluer with rage. I start fancying a Mars Tart from Cilantro – Heba Zaghloul once introduced me to that piece of delicious sin before, whom am trying to convince her to start dieting with me, yet she needs chocolate now more than ever – but that’s another story.

At 2:00 AM I start making plans of how I should get down to Cairo’s streets to go to the holy 24 hours Korba Cilantro. What? Get raped? You think that’s more important than my rush? You think it would have even bothered me? For some reason, I call him up, hoping he wouldn’t be too drunk tonight – after all a non-fasting Christian like himself has all rights to be roaring and celebrating on Christmas Eve.

I assume my junkie-like rush was so intense that he immediately agreed to deliver me my Mars Tart in the “sabat” as he was on his way home after the fanciest meal in ages. He took a tiny piece of it before he delivered it all safe to my eyes. It wasn’t a virgin yes, but that’s not what bothered me – I was more concerned of how come such a piece of heaven can be resisted. He then called me to make sure I got it alright, but I couldn’t help but rush the phone call – my mouth was too watery. Ever since then, he’d call me the “Maws Tawt Gurl”. I have to admit I loved it – the name and him calling me that. It had a certain warmth and nostalgia in it that I couldn’t resist addicting.

If we map the similarities between my dieting and that fasting, one can easily foresee that my rush will come back, sooner than one might think. It will be resisted and thus it will haunt fiercely back again. I am sure that at 2:00 AM I’d want to call the same number again wondering if he’s on the way home from the most delicious party since ages… but I call that number now and some monster answers in his place.

The Pirate’s Morals: Or how I stopped worrying and mastered a swords-orchestra.

Lover:

Back in the good old days, I would have spent time building a house of cards and I would have let the Jack of Spades be the house’s gate. My ego would have always paralyzed my tongue (but never my pen) and thus I will be stealing irresistible routine love looks at you through the inevitable gaps between the glossy cards. Whenever you catch me doing it, I’ll pretend to stare at absolute nothingness contemplating the geometry of my attic. I would have loved you through the house of cards and I would have spent my life doing it.


Human:

But no, things aren’t that routinely beau. People are made to be imperfect; they are made to make sins – mega fucking sins. As much as I’d like to show off the deeds I’ve done, I equally show off the fuck ups. Lovers are made to be hesitant, brothers to be greedy, parents to be careless, friends to be inconsiderate, God to be unfair and life to be a bitch. I wouldn’t blame you to think otherwise but rather cheap Egyptian and American drama that has been fed into our brains since we were children growing up in the early nineties. But you would just stay there at the gate of my house of cards, contemplating the beauty of your ivory tower, passively. The broiling Egyptian summer would force us to open some outlets for some breeze to come in. No need for introductions, the tower is brought down. You at the gate, weeping, pointing fingers mercilessly, and waiting for my big hands to pick you up and save you from the wreck. But no…


Pirate:

I have built what I was the cause of bringing down. I have been the caretaker, the obsessed-with, the slave in both time and space, the toy that is stuck to your own circle of little other spades. But what use is pretense? I am a self-centered pirate who is obsessed with the sound of clashing swords, and the last time I let some breeze in, the whole army of cards went down and started the battle that didn’t yet end. I had my own share of injuries – one must admit, and I fiercely gave a good portion to others too. I am still fighting with spades, hearts, diamonds and also clubs. But you Jack of Spades, are void of your sword. You can’t fight anymore and can’t point fingers anymore. You can keep running for all I care. You may believe you are more virtuous – I believe you are less human.