On Arab Men- Part III

and the ramblings go on... HERE

The Darkness of Psyche...

I am messy...Actually, I've become messy, sort of messy even though I like order.
Somehow a mass of disorder, a gaping void has taken over and a nonchalant reticence on my part in not remedying to it.

I have noticed this trend in myself...It comes in bouts, as if one minute I feel I have to be in "control" of my life and the next minute, this imperiousness slips away from me and I am just a spectator, watching it on a screen.

The screen is sometimes colored, sometimes in black and white...

Take for instance my personal picture collection, I hardly have any photos with me here, except a few, close family members. But if you open my pictures icon on my desktop, you will find hundreds of pictures - all related to Iraq.

Just the other day, I was taken by this urge to establish order again. I thought to myself, I really need to classify these pictures by subject matter and place them in neat folders instead of this Chaos.

I opened my pictures folder and had it laid out on a full screen...I had one look, an overall look -- like when you meet someone for the first time and you have this "vue d'ensemble." That is what I did, I had a "vue d'ensemble" and what I saw was both hideous and beautiful at the same time.

Hideous, because I had amassed a vast collection of photos since 2003.

I have the Prisoner's collection. Abu Ghraib with the tortured and mutilated bodies, and Blood leaving its traces on the corridors of this dungeon like some scheduled visitor coming daily to check on you. Naked, hungry, chained, diseased, forgotten...and that same visitor never fails to show up.

Then there are what I like to call the Crematory/Furnace pictures. A collection of burned bodies, sort of charcoaled like those from Falluja and Mosul,and the braised skin has become a kind of a uniform blue black, a blanket...Maybe the only blanket.

There are also the Butcher's photos. They are like these pieces of skinned meat, dangling in front of a butcher's window. And you stand and stare at them. Pinkish, whitish, red, and brown. Raouf was one of these pieces of meat dangling at the butcher's window. There were a few others, hanging there from the ceiling, from hooks, crooks and nails, pierced, cut and well sliced by the butcher's knife. Chunks here and there...A few were like heads of sheep with no eyes, and others were bulkier, like some cattle, and some were tiny like lambs about to be broiled...

I also have the Freezer's compartment. The Freezer's compartment can be subdivided into three parts. The morgue with its piles of bodies, dying to get some coolness before their final decomposition and the vicinity of the morgue, where they are lying in the sun, like carcasses, wrapped in white plastic or a white cloth, about to taste the refreshing shade of the graves...I also included the mass graves in the Freezer's collection, because they have already tasted the coldness of the earth.

There is this other category which I call the Blood and Limbs Bank. Pictures in red, all bloody. Blood running on the faces, in the streets, on the clothes, in the rivers, on the walls, on the pavements. And limbs...limbs everywhere. Arms, hands, feet, legs, thighs, torsos and heads, of course...A collage of blood and limbs, dispersed in no orderly fashion, glued to the floor, to the grounds, with super glue, with super Death...

Then I have the Rubbles collection. Cement, bricks, walls, buildings, schools, homes, huts, shops, cars, buses, bicycles, carts....all smashed and turned into rubbles, scrap metal, junk, debris and stones...

I also have the Accessories Department. Chains, rods, hoses, sticks, ropes, drills, barbed wire, wooden boxes, cages, handcuffs, sand bags, polyester bags, duct tapes, plastic bracelets, coffins, gallows and the remnants of a name, an identity number or a tattoo.

I also have the Emergency Room. Hospitals, naked hospitals, dirty sheets, expired medication, stained floors, cholera patients, cancer patients, all sorts of patients, looking at empty shelves, waiting at the doors of the empty doctor's offices, at the empty nurse's quarters, empty...but for Sickness ruling unguarded.

There is another section for Knowledge and Culture. Destroyed universities, empty schools, names that have disappeared, broken benches, smashed blackboards, burned books, ravaged libraries, exploded churches and minarets, looted museums, razed monuments, slit statues, looted artifacts, cracked ruins...

Then there is the Women's only. Raped, beheaded, exiled, crying, wailing, screaming, imploring, pulling their hair out, bereaved, lost, suicidal and all dressed in black...That black that follows them and I everywhere.

I also have the Children's corner. Confused, bewildered, begging, scavenging, abandoned, starving, thirsty, sick, abused, molested, imprisoned, trafficked, sold, bought,finished... A finished Childhood before it was even born.

There is also what I like to call the Ecological Lodge. Piles, hills and mountains of garbage, monuments of garbage, and sewage, swimming pools of putrid water...Urban environmental planning, made of walls, a wall to the East, a wall to the West, and between each wall, another wall...A barren soil impregnated with toxic death particles. Rivers that lost their colors and have turned into a dull grey, with still fishermen pulling out the Dead, dead fish and dead bodies. Deserted crops and fields and palm trees catching fire, pleading for help from an asphyxiated brown sky...

And amidst this hideousness, amidst the darkness of Psyche, Psyche that has unleashed all of its deathly powers on my Beloved, leaving nothing of Her but a skeleton, not even...

I see my Nostalgia collection. Pictures from old postcards, where colors were allowed, smiling faces playing ball, a family having a picnic, two lovers by the river bank, a patio of a home hiding behind a lush grove, a starry night illuminating the city of my Beloved, a flowing river shining like silver in the sun, a forever green palm tree spreading its shade to hold the fresh dampness of the earth...

And next to my Nostlagia, there is the Creative Room. Photos of artwork, Iraqi Art. Brushes of expression and story telling, of speaking, of giving, of grasping, of touching, of embracing...Strokes of passion, strokes of genius, strokes of brilliance, made in sweat, blood and tears, pouring forth from the depths of the Iraqi soul onto a canvass, keeping the Torch burning...

I finally decided neither to classify them, nor to put them in any neat order.
I shall leave them as is. A mix, a combination, a medley of black and white, of colors, of a deliberate Hideousness and a creative Beauty.

I shall leave them as is...ugly, grotesque pieces, the work of a dark, evil Psyche, transpierced with arrows -- rays of pure Light.


Artwork: Iraqi artist, Amir Khatib.

On Arab Men I & II

are out now. I like Part II best... Oh yes, I do.

Yalla, Enjoy...

Uncensored Thoughts...

For those who care and for those who care not, I shall be updating my Uncensored blog on a regular basis -- with music, writings, and maybe a poem or two. I do not wish to constantly advertise it, hence this little note.

I feel the need to hide in that other blog, the black gives me comfort.

After all, I was called a Black Widow once...

Another Story

To read -- HERE.

"Arabia Felix" in search of Herself...

Just yesterday, in the comment section, the name of Arabia Felix popped up. Arabia Felix was originally coined to designate the Yemen, and then became some sort of orientalist cliché for the whole of Arabia. Arabia the Happy One or L'Arabie Heureuse.

L'Arabie is far from being heureuse, thanks to the Orientalists and Colonialists of this world. L'Arabie is bleeding on all levels - moral, political, financial, ecological, social and spiritual...from the individual to the collectivity, from the child to the elderly... Denial comes in handy, a necessary defense mechanism. A wishful thought, an ostrich...

And there are no sheer coincidences in "Arabia." I have noticed that, on numerous occasions.

At times it scares me, as if the mere mention of a name, a word, will trigger an event, an incident, and confirm the deep suspicion, or simply shed light on more truths unravelling themselves before my very eyes.

This has forced me to become cautious in my writings, choosing subjects carefully, mentioning names and places with extreme reverence, for I know, as it has happened over and over, that sooner than later, something will happen along the same lines...

I have tested this almost ethereal connection. Take for instance Arabia Felix - Yemen, and a few hours later a bomb goes off at the American Embassy in Yemen, followed by a statement from Bush to the effect - This is a reminder that we are still at war with Extremists. Referring to Yemen, and by implication to Arabia as whole...

Yemen has been experiencing for quite some time some serious sectarian conflicts in some of its tribal areas and now this.

I have become superstitious, politically superstitious. I don't think I possess an uncanny ability to tap into the unknown, it is more like a very predictable agenda, scenario, plot, unfolding...I just sense it first, by connecting the dots.

At times I feel I, we, in " Arabia" are dealing with forces beyond politics, with dark forces beyond our grasp and beyond our control. It feels almost like some battle on some other level, an almost astral one.

The rational part in me likes to dismiss this kind of "hocus pocus", arming itself with theories and empirical facts. The other part of me, the "Arabian" part, believes that a decisive battle is taking place, on many fronts and on many levels, some of which I cannot full comprehend. It is indeed beyond politics and culture, beyond the "clash of civilizations"...

So yes, somewhere along the lines, I do understand the "Islamic" response, because deep in the collective psyche of "Arabia", Islam as a -- concept /thought or way of cognizance or life (not merely a personal system of religious beliefs) can appear as the only viable anchor, reference and defense.

It is not some archaic response as some like to believe. Sure, it is cultivated and played upon by politics and politicians with their own specific ideological agenda. However, it does resonate and strike many chords in the collective psyche and also provides a buffer, both temporal and spiritual from these external attacks, these incessant attacks on the "Arabian body."

And this "Body" has not been given respite. Assailed, constantly assailed, it has no time to reflect and no time to heal. It has no time and no space to find "rational" solutions, it reacts by falling back onto what it knows best or more aptly said -- on what it is most intimate with. Like some inner force that has been relegated to some private domain but has now come to the forefront, filling a vacuum and affirming itself.

And I may add that what it knows best or this resurgent force may not prove to be such a bad thing after all, maybe a necessary stepping stone - despite all of its downsides, a necessary and vital stepping stone to protect that "Arabian Body" or what is left of it. Unless of course, you are a partisan of new labour pangs and monstrous deliveries -- the new born Arabian Frankenstein.

Of course, we can discuss for days, the role of "Islam" particularly in its political dimension, and we may not reach any conclusion. But it seems to me, that "political Islam" (under its different shades and colors), as a counter force will have to be reckoned with, both on an individual and collective level. It may look like an impasse but it may also be a blessing. This is all open to debate.

And I invite Arabs in particular, to take a break from the bleeding "body", to use this blog as a starting point, a mini forum if you like, and start brainstorming, exchanging and hopefully conceptualizing, inventing, creating, a political model -- a culturally, historically specific, political model that may one day give birth to an Arabie Heureuse.


Painting : Iraqi artist, Kareem Farhan.

A Snapshot at the Fountain.

Look HERE...

A Delightful Piece of News.

Wallah am ecstatic today. I saw it on TV, only Al-Arabiah had a whole program devoted to it, Al-Jazeera the Qatari/Iranian mouthpiece toned it down. But still, I am going to shout it out loud.

First when I heard it, I smiled, then I jumped from joy when I saw the two guests arguing, then I gave the finger, the middle one to be precise and then the whole arm and said "Fuck you Kuwait, you deserve it." and "Fuck Al-Khaleej(the Gulf) you deserve it too."

Yabba I was so happy. This piece of news felt like ice water being poured on my heart.

Am sure you are as excited as I am now. Yalla here it comes.

The Kuwaiti ministry of Interior confirmed that 25'000 Iranians and some Arabs belonging to the Pasdaran, also called the Iranian Quds Brigades are sleeping cells in Kuwait.

That little worthless province called Kuwait has 45'000 Iranians and half of them are Iranian Revolutionary Guards.

One of the guests interviewed said "we need to be cautious with these accusations as they may rekindle the mistakes of 1980 and cause sectarianism", referring to the Iran-Iraq bloody 8 years war. The other guest said "Kuwait is experiencing today the pre-2003 Iraqi invasion atmosphere and the smells of a Lebanon." And he added "We have been subjugated by Iran when they encircled our embassy in Tehran and threatened our diplomats and we told them we do not wish to get involved in your conflict with the US, so what do they expect from us now, to bow our heads ?" And a reporter added that a very highly placed official in the State of Kuwait was facilitating the work of these Pasdaran and helping them in their work in Iraq.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

So Saddam was correct after all when he warned against the threat coming from the dirt from Qum was he not? Of course he was. And the invasion and occupation of Iraq by the US and by Iran confirmed it.

So when the vermin called the Kuwaitis which is really nothing but our 19th province complain today about Iranian infiltration in the Kuwaiti state apparatus, of course I need to rejoice.

When over half a million brave Iraqi men sacrificed their lives for Al-Oruba, Arabism (and not it was not to preserve the oil kingdoms of the Gulf) by thwarting the Iranian threat, then hear the syphilitic sheikh al-Sabah promise to the great Leader Saddam Hussein that Iraqi women will be sold for 10 dollars, because Iraqi will be squeezed so hard economically, of course I need to rejoice at that piece of news.

When that dirty lowly whore ridden 19th province gives it away as bases to the Americans and the Iranians so they can occupy my country, of course I will rejoice that they are now occupied by both.

When I said over and over that wherever there are shiites in the Arab world, Iran will wreck havoc by using the sectarian ideological card, and I specifically mentioned the following countries : Lebanon, Kuwait, Bahrain (and sectarian stuff is happening in Bahrain too, to my great delight) Pakistan (and hell has broken loose in Pakistan after the murder of the shiite Benazir Bhutto) and Saudi Arabia, I was received with derision. By the way the Zionist Chomsky from the American left (hahahahah) was barking for many years even at the height of the ethnic cleansing in Iraq about the "poor oppressed shiites" referring to the above mentioned countries.

But time has proven me right over and over again. And you ain't seen nothin' yet.

So yes Ladies and Gentlemen, Iran has infiltrated the Kuwaiti state apparatus, just like Israel and America helped it (Iran) turn Iraq into a fascist, sectarian shiite/kurdish country , and just like Israel and America will help it wreck havoc in Pakistan, Bahrain and Saudi Arabia but maybe not Lebanon anymore, now that Nasrallah and his thugs and the Iranian prodigal child - Syria, have struck deals with Zion.

Yalla, Mabrook. Congratulations to the Arabs and to the Arab wanking left in particular, including its bloggers, naturally.

More to come Insha'Allah...


Painting : Iraqi artist, Shaker Al-Alussi.

On Temples....

Visit here ...

The White Ebony & the Eunuch

Nothing is worse than a White person pretending to be Ebony. You know the kind don't you? The white female or male, fighting for the rights of "the poor oppressed Arab world" (or you may insert any other of your favorite "third world country")- the saving queens and warriors of the West, patronizing us on how we should be liberated, barking about human rights, women's rights and their freedom, democracy and social justice...when their bombs, their weapons, their drugs, their porn, their hookers, their politics, their poisonous expired drugs, their venomous products, their corrupt ideologies...are being dumped on us...Oh, you know what I mean.

They spend a few weeks in one Arab country, "in the developing world" as they like to call it in their politically correct corrupt hypocritical language - a developing world who is for ever developing, since they have never stopped colonizing it and they suddenly become experts because they visited a city, said hello to the "locals" or better still, laid one of them...Oh, yes you know.

Behind the slogans and the jargon, is the quest for exotism, an exotism that dehumanizes so can they brighten up their dull minds and their dampened, empty, over consumed libidos in the hope of reviving some life in them, having spread Death for centuries...

Then there are the White Ebonies, these are as disgusting if not more. The White Ebonies are in fact very Black. At home they cry "racism and minority rights", but abroad, in those "forsaken dumps of countries", their project and unknot their inferiority complexes that have plagued them for ever, and suddenly as if by magic, metamorphose into masters.
You find them as soldiers, snipers, contractors, security guards, missionaries, mercenaries, torturers, rapists and killers. Their embodiment is Condi Rice.

Then you have the Eunuch. I call him the "house nigger" in the White court.
The eunuch comes in different shapes and forms and with varying degrees of castration.

He/she can be your so called Arab - "intellectual", your politically correct "sophisticated" overseas student, your 2 cents below average journalist who thinks he's made it, your worthless, syphilitic, boasting dick roaming the streets of Europe or North America hoping to score so he can ante up his non-existent ego a few notches, your common lapdog who salivates like a Pavlovian dog at the sight of his master/mistress, panting for a pat on the head, basking in his/her shadow, in the hope that this latter will finally, one day, bless him and bestow upon him the seal of final approval...and last but not least you have the Arab "leader" who flexes his empty muscles at home yet -- sucks up, pants down, hoping to win favors - that of remaining in power.

The Eunuch of whatever variety is in most cases an Arab HE. He is spineless, deceitful, depraved, a lousy strategist, a filthy damp cloth, lacks morality, lacks verticality, spiritually bankrupt, hollow, void, with no dignity and no integrity. In sum, a vermin, a worm...

Only in the above light, can one understand the praise of the Eunuch Qaddafi to the White Ebony criminal whore Rice, the White African queen of the house niggers.

Take the Qaddafi - Rice example as the ultimate one. It is nothing but a reflection of all the rest...

From the leader to the average one - castrated he is. A political, intellectual, ideological, cultural, mental, sexual - Slave, an Eunuch.


Painting : Iraqi artist, Shadad Abdel Qahar.

The Nature of the Beast...

"Native Americans lived for scores of years in Chicago, on the shores of Lake Michigan...They lived peacefully until the year 1673 when a traveler and mapmaker by the name of Louis Joliet, accompanied by a French Jesuit monk named Jacques Marquette "discovered" Chicago. Soon thousands of colonists descended upon it just like ants on a pot of honey. During the hundred ensuing years the while colonists waged horrific genocidal wars, in the course of which they killed anywhere from five to twelve million Native Americans throughout North America. Anyone reading American history must pause at this paradox: the white colonists who killed millions of Indians and stole their lands and other possessions were, at the same time, extremely religious Christians. But this paradox is resolved once we learn about the prevalent views in that era. Many white colonists believed that " American Indians," even though they were, somehow, God's creatures, were not created in the spirit of Christ but rather in another imperfect and evil spirit. Others confidently asserted that they were like animals, creatures without a soul or conscience, hence they did not have the same value as white men. Thanks to those convenient theories, the colonists were able to kill as many Native Americans as they liked without any shadow of regret or feeling of guilt. No matter how horrific were the massacres they conducted all day long, it did not detract from the purity of their bedtime prayers every evening. The genocidal wars ended with a crushing victory for the founding fathers..."

Extract from the book Chicago by a great Egyptian writer, Alaa Al Aswany, p.1-2.

OK Alaa, if your sales go up, you will know why.

The introductory setting for the above took place in Chicago, year 1673.


An Arab city, 2008. A mail received from white Tracy, (a pretty fucked up name for starters) undoubtedly an American "female" - if such a thing still exists in the USA.

Transcribed word for word.

"It is obvious that your religion and beliefs are Hate filled! Can’t you feel your hatred? ~~That is not God given that is Human & Evil!
I pray for you to be loving and kind to everyone, we are all one!
Sisters and Brothers all of us, white, brown, yellow ….one big family under one God above!
No worries, Good will triumph!
May God Bless you with a Loving heart Sister! "

Tracy the "woman" from Amerikkka sent me this mail, knowing am an Iraqi.
After her country has murdered over one million of us, with impunity, turned 5 million of us into refugees, bombed our homes, destroyed our livelihoods, murdered our loved ones, our families, our president, tortured and raped us, maimed thousands of us, turned millions into widows and orphans, stole our wealth and resources, desecrated our temples, erased our history...while we were living peacefully minding our own business...

"Sister" Tracy writes in the year 2008. She writes as a good white Christian.

From Chicago 1673 to Baghdad 2008, has anything changed in America ?

Not really.

Do reflect on the nature of this unchanging, doomed, Beast. Reflect on it and its progenitors, France, England and the rest of the "civilized" West.

Painting : Iraqi artist, Fareed Al-Zaidi.

Ramadan's Forgetfulness.

As they gather around overflowing banquets of appetizers and succulent dishes, as their eyes fill up their mouths and their mouths fill up their stomachs, as they recline unable to move, sluggish and lethargic, exploding at the seams...
Thousands of Iraqi refugees, forcibly displaced humans, through torture, mass murder, ethnic cleansing, bombardments, lost homes... linger in neglect, forgetfulness - in abandonment...

A. still can't pay a rent. M.still can't afford medication for his daughter. S has been postponing this surgery for 2 years until paralysis visited him. N. still shakes from the flashes of being gang raped by the holy faithful shiites militias and witnessing her parents murdered in front of her eyes. Y. still hopes to go to school one day. Z. still wears those plastic slippers with no socks and another winter is approaching. W. still hopes for a cooker and D. for a blanket and a mattress. E. is still in a tent and...

Oh and Ramadan Kareem to the Arab and Muslim Ummah.


Painting: Iraqi artist, Abdul Hussain Al -Twaij

An agreement on a Sofa...

"Le cul entre deux chaises" - a lovely French expression which literally means - one's butt between two chairs.

An expression used when someone is stuck between two options, torn apart between two decisions, oscillating between two choices, or simply lost...

I remember a friend of mine with a great sense of humor. I remember telling him once that I had my butt stuck between two chairs and in his typical Eyptian fashion, he said " Turn it into a Sofa and lie down... and relax."

I offer my Egyptian friend's advice to the Iraqi puppet government and to the Iraqi sell-outs who cheered the fall of Baghdad and hailed their "liberators".

So are you crying wolf now - you bunch of hypocritical bastards ? So now, you have your butts stuck between two chairs and you don't know what to do anymore ?

Some of you want to hand it all to Iran, you dogs. And some of you are professional ass kissers to the Americans, having sold your country, your bodies and your souls. And now you are trying to reach the Sofa, huh? Oh and that also includes the fucked up Iraqi bloggers who waved the banner "no to Saddam no to America but...", and engaged in parliamentary national reconciliation after the blood of innocent Iraqis reached the knees...hoping to make themselves a name.

The above lot of bastards is one of the reasons I have no more inclination to write about Iraq. Blaming the Americans and the stinking Brits is not enough, one needs to point the finger at the other culprits - the Iraqis themselves. The lot of hypocrites.

So I was reading all about the SOFA, a text as clear as daylight, which calls for the permanent colonization of Iraq by America the pimp and its whore Iran. Yalla, bravo Iraqi Shiites.

And this is exactly what the "liberation" of Iraq was all about - its colonization. And this is exactly what the murder of Saddam Hussein was all about - its colonization. And this is exactly what the huge fake propaganda about the alleged Shiite and Kurdish "oppression and repression" was all about, allegations that your left with its matron whore Chomsky endorsed - its colonization. And the other hookers who bought it from the Left included a bunch of disgraceful Arab bloggers, journalists and so-called intellectuals of my butt -- You too, bastards, are AS GUILTY as the rest of the lot in its colonization.

So why quibble Iraqis and others about a few terms of agreement here and there, a few clauses and items here and there ? Some of you spread your legs and others bent over for all of this to happen. Relax now and lie down on the Sofa.

And this Iraqi, Arab woman spits on you and your Sofa.


Painting : Iraqi artist, Jaber Alwan, 2007.

To the Hacker...

In less than 30 mn, this blog has been subjected to over 50 hacking attempts. This has been going on for the past 4 days or so, around 3 times a day. That is 150 hacking attempts per day.
Hmmmm....I wonder why.
Give it up asshole. You will not silence me.