Dear Narcissus Boy

Narcissus was a youth that knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the Narcissus.

But this is not how the author of the story ended it…

The author goes on to say that when Narcissus dies, the goddess of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.

"Why do you weep?" the goddess asked.

"I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.

"Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand."

"But… was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked.

"Who better than you to know that?" the goddesses said in wonder. "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!"

The lake was silent for some time. Finally it said:

"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."

~ Quoted from Paulo Coelho

And so, dear Narcissus, I hope you understand..

La Gitane

أحتاجُ أن أبكي
نعم!
أنا البنتُ
التي تخلطُ في الشوارعِ
وتخطئُ في العدِّ والحسابْ
البنتُ التي تضحكُ طيلةَ الوقتْ
وتبتلعُ ابتساماتِ المارّة
حين لا تعرفُ أسخريةٌ
أم إشفاقْ
تحملُ قِطّتَها فوق صدرِها
تجوبُ طرقاتِ البلدةِ بجلبابِها الرثِّ وشعرها المنفوش
ومن جيبِها الممزوق
يسقطُ قشرُ الفول
وكِسَرُ خبزٍ جافْ
أسنانُها سقطتْ من فرط الضحكْ
فابتلعَتها
لأنْ ليس لها أمٌّ علّمتها طقسَ الشمسْ
"يا شمس يا شموسة..."
ولأن عجوزًا تجلس عند باب الخَلْق
علّمتها أن ابتلاعَ الضِّرس
يُنبتُ غيرَه
لهذا لم تتخلص من الكِسَرِ اليابسة
وأجّلتْ قرضَ أظفارِها الصفراءِ
انتظارًا لموسمِ الأسنانْ.
وحيدةٌ متوحّدةٌ
لا أهلَ لها
لا أصدقاءْ
وأخفقَ الناسُ في حبِّها
تغنّي
رغم اللثغةِ
ورغم انعدام السِّين والشِّين والثَّاء والصَّاد
صَلَبَها رجلٌ على ساقيةِ البلدة
واستولدها طفلةً
أطعمتْها من خبزِها الناشف
فماتتْ
لا أهلَ لها ولماذا الناسُ يخفقون في حبِّها؟
فكّرَتْ في الأخير أن تبكي
نعم
عبيطةُ القريةِ تحتاجُ الآن أن تبكي
على كتفِكَ أنتْ
أنتَ الذي لا ينهرُها
حين تخطئُ في عدِّ أصابعِها
ولا يتلصّصُ على فخذِها
حين ينحسرُ الثوبُ
أمام وهج الفرن

عبيطة القرية - فاطمة ناعوت

enfelat amni

Every single time I am coming back from Maadi at night in a cab, I am scared like crazy.

Letters to Dead Men

لا شك أنني أحتاج عاماً من الهلوسة ولابد أن أقول لأبي إن الرجل الوحيد الذي فتتني من الرغبة فيه كان يشبهه تماماً

وأن أخبر أصدقائي: عندي صور مكتملة لوجهي، كلها حقيقي، وكلها يخصني، وسأوزعها عليكم تباعاً

لابد أن أقول لحبيبي: أشكر خياناتي المباركة، لولاها.. ما انتظرت كل هذا الوقت لأكتشف فضاء استثنائياً في ضحكتك أما بالنسبة لي، فأكاد أجزم أنني أفضح نفسي لأختبئ وراءها
- إيمان مرسال

Dear Man-

I miss your stories.. both real and made-up.. mostly made-up, mostly real.

I seek you -or little parts of you- in others.

I do not need lecturing about my daddy issues. The daddy issue is a daddy issue, and is deceased. But the other is only dead in soul.

I do not need lecturing about letting go.

Also, free falling is not for me.

The borders get blurred and all (both? all?) men merge into one. And he is dead. And you are dead.

And I walk.

some Neruda love

L.A.M.E

my lame-o-meter has become very sensitive lately.. almost everything and everyone is lame most of the time, including myself..

I wrote many words and deleted them, no point.. Even the posts I share are lame.

Double Standards

I didn’t really get it today when he looked at me and said some comment about how R’s appearance have changed.. I didn’t actually get whether the question/comment was satirical or real (because I don’t really see her changed that much).. So I nodded and mumbled in agreement and decided to let it pass.. but later in the coffee break I reflected on it when I saw them standing and joking together, and I understood (or so I think). It just takes me by surprise every time how appearances can deceive a person (both me about him, and him about R).

I always used to get pissed off by his double standards. My first recalled memory of that was our discussion about kissing hellos. I don’t see it an issue (to kiss or not to kiss the other gender hello), but I respect the norms of the society on this matter. He didn’t, and thought that it is weird that people as close as we are (were?) would refrain from doing it just because “someone might say something”. I remember telling him that in his so-called freedom lies the worst judgment of all: that people who are different, who reject this, are prudes! I remember telling him he’s an extremist in his liberalism..

I have double standards worse than anyone. But I don’t deny them.. I have actually told my friend recently that one would think that my experiences have changed me, taught me a lesson and made me wiser re judging people, and they have but I still judge. I just do it with more awareness now, premeditated judgment! And I know that I am judged too, so yeah whatever.

And why on earth did Edith Piaf start playing now?! Non, rien de rien.. non, je ne regrette rien..

on muses, by a man.

muses don't do housekeeping
they don't raise children
they don't argue over financials
and don't want to change the color of the dining room
muses recite poems
and care about their beauty
and the happiness of the partner
ONLY
and this is exactly why
muses cannot be wives
***************************

Men can be such brainless romantics sometimes! :)
Why do we really have to choose?

ما يحكمشي

Dear Picasso: You Lied.

Mon cher Picasso-

Quand j'ai confié mes peurs, tu as tenu ma main et m'a regardé dans les yeux et m'a menti.

Tu m'as écrit un message dans une bouteille, mais -comme d'habitude- tes mots appartiennent à des profondeurs de la mer.


Merci, pas pour moi.

Gros bisous,
Moi.

Abandoned Masquerade

The glitter on a paint and plaster face
Is covering desire and disgrace
We could be lovers
But no one suspects at all
Once you're inside that costume ball
And now I'm sitting here before the mirror
I have the skill still to disguise my tears
Then as the magic starts to fade
I find myself abandoning the masquerade

Even though you're suffering
You try to hide it
And pretend you're so nonchalant
You can cry a pool of tears
And sit beside it
Then perhaps you'll know what you want

I hope you never feel this much despair
Or know the meaning of that empty chair
As the illusions that we made all fade away
In this abandoned masquerade

Of Cats and Me

When cats like a person, since they cannot speak, the only way they can express it is through "gifts"... They could bring you a cockroach they caught, or some toy mouse, or -in the case of a friend of mine- a real baby mouse, from outside into your own home, as a token of love and appreciation. They will present it to you with a look of pride, as in "look what I caught for you", and wait to be praised by you... The hunter in them never goes away with being domesticated...

I tend to do the same.. What I cannot express with words (for whatever reason), I would bring to your doorstep in the form of goodies and treats, a chocolate, a cookie, a random book I want you to have, a small piece of ambre I thought smelled nice, random post-its..

I am more like cats than humans and proud of it.. At least we display our affection and we're true about it.

Stupid..

I don't mind you know.. The distance, the dryness, the aloofness.. I really don't.
It does hurt a little but, eventually, everything fades. I might even re-read this and forget what I meant or how I felt.

I know that in the grand scheme of events this will be nothing..

Just don't make me feel stupid. This I do mind.

Reality Sucks...

I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.

~ Anaïs Nin

and to answer an old question:
Are we factually as daring as we “literary” are?
Are we all seeking ecstasy – quasi masturbating – with liberating literature or art, and disregarding – whether consciously or dreamingly – our limitations in reaching “neverland”?

I did, you did, we did.. We dreamt of neverland, and we started creating it. But reality is harsh, and it turned a dreamy neverland into a castle of ashes, another form of shackling reality.. So we were escaping from one cage into another, with the illusion of escape... We promised to float, "etre en mer", but we were weights pulling each other down to drown..

Oh well, reality sucks.. sucks the life out.

my friend

sometimes the smallest things, such as wearing matching Converses, is a reassurance.

I miss who we used to be :)

Tired of Small Talk

Apathy

Apathy (also called impassivity or perfunctoriness) is a state of indifference, or the suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivation and passion. An apathetic individual has an absence of interest in or concern about emotional, social, or physical life. He or she may exhibit an insensibility or sluggishness, also. The opposite of apathy is flow. In positive psychology, apathy is described as a response to an easy challenge for which the subject has matched skills.


To be continued..

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يفهم_ قال لي_ إنّ الوطن

أن أحتسي قهوة أمي

أن أعود في المساء..

سألته: و الأرض؟

قال: لا أعرفها

و لا أحس أنها جلدي و نبضي

مثلما يقال في القصائد

و فجأة، رأيتها

كما أرى الحانوت..و الشارع.. و الجرائد

سألته: تحبها

أجاب: حبي نزهة قصيرة

أو كأس خمر.. أو مغامرة

_من أجلها تموت ؟

_كلا!

و كل ما يربطني بالأرض من أواصر

مقالة نارية.. محاضرة!

قد علّموني أن أحب حبّها

و لم أحس أن قلبها قلبي،

و لم أشم العشب، و الجذور، و الغصون..

_و كيف كان حبّها

يلسع كالشموس ..كالحنين؟

~ محمود درويش، جندي يحلم بالزنابق البيضاء ~

(excerpt)

c'est secret, lui dites pas que j'vous l'ai dit

On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous

Qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout

Parais qu'le bonheur est à portée de main,

Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou

Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore,

C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore.

Serais ce possible alors?

uncertainty..

So, Carpe Diem or Memento Mori?
I'm sorry, I have no answer to that one.
I only know that Vita Brevis.
Il y a les vivants, et ceux qui sont en mer.
Je suis en mer. I'm a son of uncertainty.