Trip to the future

My friend has been to the future with Qatar Airways. The FUTURE is in Doha

Prayer

I've just finished my third research for the month

May Mother Nature forgive me for all the trees that I've killed

May Shredding Machine forgive me for all the staples I made it swallow

Amen

Lost in the space time continuum

"Space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind union of the two will preserve an independent reality”

She said: when are we breaking the continuum of silence?
He said: what continuum?
She replied: oh sorry, I thought we were on the same space-time continuum...

Calling your bluff

Don’t dare me, I’ll do it
I’ll do it and you know it,
I’ll do it just to call your bluff,
To prove that after all you’re not that tough,
Maybe not today, and certainly not tomorrow hon,
Today I’m a little blue, and tomorrow I’m worshipping the sun,
My life is scheduled for the next 237 days
But what the hell, I may kick the bucket anyways
So don’t dare me my love, I’ll do it,
I’ll do it and you know it.



The moooooooooood:

(Pink Martini sings "Je ne veux pas travailler"..... it's the weekend okayyyy)

The color yellow

There are some things in this meaningless life
That make me happy, that make me thrive
Like the color yellow on a Dahlia flower
On Genny’s top, on a cable tower

Bright and sunny, it makes me smile
It makes me feel like a kid for a while
Oh how I love you my yellow Morningstar
You’re the apogee of my day, by far

You bring joy to my melancholic world
You make me forget that I was bored
And I remember how much I miss his presence
How I long for my continuum, my quintessence

You elated me to a realm of unspoken love
When we were together like hand and glove
When all I cared about is beating the clock,
Is reaching the office, 7:15 on the dot

He would shave his beard while I prepare breakfast
And I would wear my make up while he’s driving fast

I miss his skinny legs, his black velvet beret,
The smell of paints on his hands, drawing Dahlias in array
I miss his Zippo lighter, the scent of cigarettes on his chest,
His vintage red eyeglasses and his yellow vest

I miss him performing in front of a crowd in the club
Burning white dishes, drawing sketches with his thumb
And I dance to my inner beat with my yellow shawl
Waiting for him to come and pin me to a wall

We then trip in our rapturous delusion
To a world of yellow Dahlias, free of intrusion

Oh how I love you my yellow Morningstar
You’re the apogee of my day, really, and by far

The Pygmalion effect

“The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves but how she’s treated”

He said: Am I bothering you?
I replied: Not at all :)
- Please tell me when you’re bothered and I will stop right away
- You’re not bothering me, unless you intend too!
- NEVER
- Ok then,
- I really enjoy talking to you and I don’t want to bother you
- ….(no answer)
- Hope you are ok?? And sorry if I’m bothering you.

GOSH!!!

Your belief or expectation, whether correct or not, affects the way I will behave. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re now bothering me.

GET LOST

What ever will be will be

"The stone age didn't end because we ran out of stones"

He said: don't be a stranger

She said: que sera sera, whatever will be, will be

The third eye

“Clairvoyance is the gift of second sight. It is a visual form of ESP (extrasensory perception) involving perceiving or intuiting information by way of seeing auras, colors, images, or symbols via third eye sensory….”

He said that I’m a very sensitive and intuitive person, clairvoyant. I have the gift of the third eye, which explains my ability to read the cup and Tarot cards. But I keep blocking my 6th and 7th chakras. It is affecting my health and my well-being. I oppress my creative and intuitive self (the Yin, feminin) and nurture the active, rational and extrovert one (the Yang, masculin)….

I said: oh shit, and I thought I was feminist!!!

Cynicism

“The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it”

She said that I have to tone down my sarcasm and cynicism, it is passive aggressive… After all, it’s only my view and people do not have to adopt it. I’m trying to create too many (ME)…

I said: oh yeah????

Surrender

In my mind there are no boundaries, there are no limits
There are no do's and don'ts, no right and wrong
There is only an infinite flow of love and passion
I willingly surrender to the light in my heart,
and I bathe in your divine scent

Lioness

I just came back from London this morning, we had the skills week at school. The first day was pathetic, so I dodged school and wandered around London in the rain, with my summer cloths and high heels. Not ideal but hey, it was better than sitting in a classroom listening to a bozo headhunter trying to convince me that his company is the best thing after sliced bread!!!

Anyway, the next day was way more interesting, we had a “consultative selling” workshop, whatever that means. The instructor was not an LBS professor, but a professional career coach, who interesting enough, was a drama actor at a certain period of his life. He looked Jewish, sounded Jewish, acted Jewish, and his name was: David Solomon, very interesting and amiable personality.


I came in late as usual. David had divided the class of eight in pairs; each was supposed to gather information about the other person and to try selling them to the rest of the group. I was paired with Jassem. Since I was late, we didn’t have much time to dig into each others properly but we kinda knew each others enough. So Jassem asked me: if you were born an animal, which one would it be? I didn’t want to answer this question but listening to the rest of the class, we had to mention an animal. Jassem choose the whale or the shark, the reason was that he was on the top of the food chain.

I got embarrassed by this question, as a kid I always identified myself with the black panther: extremely beautiful, strong, independent, different and doesn’t bother to fit with others…
But when Jassem asked me the question, I only had the lioness in mind.

I was embarrassed because I didn’t want to look neither arrogant nor submissive comparing myself to a lioness. A few months back, over a few bottles of vodka Ahmad, Abdulwahab and I started categorizing the class members’ relationship styles into lions, hyenas and frogs. Lions are the dominant men and the Lionesses are the submissive women. Hyenas are the submissive men and dominant women. As for the frogs, they were the faggots! The boys agreed that I was a hyena. They thought that I was dominant and controlling. They said it with genuine pride and admiration and it sounded like a compliment….The only other girl then in this unforgettable New Asia evening was the 25 year old Jane; she was upset because the guys classified her as a lioness and she wanted to be a hyena…

Back to the “selling your partner” exercise, Jassem was perplexed and asked me: “why a lioness???”

I answered: “because she does the job. A lioness is a provider, she cares for her family and doesn’t mind being in the shadow, she’s strong and protective, she’s the hunter in the pride, she’s a doer and this is who I am”

Abdulwahab nodded his face, when Jassem declared to the class that I would be a lioness, I knew he was laughing, I laughed as well. To keep shocking people is what I do the best.

Nuit Blanche

I had the best coffee in town yesterday; it was very good, really. It was strong, rich, beautiful aroma, sexy color…in short, everything you would want in a coffee! It was so good that it kept me up all night.
I don’t remember the last time I was kept up all night; very few events or people have this power over me. I usually go into sleep before my head reaches my pillow…
Barbera Café's Napolitana cappuccino had the privilege of keeping me up yesterday. Sleeplessness is such a spiritual experience for me...

I rarely suffer insomnia; the first couple of times I got it, it was an absolute nightmare, I panicked: I tried to force myself to go to sleep and I became paranoid about getting to work or to school in the morning, it was real hell. So, with time, I learned not to fight with my body orders. I’m blessed with high tolerance to pain, but when my body gives me serious signals, I obey; I don’t suffer much, but I simply obey. He’s got his own agenda, his own clock, and I have no interest opposing it: If I get a serious back pain, I stay in bed. If insomnia strikes, I embrace it and I may as well enjoy it.
So the past two days my body was getting back at me: kept me in bed the whole weekend and when I indulged in delightful coffee, kept me up the whole night. I tried to distract myself: I read a book, but it was too serious and violent (The Art of War), so I stopped. I watched TV, but for a cosmic reason, I only have Lebanese channels: it cannot get any more stupid, no it can’t. I turned it off.
I knew it’s gonna be a “nuit blanche” (sleepless night) so I thought I gotta keep myself busy and enjoy the fleeting sense of helplessness I get when I’m sick or insomniac. I ran into my books. Who else can rescue me in such a case?
My next book to read is “The Book Thief” a 2006 best-selling novel by Markus Zusak, but it was too big for me to hold. I flipped through my new collection of Arabic books: I recently decided to make peace with Arabic readings. I had a small project for an Arabic publishing house, and the curious little me couldn’t be possibly advising a publishing house on their marketing strategy without knowing exactly what they’re selling! So I read the books, two of them, the ones I was working on “ Molouk al Rimal” (Kings of Sand) and “Malaekat Al Janoub” (Angels of the South). I was pleasantly surprised by their quality and decided to take my assignment a bit further, I decided to conciliate with Arabic writers and check what’s in the market for the Arabic literature, where are we at?! I long thought that the Arabic language and literature died with Naguib Mahfouz, the last respectful writer. I was especially repulsed by the weakness of Ahlam Mustaganmi’s latest book “3Abir Sareer” (Passer by a bed) and I thought that’s it! No more Arabic readings for me! Even my favorite writer is so commercial and sucks!
Anyway, I decided to check what’s on the book shelves in the libraries during my last visit to Lebanon; I bought a few: two for Alwia Soboh, “Ismouhou el Gharam”, (His name is Passion) her latest book, and “Mariam Al Hakaya”(Stories of Mariam). They were disappointing….
I still have a few Arabic books that I didn’t scrutinize, so yesterday during my out of sleep experience I decided to surrender to them. I looked at my Arabic section: the new books did not beckon at me. I looked at the old ones: Hanan El Sheikh: “Innaha London Ya 3azizi” (It’s London My Dear) oh I hate that book, it’s worse than an Egyptian movie, all Arabic novels are no better than Egyptian movies goddamit!! I never understood how Hanan el Sheikh was so famous, I looked again: Ghada Al Samman, “3ainak Qadari” (Your Eyes are my Destiny) what a cliché title!
BUT WAIT A SECOND, rewind, go back, go back:
I have two different books by two different writers: Hanan el Sheikh and Ghada El Samman, I thought they are the same one! For some reason, I thought Ghada El Samman wrote “Innaha London Ya 3azizi”, I hated the book and never accepted Ghada El Samman’s recommendation from anyone, I thought I knew what I was up to! But where did “3ainak Qadari” come from? I certainly did not buy it! It was Jiji, when she stayed with me. Jiji brought the book with her! She previously tried to convince me that Ghada el Samman was a good writer and I thought to myself what does she know! I don’t like this writer full-stop!
I had the same reaction towards Abed El Rahman Mounif, I always thought he was Ghazi Abdel Rahman El Qusaibi, and I thought to myself: he’s a good writer, I liked his books but he was ok, not the guru everybody talks about, he was merely ok, commercial easy read no more, if this is whom everybody praises then we have a problem here, a serious problem. I didn’t read “Moudon el Mili7” (Cities of Salt) but how could it be better than “sab3a” (seven)? I can tell when a writer reaches his potential, and the author of “Sa3a” didn’t have much left. I was mistaken and “Moudoun El Mili7”is the next Arabic book I’m gonna read, maybe, only maybe I could redeem myself and my years of ignorance…
I opened “3ainak Qadari”, I instantly knew it was not my book, there were marks on the book and I never do that. I rarely, very rarely do that to my studying notes. I have an awful handwriting anyway...
I was charmed: the book took me by surprise; I never expected something that beautiful to come out of an author I always hated. Little I knew. The book was not a novel, it was a collection of short stories written in exactly the same way I write my stories, exactly the same way but of course much better language and much more rich. I was fascinated, I thought she must have been reincarnated in my body, but then the lady is still alive, she’s barely my dad’s age. Where is the resemblance coming from then? How come? I never read it! How come? The book is very old. It was her first book, she wrote it in 1962. I knew every word of it, I felt deep in my soul the agony of every and each one of her characters…. What is it??? Would it be possible that my mom read it when I was still in her womb?
What is it that kept me up and ritually dragged me to the enchanting feminist world of Ghada El Samman? Why was I moved to the core?
Was it Jiji’s marks that made me feel her fatalistic agony with love and defeat? This woman has moved me to the bone more than I ever imagined she would.
Was it because I was high on pain and insomnia?
Was it my dad who would be hospitalized tomorrow and I have to repeat to myself, it’s a regular check up, it’s a regular check up it’s a regular check up, while the Coranic verse “Rabbi ir7amhouma kama rabbayani saghira”(God bless my parents because they raised me when I was a kid) goes on and on and on in the back of my mind.
What is it? The job hunt that I’m gonna embark on next month with Genny? Well, my career is taking shape, I’m done with thinking and I’m now into acting. That’s the purpose of my studies, I paid for it, I gotta do it.
Or was it the fact that I discovered that almost fifty years back a twenty years old rebellion felt and said all that I feel and I want to say. I was relieved, that someone out there speaks my language.

What is this sense of serenity that I’m bathing in? What is it?

Thank you Ghada El Samman for letting me discover you on a magical night.
Thank you Khaled for the lovely coffee; your magic potion took me into a charming journey that I feed on.

boredom

I was having a light discussion with friends today after iftar when the topic of boredom came up: I said that I never feel bored, I always have something to do or to think about. So my friend asked me: do you think a lot?

Pause.

-Do I think a lot? Hummm, do I think a lot...
- I mean do you always think about work, even when you leave the office?

I didn't know what to answer, when at work, I think about work and other stuff, and since the work load is a bit light I took a couple of freelancing projects that keep me busy, I also manage my MBA while at work, and I plan my vacations. After hours I still work, isn't it what everybody in Dubai does? I own my time, so I can spend it the way I want...

Back to the question, do I think a lot??

I don't know. I do have some moments when my brain switches off and I slide into a different level of existence. Genny says this is Teta meditation and I do it naturally. Well spotted, I think I do meditate unintentionally, and I guess it runs in the family, my dad has it.
But what makes my brain force me into this state of compulsory break? Is it the overload?

A man that I worshiped once told me that I over think and I have to get off thinking. Since I was a loyal subject, I took his advice religiously...
I don't know if I eventually got off thinking or am I still on the analytical roller-coaster, what I know for sure is I stopped worshiping, I stopped worshiping god, I stopped family and I stopped worshiping him.

I now enjoy the tantalizing concept of perfection, I enjoy beauty and I enjoy men.

Ramadan Kareem

نسيان دوت كوم

جاهدة وهبي تغني نسيان أحلام مستغانمي: موسيقى ركيكة وأداء مصطنع

بس الحق يقال الكتاب نسيان(كم) حلو:خفيف نضيف مجهز للإستهلاك السريع وموجه للنساء من عمر ال25 وما فوق وبيعانو من خيبات الحب ونكبة الذكريات

أشعار رقيقة ونصايح بالحب مجنونة, دعاية رائعة لكتابها الجديد , يعني ماركتينغ غيميك خصوصا إنو " يحظر بيعه للرجال"

أنا جبت نسخة لرفقاتي البنات للتسلية فقط. أوعى حدا ياخدو عمحمل الجد

أللهم إني بلّغت

For the records

Being agnostic doesn’t make me any less of a Muslim than Woody Allen being atheist would make him less of a Jew. The fact is the way I am is the way I am. Where and to whom I was born is my reality. The way I was brought up, programmed, defined, etc... is the way it is. I cannot change it and I have no interest in doing so. Reading Anne Coulter or Michelle Malkin attacking Muslims offends me regardless of my beliefs. I would never stop criticizing Arabs and Muslims, but it’s really upsetting to face racist attacks. For some reasons it feels better if I say the same things myself; I say it with concerned bitterness, but to hear it loaded with hatred… ouch it hurts….

يناظرني خلسةً

يناظرني خلسةً ويغضّ الطرف
وأنا أدخل المطعم بكل ثقة محمّلة بحقائبي الثلاث التي تكاد تقصف ظهري ولكني أكابر وأمشي بفخر

يناظرني خلسةً ويغضّ الطرف
وأنا أكاد أتعثر بحافة المدخل, أتفاداها بخفة مصطنعة وأرفع نظري لأتأكد أن أحداً لم ير خيبتي وأكمل

يناظرني خلسةً ويغضّ الطرف
ثم يتابع كلامه مع زميله خلف البار. يتوقف, ينظر إلي ثم يكمل

عيناه أضاعت تركيزها وإذا بها تدور بفلك المكان. يلتقطها, يناظرني خلسةً ويغضّ الطرف

المكان خالٍ إلا من عاشقين استغلا ورشة مترو دبي للجوء إلى هذا الطعم المهجور

يناظرني خلسةً
وأنا أمشي بثقل وخفة بشعري المرفوع إلى الأعلى وقميصي الرسمي وحقيبة حاسوبي تصرخ: أنا امراءة عاملة

يناظرني خلسةً ويغضّ الطرف
وتنورتي تلامس الركبة وتطير مع كل خطوة ورنّة خلخالي أطرشت فرموناته فانطلقت ودوّت وأفعمت المكان

يناظرني خلسةً وزميله يسألني ماذا أريد للعشاء وأنا أمازحه علناً وأشد أوتاره خفيةً

يناظرني خلسةً وأنا أجلس قرب النافذة لأطال كتبي وأوراقي وأسترسل بالقراءة


يناظرني من وراء البار وأنا بفطرة أنثى اعتادت اللصلصة من خلف خمار أناظره بانعكاسات الزجاج

Still in the fort

Today is your birthday my love, happy birthday. Don’t ask me how I remembered it, I don’t know. All I know is that you’re always here with me, in the back of my mind and between my chin and chest; I wear you like an indispensable charm. I don’t believe in angels, but should I do so, you would be my guarding angel; my chosen one. No, not an angel, I don’t want you to guard me - although only the thought of you does protect me - you would be my god, my Greek-style god; a god that I discovered out of the blue and started worshiping ever since; a god that I took all the trouble in the world to build his temple from my own skin and ornament it with my own hair; a god that I keep burning my blood at his altar hoping that one day he will answer my prayers and look at me; my own god….

Would I ever see you again? Would my days at the fort have a happy ending like Rapunzel? Would we live happily ever after? Would I ever be released from my two kids and dying husband curse? I don’t think so, and I don’t think I even want to…

I never understood birthdays or what they symbolize. Why do we celebrate them? What’s there to be happy about? We are one year closer to our death, or should we celebrate death? Why is it my day? Every day, when I’m not in a grumpy mood is my day…. not very often but still. I think anniversaries are made to mark our failure and not to celebrate… whatever

I took Louloua to the mall yesterday to shop for her birthday bash. Nabil kept his word and we’re throwing her an amazing (hopefully) party. She’s crazy about Hanna Montana so we agreed on the theme. No hiccups like last year. Remember when she locked herself for two days in her room because I refused the “pimps and whores” theme?! For god’s sake she was 15! I’m open-minded that’s right, but my brain still did not fall out! We don’t fight as much anymore, I guess she’s growing up and getting much better at choosing her battles…

Anyway my love, I have to go. Rami is knocking on my door, I’m sure it’s money he needs, nowadays I only hear from him if he needs money… happy birthday again…

L’Homme révolté

“ L'absurde, comme le doute méthodique, a fait table rase. Il nous laisse dans l'impasse. Mais, comme le doute, il peut, en revenant sur lui, orienter une nouvelle recherche. Le raisonnement se poursuit alors de la même façon. Je crie que je ne crois à rien et que tout est absurde, mais je ne puis douter de mon cri 'et il me faut au moins croire à ma protestation. La première et la seule évidence qui me soit ainsi donnée, à l'intérieur de l'expérience absurde, est la révolte. Privé de toute science, pressé de tuer ou de consentir qu'on tue, je ne dispose que de cette évidence qui se renforce encore du déchirement où je me trouve. La révolte naît du spectacle de la déraison, devant une condition injuste et incompréhensible. Mais son élan aveugle revendique l'ordre au milieu du chaos et l'unité au cœur même de ce qui fuit et disparaît. Elle crie, elle exige, elle veut que le scandale cesse et que se fixe enfin ce qui jusqu'ici s'écrivait sans trêve sur la mer. Son souci est de transformer.” – Albert Camus, L’Homme révolté

Freefall

Living in no man’s land.... It’s like being in freefall. It is frightening and uncertain…

In no man's land there are no rules, no right or wrong, no obligations, no expectations, no comfort in some fantasy to satisfy our egos, or to make our experience a bit more orderly….

A wise man once said that people invented GOD out of the inability to live in a world that is confusing.... Still in the comfort of the knowledge of GOD, the world remains crazy.

So here we are as a human race still afraid, still confused and unable to act because we have the added burden, after so many centuries of taming, the blinding idea of GOD.

Could we be there just to be there? Without labels? Without categories? Without making any sense? Could we live...in no man’s land?

جلال الدين الرومي

ولقد شهدت جماله في ذاتي
لما صفت وتصقلت مرآتي
وتزينت بجماله وجلاله
وكماله ووصاله خلواتي
أنواره قد أوقدت مصباحي
فتلألأت من ضوئه مشكاتي

Rodenticides

I have one word of advice for the Israelis: Rat Poison.

There is a new generation of pest control chemicals that are so toxic that resistance is unknown.
Why waste money on expensive war against Palestinians? Rodenticides are very cost effective and provoke much less resistance and collateral damage. You can eradicate Palestinians without negatively affecting the people of Israel.

Purebred naturally evolved Israelis are threatened with extinction through the process of genetic pollution i.e. uncontrolled hybridization and genetic swamping which lead to replacement of local genotypes(more than 5000 years old) as a result of numerical advantage of Palestinians.

Palestinians are malicious species:

• They are active, both on the surface and underground. They can dig well, all the way to Egypt and often excavate extensive burrow system. A new study found Palestinian to possess metacognition, a mental ability previously only found in Israelis and some human.
• They play fight: jumping chasing, tumbling and boxing.
  
• They are capable of producing different types of vocalizations and visualizations to elicit and direct human search behavior (they cry, shout, mourn, bleed, and die in front of cameras, all kind of audio visual pollutions…)
• They are true omnivore; they consume almost anything, from rocks to grass and the in betweens.
• They breed throughout the year if conditions are suitable (like no electricity). Their gestation period is seven months and litters can number up to 14 although eight is common.
• They carry and spread diseases including will, defiance and dignity.
  
  Looking back in time, we can see that the first Palestinians did not reach Israel before 1948 and soon after, many countries launched Palestinian control programs that include quarantining, shooting and bulldozing them, burning down and blowing up Palestinian infested habitat…etc. The efforts are backed by legislations that require every Arab and every Arab government to destroy and prevent the establishment of a Palestinian colony.
  
  From an economic perspective, cost from invasive Palestinians can be separated into direct cost through land loss and management cost. Estimated damage and control cost of the recent Gaza attack alone amount to more than USD 631M. In addition to these costs, economic losses can occur through loss of international confidence, loss of potential direct business with petro-dollar rich Arab states, and branding and PR expenses to shine the image of the state of Israel. If monetary value could be assigned to the above mentioned, costs form impact of Palestinians would drastically increase.
  
  Israel has already exhausted the efforts of natural Palestinian control. They eliminated their food source, removed their potential homes, excluded them from their land, used catch and release traps and included natural Palestinian predator at their border (Egypt).
  Nothing is working; no modification to the natural habitat seems to prevent new populations of Palestinians from recolonizing the habitat.
  
  My optimal solution is a combination of rodenticides: Associations of a second-generation anticoagulant with an antibiotic and/or vitamin D are considered to be effective even against most resistant strains of rodents and can do the job at fairly reasonable cost. Go figure!