whose egoًًٌُ

بين فوضى المدينه و فوضى الخيال

2009-11-23T04:42:00.007+02:00

تخنقنى المدينة بواقعيتها الشديده
يرهقنى ايقاعها اللاهث من فرط دنيويته
لا ملاذ لى فى دروبها و أشكالها الهندسيه المنمقه
ولا سند لى فى حوائطها بزواياها القائمه
أفكارها بالية مبعثره
وجوهها خامله عابسه
حتى وجهك أنتى

فأين لى بوحىٍ أعوذ به من سطوتها
أسكن اليه و آنس به

أفتقد الخيال و يفتقد هو عبثنا معاَ
و تفتقده المدينه و لكن لا مكان له هنا
فهى تخشى أن يخل بتفاصيلها و نمطها الرتيب
وهو لا يأمن على نفسه فبها

تخنقنى المدينة بواقعيتها الشديده
و لكنى أظل عاشقاَ لها
فالخيال فوضى
و المدينه فوضى
المدبنة وحيده
ولا وحدة فى الخيال
تخنقنى بواقعيتها الشديده و وطأة وحدتها
تخنقنى
لأنى عاشق للخبال
و رغم أنى أيضاً عاشق للفوضى
و كلاهما عشقاَ لا مبرر له
و لا طائل منه

2009-11-22T16:30:00.000+02:00

We strive to be happy, but happiness keeps changing shapes and forms.
Can we keep up?

See.
I'm the bait, but i'm also the fish.....

2009-10-31T02:01:00.001+02:00

I'd like to change the design of this blog.
If you've got the skills, the time and the will to help me, reply here or email me.
Thanks.

So Lately I've Been Worrying....

2009-10-11T09:34:00.004+02:00

What if i'm in class, giving a lecture, and i spontaneously combust?
:S

Because Some Things Got A Logic You Just Can't Deny

2009-10-09T00:19:00.002+02:00

I fell in love with a windmill the size of the Eiffel tower.
Overlooking a never-ending vista of green and blue, staggering under the weight of its 10th century heritage and hemmed between the cogs of the modern world, the beautiful structure soaring in the Persian sky was the perfect portrait of dignity, modest pride and imposing status.
"I have come to sit with you. I have come to ride your sails.", i told her when i first made her encounter, "I have come to talk."

I fell in love with the epitaph of a dead paroquet.
It was planted in a neglected corner in the east side of a pet cemetery in South Norwalk, Connecticut.
A one piece matt black marble stone of uneven random sides and sharp menacing corners rising up two or three feet high.
Very basic, very simple.
Very very dead.
Mud was hardened in the depth of the folds and creases of its rugged untreated surface.
Shrubs and weeds were bursting in defiance at its base.
"Only in death do we learn how to grow", it read.

I fell in love with a wizard's wand.
It caught my eye on a dusty stand in the Marché aux puces of Saint-Ouen, in the northern suburbs of Paris. It was a twelve inches long hazel branch adorned with beautiful lustrous beads of ivory, quartz and mica. The Latin inscriptions on its base only added to its charm and mystery.
I inquired with the family that owned it but they knew nothing about its history. I paid the twenty they asked for. I had no heart to bargain.
I offered it to my nephew on his birthday.
He examined it carefully and finally instructed me to be "super careful" around it.
He had reasons to believe it might be the rod of Moses.

I fell in love with my Grandma's handmade wooden dollhouse.
Its meticulous craft and mystic beauty had always left me in awe every time i paid it a visit.
It was three stories high of 1:12 scale with a hinged fancy front facade that opens to reveal the rooms.
My niece and nephew were not allowed anywhere near it, not because of safety concerns for them but rather for the dollhouse.
The house had only one inhabitant: La Petite Princesse.
She had been laying in her bed for as long as i can remember.
She seemed so frail and unyielding in her ragged golden dress and her make-belief world, too ripe for her young demeanor.
Her unaging body spoke of an infinite truth, mortals like myself could never fathom.
I found something was quite unsettling about the eerie resemblance between Grandma and La Petite Princesse and the dreadful staleness of both their lives.
I once inquired with Grandma, a lonely widow, about the other residents of the house.
She only replied with a sigh.

I fell in love with the wedding photo of my parents.
It's in sepia tone on once-shiny thick Kodac paper and dates back to 1978.
They smiled big and held hands.
They looked beautiful but they did not look perfect or whole or overly jubilant or merry.
There was something intriguing about their posture, the look in their eyes, the glow on the their faces and even about the air around them.
It was as if each one of them had synchronized his mere being to the other's.
You could easily tell they had developed a mutual affinity to happiness, to love, to life.
They seemed reasonably joyful and content.
Not too much.
Not too little.
A state of affairs they had successfully managed to maintain throughout their 31 years of marriage, with all its tides and ebbs.

..................... to be continued, maybe!

2009-09-05T07:45:00.001+02:00

I wanna make movies.............

و قال على رأى المثل

2009-08-06T18:32:00.001+03:00

يا مستنى السمنه من ورك النمله
عمرك ما هتعمل تقليه .............

2009-08-03T03:38:00.003+03:00

بيردى نم نم
بيردى نم نم

مِوَنوِن

طبيعى

2009-07-12T02:22:00.007+03:00

These people in my life.
These characters.
They breed in my lonely needy mind, and from my soul i grant them being.
They're my unventured grounds, my limitless possibilities.
My rise and my demise.

They're exactly what i make out of them.
I'm exactly what they make out of me.
And we count on each other to keep this delicate balance at check.
Take just one out of the equation and both our respective worlds would come tumbling down.
Cripples, we are.

I hold their hands in parks and funerals and football games.
We make eye contact.
We sweat and we bleed together.
But it's all make-belief.
They're not really here.
They're not really happening.
Nor am i to them.....

Think.

I'm not God, but i'm feeling very mischievous tonight!

2009-07-09T05:44:00.007+03:00

the man in the jar

talks so wise

has no eyes

thus tells no lies

alone on a shelf

fits in your fist

but he's no elf

you can't hurt him

you can't mar

the man in the jar

Fib

2009-06-02T04:00:00.003+03:00

I follow her through every door, every life.
I watch her play with great gusto, try with great might, love with great ardor.
I would fain observe her for hours.
I watch her live and i take my time, for my world is one she seldom visits.

Mind The Loophole

2009-04-10T20:32:00.001+02:00

Big Dreams Are Made Of This

2009-04-10T20:31:00.001+02:00

Social Virtue

2009-04-08T20:11:00.001+02:00

dark Star

2009-04-08T20:04:00.001+02:00

seriously. I DON’T!

2009-04-08T19:12:00.001+02:00

Outcast

2009-04-06T23:11:00.002+02:00

Party Hats Are Evil

2009-04-06T23:08:00.001+02:00

Stupid Cupid

2009-04-06T20:15:00.001+02:00

Now You Know

2009-04-06T03:53:00.001+02:00

Doing Fine

2009-04-02T04:47:00.004+02:00

I've reached out for you.
I hear you're doing fine.
They say you're still chasing your life.
They say you're still trying.
They say you're doing fine.

When i watch you from a distance, i'm still amazed at your shapes and your forms.
At the light that hugs your wasted silhouette.
Your same wasted silhouette.
But i had learned, by experience and by mistake, that a pattern doesn't always carry a promise.
So i watch silently, religiously, from the shades.
I poke at the darkness with diligent eyes, and just a tad of wry amusement to be quite honest.
I try to tamper with the space that separates us.
But as the dawn ushers in a new day, in my world it's still yesterday, and the day before.
So i watch quietly, piously, with my diligent eyes and my wry amusement.
I watch you making patterns while you're doing fine.
And i take photographs of the ordinary.

What's Your Worth?

2009-01-17T22:45:00.001+02:00

2008-12-22T21:55:00.003+02:00

"Life is sweetest before the feelings are awake, before one learns to know about joy and pain." - Sophocles

أو أو أو ......... أوباما

2008-11-05T13:31:00.002+02:00

اخترناك ........... اخترناك

أبضن اعلان فى التاريخ

2008-10-28T03:10:00.002+02:00