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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

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Perfect Life

As he moved his mouse pointer to the right column of the Facebook screen to delete all the requests like he usually does, he couldn’t help but notice an application for A Perfect Life.
How perfect is your life?, it asked.

His ground shook… then a volcano erupted… and everything he ever knew burst into flames. He felt himself deteriorating, like his own reflection melting by a funny mirror that ain’t so funny.
His solid existence melted back to his original liquid state and he found himself swimming against time back to the day when things were different.

Today, our Pepsi ads show old football coaches sipping the dark soda. So much for health. No wonder we suck at sports, he thought. We’re old news. No one buys products as a result of celebrity pressure anymore, but we don’t know that yet. We’re still stuck at a black hole, only we don’t know that all of this isn’t real. As a consumer, you should go for a drink that doesn’t kill you. You want to buy meat only you fear avian flu, mad cow disease, and fish mercury. You want to drink mineral water only you fear the rot.
Has natural selection, finally taken their side?

He then took a sip of his transparent fluid, swallowed carefully and hoped to live. Then his mind surfed off to his elsewhere. She was there. He spitefully stared back.
Why is he there again, he wondered. He knew that relationships weren’t easy. Why is he even trying? They’re like the Olympics, a game, a rodeo. You never know what to do, who to be. Sometimes you wanna be the bull, at other times the rider.
At the end of the day, you’re just the rodeo clown, sitting back, trying to make the best out of it. Nevertheless, it is all one game… and if you fall you’ll get hurt.

It’s scary how everyone changes when they’re romantically involved.
Sometimes, he clichéd to himself it’s not her, it’s probably me.
But like well written screenplays, no matter how many twists and hints they throw into the picture, the truth is never revealed.
He always sucked at politics; be it work, friendship, or dating politics. It was like he was sick the day they taught that at school.
Life does not have neon arrows to point for the right direction in the dark. It’s called the dark for a reason. Everything has to be blurted out spontaneously if you’re ever going to beat time.
Blurt it out and pray for the best… like that fucking rodeo clown.

Sometimes, he blamed it on inaccurate religious standards, westernized “open minded” upbringings, the fear of security, the hope for something better down the road. Everyone becomes selfish, insecure. Everything falls under one deadly shade. He’d wait for birthdays and anniversaries to find an excuse for the two of them to smile together.
They could be lying in the same bed, but would they share the same dream? The ability to dream together falls somewhere between common understanding and the will to make it work. It was like there’s a border separating the two of them… and all it takes is one step forward, a step that no one cares to make.
Distortion… such a tricky word.

He wondered if he’d rather trade his loneliness with it all. He wondered if she’d listen, understand, sacrifice.
He wondered if it was ok that he’s experienced different sets of relationships in a short while; whether it made him more experienced to avoid that same mistake… or more afraid to get involved.

At the end, the eternal question remained…
If the Mongols had won that battle, if Andalusia was never lost, if dinosaurs still roamed the Earth, if America was never discovered, if the Earth was still supposedly flat, if the Arabs had won in ‘48, if he hadn’t caught that train, if he never loved her…
If he never ate that apple…
If he was never born…
Would things be fucking better?

Sometimes he feared that in that pursuit of happiness… at the end of the road… after all the hard work, sacrifice, and faith… that all he’d find is… exhaustion.

He ignored the Facebook invitation and reset his notifications and requests back to his familiar zero.
Everything is back to normal.

So much for the perfect life.


Sunday, January 20, 2008

Thursday, January 17, 2008

One Sick Day

It’s one rule, basically.
You count to ten… then swallow.
It’s the same attitude you’ve hung on to for the past zillion years.

Even when you’re sick, you can’t help it. The virus always finds its way through your body, your mind, your heart. If only you could sneeze it all out; everything. One mighty blow of salvation.
But you can’t.
You gotta swallow the goddamn pill… and hope and pray that by the time you wake up, you’ll be a new man.

When you’re on medication, everything looks different. Colors are different, smells are different. The way you look at them… and the way they look at you. Suddenly your mind starts making up shit just to be able to feel normal, like it’s in control, like the steering wheel’s all yours baby.

Deep down… you know nothing’s true, but you still believe in it all. You have to.
You need to.
You’re not a survivalist. You’re not a survivor. You’re one tiny fuck up in world that fits you real nice.

The clean suit you wear, the businessman handshake, the familiar smile, the words you’ve said over and over, the clean shave, the short hair cut, the professional bullshit… all of zero value when not accompanied by major sucking.

You start to vision their conspiracies, their treasons. The way they took you for granted so many times. The way they want you right where you are, down there, so they could look at you from their ivory tower and smile, knowing that the world is still safe. You start to see them for what they are, maggots, filthy maggots crawling up your spine, sucking your blood vessels dry. You start to wonder if these are all hallucinations. You lose control, you lose balance, you lose hope. Everything gets blurry. Everybody is a ghost. Your mind loses its structure as all your men line up to form one digestive power exerted over that damn pill. You lose reason… you lose faith in ethics. Reality loses its value, shapes lose their dimensions… and everything starts to seem like one heavy fluid that you sink in with no hope in redemption, all bottomless and proud. Then your body hits something. It’s the truth. But you shut your eyes and look away. You don’t wanna know. You swim away and sink deeper. You don’t want to know. If there’s any certainty in your life, it’s that you fear the truth. That small ounce of trust that you keep in your vault is priceless. You don’t trust anyone and giving away that last ounce kills it all. Without hope… you’ll be like the rest of them zombies.

The truth is, with the right amount of sedative… we’re all zombies aren’t we? Your red nose becomes a tourist attraction and your eyes become swollen and warm. Your ears… can’t hear them talk about you behind your back… You can’t hear them laughing.

Deep down, you know you’re get back at them for the shit you never heard, for that knife you felt in your back. Deep down… you envy their treason. If only you’d have thought of it earlier. You’ve become one with them. Adaptation was Darwin’s fucked up theory whose primary ideology and thesis factor… was survival.
Deep down… you know you’ll get your revenge.

More cough medicine? I know you don’t want to think, to wonder about what may… to fear, to feel suckered.

Tough luck, ol’ champ…

Such a waste of key taps.

To the worst birthday ever.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Jan 16

Full moon and shivers got me to think
So hard I couldn’t sleep. I even failed to blink.
I made a list of things I would never save.
And a silly list of things I would take to my grave.
The skeptic curves I’ve smiled and the heartaches.
The assumptions I’ve made and the stupid mistakes.
The ring of my phone that I’ve always ignored.
And the tapping at my imaginary door.
The way my hand looks like my mother’s.
The way it tells winter from the way it shivers.
The sound of my snooze that cries for five more minutes.
The ten half novels and the untold lyrics.
That refrigerator buzz that drives me insane.
And the dry eyes I bear even when it rains.
The way I always wear my watch upside down.
The way she teased me with that velvet gown.
That incredibly overwhelming fear of change.
That very tall shadow I’ve so elegantly chased.
The invisible dots of bullshit I’ve marked and traced.
And the way I unwillingly forget her face.
The beep of the garbage truck at 3 am.
The never ending availability of the silent ‘them’.
The flu that manipulates me once a year.
The meds that weaken me and hurt my ear.
My inability to adapt to the changing minds.
The rage and hatred I’ve trailed behind.
The fear of change that deprives me of sleep.
The dream of me falling into a well so deep.
The list that loses value. I cut it with a knife.
To wear as a price tag around my neck that reads life.
If only age could halt at 18.
If only life was one long dream.
If only time wasn’t an inevitable never.
My list could stay the same forever.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

The Ledge of Reason

Ground zero.

At 10, he carelessly played. He drew houses with smiling suns watching over his imaginary graphite friends.

At 16, he absorbed his own style. Listened more and talked less. Pop music became his salvation in a world filled with rules. He dreamed more as reality blurred his vision with the everlasting stench of the ‘no’ engraved across his breath.

At 18, he woke up and out of his dream and watched the word politics eat into rules as the garrisons at the border slept through the invasion of free thought over his mind..

By the age of 20, he became a man, a man who needed a notion to believe in. One God, one Arab world, one Muslim community… He believed in one love. He lingered on too long and worshipped his own idol figures. Before he knew it, his world shrunk in, diminished into the grasp of his small sized hand, trying to hang on to his own fried up soul, his last surviving belief-worthy asset in a world that dines on his kind. He figured maybe, just maybe if he tried hard enough; a little patience and two pints of faith… he might actually get there.

At 23, he learned that POLITICS WAS NEVER THE ANSWER. His eyes changed as he grew up a bit more, developed a sense of humor and viewed the world for the satire that it is.

His entire tenet of a soul fell short of all reason. He doubted his mere existence and patronized all surrounding fellowships, believing that they would only pull him down, deep down into the abyss of repetition. They bored him blind.
He manifested his own monster and savaged every thing that held the slight thought of shaking his peaceful aura. His mind was deserted as the tenants of his rooms fled out and away from the plague left eating at the core of his soul, at the very floors that saved them from the flood of reality forever; their lie of security; his notion of common sense.

By the age of 26 he grew a beard, sticking to the belief that someone up there will eventually answer him back and bring the colors back to his eyes where everything fell under one shade of grey.

But then he stopped listening as he realized that the Arab world, the Muslim community, the one love, and the surviving soul… all don't matter; that they're all idols that he's built with his bare hands to hide behind from his generation's turmoil. He dared not to say more as he carelessly threw one last dot at the end of the vicinity of his sentences and dozed off to a better state of mind.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

The Cable Guy

I have made it known that I’m a “member” of the Shop’N’Ship community at Aramex in a previous post. I have made it known that I’m addicted to it, that I love their service level… that they’re on the verge of making me a poor man and yet I’m loving it.

All the love poetry I’ve planted in my head burned to ashes when I encountered the real urban legend CABLE GUY (Jim Carrey’s 1996 film). He’s a man who’s been delivering packages to me since late 2005. He’s also a small-potatoes client at the bank where I work.

My delivery destination was set to be my home address on the application form. I called in once to ask the delivery man to send ONE shipment to my work address due to the fact that no one will be available at home to collect it. That was a one time thing in May 2007.

They’ve been sending packages to my office ever since. The dude said that it’s easier to send it to the office because there’s a better chance that I’m at work than my parents being up and available at home to collect it.
His mind was set… and the decision was made.

But that… still… ain’t the problem.

Last week he dropped in two packages. The second one, he asked me to check that the contents were all there. He said that they accidentally delivered the package to someone else who refused to collect or pay for it.
The package was already opened.

As a joke, the “delivery guy” said that I don’t even have to sign for it cos the other guy already did.
(I should sue them shouldn’t I? Claim that I never got it)

I didn’t say anything. I figured that multinational companies handle email complaints far more effectively and I knew that a fucking ma3lesh from the dude would probably ruin my day after I cut his throat.

Now here’s what he did. He tipped himself four pounds out of my money. I mean WTF you know. Then he says… ‘I’m going to drop by tonight at your place after my shift to borrow a couple of DVD movies to watch’.


He’s not asking. He’s fucking telling me that he’s going to do it.
I was stunned!! Under normal circumstances I would have yelled, shouted, kicked… I would have savaged the motherfucker. But I was just stunned. He’s got balls… Only he doesn’t know that when you’re wearing a multinational company badge or wearing their uniform, you’re not speaking on your sick brain’s behalf only.
I told him to call me if he plans on dropping by and not just drop by.

He called me up 8 am three days later. I didn’t answer the phone. He drops by at the bank (no packages to deliver) just to tell me that he was dropping a package nearby and wanted to inform me that he wants to watch a new movie and that he already has Swordfish so he wouldn’t be borrowing it from me.

Then right before leaving, the shit-for-a-brain dickhead says ‘I have a film by Kevin Costner and Kurt Russel called 3000 Miles to Graceland… and it’s UNCUT and everything’.

I mean WTF????!!!!

PORN??!!! You fucking maggot!!!

I emailed them a day before about the opened package, but all they said was ‘We’re sorry and we’ll deliver all packages to your residential address from now on.’

Oh well…

Now here’s my question… I could so easily get this guy in trouble by calling and asking to speak to the manager who probably never saw my complaint. (Unlike what we do at where I work where email complaints are considered high priority and go directly to the CEO’s office. I’ve had my share of those.)
However… mesh 3ayez a2ta3 3eesho… but every time he drops by he stuns me with his intrusion on my personal affairs.

Uncut you dickless shit?!

I’ll just yell at him…
But what if he breaks my packages?

Should I call Aramex, complain, and ask them to sign a disclaimer that if I report damaged packages after signing for them that they would provide me with suitable and accurate compensation for damages incurred?

What the fuck is wrong with Egyptians? Once they have your cell phone number, they think they’re family? Friends?

A number’s a number… isn’t it?

Spoils of War

My mind is a blank, dots.
It’s as if it’s been poured out, emptied, like a bucket of dirty oil, like there’s a bullet in the middle of my brain that’s settled down for now, not knowing where to go next. It’s like playing hangman only you have a zillion turns and you’ve run out of letters.

Now what?

I have observed too much. I feel the urge to free my head from everything that holds it back, to tear out the epileptic virus that roams free in my kingdom of a brain.

I made new friends in 2007.
Define friends.
Would it be a person whom you spend time with, playing, outing, drinking, etc?
Or would it be the person who would either die with you in the battlefield or share the spoils of war with you?
Frankly, I have trust issues. I will highlight this and add it to the long list of things that would require massive sessions of therapy five years from now. If only I studied psychiatry in college… I would have probably written a book just about me. I would have probably gotten a Nobel Prize in Modern Batteekh.

Oh Well…

In 2007, I bought things that I don’t need. I’ve become addicted to FaceBook’s Attack! even though the dice stink and politics seem to stand in the way of a fair and fun game most of the time. I’m being exposed to many, many temptations… but I’m in a more spiritual place now, but where there’s spirit… there’s always the battle between dark and light.
Why has everything become so morally grey?

My sleeps are no longer dreamless. I fly off to a fantasy world every night. I have more dreams. I have more nightmares. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing… but at least I’m dreaming.

Sometimes there’s too much chaos in my head that I can’t sleep.

I wonder where 2008 takes me…

I tucked myself in in 2007. I woke up in 2008. There’s no better time machine than bed.

اللهم اجعلنا من أهل اليمين

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