I was trying to write depth, but my ink did not even sink in the shallow pit, my pen no longer holds the paper in pain, nor kisses any line with the red passionate flames. I sit here, down beneath all of the pits, down in the ground covered by gravels and sealed with cement, my shouts rebound, anguish can not be ceased, I can not reflect nor exhume my intellect... for my flesh can not speak its past, his kisses were smothered and forgotten and no longer work the magic like -our- past, my professional attire is redundantly hung for a painful scene that of my unemployed hands...oh I look at these hands, amid the shades, behind the sun, sun burned, nail polished, refined, dull, have died, for it does not fondle with affection to him, nor produces industrial mechanics for them....

Kissinger to Rabin

"I ask Rabin to make concessions , and he says he can't because Israel is weak. So then I give him more arms, and then he says he doesn't need to make concessions because Israel is strong".

I got the above quote from a newly purchased book - The Israel Lobby and the US foreign policy , and I can't wait to finish reading it.

Ah, god, I thought the quote was hilarious, although reality is dreadful and bloody, and I do feel regreful for not going to the protest with my sister in Montreal.

Anyways, thank goodness, there is ceasefire now, and alah yir7am ili matawo, ameen....

To my dear girl :

The liberated will need you to be screened through the stipulated act of sex, to check the limbs, size and hips, and the conservative want a stamp seal of the hymen is not destruct, even if she
reached the fermentation brink of late twenties, virginity is a must.
With the ultimate extremism that diffuse through men, contradictions seep through his penile existence. Different contradictory attribute must be found in you, and certain mixed proportions
has to be you, or made by you, my dear you have to know how the game is played, man is a chess game to be played, save your queen...your queen....
Extreme intelligence and intellect they seek but not over his reign of supreme control. That play girl and overt sexual wants they seek but not as obscene, she has to be shy and demure.. you milk shake, white and pure, but a vessel of sperms, you horny, you poor.
They seek in you sensitivity but not love, power but not weakness, love but not marriage,marriage but not love, contradiction lay in man...
...they calm you down in the name of modernization, and attract liberation to sway your temptation to meet his penile desire, and you wonder, why it is all lies, lies , lies...it is never past, present or future, it innate nature...
And it is only mixed proportions of contradictory diplomatic affairs....and you wonder why man, never solved war....war is man, and man is war of contradictions...they tell you to embrace your age, when they take you young over your old age...
You were brought up with virtues of honesty, bravery and principles, but when the heartache begins, you know that you offered the utmost idealism and honesty of all, and you forgot war is man, and man is war of contradictions...
you think attraction is spontaneous, and all the natural chemistry of two civilized beings, you mistaken, attraction is politics of hide and seek and the use of imagination to obstruct reality...Reality for man does not see romance in daylight, only through beams of illusions bestowed from the godly concubines above...
How can you be obvious in politics, you loose, how can you not use tactics and diplomacy to refute, so is the case of war and man is war of contractions....
you want your heart to speak in truth, you want your hands to stretch in liberty to his use, you want to reach deep in your feminine side, you want to give and give and love... I then apologize for your idealists shortcoming for he is an animal, he would not understand truthful civilization, he wants the game, the challenge, the risk, the caveman life... the exception are only for the enlightened, kind ones, and you can count few, almost a myth ....

However, for the beloved I apologize, for I know him kind to my bosom and my heart ....but now, I must admit I despise men, how can a rational human communicate to pure animal instincts...So my dear girl, grow your tactics, wear your feminine garments, be the queen of all and know the game early on...it is deception!

I drink Iraqi nationalism

Two Middle Eastern countries bogged down in muddles of mud, one I come from, the other is a brethren nation of Arabs just like me.

Both share the same news of raucous blood smeared on TV screens. So the call of civil demonstration is as vociferous as the pain of the silent, mute, insignificant Arab corpses, and the sounds of rockets, bombs are the cheerleaders to cheer my steps to go and protest the injustice.

I am human I sympathise. But beneath the layers of what makes me an Iraqi my march rewinds and passes through the oblivions, I feel apathetic.

I hear the sound of vengeances of Halabja in 1981- 6000 dead, chemically gassed, no protest of their unimportant death.

They cheered Saddam’s mongol invasion on Kuwait. No one protested to lift the sanctions from the Iraqis; the sanctions resulted in one million Iraqi child, and the price was worth it according to Albright. I heard no protest of our worth! The post 2003 invasion, even though throngs, crowds and thousands of Iraqis welcomed the invaders and others resisted them on Iraqi dead bodies. No unified protest was organized to send a message of anger due to the high number of Iraqi deaths, no protest to unify Shi’as and Sunnis from a regional Arab spirit.

But there is the tick button, the US , the stimulator of the crowds to protest and attend their right to express and attuned their consciousness to justice, and most likely Al Zaydi’s shoe symbol is used.

The mass graves, the dead buried beneath the sand are long forgotten. “Oh you Iraqis never tried to topple Saddam,” I remember my Lebanese friend uttering unlearned history of not knowing our Iraqi history, for him and especially as he was a Hizbalah Shi’a , the 1991 uprising sunk down in the gutter, forgetting our resistance against the Ba’ath from the South to the North , to take our fate with our hands, with much hope, America supplied the helicopters for Saddam to suppress the uprising!

Leave that alone, I think I can forgive, and I sympathize and I do feel my blood is almost taking the form of diffused steam when I see what is happening in Ghaza.

But my march to protest the injustice, will it ever lead to somewhere? Do I come from an Arab entity that is strong and smart enough to take its fate with its own hands?
I am against emotionalism now, I find it meaningless, and just as we march and protest more are dead not just in Palestine but also in Iraq!

Maybe if I ever go tomorrow, I would like to express the message “Stop killing our Children too, Iraqi children”.

The last in my tribe

I want an academic, analytical mode to ensconce my remaining brain neurons other than the mind's ardent desire to envisage wild rolling in the hay and gravy. Oh the pleasures of the world you are such a trick! Oh lonely spinsters how can you do it, oh erudite of knowledge how can you preoccupy yourself with the sole of human's curiosity ever so independently. Is it the scarce of passion or the abundance of passion that leads human procession, never is it the median of all things middle, ever?
I ponder my remaining brain neurons on a corpse of a red rose that of lost love, I cry over my growth ever so stunt in imagination, I can not write,in worlds I can never enter, in knowledge I can never decipher, only the touch, the smudge of killer red lipstick on his neck and lips. I wallow in the den of my ancient tribe seeking the heart's knowledge and feeds to my inner soul...I am the last lost shrew of my tribe, let my dither of where I belong die, Die, so I can ponder Plato and Pythagoras.

On a pillow,

lived a tear,

on a pillow,

the asserted fear,

On a pillow,

A secret scribble....

of words utter....

incomprehensible tatters,

like a torn fluff of pillow's feathers,

scattered in space,

like wishful dreams,

attached in voidness,

and just belong high up,

on ink clouds,

pouring red scribble,

of heartaches.

on a pillow,

warmth of mother's womb,

is gone,

on a pillow,

a lover's kiss,

is lost,

in tears....like wishful dreams....

on a pillow....

Just not so pleasurable

When comparing past and present, nothing that boggles my mind more than the anthropological , sexual and cultural behavior of the people of the Middle East.
Not only did ancient Arabs before Islam circled around Mecca bare and naked, but red flags on tents were the symbol and the emblem of women desire and request for sexual intercourse. I pity all the spinsters who hit thirty nowadays and never had any sexual encounter of any sort. I have no idea of how some one do it, I mean not do it, thirty something and never been kissed, maybe the promise of heaven, maybe its part of the package coming from a seclude, innocence-glamorized type of culture!
But more than ancient Arabians, there were the Sumerians, Assyrians, and even Phoenicians women whom due to religious and customary habits, made-available that of their bodies and vaginas to temple gods, to have sex prior marriage!
Compared to nowadays, the first encounter must be with the husband, and those blood splotches are not only important but the evidence of honour! It is crazy that some women not so long time ago, would not even know what exactly sex is, or would not even recognize the physical appearance of a male phallus. A lot will suffer thinking of how they can take such foreign body in their first wedding night, after years of indoctrinated, excessive sexual estrangement!
Did those ancient Middle Easterners thought it was important for women to have training and qualifications before dispatching them as loyal wives? Did quality sex really mattered? What happened!
I have no idea, did men taste change, before maybe they wanted a somewhat experienced women, later virgin and holy was their requirements? Do we only evolve under the male-dominance reign of power which heralds sexual fulfillment to men more than women, hence, four wives. Though I must admit Arabia's red flags did win the title of freedom, liberty in pursuit of sexual pleasures, though some baby girls were all gone under the crime of infanticide.
Now fragments of male-power is still a reality to dissect, Iraq now wants to mimic Kurdistan's move of prohibiting the four wives issue, even though the husband by law has to get the consent of his first wife, but it seems equal rights are somewhat wanted in that country. What is even funny Kurdistan still has problem with honour killing crimes. I guess nothing is perfect for us women! To be political correct Honour Crime is still not only a cultural problem but also a judicial, constitutional problem; maximum sentence is only six months for the murderer father/husband/brother, almost ALL over the Islamic Uma. It must be noted you can not do that in Islam, it is more of a backward cultural disaster that is not constitutionally challenged until now.
Now, here are some goodies I found while browsing
why is it men are mostly the choosers and not women?
“I.196: Of their customs, whereof I shall now proceed to give an account, the following (which I understand belongs to them in common with the Illyrian tribe of the Eneti) is the wisest in my judgment. Once a year in each village the maidens of age to marry were collected all together into one place; while the men stood round them in a circle. Then a herald called up the damsels one by one, and offered them for sale. He began with the most beautiful. When she was sold for no small sum of money, he offered for sale the one who came next to her in beauty. All of them were sold to be wives. The richest of the Babylonians who wished to wed bid against each other for the loveliest maidens, while the humbler wife-seekers, who were indifferent about beauty, took the more homely damsels with marriage-portions.”
And I really pity “ugly women” , and Silver coins can never be rejected, huh, what if she did not want him, oh how holly Ishtar said so!
“I.199: The Babylonians have one most shameful custom. Every woman born in the country must once in her life go and sit down in the precinct of Venus [Ishtar], and there consort with a stranger. Many of the wealthier sort, who are too proud to mix with the others, drive in covered carriages to the precinct, followed by a goodly train of attendants, and there take their station. But the larger number seat themselves within the holy enclosure with wreaths of string about their heads---and here there is always a great crowd, some coming and others going; lines of cord mark out paths in all directions the women, and the strangers pass along them to make their choice. A woman who has once taken her seat is not allowed to return home till one of the strangers throws a silver coin into her lap, and takes her with him beyond the holy ground. When he throws the coin he says these words: "The goddess Mylitta prosper you" (Venus is called Mylitta by the Assyrians.) The silver coin may be of any size; it cannot be refused, for that is forbidden by the law, since once thrown it is sacred. The woman goes with the first man who throws her money, and rejects no one. When she has gone with him, and so satisfied the goddess, she returns home, and from that time forth no gift however great will prevail with her. Such of the women as are tall and beautiful are soon released, but others who are ugly have to stay a long time before they can fulfil the law. Some have waited three or four years in the precinct. A custom very much like this is found also in certain parts of the island of Cyprus."

Oh apparently, ahal Cyprus have tishreeb bagila too in their diet :D

From here http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/ancient/greek-babylon.html