Return to sender

They beak my heart,

They steal my money, 

They waste my years, 

They ruin my home, 

And yet they dare call me "sick" and "crazy".

There's a hundred phenomena that points out to the cataclysm and the end of our days the way we once knew it, that was one of them.

I now know, beyond any doubt.

I've never seen eyes as dead,

I've never witnessed hearts so cold. 

I rather be called sick and crazy and "need therapy" a million times than close the door on my conscience.

My whole entire life has been one big traumatic event, with all sorts of people in all shapes and colors, at all sorts of different timeliness, in sheep clothing, biting on my very flesh and breathing away my own captured breath. 

But I learned my lesson, there is no bigger teacher than pain.

Distortion. 

Distorted. 

Disturbed. 

Disturbing... 

Let me see the back of you now going back to where you came from, 

wolves and foxes, 

with your trickery and delusions. 

لكم دينكم، ولي ديني

Quotes

"

Comfort is the worst addiction. 

Most academics know how to take

something apart, but not how to assemble it.

The most potent muse of all is our own inner child.

What we have to learn to do, we learn by doing.

The study of philosophy is to learn to die. 

Action is eloquence. 

Art matures spasmodically and

requires ugly-duckling growth stages.

I don’t have a lot of respect for talent. Talent is genetic. It’s what you do with it that counts.

When people show you who they are, believe them. 

اخشوشنوا، ان النعم لا تدوم

لا تحزن، ان الله معنا

ارتقِ، ان القاع مزدحم

الاناء ينضح بما فيه 

"

Orchestrated chaos

A rare moment of total silence

A full moon sky, a misty air 

The usual constant shaking 

Tremors that never stop. 

Rockabye baby in the treetop

When the wind blows the cradle will rock

Everything feels more dystopian by the day

The sensations, the realizations, the seeing, the remembering, the knowing, 

The cognitive dissonance, 

The denying, the escapsim,

The faces, the eyes, the narratives... 

Solar flares and full moons and chemtrails and nanoparticles and fake everything, 

But things have gotten serious, 

This surrealism has gotten real. 

This is the end of the beginning, 

or the beginning of the end... 

Nothing more to do at this stage but wait, 

Witness, 

and take note. 

A parallel world

On 6th February, the one year anniversary of the Turkey earthquake, I wrote a blog post but I ended up keeping it as a draft. I had grown so tired from my own voice, my own thoughts, my own perceptions, introspections, and reality. There was no point typing these out, but today, I feel different.

I just wanted to touch base, I haven't lost myself in the hustle and bustle of life, quite the opposite. I haven't been blogging much because I'm too busy being inside my world, feeling, sensing, understanding, knowing. It takes a great amount of work to do the energy work required to get centered, grounded, and remain aware, most especially during these exceptional times.

I came to a realization that I'm writing only just for me, truly. This isn't a battle of me against the system or the norm imposed by the society, or any person and their actions or words against mine. This isn't to repel the messed up traditions or to fight the backward ways of thinking, living, being. This truly is me with me (not even againt me). Me and me don't always need words, sometimes it's merely a knowing, a feeling, simply.

I don't bother say much these days, I very rarely and occasionally encounter people, and when I do, it's constant work inside. I've grown so accustomed to the energetically hygienic way of existing; clear thoughts, loving and accepting feelings. I can't tolerate the messiness of people's emotions anymore, and their accompanying toxic thoughts, and sheer lack of awareness. I require presence these days, and when it's not available, as is often the case, I keep myself scarce.

All the pain that I have ever endured in my lifetime was strictly caused by people's lack of presence. It is no surprise that I can't deal with abscent minded people anymore, with their shriveled souls...

But I don't judge anymore either, nor this is to put myself on a higher level of any sort, or in a better place of any kind. I just truly need to discern and identify things, and keep clear my energy and space, so that I can keep doing this and not lose myself totally again like I have done so repeatedly and ever so often since this adult life journey has begun.

The book remains to be written, but only if I manage to find the voice that I can use to write it with. There can be no judgments, victimhood, blaming, shaming, or anger. Once and if I ever find a way to use the tool of words to reflect exactly the presence and peace I currently live through, then it can be done. There are many stories to be told, the question remains if I could become the storyteller, without the need for the old bruised self to step in for wanting to be seen or heard.

So many stories to be told, and I wish to remove the I from them. I might be able to achieve that, perhaps with more time spent in this solitude and minimalist living.

The story of this post was supposed to be originally about the continuous tremors we've been feeling for a year now, since last February and the Turkey earthquake. The ground is constantly shaking but nobody seems to be bothered, thought the significance of this is quite huge, and very symbolic. The original post that I had discarded back then had somehow turned into a bitter one, as I contemplated on people's unconsciousness and oblivion to the dangerous happenings to our lives, the constant tempering with our lands, skies, and bodies, and all of the big picture! 

I got angry at people like I often do, and so I stopped myself from finishing or posting that post. I was not going to do frustration, judging, or seperation any longer. I do however chose to constantly and regularly detach myself, for the work or effect I used to think I might be able to do or have on people was all a mere imagination, I can be dangerously creative this way. Everyone's still indeed in their own bubble... 

Minutes prior to writing this post we had a stronger shake than the usual. Although it's a bank holiday, the streets are mad with traffic this morning and the sounds of incredibly angry people. I wonder if they noticed the shake, or if again it was just me versus me. 

Twelve Years on Blogger

Today is the anniversary of the blog. Twelve years ago same day I wrote my very first blog post ever, on February 2nd, 2012. I was randomly going  through some of the old posts recently and the date struck me and stayed with me. I had never before celebrated the anniversary, but here we go. 

It all started where I am now in a way, just another cycle on the spiral; art and transparency and personal life, and art again. It seems that the written word somehow always catches me and finds me, even when I myself have problem finding me. 

It isn't just important to me to create, it's equally if not more important to me to narrate how I go about doing it. Maybe the writer in me gets caught up in the fear of being lost, and so in interferes every now and then.

A lot has happened since that first post, I could fill books if I was to write all about it. This blog as a whole seems to be writing its own story about me though, even the gap years of silence, they too tell their own little story. 

I don't have a plan for the blog, I never sat myself out to write methodically or with a certain goal in mind. It has always been about therapeutically expressing myself through giving me a little and space and a break.  I am grateful I kept it this, most especially since I have discarded many different accounts of mine, platforms, and projects during those years.

I can't imagine where I would be in two years from now, let alone in another 12 years. I suppose I'm just  keen on keeping that venting with words thing, this truly seems to be my my art and passion. 

The very first blog post

Here and there

I waited all day yesterday for the quiet evening; I so wanted to write and prepared the tiny desk(ish) corner for it. The day was extra charged energetically and emotionally, but also my senses were overwhelmed. I can't tell for sure if it was me or if it was really noisy, I just know that I felt totally frozen from too much stimulation. 

Come evening time I got ready to get writing, turned the netbook on, got to Blogger, started a new post, had an attempt on few words, until I realized the E key wasn't working. I disassembled it, cleaned it, cleaned around it and underneath it, checked for anything odd looking, assembled it again, still nothing. My frustration grew so big I started to cry, and then I shushed my mind.

I turned everything off and lied in bed, I needed to rest from the chaotic day, but also readjust and recenter. Reading Mahmoud Darwish's Journal of Ordinary Grief was not a good idea on that day, and perhaps binge reading it all day long contributed in my gloom, though reading was initially my idea of escaping the senses overwhelm. 

I cried again, I wasn't sure if I was crying for Darwish, for the Palestinians, for the made up conflicts, for the apathy of the world, or if I really was crying over my E key. I think it was everything, and then some more... 

There is freedom in writing with a keyboard using full hands and all 10 fingers, sitting up straight, and looking at the words forming on the screen. My mind works in a specific way that's needed for writing, things flow differently, unlike when I'm blogging from phone. 

Was it another new thing I'm to lose now!? Perhaps it was, though I have been preparing myself for a long time. This netbook after all is ancient, it's a miracle it still works and I'm very grateful evey time I use it. I'm a minimalist through and through, and I resist technology quite a bit, I like sticking to whatever works, never was crazy about getting the latest gadget, the latest update, the newest or trendiest anything. The phone still works, I thought to myself, and I murmured a little gratitude prayer, then got down to starting a new book as I drifted to sleep and called it a day.

The phone is quite old too and is cracking up. It was a cheap make that I got at the start of lockdown back in spring 2020 when I lost mine out of the blue. I had to grab whatever cheap phone I could afford at the time and while the shop allowed me in, as they were pretending they were closed down, only sneaking one or two customers at the time. It's been almost 4 years already, and I'm still playing catch up. 

I'm still inside my own head, battling between thriving and surviving, confused about the time and whether to consider this a beginning or an ending, and whether all the losses were beginnings in disguise, and if indeed I have been blessed, or just plainly stuck in a rot. I'm still trying to make sense of things, not just what happened since spring 2020, but since, well, the beginning... 

The photos for work I'm taking lately with the phone are emarassingly low quality, the camera in my phone has gone really bad, the screen doesn't allow me to see perfectly either to when I'm attempting editing, and I seem to be still in this forever catch up to be out there. Everybody's so very natural at it, that showing themselves thing, photos, videos, voice, their face, ideas, style, the trend, the it!... They have the fanciest phones, the latest apps, the best resolution everything, and it's on 24/7, as though they're broadcasting their life, let alone their work. And here I am all l truly wish to do is to hide. Perhaps that outdated technology of mine is helping me achieve that, one way or another... 

Still, I gotta sell, people and customers are only to be found on their phones these days, mustn't I play the game?! I'm still trying to find that balance between a world that's so very physical and materialistic - in which I feel total alienation and experience complete detachment from - and an existence that's merely passing by, hovering over it all, simply witnessing.

Perhaps I overwhelm my own senses myself too from being too much in both worlds, and simultaneously thinking about them. I dream of peacefully existing in the middle, having established a newly found harmony and a wise enlightened way of being, forging this into that when and if needed, minus the narration... 

Just maybe.