…… و لكن

He knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with him when he realised that every thing is as good as lighting up a cigarette. and spoken words usually are nothing but noise.

that put him in the corner, you see the problem was he could not say what is the definition of “Fundamentally Wrong”, other than it is not the norm as it is not what other people feel like he can not tell what is “Fundamentally Wrong”. in other words it is a matter of statistics to him and that made him think that he has to do something about it ..

he always likes to say ” i am a blind man driving a car in the middle a desert of Asphalt, lost all hope in anything sensible (including understanding the meaning of sensible) and only wish to have an accident”

when she came into his life, I thought that she was the accident he waited for and teased him with my findings but he replied that I was foolish, he actually said that when she told him that she wanted him badly he was imagining Nina Simon having a shower and singing

So you just do what you gotta do
My wild sweet love
Though it may mean that I’ll never kiss
Those sweet lips again
Pay that no mind
Find that dappled dream of yours
Come on back and see me when you can

but Nina Simon was wrong it was never sweet and it felt like lighting up a cigarette, i asked him if he ever went through something with considering its ending before starting it and when he replied asking if that was wrong i did not have much to say

many times I caught him talking to him self, after a while I asked him if he is aware of that and he said that he was aware of it and that I interrupted an interesting conversation with himself to say nothing of importance, I did what any decent person would do, I apologized to both of them and left.

once he said that he can see the hat of Tom Waits poping up of the bath tub every now and then and one day Tom will be brave enough to come out of the tub, tell him that Leonard Cohen is a wanker and they would do friends stuff together.

she finally left him, and I honestly do not blame her I actually think she stayed that long just to prove something to herself like when silly people build the highest tower just to prove that their penises is not that small. When she told him she was leaving all he did was looking to shower and laughed at it then he lighted up a cigarette, at least that what she told me later

although I did what was required from a decently social person to comfort another, I honestly could not care less about her at that moment, all what I wanted to know was what he was laughing in the shower, did Tom Waits come out of the tub and if so what did they do?

I was born under a wanderin’ star
I was born under a wanderin’ star
Wheels are made for rolling, mules are made to pack
I’ve never seen a sight that didn’t look better looking back
I was born under a wanderin’ star

Mud can make you prisoner and the plains can bake you dry
Snow can burn your eyes, but only people make you cry
Home is made for coming from, for dreams of going to
Which with any luck will never come true
I was born under a wanderin’ star
I was born under a wanderin’ star

Do I know where hell is, hell is in hello
Heaven is goodbye, forever its time for me to go
I was born under a wanderin’ star
A wandrin’ wanderin’ star

When I get to heaven, tie me to a tree
For I’ll begin to roam and soon you’ll know where I will be
I was born under a wanderin’ star
A wandrin’ wanderin’ star

sometimes I think we forgot to extinct.. we simply forgot, like when I forgot to go to my dentist.

I am at work at the moment, may be later I will write a post about that, it can be titled something like that.. the species that mistook it’s extinction for a hat*

*The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat

“…the Gods are grumpy but Biri feels light today, Biri has a golden sense of humour and the gods do not get that .. “**

I am late, I am always late and if I die one day I am afraid I will be blamed for dying on the wrong day or in bad time .. but thats is a topic for another day today I am hoping to write about Kolena Laila or Lolita as I secretly call it

I must admit writing about Lolita today might be a bad idea as i am in sort of a very odd mood these days

Kolena Laila is an online initiative to encourage dialogues focused on Gender issues, a dialogue  by the entire society in the Arab world. The initiative has started in Egypt and now it is spreading out. What i like about Kolena laila is the fact that it is an organic entity that evolves with time and changes as new members (new ideas and new blood) join in and in all that I had the pleasure to be part of this entity and did my very small part  although I was always late for my deadline

Kolena Laila , the way I see it,  is not exactly a point of view that tries to prove itself in the society but it is simply a group of people who agree on the necessity of opening the gender related issues to a debate, those people who have completely different views and back ground believe that a social development must come from within the society and i believe it is a very healthy phenomena and a very good culture to have, I hope in the future many other problems (and there are too many to count) such as the gender question in the Arab World can learn from Kolena Laila experiment

saying that, this is only my way of seeing it others in the initiative might see it differently

to know what Kolena laila is and how to help or to oppose it please do click on the image and visit the website, it is available in both English and in Arabic.

*Lolita a controversial Novel by Vladimir Nabokov .. worth reading !!!

** a line from Hussein Barghouti’s  novel “Blue Light” , one of those unknown holy books

I am on a weird medication at the moment; I am taking something that helps me to stop smoking like a coal train. One of the side effects is up-normal dreams, when I read the warning i was wondering how can a dream be normal let alone up-normal  but my question was answered soon enough when I started having those up-normal dreams.

If I try to make out the differences between my “normal dreams” and “up-normal dreams” it would be a list like this:

First, I remember my dreams in details, or so I think.

Second, I started to know that I am dreaming not just that, I can change the dream (part of it or all of it) or stop it and wake up

Third, the Dreams are vivid, I don’t mean eventful -and some times thy are but the colours were quite clear although I am not sure about the sounds, in fact, I do not recall any sounds ( I will pay attention to that tonight).

Forth, I wake up tired

praise to be to google the all knowing god and his daughter Wikipedia the seeker of truth and the giver of light, in other words i found this link which is an article about Lucid Dreams. It sounds similar to what I am dealing with here.

After this very long and boring introduction I would like to talk about one of those dreams.

The Monk of the Desert

Like all Dreams, the point of which it has started is a mystery, unlike our “so called way of life”. We need titles for books or movies, by reading those titles and then turning over the cover page or clicking play we declare that we are engaged in some sort of activity. One can not help but to think that such declaration is pointless as it sounds to me like a man shaking his own hand.

It is not just books and Movies but everything else in our lives has that button with a triangle point to the right  (studying, career, relationships , quieting smoking, watching porn… etc etc you name it )

I like to think that only the things that really matter do not come with a play button, I can name two; Life on this planet and Dreams, as for the first, how life came to “BE” is a question that makes my hair stand, how did chemicals came together and BOOM!!  became a living Cell is something more glorious than an explanation any religion can give..

(Ahem, for those who believe in those little infinite Gods and such stuff, please don’t read Peter Pan you might get yourselves confused)

..  Life and dreams are quite the same, you can never say when or how they started but somehow you find yourself there, so much in common and with out one the other is either pointless or impossible…

.. I do apologize again for the second and even more boring introduction back the Monk and his Desert

The Monk of the Desert

as I said I do not remember how the dream started,  I do not recall there were any sounds, but what I remember is the view. two huge sand hills and in between them I can see the blue sea, no life was there, no trees nor birds even the wind was not part of this, it all seems like shopping bags someone forgot to take home and calmly left there to be ignored. It also seemed to me like the breasts of a woman.

I  was leaning on the wall of a cave that should not exist in a sand desert, I was dressed like a Franciscan Monk but with out the hood, instead i had thick silver hair and huge wooden Cross on my chest, I was reciting  Qura’n in  Aramaic ( for those who are not familiar with Islam, Qura’n must only be recited in Arabic although you can translate it’s meaning to any other language).

The cave was empty except for a rock shaped as a chair, it looked like the inside of a turtle shell, inside some of some of the hexagons there were some paintings, if I remember correctly one of them were of a naked nun . I went to sit on the chair shaped rock and faced the view out site the cave, It was then when I realised I was dreaming so I closed my eyes and I opened them in wide grey hall with many columns, I was seated on the floor and a burning candle near by.

I thought to myself this hall should be white. Then I walked to the window to see a similar view of the two sand hills and the narrow blue strip of water between them, only this time it seemed like a woman’s two legs spreading open.

I look back into the hall, which was white now and there were candles hanging from an unseen roof, in the middle the was a tree of black roses and my hands had halos like the Christian icons in old church but the halo wasn’t on my head it was around my two hands,  also my halos were red coloured.

I did like the tree of Black roses I felt close to it as if I am looking to a dear friend or to my own blood. I reached to the root with my hands , I did not touch the tree in stead I poured some red liquid, it seemed it is coming out of my body and then I said it to myself   “.. it is time to walk out, it is time to wake up” and I did.

It was around 3 AM, I went to the Kitchen and had some water then went to the window in my living room and saw this in the other side …

falling snow

Could not help but smile, no matter where I go no matter what the world around me is coloured by; it seems I will never escape the desert inside me especially those two hill facing a strip of water they look like two breasts sometimes and two spreading legs other times, there where no logic is required.

P.S. except for few details here and there all that was written here is the poor production of the blogger corrupted and awake imagination.

كم من مرة تذهب للنوم و أنت تسأل ما الذى تفعله هنا ؟

كم من مرة تستيقظ صباحا لتسأل  … و الأن ؟

كم من مرة تسأل أحقا أنا هنا !!؟

فقط لتسأل أحقا أنا  أنا ؟

ثم تصاب بالخيبة … هذه الحياة ، عزيزى المستمع، ليست متسامحة لمن يعيشون فى رؤسهم

Dear Friends,

for sometime i wanted to change the site completely, my blog will stay as it is but there will be changes in the lay out and i will create a section of some technical projects i am running at my spare time.

i am not a web desinger (not even close) so there is a good chance that i will screw things up. starting next weekend i will be working on the site till the 7th of December. during that time i will be doing some tests and experiments so if you are following my blog in reader or any other RSS way i would recommend that you unf-ollow me till the 7th od December.

also if you can recommend any reading materials or tips regarding web Design and CSS\PHP i will be greatful

Serage

الأصدقاء الأعزاء

منذ فترة و أنا أرغب بتجديد الموقع و إعادة تصميمه، المدونة ستبقي ولكني سأغير من مظهرها العام كما إني سأضيف قسم تقني للمشاريع التي أعمل عليها حالي خلال في أوقات الفراغ.

أنا لست مصمم مواقغ و خبرتي فى ذلك محدودة إن لم تكن معدومة فتمنوا لى التوفيق ،سأبدأ العمل فى عطلة نهاية الأسبوع القادمة و سأستمر حتي 7 من ديسمبر كانون الأول القادم خلال هذه الفترة سأقوم بعدد من التجارب فإن كنتم تتابعون المدونة من خلال خدمات التلقيمات المختلفة فأنا أنصح بعدم المتابعة خلال الفترة المذكورة

CSS\PHP سأكون ممتن لمن يملك أية نصائح أو يرشدني لأي مصادر معرفية تغطي

سراج

and i was not here anymore … for a moment i was lost somewhere

A clock .. how strange is a clock, Oceans of events can pass by it and all it does is tick .. tick .. tick …..

today looking from the half opened window, it was raining, a hot cup of coffee a seat and a cigarrette all there but me ….

i was ticking

ولدت في السادس من أغسطس عام 1982 وكان ذلك في الساعة الثامنة و نصف مساءا في إحدي مستشفيات ليفربول و علي حسب أرشيف البي بي سي كان يوم جمعة و كان صحوا يتخلله مطر خفيف …  و كان أيضا الذكري السابعة و الثلاثين لأنفجار هيوريشيما النووي. علمت بهيروشيما في عيدي الثاني عشر يومها علمت بأنني لا أحتفل بيوم مولدي فقط بل بالذكري التاسعة و الأربعين لأول قصف نووي في تاريخ البشري و منذ ذاك الحين زهدت في عيد مولدي… و لكن اليوم ليس للحديث عن لعنة يوم ميلادي و مهارتي في تفاديها بل للحديث عن المدعو سرجي و إختفاءه

إسمي الرسمي هو سراج الدين لو كان ذلك الإسم شخصا لكان دبلوماسي محايد من سويسرا يجلس علي طاولة مفاوضات عليها أطراف كثيرة أصواتهم عاليه … عاليه جدا و هو جالس بهدوء و يمد يده إلي حقيبته ليخرج غداءه بكل ما في البساطة من وقاحة

عندما أتذكر بعين الخيال كيف سميت، أتخيل والدي أخوالي و أعمامي و جدي و جدتي يجلسون في مضافة جدي، دامت المفاوضات دورتي شاي و جولة حلويات ثم أعلن جدي بحسم : حسنا إذا هو سراج الدين !1

قدر لي في ذلك اليوم أن أحمل إسما ثقيلا مركبا لا يصلح إلا لمن يملكون مدنا و جيوشا ليحطموا مدن أخري و أنا لا أهوى شيئا أكثر من تفرقة قلبي علي ما أمر من المدن، سقط الإسم الثقيل حتي قبل أن أعلم بوجوده ، سقط و ولدت مكانه أسماءا كثيرة، أكثر بكثير مما يجب و مما أتذكر منها : فرج ،سايو، شكارا، سمينا ، سروجا ، سروجي ،سرج ،سراج و سرجي

حتي الأن عندما يناديني أحدهم بسراج الدين أشعر ببعض الإستغراب فهذا الشئ ككلمة ذكر و كلمة ليفربول و  1982/08/06 لا يعيش سوي في الأوراق الرسمية

عندما كنت صغيرا كنت سعيدا بقدرتي علي الحركة بحرية و بخفة بين إسم و أخر سايو لم يكن فرج و فرج لا يأثر فيه ما يحدث لسمينا و شكارا و لم يكن سروجي مشغولا سوي بإستلام الثناء في حين كان يريد سروجا أن يكبر بسرعة و أما سراج فقد كان مشغولا بأسئلة المدرسين و الإذاعة المدرسية و تعليمات فني التصوير لصورة جواز السفر الأولي. الحدود كانت واضحة و التنقل من أحدهم للأخر تكلفته إغماضة العينين

ككل الحضارات و المعتقدات و المدارس الفكرية و شخصيات الكرتون و أنواع الوهم و الخيال الأخري كانت الأسماء تختفي لتظهر أخري علي حسب الحاجة أو على حسب الظروف ، بعضهم كان مرحب بإختفائهم عندما أختفوا كشكارا و سمينا و بعضهم كان إختفائهم دمويا حادا كفرج و بعضهم إختفوا بهدوء الشيخوخة القاتل كسروجا و سروجي … أتمني أن أكتب عنهم كلهم يوما و لكن اليوم الحديث عن إختفاء سرجي الذي ليس هنا ليمانع إن كتبت عن فرج سطرين

فرج كان أول الأسماء ، عندما يتحدثون عن آدم أبتسم فى سرى و أتخيل فرج .جدتي كانت من إخترعت فرج فقد كان سراج الدين خارج عن حدود الزمان و المكان بنسبة لها و يبدو أن أول ما جال بخاطرها هو فرج ، إستقر فرج في ما أتذكره من طفولتي المبكرة ، كان بالنسبة لهم إسمي و كان بالنسبة لي إسم صديق متخيل خفي ظريف كثير الحركة و كثير الإبتسام كنت أمارس معه لعبة بدت لنا شريرة وقتها، عندما ينادون سراج كان يجيب هو و لكنهم لا يسمعونه و عندما ينادونه (فرج) كنت أجيب أنا فبدا لنا في حينها إننا نحن من خدعنا الكبار فأختلط عليهم الأمر و صرت في أعينهم فرج و كان ذلك ظريفا

إختفاء فرج كان مفجعا ، لا أزال أذكر كيف دهسته تلك السيارة السوداء أمام بيتنا ..  كان ذلك في العام 1988 بعد خمسة دقائق من شرح أحد أولاد الجيران الأكبر سنا ما تعنيه كلمة (نيك) 1

حسنا يكفي !!1

فلنتحدث عن سرجي و إختفاءه ، إختفاء سرجي جعلني أفكر فى أن أكتب قصة قصيرة عنوانها “مشهد إنتحار السيد س” كان المفترض أن تكون سريالية و أن ترويها قطة و لم يكتب منها إلا عنوانها ، و أخري عن شخص يبلغ عن جريمة قتل حدثت بدون جثة و لا أداة قتل فلا يتوفر من أركان الجريمة سوي الدافع ، تبدو لي هذه القصص مع الحديث عن سرجي و إختفاءه كثلاثة أعين تصور الشئ ذاته من زوايا مختلفة ، لعلي يوما أكملهم و أنشرهم هنا

إنها الثانية صباحا و سراج لابد له من الذهاب إلى العمل خلال ساعات معدودة ، فلنتحدث عن سرجى فى وقت أخر … و من يدري لعله يعود قبل أن أفعل فلا أضطر للحديث عنه فكما تعلمون لا يحلو الحديث إلا عن من غابوا

it is almost November and i was visiting London yet another time in a space of weeks, walking down Chiswick was something. and i wonders in the season of raining trees which we call in our broken languages Autumn. how would a pigeon sees London.

now i have few stories to tell and i promised to tell Julia’s story soon and i will keep my promise and do my middle class dance as i should … after all i only aim to please

the thing about this season is that it is a season to mix up stories with reality, somehow it is like Spring the difference would be that in Spring you mix the stories with hope and daydream them, while in Autumn disappointment is usually is the secrete ingredient… you see when you mix something with hope no body calls you a lair, i do not see a Spring daydream any more honest than an Autumn story.

enough said for now and i will be back telling more