Why can't I?

why can't I just announce it? It's the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. It's Goddess. It's everyones' dream. It cuts through my uncertinities like flawless diamond. And IT IS real.

On Septemebr 2, 2004, we met for the first time. We talked for about two hours and I found myself chatting about the sillyest stuff ever. I felt like a kindtergarden kid so light, so clear and free of reservations. And I missed her the second she pronouced the "B" of the first "Bye" she ever told me. I knew we were gonna meet again, but it wasn't enough. I was already jealous. At whome? maybe at all the people who got to spend more time with her than I could.

My history of crushes, flings, break-ups and regretable one-night-stands was suddenly of less importance than the color of my PJ's (I have some really bad ones). The ones that I really liked seem now like a good memory, yet mere memory that I don't long for.

Yet, why can't I announce it?

I told her -not long ago- the hell with the whole process. Lets just a flee the whole country together. We don't need anybody and we don't need a political identity to call home. We could make every step of ours a comfy home. We'll makeout at every park and beach we pass by (I did mean that one).

Yet, why can't I just announce it? Maybe because I already feel very cheezy and silly announcing 0.5% of the story in my blog.

God Dam the man this soceity made me into.

The thing is
somtimes when I say the thing,
you tear the air complaining
about everything
have you heard about something that has one wing and can't do anything but flies?

Once, I heard the thing
declaring that anything
that lusts for everything
should build a cloud-castle
and grow feather fields around it
yet twice I fell

on my head

over the sky

because nothing explained
if I was supposed to sing:ding-nada-ding
or sharpen my sensitive string
to beat the hell out of the thing
till you cry

One thing is to say that you love the thing;
other thing is to love talking out the thing
adding one thing to the other won't
reveal the finding: "Anything but gigantic prey clinging on a dead tree isn't worth any thing
but a mere try"

I'm at work having a freshly brewed a cup of coffee and cig at my cubic. Just asked my manager if there was any work to do and he said no after pausing for few seconds.

My head feels like a Pharaonic adobe... You know...the ones they used to build the pyrmids. I guess zyrtec has become useless as a cure for my insomnia. I had a couple of them last night, yet I couldn't sleep before 5:30 am and I woke up at 4 pm with a severe headache.

I've been smoking like train at work. I dopted this habbit lately to express I don't give a fuck attitude. My neighbor at the cubic-hood tonight is not the poet, even though he's as quite as a poet. He could be a poet, who knows.

I know that he's from southern Lebanon. As I said he rarely talks and don't bother trying to talk politics with him because he'll turn deff. He has the Hezbollah short beared and stick his face to the TV when Nasrollah appears.

I have quite a few Lebanese co-workers and they come from various backgrounds. They're very decsent for all I could say. However, after the recent Israeli war on Lebanon I knew for a fact that they are far away from being one Lebanese nation. I thought they learned their lesson from the 80's civil war, but fuckin Olmert proved me wrong.

It's intersting how religious and political identities clash with national identity. The Lebanese case is very obvious the situation in Iraq is another "good" example of this delimma.

I don't know if handing a copy of Amin Maalouf's "On Identity" book for each and every Arab citizen would make a difference. I thin it would IF they read it.

The Kuwaiti society dwelss in the same dilemma and I discovered that when I went to the US for college. Before that I lived in one of Kuwait City's suburbs where all of my freinds cane from identical religious and cultural grounds: Sunni, "7athar" Middle- upper class. I come form the very middle-class; nonethless, some of my friends are millionaires.

I wanna do a flash back to take you back to my firts encounterment with fellow Kuwaiti citezens from different backgrounds during my first few days in the US, but I'm not on the mood. Zertic did fuck my mood today. I'll stop taking any of that shit even if it means a life-long freindship with insomnia.

The flash back for next thread if I make it...

Only 2 Perch Restfully on Barrels of Issued Rifle

I'm at work now, smoking a cig at me cubic. I came 45 mins late, which rarely happens and never feels good. Every one seems unusually quite...Friday afternoons. They always scare me. I can feel something is about to happen and I don't know what it is but I'm sure it won't be beautiful.

Last night alright. I laughed till I suffocated in Diwaniya. Nothing was new it was just one of those comfortable nights, no one was winning...(interrupted by work)

Ok, Back...What was I saying...yes, last night. There was no special events, but there was a notable general feeling of satisfaction among my freinds in diwaniya. There was strong positive vibe. Just looking into one of my Friends' eyes counted as a long, good conversation. the diwaniya's white dull walls felt so assuring for some reason. I was caught a couple of times worrying about something, but there were those fast looks that came suddenly to rescue me. "Everything is Gonna be Alright" was last night's hidden/subtel slogan. It feels so fuckin good to have freinds like these. Ones that you could telepathitically communicate with although you're not under the influence.

Work is mellow today, but as I said there is the feeling that something abrupt is about to happen today. the feeling is now fading as I remembered last night.

Next to my cubic now sits my co-worker who -like me- reads and write poetry. Unlike me, he openly considers himself a poet living for poetry. I sometimes admire him for that because I don't have the gut to express this attitude openly like him. At the same time I feel sorry for him because I don't think its making his life easier.

Poetry rescued me from various life-threatning situations especially during my college years in the US. I remeber a couple of termes following my break-up with a girl freind who I lived with under one roof for more than two years. I did not plan -neither did she- to live the rest of my life with her, but I was not ready for the change I guess. So I escaped reality with various kinds of "trancsendant activities" as I called them. ...Ready for the flash back....here it comes:

The seperation day:
We are huging at the porch. She is sobing and I have two options: either to sob with her or to smile my face numb. I choose the second opetion, which makes me feel like a fuckin statue with no feelings, but I have no other options (Do I?). To unleash my feelings means to crush and make her crush with me. I don't want that to happen so I, slowly but firmly, pull away, hold her head with both hands and kiss her forhead. "babye hon," i say. She wipes her tears and leaves. It doesn't feel real for me.

"Ok, I'm single and free now," I tell my self as if I'm trying to look at the positive side, but deep inside I know it's Psycho-therapy bull shit. "Focus...Focus," I tell my self as I'm possessing my back-pack. I grab my bike and leave home quickly heading to school. "I'll finish this term-paper within two hours," I tell myself. I bike so fast so I wouldn't make-up my mind and turn back to the porch where I would've been pathetically sobing like a baby.

To the school I was heading, but GOD DAM IT I made that turn. I knew it was gonna happen, but I was trying to destract the idea by ignoring it. I should've fought it face to face I guess. It happened anyway and I took that turn within 20-25 minutes I'll be biking back to the house with a scotch bottle in my back-pack. "It's not my fault that the county decided liquer stores could open on Sundays..."

It's been 3 years since I had scotch in my first encounterment with alcohol. I was never a fan of hard liquer, but at this particular day I'm not a big fan of life either. "I want to be somewhere else, other than life," I tell myself. The idea of death cross my mind, but come on I just burned Um Kalthoum's "Lissa Fakr" and "Alf Laila" on CDs and I'm planning to Walk with Johnny while I listen to the CDs and play my 3ood. "The plan sounds more fun than death," I tell my self and take a courageous, mouthfull sip from the bottle.

Half way through the wicked Walk with Johnny, I sit in a chair behind Um Kalthoum as I play my 3ood. "De Lelat 7ob 7ilwaa, be Alf Lela o le le le Lailaa." I wake up next mourning, thinking that Johnny lured me during last night's walk and gave me a blow on the head with his stick. "Le le le leailaaaaa," the dead women insists although the Sun is annoying the hell outta my eyes. I missed one class already and I have a sick-leave signed by Dr. Hangover, so the rest of the day is off.....(To be continued)

I'm still at work. The ashetray looks scary. My poet neighbor at the cubic-hood must've hated me for making him negatively chain-smoke.

If you're thinking I slacked my working hours blogging, let me intriduce you to "Masked Unemployment." She's the boss in all Kuwaiti state-run institutions. Did I say that I submitted my Resume to a number of private sector companies? (crossing my fingers AND toes)

Gotta leave...

I only posted one thread in my first blog and I was accused of lacking respect for women by a judgemental by-the-book shmuck. Well, I started this blog to have an outlet for my negativity (aka shit) and my first subject happened to be women at work. If any of you think I was too harsh on women, you should listen to what femenists have to say about women who slack the shitty work just because they are women.

Nevermind...this thread is gonna be dedicated to old people who lack ambition at work. They suck BIG TIME. As if it wasn't enough that they don't care about the quality of their work, they also start nagging you if you try to be creative and if -God forbids- you try to conduct your work with minimal professionalism, they will be all over your ass telling you how it's not worth it and how insignificance your work is.

During my first week at work, I asked a co-worker about something that would've improved my work if I knew. An older co-worker over-heard me and came running (to help I assumed), and this is the conversation we had:

Old co-worker: "You wanted to ask about somethin"

Me: "yeah I needed background info to wrap up this piece."

Old co-worker: "Well, you know. What you're doing is great, but it's not worth it. Our institution is shitty they take professionalism for granted. Don't bother with it."

Me: "Geee. Thanks for the valuable advice, but if you come back to me with the same enthusiasm-killer crap, I'll kick your ass back to your cubic."

Old co-worker (over-taken by the rookie's stark response): "What? I'm as old as your father."

Me: "I know you're too old to be working in a cubic, but if you'll keep throwing your shit at me I WILL make you feel sorry for your old ass."

He gave me the look and left. Ok, you might say that was too cruel on the "Old Gentelman." I say F him. I don't care if he F'ed his life up and winded at a cubic at the age fo 57+, but I will not tolerate any attempt to make my life as F'ed up as his.

I think such wining-women or apathic old people proliferate at government-run institution where they can slack working hours with their usual crap. Maybe I didn't make the best decision when I joined a state-run institution, but at least now I know why our government sucks. It's only because it harbors these examples and has no mechanism to evaluate its employees. I wouldn't be surprised if the old fart who was trying to thwart my effort was promoted to be boss only because he's been workin here for too long. But I won't wait until I see that day...I'm leaving to the private sector as soon as I get a good offer.

According to Robyn Schiff,
I'm a "Devil Finch" flying seven
centimeters away from
Her Highness the Sun-- only
to perch
restfully on
barrels of
issued rifles.
If you do hear me singing,
you just caught me in a trap of dissection.
"If" here,
implies an absurd condition
as my complexity is beyond your analysis.

In other words, you don't hear me
because I'm always free...

You don't hear me? Drop your rifle, Fly with me

Yet another night. Yet another affair with insomnia. Not feeling so bad though since I accomplished quite few aimless tasks.

I read a poetry book a colleague at work gave me. He actually wrote it. Ok I lied, I only read the first few pages. I'm not saying it was bad. I just felt that I wanted to read something great, so I went to Adonis' "al-Kitab." I read 43 pages and then realized Adonis was not great enough for me. IT IS one of those night.

Enough with this crap. It's 5:30 am already, I haven't got any night sleep (I never do) and I'm outta cigs. I need to get staright to the point:

I started this F'N website to show my hairy ass to the whole society, but it ain't gonna work because I can't spell the F word...and I'm outta cigs

There is a big chance my colleague Hashim, who serves me enough coffee and tea to nourish my "very healthy insomnia," will read this blog and identify my sorry ass. So it is almost a "definite probability" all the KoKo-sucking-monkies at their cubics will identify my A-hole and it won't be smelling awesome.

In one hand, they tend to sustain a shit-faced expression all the time and they never stop complaining(My colleagues), so why bother caring about their feelings.

Yet in the other hand, some of them can't wait to kick my buttox all the way to the "Fired!" zone and I'm sure if that happens only Hashim and I will feel sorry for me.

I work shifts. Usually afternoons and nights because Kuwaiti women know shit about equlity plus, if married, they're so busy kicking their nannies' and servents' asses. Tell them you should do afternoon or night shifts - as men always do - and the divas will be transformed to unpaid hookers. You don't want to see that unless you're too horney to mantain your descent image.

Ok, I might be generalizing when it comes to the nannies part, but I INSIST they know shit about equality. Some of them think they do, especially when it comes to hip orange shirts and handsome male electoral candidates. Please mind your cute fashion and plan your next summer trip. Do not give me the equality shit because you're still and will always be that waiting-for-MrRight-or-whoever-marries-me-girl, and if married you're too dumb rt realize the source of your frustratation, which is lack of genuin moaning fiestas.

Look at me. I'm complaining like them now. It must be the BV (Bitch Virus). I'm outta cigs...Horraai, I don't have to work tomorrow....I'm outta cigs...I'll stop complaining and start chain-smoking like a train in my cubic next time I go to work...I'm outtaa cigs....I'll make sure all the divas/unpaid hookers - who complain about passive smoking at work and smoke shisha in cafes- will get cancer in their Bitch Attitude...I'm outta cigs...One of them stole my work and now feels guilty whenever she sees me and yet how she deals with it? of course by being a Super-Bitch...I'm Outtaa cigs, but I will make sure I have a full-pack when I'm at work...It's revenge time,..give u a taste of equality, yet
I'm outta cigs