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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
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Tapping at my chamber door

In 2008, I'll Get Me A Shotgun

I will also:
2. Get closer to
Job hunt some more.
4. Get closer to my
5. Learn a new language.
Finish at least one screenplay.
Lose the extra weight.
8. Get a
driver's license. I will not buy a car.
9. I will
rule my world.
10. I will have my

Sunday, September 23, 2007

The 100% Destiny draft

Find it at Ya Mogheeth.

اللهم أغثنا من شرور أنفسنا

Friday, September 21, 2007

Dry throat tingling

I got out of bed, grabbed the keyboard and typed endlessly, trying to hold on to a single promise that I’ve made to myself. I usually know how to keep major life & death promises and when to discard the rest. The number of things that I’ve promised my family, God, and myself go way beyond reason.

Rule #1: Set a reasonable target.
At work, I set my own targets. I don’t care what my superiors think. I do what I say and I accomplish what I pursue. Off site, however… well, let’s just say that some things aren’t really that easy to measure against an invisible benchmark.

I usually keep my word on things that matter to others. I’m a person who prefers to do a nice thing rather than pay a useless compliment. I don’t believe in words. Vowels do not make a difference. I never compliment. Surprisingly, I realized that I prefer apologizes over thank yous. Maybe that’s why I was never successful at relationships. I never said ‘I love you’; and it wasn’t because I’m a player or anything. I’d like to think that it’s because I never wanted to cross the line between getting to know one another until an official proposal and the otherwise. But then again a little voice inside my head keeps telling me that I never said it because I was too afraid of what’ll happen next. I’ve always been fine by myself. Why change it?

I know that now I know why… but still. I am fine. A detail Nazi correlated within his own existence.

Honesty is one of my ugly habits.

I promised myself to complete my first screenplay by April 2007. I’m not even halfway there. I go into too many details until I completely lose it. I promised myself to learn how to forget, but the stack has piled up real high that I can’t see past it anymore. How can you live with a blank memory? It isn’t exactly a computer memory that you can actually reboot and start over. The ability to regenerate; reincarnation…

Some philosopher once woke out of a dream and wondered whether he was actually dreaming of being a butterfly or whether he is actually the butterfly now asleep, dreaming of being a man. That’s cheap blow talking if you ask me.

All things being highlighted in shiny yellow marker, I lost the ability to trust myself.
Yes. I do have trust issues. I make and let go of friends ‘round the clock. Discarding people is easy. It’s like seeking unsaid revenge against those who have left me melting behind.

Hush, hush. The clock is ticking and the people I’ve slain along the way are left guessing.

Am I a guilt addict? Do I actually enjoy soaking in this very long session of self definition?

A person’s darkest hour resembles the time spent with someone with the wrong intention. ‘What’s in it for me?’ is the right universal question, O Prince of Denmark.

From the words of an ex-prisoner who spent half his stretch in solitary confinement. ‘Better spend eternity in the hole with my demons than spend ten years with a cell mate whose sole passion is to rape me blind’.

Got good news however. This should be the second last stage of my complete recovery.
I shalt bore thee no more.

Why do we pull out old weed only to free space in order to grow new ones? Aren’t we all a bunch of ugly habits disguised in flesh and bones?

The truth is sometimes it feels like walking under water. Everything’s got a cold shade of blue and all voices are dubbed to fit an audience that doesn’t give a damn. I am more and more losing interest in what others have to say.
It’s very quiet down here; just me and my voices roaming around as free urchins of the blue.

My problem is that I expect too much out of my surroundings. Being a perfectionist urges a person to look into details and flaws. You face them proudly and change them if the price tag reads ‘Reasonable’.

I won’t blame you, ruler of my Oblivia. A man shouldn’t search for blame for what he grows in his own backyard.
I’ll embrace them, my skeletons, in hope that when my time is due they will leave me.

What do I want? All I want is a big wave to swift me out of the open water and teach how to surf against all odds.
I dread what lurks underneath. I am certain, however, that I will be standing when the wind blows my prince’s tunes.

Shackle me up, old mate, for I am the cell that blocks you out from the rest of the world.

The hat’s over the wall now and I’m rolling down my windshield.
Bring it on.

Saturday, September 15, 2007


Since I am a big fan of observation (classier word for staring), I have realized that it’s easier for me to impress older women than younger ones. I don’t know if it’s the mindset difference or just my bar raised a bit higher than “what fits”, but it just happens to just happen.

Here’s what I think. The younger ones are full of shit. I bet I was one too when I was younger… just didn’t see it.

It’s exactly like a car accident.

You don’t realize that you’ve matured until you’ve already made the wrong decision.

Maybe it’s the fact that older women have already been hurt by what they think was best for them that they tend to look for the illusion of stability of the mind in men.

Maybe it’s the fact that I tend to disregard music, fashion, and the whole nine yards of delayed teenage bullshit that our culture’s majestically bestowed upon us with all its nonsense.

It’s probably the same reason why wearing Reebok slippers was “against store policy” in 1996 when it was already a trend on its way down abroad. The same reason why Michael Jackson only came to Egypt in the nineties and why Egyptians only liked Clinton when he left the office.

We are slow.

We prefer to keep the irrational mindset of teenage garbage way into our thirties.

We, we, & we. I, I, and myself. Where your worst habit may be biting your fingernails or smoking, mine must be speaking as if I know it all. It’s been a habit of mine ever since I learned how to think for my own. I don’t read a lot, not the way I used to. I like to analyze things though.

I used to be such a great listener. I could listen to people for hours. I actually used to care about what they had to say. It was as if the world’s ended and we’re the last two people on the planet with nothing else to do but share voices that meant something.

I don’t listen anymore. I nod. I’ve become a great nodder. The illusion of being intrigued has become a skill that I devote to the ranting of others. When they talk, I don’t even hear static; just a big blank to be filled later by my good friend advice. I don’t even drift elsewhere. I’m right there, but my mind’s dozed off to a cell phone silent mode with nodding posing as my vibrating asset.
Distractions. Distractions. Distractions.

When I was 8 years old I had the same problem at school. The teacher would talk and I would nod, pretend that I’m the good little boy who’s gonna get straight A’s and all the green stars in the world, make it to med school, become a great doctor, cure cancer, and die a happy man who’ll be remembered as the man who did it all.

I tend to give the wrong impressions.

The truth is I wasn’t listening, disconnected from sound waves of all kind.

I have been blessed with “familiar eyes”, the eyes of a person who’s probably a friend’s best friend whom you’ve probably met at a random party a few years ago. I unconsciously delude them into opening up. Like those antivirus programs that they trick into believing they’re our last line of defense when all they do is count files; like they’re debiting our credit cards all-for-us.

I can’t even begin to know how to have an opinion about that. Reminds me of how I felt when I used to turn on Al Jazeera channel and watch them bomb the hell out of Afghanistan and Iraq. How they could blast off an entire country, kill thousands, just to find one man in an attempt to bring the “promised freedom” still confuses me; like me when I was ten and trying to learn the Pythagoras theorem. How they’ve managed to pour our hearts out for the sake of the 9/11 victims yet totally throw all the Afghani and Iraqi victims into the shade terrifies me. Theatricals work.

War on Iraq, Afghanistan… on air… I’d say that’s the most expensive snuff film ever made.

Yet the world remembers 9/11 followed by Saddam’s execution… The years in the middle have been shut out. Have we all been bad listeners?

Unfortunately, in real life I suck at theatricals. Even though I am familiar with the things they want to hear, I still can’t find it in myself to say it out loud. Maybe I just want to keep them guessing, to keep them wondering what kind of flesh I hold underneath my camouflage skin. I-do-not do it on purpose. I have unwillingly become the other extreme of showing off. The I don’t care what you think extreme.

Love me for what I am. Make the effort for it is worth it.
Is it?

My social skills have returned to ground zero.
I lie about it on my resume. Maybe that’s why I suck at interviews.

Tell me a little bit about yourself. Describe yourself in five words. Where do you see yourself in five years?

It’s like they’ve all graduated from the same lousy interviewing school. Anybody could have prepared a witty answer to swift their feet off the fucking ground.
I ain’t doing it.
Here’s the truth. I never could describe myself. I can’t see myself in five years.
What if I hated your company, your job… and quit?
What if I hated your guts?
Should I lie about it to get the job?
Should I lie to get to where I want?
Should I lie to get married?
Should I have lied to myself?
Am I just that honest?

If I was allowed to honestly describe myself… in one word, I’d say priceless.
Hate me all you want for I have failed to benefit from doing otherwise.

I’ll just cruise through the crowds in hope to keep my “good impressions” for myself.

O Dark Prince of my existence, tip me off to a brighter day, let me be.
My ears point at my own ranting now, like unstoppable ravings of a fluent tongue. If only they could stop listening.
I know for sure they must stopped reading, but if only I could stop typing.
My confessions are an endless stream that I swim through alone.

My dark swimming partner, your company terrifies me.

Saturday, September 08, 2007


I feel the need to speak to my blog.
Lately I’ve been considering changing my blog page template; add a brighter complexion perhaps. But then again, I took one look at the page and realized. To me, this is perfection.

A blog is a person’s box of secrets, where the dirtiest, ugliest thoughts come to life.

If you’ve got a page about religion, rationality, and advice… then you should seriously consider doing something more useful with your time like making some meatballs… if you’re a vegetarian. Believe me… people will shuffle off to the next page.
WE want the dirt.
We want human.
Define human.
Naaah… too boring.

To me, blogging is Schizophrenia – Step One.

I haven’t met many bloggers and I’ve always intended to keep my span very, very limited. Anonymity is a remarkable bliss. I don’t usually say the shit I write about. I’m usually the quiet type. I hate small talk. Fuck the weather. I don’t care what you think of my shirt. I don’t care whether you had fun or not.
I dunno why. I just don’t.
But I don’t say it to your face.
I’m too fucking nice.

Small talk is not a talent of mine. Maybe that’s why I was never good at relationships or friendships. I tend to lose my ability to blah. I can’t bullshit people to their face. I need Relationships for Dummies badly.

I wasn’t always that cold. Back in school I once talked to a friend of mine about my “symbolic barriers”. We used to be close back in the day. Now we don’t talk at all.

Why can’t I just let people in? When will I be able to bury my big ass Not Welcomed sign?

Why is it that every time I get too close to someone, I just run off? I am very, very picky about the people I hang out with and about the things I say. Is that why I’m easily bored? Is it why I’m usually quiet? I have nothing to hide. I never killed anyone, raped anyone. I’m totally straight. Still… I torment myself with guilt from the past.

I work as a Personal Financial Services Rep. at some bank. I have it engraved on my business card. See that? Personal. What a joke!

My clients absolutely love me. Is it the banker’s mask that I wear that makes small talk easy for me then? How about right here? Has the Raven taken hold? If I was able to clone myself, would I do it?

If you could would you clone yourself?

Funny… sometimes I even bore myself. I prefer sitting still and watch others make mistakes.

Am I so in love with myself that I find relief in talking to myself through a blog page?

Adios you egoistic maniac. I will see you later.

The word myself was used five times in this post. The letter I started 16 sentences.

Two Mississippi

To wait for an email is one of the hardest things to do, especially when you have nothing else on your mind. What’s ridiculous is the fact that you have 9 unread messages in your inbox, all sent by you. You wonder what was it that was so important yet so personal, that you couldn’t say it to your face.

Why email you schizophrenic maniac?

Yet… you choose not to read them, and wait for another email that you’re damn sure won’t make you feel any better.

Technically speaking, you’re only staring at wires.

Fifteen years ago, no one would have thought that ones and zeros could work magic to a soul.

Wake up.

You’ve turned off the air conditioner just to be able to hear the doorbell. You’re sweating like crazy. Doesn’t matter. You’ll shower once you’ve accomplished your mission.

Riddle me this. Riddle me that.

What do you want out of life?

Why are you here?

I keep having the wildest ideas. At one point, I remember, I was a very wild person. Everything used to be for the taking. Now… nothing really matters enough. Everything is boring. People bore the hell out of me. Movies, cigarettes, music, chit-fuckin-chat… nothing does the job intended. My dark prince keeps giving me hints and clues about where to go from here and what to want out of it all.

Should I just follow his ambitions to raise my name up in the stars of lowlife temptations and bloodlust?

There is no shame in having fun, he says. Be open-minded and do whatever the fuck you want.

He’s totally wrong. He is totally fucked up.

Still… I can’t help but listen.

I hate his addictive tone.

Yet… I have him on repeat mode, deliberately.

Sunday, September 02, 2007

البيضه ولاّ الفرخه؟

النهارده قلعت النظارة الشمس بتاعتي اللى بـ500 جـم و بصيت على بلدي.

لقيت كارتونة البيض ب15 جنيه... يعني البيضه بـ نص جنيه. كأن البيض فيه فوسفور مثلا...

ولاّ العيش اللى غلي و احنا داخلين على موسم مدارس و سندوتشات.

ولاّ أزمة الميّه اللى عندنا و احنا بلد نهر النيل... طب أفهم... ازاي عندنا محافظات مش لاقين يشربوا و احنا عندنا النيل العظيم و السد العالي اللى زلّنا بيه؟

ولاّ ظاهرة انتحار الشباب الخرّيجين اللى مش لاقين لها حل... ازاي الواحد أهلوا يصرفوا عليه طول عمرهم عشان يتخرج ميلقيش شغل... متوقّعين انّه ينيّل ايــه؟ الولد بتصعب عليه نفسه... بتصعب عليه أحلامه اللى تلاشت مع انعدام الوساطة و ضيق المحال... بيصعب عليه أبوه اللى تعب و صرف و عمل و باع أرضه عشان يدخّل ابنه تعليم "عالي".... لأ عالي فعلا..

الواد بتاع سياسة و اقتصاد اللى طلع التاني عالدفعة و مخدوهوش معيد... راح امتحن امتحان الخارجية و نجح و لمّا تحرّوا عنّه لقوه من أسرة بسيطه فاترفض... دخل أوضته و شنق نفسه..

ازااااي وصلنا للحال ده؟! طب قبلتوه ليه يا محترمين يا بتوع التنسيق لو مفيش تناغم في المبادئ بينكم و بين الجهات العليا؟ ليه تعشّموا البني آدم و بعدين ترموه هو و شهادته في الزبالة؟

بيقولوا طب ما يتعلم حرفة...

أجيب الواد اللى عنده 22 سنه و أقول له روح يبني اتعلملك صنعه؟!

انت أهبل ولا بتستهبل؟

طب ما المتفوق حيشوف مصر عملتله ايه... أو بالأصح عملت فيه ايه و يقوم سايب البلد و على قورته طز كبيرة.. بيع مصر يا معلّم... مش هي دي مصر اللى بشوفها بالليل و الناس نايمه... مصر جميله قوي و الظلم نايم...

و بالتالي نتج جيل الـ"مثقّفون من المجتمع" اللى كل واحد شايف نفسه فاهم أكتر من البقر اللى حواليه و شايف ان الحياة الغربية بأفكارها و تقاليدها هي المأوى و الملاذ... و شويه شويه اندثر الدين... و بقى "المتديّن" واد ممل و ملوش في البتنجان... و اللى بيشجّع الفساد و المخدرات و الدعارة هو الشبّ الجامد اللى الناس بتتهبل عليه... و اللى يقول لك مليش في الدخان ولاّ الرقص ولاّ الصحوبيّة يبقى واد هفأ...

ولاّ الواد اللى اتّصل بمنى الشاذلي على الـ10 مساء.. عنده 40 سنه.. و لا عايز يتجوز و لا عايز شقة… الواد خلاص صرف نظر.. و فالآخر يزعلوا ان التحرش موجود!! متجيش تجوّع الكلب و تزعل انه قام نط عليك..

ده كل اللى الولد عايزه انه يلاقي ياكل… فين الـwelfare؟ بتروح فين فلوس الضرايب و الجمارك و البترول و الدهب و الدمغات و التبرعات و المنح الدولية و القروض؟

فييين يا أخي؟؟؟؟؟ قول لي أنا اتخنقت!!!

دول البهايم في المزارع بيجيبولها ونيس من الجنس الآخر… و الراجل مش لاقي ياكل أصلا عشان يتجوز؟؟!!

اعتبره بهيمه... اما تأكّلوه يامّا تضربوه بالنار عشان مبيعرفش يبيض البيضه أمّ نص جنيه.

ولاّ المدن الجديده... تيجي انت تبني مدن فخمة و متطرفة بعيد عن الشعب الغلبان و ترمي الغلبان… دي حتى uptown cairo اللى في المقطم عملولها سور عشان ميشوفوش الزبالة... مقدرش أسمّي المدن دي الاّ مقابر جماعية. بيجهّزوا الفريسة للمفترس.

ألبس النظارة تاني؟

قبل ما يلبّسوهالي بالغصب...

اقلع النظار السودة يا مصري و اتفرج على بلدك... قبل ما بكرة يكسّروهالك.

مصر بتتغيّر قوي لمّا الشمس بتطلع...


Saturday, September 01, 2007

BBB Fly Hunting

When you spend an entire afternoon chasing houseflies from room to room in your apartment, then something must be wrong. I’m a very high tech person. Even if the weather’s all breezy and the sun’s throwing kisses or whatever shit they keep telling us, I always go for shutting all windows and turning on the air conditioner. YET… they always manage to find their way in, those fucking houseflies.

I hate them!!

In my house I have a rule; if it flies, it dies.

There are three of ‘em, as far I know. Last night I killed two. I didn’t even find their bodies. I must have hit them so hard that their bodies returned to the heavens with their souls. That is how much I hate insects of all kind. They’re the only food chain bottom that we can see with our naked eyes. They-are-annoying.

But then again when you’re bored beyond belief, everything and anything can annoy you, intimidate you. So I created my very own shoot ‘em up game and chased them around with a big ass sign across my forehead that said ‘YOU ARE NOT WELCOMED’ and… of course, the traditional ‘darraba’.

If only I had a shot gun, I would have blown holes through out the place with a fat smile all over my irritated soul.

When I was younger, before I moved back to Egypt, I was a straight shot with that darraba thingie. Now I actually suck. But then again, maybe chasing them around isn’t such a bad idea. A little exercise won’t hurt me. Desk jobs are bad for you, I’ll tell ya.

There’s one walking on my keyboard right now. It’s as if it knows that I’m writing about it.

Dear winged freak, if you’re reading this, fuck you.

If you’re bored, looking for company, sod off you Musca Domestican shit… You’re totally knocking on the wrong fucking skin.

Hmm… maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do if you’re BORED BEYOND BELIEF…

There’s some grim satisfaction in infuriating things that breathe.

If only I had wings.

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