Do You Folks Like Coffee?

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Dethklok.

Small Crimes.

She’d wear next-to-nothing clothes and stand there every night for the trick the audience awaits.

He’d wear a tuxedo and a black hat and say a few warm-up thrill phrases to the audience.

She’d stand hand-folded against a wooden wall for him to throw the knives around her still body.

He’d throw confidently.

She’d not bleed if he misses, not in front of the audience, not in front of him.

He’d miss.

She’d wonder if sometimes he misses… on purpose.

July 2008.

Even though July is not yet over, but I decided I will write about it now. The reason behind this is that the remaining week in July will probably be just like the previous three weeks – and that’s exactly why I fucking love this month.

July 2008 is the intermission month after my graduation and before the start of my white-collar career. I didn’t really make any plans for it but I felt that it’s going to be different. I thought I’d find ways to indulge in the summer frenzy or do things that have been pending for a long time because of university obligations, like having that planned photo shoot for example – but to be honest; I didn’t do anything out of what I planned. This month has been spent in absolute dumbness and extreme sloth. No energy whatsoever was exerted, not to do anything memorable nor to even try to think of what I want to do. I spent days in bed and nights listening to music and reading lyrics – too lazy to even type on instant messaging applications. I so proudly declare that I failed to finish any of the things I intended to utilize this month of idleness to, like the book and the script. I gave appointments that I got late to, I started reading books that I never finished, I stopped looking at my watch that frequently, I listened to musicians more than I listened to people, I took long showers, sipped on a lot of wine, stared into nothingness, counted my hair and counted trees while riding in slow cars as we drove through without having a real destination. I shut down all my receptors to those who demand me to do things that involve any sort of thinking, like both my parents who each of them has their own vision of what I should do and how I should do it, and like friends who might bring up unpleasant subjects that involve love tales from the past or any social drama. Furthermore, I built a big wall surrounding my senses against bad vibes intentionally forced upon me. And I have done all of that with great persistence and sweaty devotion.

This month is one week away from its death, and I salute it, for all of the idleness and sloth it brought me. I didn’t know what it is to be in total darkness, not knowing what you are doing or where you are going and yet not caring to move a hair to change any of that – till this month came.

I might still have that photo shoot though…

Suicide Is Painless.

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MASH by Robert Altman.

Cocoons Don`t Fly.

She: Oh by the way, I saw M. yesterday.

He: You did?

She: Yes, she came with us to finish that business thing.

He: How is she?

She: Fine.

He: Where is she?

She: Starts work soon… She is avoiding everyone obviously.

He: Is she okay?

She: I don’t think so.

He: Does she fly now?

She: What?

He: Does she have wings and all? Does she fly? That’s what she told me when she left… that I prevent her from flying.

The Real Nigga.

Dear J,

Writing letters and not sending them has turned out to be a very effective habit, because in our case silence and distance are the only humane actions we can take. I have been minding my own business lately and have been away from that social tub we used to share for a long while now – not intentionally and it’s all temporary, but let’s say that that’s the most humane action to take. A lot of things seem to attack my immunity shield though, like whenever I trample over certain people and they mention you and your current affairs, or when I walk into a Cilantro for pure peeing purposes and my eyes find a "Maws Tawt". Even with my great efforts to minimize my friction with things like those that remind me of past times, I go home to speak to Purgatorio who speaks about Snowhite who reminds me of you – I think you and Snowhite share a lot in common, but that’s another story. It’s not only Purgatorio, for even Mariah speaks of you and of how she misses the good old days, and I feel a lot of pity towards her, for she is all the way in Austria and has no clue what she is talking about is now an illusion. Bottom line, people like speaking about you.

I heard about the new girl. I heard she asks about me and that she doesn’t particularly like me. I heard she will go throw herself from the highest mountain if she knew you and I met by coincidence down the street without even saying “hello” – that is of course after she shreds your body to pieces with blood and flesh and bones and all. That’s a matter of habit to me though; I am used to girlfriends doing evil spells and voodoo dolls for me. I heard she is a kitten stuck up a tree and that you save her every day, I also heard she climbs up the tree again just because she is the pretty girl who likes to be saved. I heard the guys don’t like her. They secretly miss the good old days and they secretly miss me. They miss me putting ice in everyone’s glass and watching over the glasses and refilling them with whiskey without them having to ask. I heard they miss me playing cards and them not having to worry about bottle-openers in cars because my teeth are amazing and strong. I heard they miss themselves talking freely with you, for your new girl doesn’t like bad words – because in the past, things like that wouldn't have mattered. I heard they miss me roaring with them in football matches, raving hard and even rocking harder. I heard everyone misses me and misses us together, but they just won’t admit it to you. I heard the girls miss me too. I heard the new girl is obsessive and weird, that she picks up on all your phone calls and stalks you. I heard she lies to the girls and tells them that you are busy or away or not willing to talk to any bitch of them. I heard everyone misses me that rumours started spreading around about me, that I now live in the Northern Coast, or that I am married with children in Ukraine or that I am a coke addict who won’t let people see her in such state. I heard everyone misses the real nigga I was but nobody will ever tell you such a thing. I heard you nearly stopped drinking because you claim it brings you nausea and all, but everyone just knows that you do that out of respect to her Islamic beliefs. I heard she fasts with Christians too, out of solidarity and some drama talk. I heard enough.

All of what I heard doesn’t make a difference to me; I will still be the shadow in Ukraine who is married with children, or to be honest, the coke addict spreading her feet in Northern Coast sands. But I can’t help but wonder… is that what you wanted, a pretty kitten up a tree?

Sincerely,

The Nigga.

تسكر وتفتكر

لم يذهب اللواء سالم كثيرا الى الكنيسة، فكان يعتقد أن الرب يرعى شئون الجميع، ولكن ليس شأنه هو. هذا لم يغضب اللواء سالم كثيرا، فهو رجلٌ فخورٌ بأنه بنى تفاصيل حياته معتمدا على نفسه. إضطر اللواء سالم للذهاب الى الكنيسة عندما توفيت زوجته التي أحبها كثيراً. وقف اللواء سالم أمام باب قاعة الرجال فى زيّه الرسمى الذى يعطيه الهيبة، ولم يسمح للدموع أن تهرب من عينيه، حتى عندما رأى إبنته، التى كانت شاحبةً على غير عادتها ولا تستطيع المشى فى خطٍ مستقيم من فرط دموعها. لم يُعر اللواء سالم اهتماماً كبيراً لما يقوله ضيوف العزاء، فكلهم يقولون نفس الكلام المحفوظ... "البقية فى حياتك" أو "تعيش وتفتكر"... ولكن أصدقاء اللواء سالم القدامى كانوا ينظرون فى عينيه ويقولون "تسكر وتفتكر" ثم يذهبون للجلوس فى الركن تحت أيقونة السيدة العذراء ويحتسون القهوة التركى في صمت.

Coins Of One Face.

Sometimes I am on the dancing floor among a raving crowd, trying to dance the animal inside out of me, and I clasp my eyes shut. I have to close them lids, or else those around me will interrupt my trip. However, I still can feel them lights quickly drawing all sorts of coloured rays on my body, like endless quick knives thrown at a woman in a circus trick. Sometimes, I feel I am the queen of this world. But suddenly, a huge robotic mechanical arm will quickly close its knuckles on my waist and notch me quickly out of the crowd. It’s like when I pluck a hair of my eye brow or when a kid wins that arcade game and the arm picks them a teddy bear as a reward– that they never really wanted. I fight back, and I beat the iron arm around my waist, but I wind up with sore knuckles and the grip of the arm gets tighter tearing my cloth – and the arm shakes me, as if it is after something hidden inside me that it wants to fall out of me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

There are other times, when I am a woman wearing a nice simple dress with light colours that fit with the morning party I am attending in a garden. Usually, there are people around me chitchatting, sipping on champagne and commenting on the colour changes the morning light brings to my facial features. But suddenly, I am able to crop everyone out of my sight. I smile the smile of a teenager who is excited they heard the door close as their parents finally got out of the house. I run to the buffet in excitement that doesn’t fit with my high heels, then gently lay down my champagne glass on the white cloth covering the buffet and I start throwing dishes. There is nothing more relieving than throwing one after the other at totally random targets, laughing like an uncontrolled beast, breaking my French-manicured nails and having a few bruises due to my carelessness. I’d suck on the blood that escaped my finger and I’d throw more – making noise, making a mess, making the crash I yearn for.

* * * * * * * * * * *

But there are those times, when I am walking a dog, having my hair raised up in a practical manner and wearing shorts and a T-shirt, in a Cairo street where by-passers don’t stare at each other. I keep walking and I don’t care where my legs take me. Then another dog, which a by-passer is taking for a walk and doesn’t care where his legs are taking him, either, grins and growls at my dog. The by-passer and I will stare at each other, even though we have been avoiding that, and the eye-contact will give birth to that spark of challenge, rivalry and awaited violence. A mud pool will pop out of nowhere and the two dogs will stop their growling because they have a better play to watch now. The by-passer and I comprehend each other pretty well – the purpose of this mud fight is shallow and doesn’t deserve to be mentioned, but its mercilessness and the anger it reveals are the commons aims we share. The proper mud fight lasts for hours till we are completely breathless, then we’ll get out, wash the mud off our weary bodies with some water, air dry, look at each other and smile the business-like smile of “goodbye” – so will the dogs.

طب بالنسبة للفيل؟

تقريبا نسيت يعنى ايه مصر الجديدة... كان بقالى فترة بعيد... وبقالى فترة ماتفرجتش على الزحمة والنيون الكتير من كرسى العربية اللى جمب السواق... والمطبات والمقبات... والبوليس اللى فى حتت غريبة... وتقريبا نسيت ازاى سكان مصر الجديدة اللى بيسوقوا بيتحمسوا جدا فى استعراض التخريمات الجديدة من الزحمة... وازاى على عكس مناطق اخرى، الشحاتين بيسرحوا بفل وكيوى... وازاى ان العربية اللى جمبى غالبا فيها ام صاحبتى فلو سمحت بلاش نكسر عليها...

المهم النهاردة كنت فى مصر الجديدة، فى عربية، وطلع اقتراح قديم أوى وعليه تراب ومسمعتوش بقالى كتير...

"بوريو؟"

"بووووورررررييييييوووووووو طبعا..."

"يلللللللاااااا بيييييننننننا..."

وبعد ساعة الا ربع مثلا من الزحمة والتخريمات وسباجيتى العربيات... وصلنا لمحل من المحلات المشهورة بتوع العصيروالبوريو والشبح والباتمان والى اخره... وللأسف الراجل احبطنا تماما... لأن مفيش بوريو من امبارح...

"طب ايه يا شباب.. نروح حتة تانية؟"

"لأ فكك.. انا هاخد مانجا.."

"وأنا هأخد فيل.."

وكله طلب... ومصدقتش عينايا لما الراجل رجع تانى... كل الطلبات نازلة فى كوبايات بلاستيك مقفولة من فوق ومحطوط في كل واحدة شفاطة... وأنا اللى هو بصيت بصة اللى هو... "أنت بتشتغلنى؟!!!"

يعنى أنا المطلوب منى أنى اشرب عصير مانجا من شفاطة؟ طب وبالنسبة للفيل؟ أنا اصلا مبطيقش اختراع الشفاطة ده... وبأتهرب منه فى جميع الأماكن... ومبأطيقش الكوكاكولا الفونتاين... ولما باشرب اى حاجة لازم اشربها بلغوصة ولازم ارفع رقبتى على قد انا عطشانة قد ايه... والكلام ده ماشى على العصائر والصودا... ووحياتكوا البينا كولادا...

لكن حرام لما الموضوع يوصل انه محل عصير فى الشارع فى مصر الجديدة ينزللى مانجا فى كوباية بلاستيك... وبشفاطة... طب ولو كنت طلبت قصب؟ كنا هنقضيها بلاستيك برضه؟ وكنت هتجيبلى اتنين شاليمون بدل من واحدة عشان تضحك عليا بتضاعف الكمية اللى انا باسحبها... ماهو قصب يعنى...

ارحمونى بقى !

Euphoria.

My eyes hurt from all the Oriental eye liner I have put into them but I am too hesitant to go wash them, for I am afraid that if I do, I will ruin the mood I am in. There is nothing more that I want than the spontaneous state he puts me in. That’s all I need at this point in time and he is God-sent. I am addicted to his recklessness and his lack of plans. I am in love with the fact that he wears no watches and forgets his phone in the car wherever we go. We pause time in a special glass capsule he creates, and I am in love with it. He doesn’t write and doesn’t read what I write. We speak a language that is much different than this one I am using right now, one that is full of cartoon-like metaphors, one that is full of spongy terminology and beautiful misspellings and sexy bad grammar, one that takes someone like him to recreate. Let go.

كل ما أردته

كل ما أردته هو احتساء بعض النبيذ الأحمر، وعدم التفكير لدقائق معدودة...
كل ما أردته هو بعض التحدى واستعراض بعض الأفيهات الجديدة اثناء لعب الطاولة...
كل ما أردته هو انتظار موعدنا القادم، الذى لا يحدد غير قبلها بساعات...
كل ما أردته هو التفكير فى مقتنيات يابانية، واستعراضها امامه عند توفرها...
كل ما أردته هو بعض الغزل، بعض الشغف، كثير من المزيكا، كثير من الأفلام...
كل ما أردته هو الكثير من الضحكات الغير المبررة التى تأتى بعد أفراح البيرة...
كل ما أردته هو كل تلك الأشياء التى شجعنى على وجودها، وبالتالى اردتها دوما...

ولكن لا... فلماذا ننتظر الغد الذى كان سيحتم علينا قطع كل هذه الأشياء...
فلنقطعها الآن... فكلها لا تستحق الوقت التى تستغرقه...




لا أريد أى منها الآن.

Intense.

What if I told you I have expanded my senses? True, true, I have managed to temporarily widen the radii of the senses I have - by means I don't wish to disclose.

I was able to see more than I usually see, in fact, my eyes have turned to cameras with good mechanical tripods and rotating reels. They could bring into focus those that deserve focus, like a Penelope Cruz coming from afar, only to find out that she's a woman as old as my parents but won't allow her wrinkles to affect the choices in her drawer. She has had her share of the two-camera screen, so the focus moved to a strolling family down the European kerb - it was a new visual game, how they remained in focus as I could still see other moving things in the background that are hazy and out of focus.

I have always been told that 7-UP, my current #1 drink on the cold-drinks charts, is made out of lemons. Honestly, I never spotted any resemblance between 7-UP and lemons, till I expanded the radius of my taste. What happened is that I could feel a half-circled sour lemon relaxing and tanning on the middle of my tongue after each sip I took from the soft drink can. I started looking into the 7-UP can and shaking it to see if there were any half lemons lying inside there... I even started wondering if I was unaware of the fact that I might be drinking tequila and forgot a half lemon inside my mouth - like most heavy tequila consumers would, but I found no lemons in my mouth either. Every sip I took was a complete sour-lemon peak.

There are very few things in life that I find orgasmic, and one of them is when I am able to feel the music with my heartbeat before I actually listen to it. I did that too. Every other beat coming out of those speakers sent a pulse to my heart, which in turn sent a tune to my ears. And that's how I expanded my listening, by feeding on the heart. The beat won't change, it won't speed, it won't become more intense - and unlike rock music, it won't reach a peak. It will remain the same, but with each repetition of it, I was sent further every time. It looped with the same beat, frequency, tone... but I was thrown further and pulled back to my starting point, like a basketball gaining speed in its player's hands. It didn't take long before I was in absolute trance, progressively moving from realm to realm.

I could feel more. I could feel each and every hair on my arm move with the soft breeze coming out of the air conditioner. It is very rare, because usually I don't feel hairs on my body moving every time I walk into an air conditioned place. This time, I could and it was tickling - very tickling. And there was nowhere to go, no matter how itchy it gets and how I move my hand on my skin, I was still tickled. It didn't take time before I started to enjoy it and smile as I was tickled.

I can't smell, really, so there was nothing to expand.

The experience was thrilling, being exposed to all of these changes simultaneously. I'd go there again... and again.

ياض

احمد مكى دخللى من سكة جديدة وغير متوقعة... زى ما تقولوا كدة اخد يو-تيرن من ورا دماغى ودخل من غير لما الحقه... والفيديو كليب يحكيلكوا اكتر

بس الأهم من ده...

"خر خر خر ياض... خر خر واسمع ياض"

:)

نكسر سكة الكآبة اللى اتخذها البلوج ده بقاله شوية عشان نقول...

"مرة واحد فرفور شاف تمساح، قال "اييييييه دههههههه
Lacoste!!!""

:))))

In Brief.

Bid On Me.

Let's say I go on a boat trip, one that goes to Guatemala or Germany or the Northern Pole. The boat crashes into dramatical pieces and I don't drown - even though I can't really swim. Instead, I wind up on an isolated island or so, somewhere where the only living creature next to me is star fish that don't make any noise at all - no, not at all. How many days will I spend continuously screaming?

Kindly place your bets.

The place I live in has no 'Welcome' door mat.

Look closely at the background colour of this page. It is black, isn’t it? That’s for a reason of course and it’s not only that I have personal fetishes towards black. The only reason most web pages are not in black is because it will be expensive to print them out – but apart from that, it’s absolute expression. I want you to stare deep into it and imagine there are no words in white, no lines and outlines, no coloured thumbnail of Tinkerbell and no white bars of the explorer you are using. Can you do that? Are you doing it? Good.

Now, I want you to take this a little bit further. I want you to imagine this blackness filling your whole screen – yes, I am sorry you’ll have to interrupt any important navigation of other web pages or personal instant messaging windows. Have you done that? Great, we’re doing well. I will ask you another favour – I want you to put off any music for I want you to listen to the sound of this blackness. Yes, I know you can’t hear anything, but you will.

This is the hardest part, for you have to trust me on it a little bit. I know trust isn’t the easiest commodity people can share nowadays, but give me some – I mean how many blog posts have we known each other really? I want you to stretch your hands into this blackness of your screen. There… can you feel it? That blackness is liquid and you can listen to your hands playing with its viscousity. Now, stretch both hands and make them dripping with blackness. Make everything around you dirty, painted and smothered with this blackness. Don’t worry and be generous – the black paint will never ever run out. When you feel your hands are dry and the paint you are applying is not so generous, come back for more from your screen. Keep repeating, till everything around the room is black and you can’t see any light. Make sure you cover that light coming from underneath the door – it can ruin the whole thing, you know. Those tiny details – you have to pay attention to them, we don’t want any light around.

Are you there yet? It’s okay; there is no need to rush. I wouldn’t want to rush my first visitor.

Welcome home.

Stop crossing my mind, for this is private property.

It is hilarious - the amount of things you think belong to you.

My latest efforts, if any, have been solely dedicated to shut off my mind. Out of absolute selfishness, I don't want to impress the world with my usual smartness, I don't want to think straight - to be fully honest, I don't want to think at all. Sloth and dumbness are realms that, I believe, are the only ones worth of my attention during those days. It is only one month to me becoming a white collar lady and I am not going anywhere. I can't travel and I can't move anywhere away from this white-walled apartment... and I don't mind it, as long as I can shut it off. But even this, is apparently too much to get.

It is hilarious - the amount of thinking you need to think to stop thinking.

So I followed the scientific method, I "dealt" myself a fine bottle of Old Jack Tennessee Whiskey, got filled with different realms of music and delegated the job of picking the finest fruits of European and American cinema that I didn't yet watch, to my devoted brother. And I have all of this right here... and I am happy about it. But there is a missing ingredient.

It is hilarious - the amount of vibes and emotions you collect.

Personals ruin things. I've learned this lesson so many times, but to no avail. I am turning 22 in a month, and apparently I can't yet fine tune the amounts of vibes I get from people. There is a bouquet of people, that I can't believe I don't have control over the way they make me feel. There is a certain somebody that I can't breathe well when we talk because of the amounts of lies I can see through but yet he keeps telling. There is another certain somebody who figured it's the right time to have second thoughts about me just when I started to intensively think of him. There is a third somebody who won't stop pressuring me as if I have all the answers in the world up my sleeve. There is a fourth too, who thinks I am the reason behind the world's misery and doesn't hesitate to constantly stress that thought. I hope none of them reads this. But if they do...

Kindly stop crossing my mind, for this is private property.