The Camp Fire

The desert never looked more beautiful, the night never looked more cheerful, and the stars never looked more shiny. And here we are, sitting around this camp fire, wishing its warmth cover us and its flames carry us away, far from ourselves, far from the ordinary, far from the disciplinary.

Carpets of sand are all what we tread upon, mixed with lonely shy stones, sinking into the grit once touched by our feet. And the mountains and hills like a Colosseum stand, all around us, keeping an eye on us, an eye of protection, an eye of inspection.

The desert weather is a known cliche: scorching in the day as well as at night, one from the heat and the other from the cold. However, this night looks different, for the scorch seems to be searing, and mildness is taking its place.

The cars and tents and gear and supplies, all are kept at near, yet for once the spot light deviates away from them and is spotted above our glow, in the circle around the camp fire. Sitting together, side by side, like a finely crafted necklace, even glittering like one, a reflection of both our leather clothes and our wide open eyes.

The camp is set, and so are we, but one single detail is missing. The camp fire is still burning, but wood is not its only fuel. The flames are giving a mute scream, to me so loud, but the louder scream profoundly remains inside. 

Utter Freakin' Chaos!

Beginning to feel uneasy about the amount of disorganization and mess in this place. Used to be able to go with the flow, to lean with the hard curves, to dive into the fierce waves, and to detect a pattern in an environment of utter freakin' chaos! But not any more..

Seems that I am losing this ability. Seems that my capability of handling disorder is diminishing. Seems that I am losing grips of it all. And seems that the urge for self-respect is itching ... provokingly!

Some people kept on telling me that this is not the place for me, that I do not fit into living in this territory of madness, the same as a piece of art would not fit into a pile of dirt. Some even told me that people of my kind are so rare these days, especially in this chaotic nonsense. Qualities like kindness and respect and honesty are so much appreciated and valued and wanted, but not here! And I am beginning to believe them...

"You are living in your own world!" Utopia does not exist, but so is Dystopia! All I am asking for is a world with more goodness than evil, and people with more humanity than animality. Is that too much to ask for??

Near and Far

Sometimes I feel you are getting near to me, so near to become even part of myself. I really love the idea and how it feels, so I ignore all the calculations in my head and I disregard all the societal and even commonsense rules in this world we are living in to become so near to you, nearer than I ever thought I would. Then I lose myself .. I just lose it all, all for your lone sake. Then I become occupied, totally occupied with you all over inside me. And at this point you no longer become near to me, for the laws of distance and matter become broken all of a sudden, and you and me become just one entity. Or that's what I think we become, at least for a good while...

Other times I feel you are far, so far to reach. A mirage in the desert, and I am the thirsty traveler. And so after you become close, enough to be in solid contact, you just pull yourself away, you withdraw and leave me lost in an endless maze of mixed thoughts and questioned feelings. Some mysterious force appeared without reason, without planning, without any know-how. Whether it is right or wrong, proper or improper, leading to somewhere or not leading to anywhere, it just appeared, and it is attracting the 2 poles together. Or at least that's what one of the poles believes...

Perplexing enough, it just goes on and on.

Confusing enough, nobody has any idea what's going on.

Enigmatic enough, no one controls it, and it seems run-on.
I'm not really sure who you are, what you are or where you are,
Yet all I know is that I want you there, being near or even far...

A Piece of a Puzzle

This life is strange. So strange. I don't know whether it's life, or it's the people, or maybe it's me. I'm no longer sure. Not sure about anything... 
Sometimes you feel that you got it all, that life became so comprehensible, that people became so predictable, and that your self became no longer a mystery. Yet, that does not last for long, does it?! The people you think highly of think that they are faulty, and the self you think to be faulty is thought of very highly. You look into others, without them knowing it, and others look into you, without you knowing it. You look up to someone: if I just have what you have; but that someone somehow looks up to you too: take what I have but give me this thing you have! You give advice to others while you're the one in dire need for it, and you are given advice by others though they are in no better case than yours. Running circles, chasing dreams, hurling after the mirage of a faraway ocean while being already surrounded with lots of ponds and lakes and rivers. No wonder why you are always thirsty for more! A non-practicing preacher!
What's bothering you? A missing piece of a puzzling life? What if we are all pieces of the same puzzle? And what if there is no puzzle from the first place? The wonder continues, and the puzzlement goes on and on...

It Is in the Eyes

    There are some sorts of things which are worth telling but cannot be told, worth writing about but cannot be written. They originate from the heart, then move to the mind to be processed in the form of words, then somehow the mind finds them unprocessable so they are sent back to the heart, but they become a load on the heart, specially if they keep on piling up, and therefore the ailed heart finally decides to send them to the eyes, where looks and gazes are the only comprehensible language, a desperate measure to say what you want to say when you simply cannot say it, and sometimes even when you do not want to say it. However, neither does everybody know about such internal process, nor does everyone understand this unspoken language, but it happens, all the time.

     It is in the eyes, all what you are looking for. A word can carry only its meaning, but a look can carry books of meaning. The heart almost always says yes for it is fearless, and the mind almost always says no for it is reasonable, while the eyes do not speak, for they are truthful. A look can be so revealing, so plain and obvious. Yet unlike a thought or a feeling, it can be so easily captivated, so easily deceived. And in the inner mind-heart-eye conflict, the upper hand almost always goes to the voice of reason, for it is the most authentic of all three. However, reason does not always get the last word, does it?!

     So you run and run, away from confrontation, mainly for the fear of getting hurt. And you sit there, imagining a million of scenarios, though you know very well how things will go eventually. Your mind is overwhelmed, your heart is aching, and your eyes are closed. No one knows anything about what you are passing through, but what about you? Do you really know what others are passing through? So open your eyes. Maybe the things you considered so much alive are already fading, and maybe the things you considered already dead are so much sprouting, but not through words, spoken or written, but through just a look in some sincere eyes. 

حكاية عم صابر..اللواء

     حكاية عم صابر (اللواء)... من الإسم أول شيء ممكن يخطر على بالك هو صورة راجل غلبان و عجوز، إدى للدنيا أكتر مما أخد، و دي أكيد حكايته مع بهدلة الأيام و إزاي فضل صابر و راضي و فضل بطل قصة الكفاح الطويلة المستمرة حتى النهاية السعيدة المتمثلة في صورة توتالة بتضم عم صابر و أولاده و أحفاده و هما مبتسمين و رافعين علامة النصر. للأسف أحب أقولك إن انت أبعد ما يكون عن مضمون الحكاية... خيبت ظنك شوية معلش، بس إيه رأيك تحاول مرة تانية؟

    هتركز أكتر في العنوان فهتلفت نظرك كلمة ’اللواء‘. و هتقول لنفسك: "إزاي مخدتش بالي من الكلمة دي و انا بقرأ العنوان أول مرة. هو أنا دايماً مندفع كده؟!" .. ’اللواء‘ .. ده أكيد كان لواء في الشرطة مثلا و حصلت معاه مشاكل خلته يسيب الخدمة أو يتقاعد أو ممكن يكون كمان حصلتله حادثة ضيعت فلوسه أو صحته أو أسرته، ولكن برضه فضل بطل لنفس قصة الكفاح الطويل اللي انتهت بيه بنفس الصورة التوتالة و هو بيبتسم و رافع علامة النصر .. برضو!

     أنا مش عارف إيه حكايتك بصراحة مع الصور التوتالة أو مع علامة النصر و إيه سبب حبك الشديد للقصص الدرامية اللي بتيجي في البرامج و المسلسلات، فهخيب ظنك تاني و أقولك جلّت منك برضه المرة دي. غالباً هتبتدي تجيلك بعض المشاعر المتضاربة اللي أغلبها سلبية عن نفسك و عن الحكاية و عن قصص الكفاح و حتى عن عم صابر بذات نفسه (ومش بعيد عني أنا شخصياً!). بس تداركاً للموقف هقولك إن التفكير في أي شيء بنقابله على أساس الصورة النمطية اللي متعودين عليها ده شيء طبيعي و موجود عند كل إنسان. والاندفاع برضه حاجة أنا نفسي ساعات كتير بقع فيها، فهون على نفسك و على حكايتنا و على عم صابر (و عليّ أنا كمان أكيد)، ويلا بينا نشوف مين عم صابر ده.

     دي حكاية بلطجي .. أيوة، بلطجي. صابر اللواء في يوم من الأيام كان الملك وكل اللي في المنطقة التابعين بتوعه؛ طول ما هما بعيد عنه و ضلهم مابيفارقش الحيط، سلموا من شره، بس لو طلعوا بعيد عن الحيط، اتكووا بناره. عنف وخناقات وسرقة و ترهيب وتعاطي ومزاج و سمسرة وعلاقات وتظبيط. وكله عيني عينك، واللي مش عاجبه يعترض، بس يستحمل اللي هيجراله! وعن أقذر الألفاظ و السباب (بالذات سب الدين) محكيلكش. مسك الدنيا بإيديه و لعب بيها بقوته و نفوذه، بس نسي إنها دنيا غرورة، و إن دوام الحال من المحال. نسي إن القوي مش إنسان، ده خالق الأكوان. و في ليلة، في لحظة، خسر قوته ونفوذه. وبعد ما كانت إيديه مسكة الدنيا مسك، وقعت الدنيا من إيده و مسك بدالها عكاز!

      و أديه قاعد على دكته اللي في الشارع، يبص على الرايح واللي جاي. يتحسر على نفسه  و على أيام افتكرها دايمة، على أفعال افتكر نفسه هرب من حسابها، و على دنيا افتكرها طوع أمره. بس ده بيبقى للحظات قليلة. ما بقاش فيه حيل للخناق و الزعيق، بس لسة فيه حيل إنه يدمر نفسه. لسه بيحشش، لسه بيسب و يلعن أهل ده و دين ده، لسه جواه صابر اللواء كبير المنطقة .. كبير المنطقة اللي العيال الصغيرة بيحدفوه بالطوب دلوقتي. لسه متعلمش حاجة و معتبرش. لسه ظلوم و جهول لنفسه قبل غيره. ولسه ربنا بالنسبة له اسم مابيذكروش إلا عند السباب أو الحلفان كذب. وبرضه لسة قاعد على دكته بيبص على الرايح والجاي. وهيفضل يبص، لحد ما تجيله ليلة تانية، لحظة تانية، بس المرة دي مش الدنيا بس هي اللي هتقع من إيديه، ده العكاز كمان...

20 Ways to Win a Sweetheart

20

Listen as if you care, and if you don't want to, just pretend .. it always works

19

Talk, sweet talk, hypocrite talk, tender talk, strong assertive talk, even nonsense talk .. show her that she got competition

18

Lie

17

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, a relative matter .. However, it is a thing to continuously admire, or else!

16

Be the prince and crown her the princess

15

Be there when needed

14

You are the bodyguard .. just make sure nobody gets killed in the end!

13

Presents! They are so lovin' it!

12

 Two things to keep the heck away: your internet password and most importantly, your wallet!

11

She's your one and only guardian angel .. just tell other people so even if she's not, at least to ensure a good night sleep .. away from the coach or worse, the floor

10

Lie again!

9

Physicality is critical, even if she won't admit it

8

Bring your skills to the surface, any skills, any

7

In trouble, head towards the ears!

6
Responsibility is your fate, so grab it from now and get used to it

5

Forget about all what's written in books about them, and get real

4

En garde! .. other possible sweethearts

3

Just lie!

2

Act as if you understand her, even if you don't (and most probably you won't!)

1

Be yourself

Out of Mind, Out of Heart

Disclaimer. What is written next is not about you!

It is healthy sometimes to get crazy for a bit. It is recovering often to move from pole to pole, from ultimate sanity to utter insanity! It is worthy usually to live on the edge, one leg on solid ground and the other floating in the air. It is required once in a while to embrace forget of anyone and anything looking simply familiar. 

A single smile can hide a million of tears. A single wink can hide a million of insults. A single laugh can hide a million of daggers. And a single blush can hide rivers of blood! And here you are, standing but not withstanding. You have been playing fair, without knowing who the opponent is, who the judge is. And the whistle never really blew.

Stubbornness makes profanity and parting makes vanity. So you run away from the us, by departing the you in them. The vanquished is relinquished, sovereignty rights are claimed. Perseverance is irrelevant, resistance is futile. Out of sight, out of mind! And out of mind ... quod erat demonstrandum!

D for Dreams

Do our dreams have any meaning? Why are they even called dreams? The dreams of your sleep the same as  the dreams of your wake, the future, the past, and the present dreams and ambitions and expectations and hopes...

What if you dream of someone? What if someone dreams of you? Awake or asleep, will they ever know? And will you ever know? What is the point of dreams if they are not acknowledged, if they do not happen, if they are kept inside and not translated to the outside world?!

Dreams versus reality, ambitions versus reality, expectations versus reality, hopes versus reality, an ongoing struggle. But why there should be any struggle? Because life is not fair? Because life is pain? Because to err is human? Because you are just not good enough? Lame excuses and faulty beliefs. There is no struggle...

Dreams are so powerful that they can totally take over you, make you so obsessed to the extent of refusing reality, or ignoring it, or fighting it, or sometimes even fearing it. However, whether you like it or not, reality is just there. It is always there. It is life. You will be a fool if you think for a moment that by living in a world of dreams you can cheat reality. As much as it is the other's reality, it is your reality as well, no running, no escaping!

Everything has been created for a clear purpose, and everything happens for a Divine wisdom. And this surely applies to dreams like everything else. So dream but do not over-dream, and live but do not over-live. Dreams and reality, they just intermingle. Realistic dreams and dreamy reality, you have got a perfect match...

Suffocation

     You did the mistake that many of your ancestors had done, and many of your descendants will do, and now you are suffering from its consequences. Suffocated, strangled. The atmosphere is turning into airless vacuum, places are turning into dark boxes of solitude, and walls are jails of barbed wires, getting closer and closer, till they tear your flesh apart, till they get you totally crushed. And the people, they turn into hollow shadows, with no marked features, no faces, no details, just piles of dust surrounding you, staining you, infecting you till you turn like them. And you, you cry inside in pain, down in the cage of depression, your body responds with weakness, and your mind joins with numbness. Yet, you can feel it all: your lungs are not producing much oxygen, your chest is so contracted, and your heart....well, it is going bloodless! 
    You put your trust on a person you did not know well. You believed everything that person says, everything that person does. You believed in the best of him (or her!). You saw something in him and ran after it like a little child, till you got captivated. Like a puppet, you got manipulated, you got used, you got played with, and like a puppet, you faced one of three eventual fates: either you got broken and damaged, or you got thrown away, or you got put away, totally neglected, till dirt buries you alive. 
     You are the hero of your drama, and you keep on fighting and fighting, wars of words and wars of silence, wars of love and wars of hate. But like every hero, there comes a fall. And you fall a victim of your own hamartia. So down and below, at the land of depression, and the tunnels of suffocation... 

Do I Know You?

It is eye widening how you need time to really know the people you thought you knew, enough time, lots of time. It is also mind opening to look back at your previous decisions and see how wrong and short-sighted they were.

I can see you now without the makeup and glitters, a trivial, careless, arrogant, cold, selfish, playful, hypocrite, immature, deceiving type of person. I can see why I once chose you and was amidst taking the serious decision to fight the world for you. I can see that between your sugary words and captivating smiles and tender voice, there were other intentions deep behind: there is nothing special about you, but I just needed you to fill up an empty spot that's all; you're not intended to complete me and I'm not intended to complete you, or anybody, and love, love is only a game of hearts, while soul mate and for better and worse and happily ever after, well, you'd better give up on those, for they are only some silly romantic ideas woven by the worn out fabrics of your naive imagination! I can see why I stopped, I suddenly stopped, to have a moment to think it over, for there are signs that cannot be ignored.

I can see you, but have I ever really seen you? I can see you, but have you ever seen me? I never put makeup, I never wore glitter, and never will, yet still you aren't seeing me, are you? Or perhaps you are seeing me but only the way you want to see me, a step to tread upon, a doormat to wipe your dirt on, a shadow to cover your insecurities, and another man falling behind. We have a man down! MAYDAY, MAYDAY! I think he got hit (by me, but who cares!). I think he needs help. He was trying to help me and then he fell. I think he needs help .. Over! But he didn't know that I never considered a word he said, for what I want I will always get. It is so easy, and they are all the same. Easily distracted, easily controlled and manipulated. And I wanted him and I got him, and now it's time to get rid of him; his time is up, he's an old fashion to throw away, and his services are no longer required.
Hang on, for help is on the way ... Over!

The Wonder Box

When you are in the means of transport and you discover the faces of the people around you, and your eyes hike over the hard hills of their complexion, all pulled down and deep inside or up and far outside, all silent, all gloomy, mostly wishing to find a way to escape reality, to have a break from life, and death, to lose count of time, so you find them listening to songs, or to Quran, or to the radio, reading a book or newspaper, playing games on the mobile phone, or checking the Internet or Facebook, looking through the window but for not really seeing anything particular, at least with their eyes, for their mind is most probably occupied, and their mind's eyes are contemplating some past event or some present issue or some future concern, and their facial expressions could change in some moment of spontaneous madness, no matter how hard they try to hide it, one moment it is a smiley face, the other it is totally grumpy, then back to the poker face, and of course there also remains the option of checking the people around back and forth, trying to figure out who they are and what they think about, an attempt not to breach their privacy, for you already value yours very much, but to get closer to them, to their essence, and consequently to yours, lots of scenarios, rarely correct, scarcely of any good sense, but a means to pass time, to get transported from one stop to another, and from one wonder box to another.

Consumption Rationalization

     The human being could be considered the biggest consumer on this Earth, even bigger than grasshoppers, or maybe viruses. This is simply because not only does he find it enough to consume everything around, but he also consumes everybody including his own self! Everything his hands drop upon, his feet step upon, and his eyes fall upon, an expiring creature living in an expiring world! 

     The lifecycle of the Homo sapiens (Hominidae, Primates): they eat, drink, excrete, sleep, move, wash, dress, talk, shop, produce, reproduce, inhale, exhale, receive, transmit, hit, destroy, dirt, burn, hurt, wound, kill, cure, hate, love, envy, support, think and feel and act and react, survive, and die... All forms of consumption, all forms of life erosion.

     The merchandise of life are everywhere. Some are on shelves, piled in boxes, and stored in depots, buy and sell and show us your money Mr. Big Spender. The others, however, are just there everywhere, no shelves, no boxes, no depots, no cha-ching or ba-bling! Buy and sell same still but this time show us your deepest truest will.

     Such a capitalistic view! We make you love to consume. We make you live to consume! No 'consumption rationalization', for that is a silly unrealistic term of little dreamy boys at school. If you have more than enough, why should you rationalize if you can still have enough? If you have enough, why should you rationalize if you can still have less than enough? If you have less than enough, why should you rationalize if you can still consume the little you have till you have nothing? And if you have nothing, well.. What are you living for then? So you keep on running after the mirage of brand names and you set a price tag to the non-priceable before the priceable. Yet brands are tricky and price tags are not sticky.

     To be controlled and distracted and wasted or to control and focus and establish. It is your call. Fair enough, isn't it?  

A Toy Story

     What if you discover that all that time you have been a toy. An entertainment to others and a drama to yourself. A game in destructive hands, you get your time and then you are thrown away. The source of happiness and pride, but only temporarily till a new toy takes your place, till the novelty fades away, or maybe till the highlights of interest are focused on another possession, another fun activity, another subject of enjoyment and self-satisfaction.

     And you remain there, alone and neglected, till rust invades your gears and ageing wearies your motor. But still not in peace, for you still get used but this time to shatter you into pieces, to dismantle you, to get your precious inner carefully crafted metal and magnets, to leave you hollow, and then to throw you into the garbage.

     Such a tragic fate! Only because you accepted to be a toy. To fall into unsafe hands. To have no will. No value. No life...

Until you fall in the hands that really appreciate your existence. So they reconnect your abused parts, they gather your inner pieces, and they take good care of you. They fix you. And you become a toy no more, but the only reason for real joy and serene happiness. You become alive.

Entangled

   What are you thinking? What are you seeing? What are you doing? The vision is blurry, confused thoughts, tangled and entangled networks of incomprehensible ideas and feelings and concerns, a huge whole city, with a single inhabitant, surrounded by barbed thorny wires, no trespassing, in or out!

     You are the only real entity. You are the only sensible identity in an insensible existence. Time passes, but not necessarily you do the same. A face who needs a mask, encountering masks who need a face. Walking masks, insane masks, painted masks dropping their infectious ink on you, to deprive you of your ingenuity, to deprive you of your sanity.

     What are you thinking? Overload. What are you seeing? Illusion. What are you doing? Sometimes fighting, other times giving up, sometimes passing, other times failing, yet all the time getting hit, getting hurt, mask or no mask, real or imaginary, getting doubtful and critical, entangled, strangled, and then recovered, incognito, and salvaged, come la luce del sole...

إنفلات

     يوم آخر شاق في عمل لا يستسيغه، ينتهي وتبدأ معه سكة سفر مرهقة أخرى في ليلة معتمة أخرى تتخللها رياح الشتاء الغاضبة و البرودة القارسة و على ما يبدو بعض كائنات الظلام الموحشة. أحس بوجود ظل ما يتبعه، شابين أثاروا فيه الاحساس بالريبة وأطلقوا عنده أجهزة الإنذار الداخلية محذرة بخطر قائم مع دفقة دفاعية احترازية من الأدرينالين عكست توجسه عند رؤيته لملامحهم المسعورة التي لا توحي بخير، خاصة في ذلك الوقت المتأخر و في ذلك الشارع التي هجرته الحياه و نامت أعمدة نوره مبكرا إلا عمود واحد على بعد عدة أمتار بدأت تبدو عليه آثار المعاناة من الأرق فيظل يشدو وحيدا بضوء خافت و لكن كاف لإيضاح معالم الشارع فيشكو إلى المارة شدة الإهمال و يناجي نفسه سوء الأحوال. يهتز نوره فتهتز معه دقات القلب المتوجس و تهتز سكنات الجسد المتأهب.

     "معاكش اتنين جنيه والنبي يا برنز عشان ساكنين بعيد ومعاناش حق الميكروباز؟" تلك هي الدخلة الكلاسيكية المنذرة بالمتاعب، فما كان منه إلا أنه لم يستجب و شرع في فتح الخطى عسى أن تكون ظنونه في غير محلها. ولكن ثبتت صحة ظنونه فتحرك الشابان خلفه بسرعة في تشكيلة كسرب من الطائرات المعادية المهاجمة للقواعد السالمة، فوقف أحدهما في الأمام بينما الآخر اتخذ موقعه في الخلف و في لحظة انقضت الأيدي و برزت المطواة وانهالت الشتائم ومالت الأجساد ناحية ركن مظلم تماما نأى بنفسه بعيدا عن أي ضوء بدا مثاليا كمصيدة أو كقبر. 

     غريب أمر ذلك الأدرينالين، من أين أتي بتلك القوة و تلك الجرأة؟! ذلك الفتى النحيل، خائر القوى بعد يوم آخر في مطحنة العمل الخاص، تغتصبه و تمص قواه تلك الآلة الجائرة و تطبق على أنفاسه و أنفاس غيره. يبدو أنها كانت بركة دعاء الوالدين، أو هكذا علق أخوه مشاكسا، شيء من لطف الأقدار و ستر الجبار. لم يشعر بنفسه إلا وقد انتفض في ردة فعل غير متوقعة غير مبال لشفرة المطواة التي شعر ببرودتها تلامس جسده ولا لعرض القوة والترهيب من هؤلاء البلطجية، تلك الفئة الطفيلية التي لم يخف أبدا كرهه لها ولأمثالها. وجد نفسه واقفا تحت عمود النور الوحيد المضيء الشارد الشاهد على كل ما يحدث، يحتمي به و يلوذ بنوره عسي أن تشفع له أشعة نوره الباهت، ينتبس بكلمات لم تسمعها آذانه في ظل الضجيج الصادر من دقات قلبه السريعة، تدق في عنف تكاد تخترق صدره.
     لدهشته لم يتبعه أحد بل ظل الجميع لوهلة في سكون عجيب. ربما أذهلتهم تلك المقاومة التي جردتهم من قوتهم المصطنعة، ربما ظنوه ضحية سهلة، ربما أخافهم ظل بعيد لرجلين يتسامران، ربما هم مثلهم مثل تلك الكائنات الليلية الخبيثة يهابون أقل ضوء، يحترقون عند ملامسته لأجسادهم المتعفنة، لا يحتملون اختراقه لأوصالهم الهشة التي أنهكها السير في خطى الشر. فألقي في قلوبهم الرعب و انطلقوا بعيدا، و لم يبق في المشهد إلا هو و عمود النور الوحيد، يؤانس وحدته و يحكي له همه، ثم يتجه بعيدا إلى مكان أكثر إضاءة و أكثر دفء يحمد ربه على سلامته و على فضل نعمه.

اللي يعيش ياما يشوف

اللي يعيش ياما يشوف. يا مين يسمع، ولو معروف. ناس أشكال و ألوان وأنواع. ناس يتضرب بيهم المثل، وناس يتضرب فيهم المثل. ناس تاخد منهم عبر، وناس متاخدش منهم إلا الضرر. شوية درر و شوية بقر! وشوية قلوبهم أقسى من الحجر. وشوش و نفوس و سعد و ألم. حياتهم كراسة ومصيرهم قلم. دنيا مينفعش فيها إلا البكاش، اللي يتلون بكل لون مع الأوباش..يلا، محدش بيتعلم ببلاش!

تشوفهم نوع نوع تتعجب وتستمتع. وتشوف روعة الخالق في خلقه، ما أبدع. عندك اللي عنده كل حاجة معتبرة، تخليه زي بير الميه في الصحرا. بس بإيديه بيضيع كل ده في خراب. هو لسه زي بير الميه لكن اتحول لشوية سراب. بعديه يجيلك اللي عايش حياته و كأنها فقرة كوميدية. عيشني انهاردة و موتني بكرة، بس انت قدم النية! عايش حياته حاجة كدة سبهللة. ووقت الجد يموت الزمار و تموت معاه الشخللة. يجيلك الواد المعجباني مثال الجدعنة. بس ده ميمنعش وجود شوية سهتنة. يقف معاك تلاقيك بتقول لنفسك هي دي الرجولة. تجيلو البنت إياها، والله يرحمك يا رجولة!

تشوف ده بقى، تقولش حكيم زمانه. لسانه بينقط كلام كتير له ميزانه. بس تلميذ خيبان، حافظ ومش فاهم. النظري غير العملي لو انت فعلا لحكمك عالم. وده بقى نوع سرحان، عايش بس في التوهان. بيدور على حاجة، مش عارف إيه هي. ربنا يهديك يابني، إياك بس في الآخر متطلعش عسلية! واللي جاي ده بقى أخطر الأنواع. ساهي وداهي، أسطورة في الإقناع. بس من كتر وشوشه متعرفلوش حال. لا له قريب و لاحبيب و لا حد شاغل البال.

دي مجرد عينة والباقي لم يصبه الدور. اخرج للدنيا هتقابل الباقي و عينك ما تشوف إلا النور...       

لحظات عبقرية

     و إذا بي و أنا أهيم من موجة إذاعية لموجة أخرى من خلال الراديو الصغير الكائن على مكتبى، والذي تردمه تلال من التراب من قلة الاستخدام و الاهتمام، إذ تمر على مسامعي نغمات تلك المقطوعة الموسيقية الهادئة. أنا متأكد من سماع تلك النغمات العذبة يوما ما، الأمر الذي تطلب مني التحديق بجهاز الراديو لبعض الوقت و كأنه شخص ما ذو ملامح مألوفة جدا لدي. فما كان مني إلا إنني شعرت بأنني رويدا رويدا لا أشعر بالزمان ولا المكان، و إذا بي وقد تناغمت تماما مع كل نغمة تعزف. يا له من شعور غريب! وكأني أطير على سجادة علاء الدين! و لكن منذ متى تحول ذلك الراديو القديم إلى آلة زمن؟!

      المكان نفس المكان لكن الزمان مختلف. قبل قرابة العشرون سنة. عشرون سنة! كم كبرت في السن أيها الفتى الطيب! وأنا من كان يظن نفسه لا يزال شاب صغير؟! نفس النغمات تصاحبني و تؤنس شعوري بالوحدة في هذا العالم و تهون صدمتي بمدى قدم تلك الذكرى. لازلت أتذكرها و أراها أمامي بمنتهى الوضوح. من أجمل أوقات حياتي. 

     انتهى العام الدراسي و بدأت الأجازة. ولكن الاسيتقاظ المبكر لم ينته. وكيف أفوت تلك اللحظات العبقرية من الاستيقاظ باكر يوم الأجازة و فتح شباك التراس و الاستمتاع بنسمات الهواء الحنونة الهادئة الصافية الممتزجة بالعطر المنعش لزهور الياسمين التي كانت يوما ما بمثابة حديقتنا الخاصة مع تغريدات العصافير التي اتخذت الأشجار القليلة المحيطة سكنا لها. و لكن السبب الرئيسي لتكبدي عناء الاستيقاظ المبكر حينها لم يكن ذلك المشهد الرومانسي، فقد كان كارتون الساعة العاشرة على القناة الثالثة والذي لم أكن أستطع مشاهدته أيام الدراسة هو الهدف الأسمى. فها أنا أفتح التلفاز ثم أتجه للجلوس على الأريكة المقابلة انتظر في لهفة دقات الساعة العاشرة و بدأ البث. و لكنها لا تزال التاسعة و هو ما يعني الانتظار لمدة ساعة كاملة و لكنه لم يكن بالأمر الجلل حيث إن وقت الانتظار كانت تتخلله تلك المقطوعات الهادئة والأنغام الجميلة لقناة المعلومات التي كانت تسبق بداية البث بسويعات قليلة (ذلك أيام التلفاز الأرضي الحكومي ذو التسع  قنوات قبل غزو الأقمار الصناعية للفضاء وقبله للعقول!).

     موسيقى رائعة، معلومات مفيدة، أخبار الدنيا، هواء منعش، جو صحو، نقاء ذهن و صفاء قلب. هل تحتاج إلى شيء أكثر من ذلك؟ و يمر الوقت و أنا أغوص في بحور المعلومات و أقفز من نغمة لنغمة و أطير من نسمة لنسمة في ظل أريج الياسمين الأخاذ، حتى تأتي تلك المقطوعة، فتعود بي من حيث أتيت، جالسا أمام الراديو في سكون و ربما في ذهول من هول تغيرات الحياة. وعندها تسللت إلي بعض مشاعر الحزن، ولكن كان عزائي الوحيد هو استرجاعي لتلك اللحظات الماضية المفرحة بكل تفاصيلها: ذكرى ظلت وستظل محفورة في الكيان، ومن يدري، فلربما تعود يوما وأعود معها إلى واقع غير الواقع و حياة غير الحياة و عالم غير العالم...

The Potential Candidate

     This life is getting stranger and stranger. As you grow up in it, you start to learn more about yourself and much more about others. Yet growing up does not necessarily mean getting older, but getting to know how life works and seeing clearly what people want.

     God has given you a gift called kindness, but the more you deal with people, the more you realize that such gift does not actually belong to this awkward life, for the equation is turned upside down: before, in the good old days, Kindness=Goodness, while today, in the messy current days, Kindness=Weakness!

     Temptation rules! Self-interest prevails! And you are for others simply a mere potential candidate! So you run from people who want to get you used, but you fall in the hands of those who want to get you abused. There is no room for humanity or the slightest commonsense. Terms like respect, love, kindness, goodness, charity, trust, honesty, and others of the sort are becoming day by day obsolete. Words that are gradually losing their places at the dictionary to become a vague part of a vague history. Only the naive would believe in such platonic terms, as naive as you!

     What do others want from you? How do they see you? You see them as friends, while they see you as a service provider, and once the service is done, your presence is no longer required; you see her as a girl who deserves your trust, while she sees you as a potential suitor, and once she realizes otherwise and that you are dealing with her from the human level of respect, she turns to search for another potential black suit, for that seems to be her life objective and her built-in idea of a man; you see him as a real man, while he sees you as a body with no soul, and once the body is exposed and the eyes drown in the flesh, you turn into a disposable entity, a burden to get rid of.

     It is contagious! Today you are used, the next day you are the user. Today you control your self, the next day your self controls you. And it starts over and over again. Friends are mere objects at your service, girls are potential suitoresses, and men are a senseless cover for insecurities and desire. And kindness fades away, a normal result for recurrent states of frustration and depression. And life becomes full of frantic creatures tearing each other apart. And you stand all alone in the middle of the frenzied crowd, with all the tears of blood and the scratches and bruises, and then you realize what you are really made of. We are our own victims, and others are just a good excuse, suitable potential candidates!

No Mercy for Fools!

     And it was so painful to him to realize that all that time he was such a fool. Her fool!! He totally believed her. Totally believed in her. An angel from outside, but a devil from inside. So ugly, so scornful! He thought she was a saint, while she was nothing near it! All this time she was using him. Playing with him like a silly puppet. He kept on thinking about her and that she deserves all the goodness in the world. He even thought that he could take a bullet for her sake! He trusted her blindly, without reading the rules of the trust game manual! Trust Game for Dummies: Rule #1--She bluffs, he calls, she's the winner and he's the crying loser!! 

     He was an easy prey and fell into the webs of this 'black widow' so willingly! She strikes her thorny fangs and sucks his streaming blood, and he is still totally blinded! Call it a miracle that he got saved before she surrounds him with her 8 hideous legs and turns him into a lifeless skeleton: for her webs were as fragile as her lies and deception! 

     So he fell, hardly conscious, with a very slow recovery to come. She is still winning, temporarily, seeking another prey and another blood to suck, another game to play. And he lost, but no more a loser! No mercy for fools, that is true. But once a fool, never a fool, for at last he saw her dark side and broke through her multiple masks. She is totally exposed! And he is finally released...