June 22, 2011

Loss of Illusions.

This is a blog about Iraq not a massage parlor...am not here to massage your balls. Am not here to ease it on you...am here to try to ease it on me. Do you finally get it ?

Some american whore writes to me, am always impressed when they manage to get it right the first time with correct spelling, then I remember the auto correct option...the american wankers write to tell me I should not have a chip on my shoulder. They preach to my head like on a Sunday...the motherfuckers...But am always impressed when the american asshole manages it without spelling mistakes...after all English is his/her first language..then I remember the auto correct option.

So motherfuckers, did you auto correct yourselves since ? I think not.

Fuck the american..the worthless piece of crap...the silent piece of garbage, who allows anything in his name as long as he gets his tax return and as long as she gets laid.

This junk does not interest me...I am interested in something, in someone else...I am interested in observing the loss of illusions...

I am interested in seeing its footprints on our bodies, on our faces, on our being...the american cunt and his/her would be problems do not interest me. I care fuck all for them.

I like to observe the loss of illusions, tracing itself like some missing map, on faces...I like to see it engraving its name on skins, coiling into a wrinkle, I like to see it manifest itself in the non verbal...I like to spot it, corner it, and make it speak...

Resistance. I see it all the time.

I see it in the lines around a pursed lip, that has remain pursed for ever..I see it in a sigh exhaled in the smoke of a burning cigarette, I see it in a head that veiled itself trying to recapture illusions, I see it in eyes begging but too proud to admit...I see it, I hear it in voices, in the unspoken...

I see it missing in dictionaries and in thesauruses, the loss of illusions...It has no definition, no synonyms...

Loss of illusions....illusions about You, about Us, about the All...

Loss of illusions, written on my skin, tattooed in red ink...loss of illusions, the necessary illusions to keep going, to keep believing....

I search for new ones - in dumpsters, in orphanages, in the streets, in the unspoken, in the silent prayer, in the sigh that no one hears...I search for it in the face wrinkled by war, beneath a veil of fear, I search for it...

You ripped my illusions about life, about you...I am grateful. Now I see the Truth.

June 20, 2011

A Wound That Will Never Heal...

God works in the strangest of ways....He, She, It expresses itself in the multitude..and in Silence...

God is God...and I am me.

God is never wounded...theoretically so. Since He is omnipresent and omnipotent...

I beg to differ.

God was crucified in 2003, when you forfeited your conscience.

Since, it's been a downhill ride... God's name is called upon 5 times a day and once on a Sunday..God laughs at you.

He's saying - I don't need your rituals today, I need your Truth.

The Truth that no one would utter no more...the truth that was, that is...the truth that remains...hidden under heaps of politically correct covers, under blankets of forgetfulness - the truth of the greatest armada since world war II, as per the acknowledgment of one of your highest Pentagon officials.

What for ? is the question I keep asking myself... No WMD's, no ties to Al-Qaeda...literally an innocent people and an innocent country...What for ?

Oil, your alternative websites cry...drink the fucking oil. Drink it.

Why...is a question that keeps harassing me...that robs away my sleep...why is a question that turned 5 million children into orphans....


Why is the question that harasses me like an unwanted hand that gropes me in the dark...

I can't take your silence, I cant take your deafness..I can't take any of it...8 years on....You cover up the shouts, and in my ears they reverberate. They keep reverberating. They shake my being...until justice is done...until the wound accepts to heal...

June 16, 2011

A Pathetic Exile...

There is a turning point when the dramatic becomes pathetic...am not quite sure when that happens, but I know it does...

It's more like one's pathetic attempts to re-capture what was lost...and each attempt becomes even more derisory than the previous one...one becomes pathetic in one's exile.

These pathetic attempts to re-capture what was lost are all meant to be...They want to show you how foolish you are, for trying...still.

You become like some lone beggar with a pack of memories...a few songs here, a few photos there, you re-hash them alone like a fucking idiot while everyone moves on...and moves away...

You become pathetic yourself...misunderstood, demode, and out of sync...You try to explain, but it's too late. The cover up is too great and you alone with your bare hands can do nothing about it...no amount of unearthing will do...you are alone, pathetically alone...in Exile.

June 10, 2011

Protest All You Can -- O'Aisha.

Today, Friday, some courageous, brave Iraqis are venturing out again, to protest...

I don't want to be like the dampening waters from a dam that has overflowed...but...

Protest all you can... all you want...but know, you are late...it's called Late. Do we need to have the same discussion over and over again ?

Where were you, when B52's fucked our souls? Where were you when we packed in haste, hiding our names, tattooed on our legs, our hips, our bellies ?

Did you run after the Omar's, after the Othman's, the Bakr's, the Aisha's ?

I am Omar, I am Aisha, I am....

I am here...watching you...I have one Omar missing... the missing Omar...his name was Omar...Omar, Omar, Omar...

I was told Omar's death is a public holiday in Iran...they gave me the date, it did not coincide with my Omar's.


I am Aisha, that is my real name...I was the youngest...Aisha...in Arabic, it means the "One who lives"... I live and my name is Aisha...I love my name...I totally love my name...

Even though a few weeks ago, I went to a government public hospital...I was feeling unwell...the doctor asked me --- sweet girl, what is your name ? I said Aisha - the one who lives.

He closed my file. I still see the pages being smashed one against another, crashing one on top of another, like waves, hitting a shore, with nowhere to go...

He said : Aisha, your name is Aisha ?! I nodded my head...he became a God...the God of my neighborhood, all dressed in black...with a turban around his head. I felt God must hate me for my name...I was ordered out of the hospital... My name is Aisha - the one who lives, again and again...

I was chosen by Allah, to be the last wife, the last witness, the last one...I am Aisha - the one who lives again and again...

Protest all you can. Hold my name - Aisha.

Hold Omar, Hold Bakr, Hold Othman, Hold Ali --- hold them by their robes...and don't let go. They are all behind me - Aisha - the one who lives, again and again.

June 5, 2011

Iraqi FILTH

I was not sure if I should title this post IRAQI Filth or IRAQ'S Filth. I settled for the former.
I felt there is a subtle nuance, maybe not so subtle.

The difference is not so subtle since anyone can claim to be an Iraqi nowadays, or even become one since thousands of non Iraqis have been given the nationality - namely Iranians, but not everyone IS an Iraqi.

I found the difference not only not so subtle but even profound. Iraq as a land, has always been a fertile one, a generous one, since times immemorial. Bad weeds sprout in fertile lands, that is a fact, but a loving laborer is quick to remove the bad weeds and cultivate fruitful harvests in lieu.

There is no loving laborer left in Iraq. The land is left barren, and all kinds of bad unwanted parasitic weeds have grown instead, feeding off remains. A parasitic weed that self propagates feeding on its own excrements...

It was allegedly reported that Saddam Hussein once said - Iraq is one big gutter, and I am the one who keeps the lid on. He was right.

It turns out that the Iraqi gutter has overflown, breaking the drains, leaking through pipes, swelling over dams, swamping the land and turning it into one huge sewage...

I may continue this later, but right now I am taken with a violent bout of nausea...