Showing posts from November, 2007

Another Brick in the Wall...

I am not sure if I am in a Pink Floyd kind of mood or a Bob Marley one. Another brick in the Wall. Your brave boys just killed "at least" another 5 Iraqis including one child. Cholera is gaining, and we are foaming at the mouth... Even the clown, Ban Ki Moon is concerned. He was concerned last week about violence against women, but he did not say one word about the sectarian Shias whom you called "very oppressed", slaughtering women with impunity...But hey, they are only women. Why should you care?! Your other category of "poor oppressed" the Kurds, are flirting big time with oil companies, have bedded Israel, and have signed over 20 contracts so far. One of your famous douche bags that goes by the name of P.Cockburn in an article in today's Independent, was so generous...really. He said that there are 2.3 million internally displaced, one million of which are Kurds from Saddam's time. This douche bag, Cockburn went against all the statistics from

Ground Zero from the Cold...

I am not sure if you have ever experienced that yourself, that of belonging to another universe, speaking a different language, even though you like to believe you are part of "it" all...the "here and now" of it all. Less than one hour's flight lies between the "statelet" (as a friend calls it) and between my Beloved, and if feels as if more than a trillion miles separate those two realities. Can you imagine what it must feel like between another group of statelets -also known as the United States- and statelets is what they are, and my Beloved ? I'm someone who always prided herself on what I deemed to be a "great sense of adaptability." Yet language fails me tonight. I'm someone who strongly believed in bridges and a common heritage beyond history and culture, but then again, am taught a lesson, lesson 101 in revising long held beliefs... I was with a group of people. I was asked to speak so I spoke... They asked me about torture

In the Heart of the Night...

It is awfully quiet tonight. Usually my upstairs neighbors are terribly noisy. They are what I consider nouveaux riches peasants. Or at least they pretend to be nouveaux riches . This building has nothing of new rich to it, more like new poor. I am grateful that they are mute tonight. I hope they stay that way - always. So it's a silent night for a change. I have the radio on, and late at night, several stations play the mythical Egyptian Diva, Um Kulthum. They always reserve late nights for her. Hard to listen to Um Kulthum during the day. I suppose one needs to be in a contemplative mood for El-Sett (the grand Lady). And rightly so, her voice and the lyrics that clothes her music, can only be appreciated in the stillness of the night... "You, the absent one, where are you? The past cannot be forgotten and the rememberance lives on, so you, absent one speak to me..." Will the absent ones speak to us? Will they remember us? There are so many of them, in the thousands. G

Falling Leaves...

I am very undecided tonight. I am not sure what to write about. I have a lot to say and I don't know what to tackle first. Should I address Persian flavored Pistachio ice creams ? Honestly, today someone offered me an ice cream, pistachio flavor. I don't like ice cream and I don't like pistachio flavors either. The green, I find to be a turn off...especially Iranian green. But he said "Eat it, it's good Iranian pistachio." I said "What happened to "Fustok Halabee" (Aleppo Pistachios from Syria) He said " This is better...and cheaper and it's all the same .” Funnily, I heard on the Radio, that the U.S. general is praising both Iran and Syria for helping America in "keeping the violence down" in Iraq i.e in helping the Surge. Then I read on Uruknet that Amerikkka is annoyed with Israhell for importing Iranian pistachios. ( article here) This is way too freaky of a coincidence... Then I thought to myself, to hell with Israel and

How to become an Outcast.

For anyone interested on how to...please check my second blog. Am sure a few Arabs can relate to it. And will welcome comments here - on this one -from those concerned. For newcomers, click on view profile - scroll down the page and click on Uncensored Arabwomanblues. Am also dressed like a Samourai for any warfare eventuality. P.S. I shall not be doing that again, if you are keen on the flip side of occupation, do check the other blog regularly.

Fragile Lives...

Yesterday, I spent all evening until the early hours of the morning in Hospital. Someone precious to me was taken in an emergency. I sat by this "someone's" hospital bed for what felt like an eternity. Many hours... And as this person was out of the "danger state" and was peacefully dozing off, I watched...and watched. I sat there watching, praying, silently crying and thought to myself, this person lying in front of me could have been dead. And I imagined what it would have felt like... The sense of loss was just too much. Whenever there is attachment, there is a sense of loss. They go together. Those who have refused to attach themselves to anything or anyone, are in fact protecting themselves from the possible pain of loss , the pain of separation - detachment, de-attachment... I went out for a smoke and felt very cold, shivering cold...A strange sort of cold. I was quivering like a leaf and while smoking my cigarette, I honestly don't know why, I thought

Una Storia Importante.

I think I've mentioned it before. There is this local radio station that plays oldies and occasionally some French and Italian songs. I absolutely love Italian songs. Regretabbly, I didn't take the necessary time to learn Italian. I happen to believe that Italian is one of the most beautiful spoken language in the whole of Europe and Italian shoes (and clothes) are works of art...No doubt about it. Coquetterie aside, Italian songs are lovely too...The song playing was "Una Storia Importante " by a singer called Eros Ramazzotti. Fancy being called Eros in today’s Iraq. If anything, today’s Mullah’s Iraq is anti-Eros par excellence . Cupid can go and hang himself or shoot himself with his own arrows. “Eros” Iranian style is only reserved for the brave Iranian mullahs, their followers, and their “muta’a” boys and girls. And even then, it has nothing erotic to it. It’s like, let me remove my turban while you pull up your dress or pull down your trousers...sort of Eros. B

"Pièce de Résistance"

I was invited for dinner. I thought to myself why not. I deserve a break after all. It's not like am getting paid or charging anyone for sitting behind this computer . So why not indeed. I was hoping to find that razor, knife, that would cut me away from it all- a bit like the surgeon's or midwife's knife that cuts the umbilical cord of the new born and proclaims it free and independent... Alas, no such luck... I might as well get used to the idea that I will never fit in. I might as well get used to the idea that I will remain a foreigner. I might as well get used to the idea that even though the "other" may temporarily accept me - he/she will make sure I will never belong. In the West, they told me "Oh, so you're a Muslim Arab?!" And here they tell me "Oh so you're an Iraqi?!" And soon they will tell me" Oh, so you're a woman?!" and soon after I will be told "Oh so you're still alive?!" and shortly after I

Uncensored Arabwomanblues

To Whom It May Concern I have just published on my other blog (click here) a post on the Western Marxist/Leftist discourse and its "manufacturing of consent." Just in case you may be interested and/or can relate. Enjoy.

Rock it.

Today was a good day. I went with a group of "friends"- thank God none of them were Iraqis. Iraqis are a lousy bunch to spend an evening with. Not because of our common problems. No, this has nothing to do with it. But because most Iraqis and in particular the shias are a bunch of lying motherfuckers...two faced sons of bitches. Most of them are sectarian whores who pretend otherwise. It’s called Taqiyah in their jargon i.e the "art of dissimulation." I am well placed to know. They have exterminated all Sunnis, in the name of their sect, their backward, shitty beliefs and in the name of your democracy - so I avoid them and you like the plague... You both contaminate with your filth. And am a purist, not wanting to be contaminated and I intend to remain that way. I know, it's not very politically correct of me to say so, but hey that's the truth. And Iraqi truth is very ugly these days... Besides you did not find politically incorrect to divide and partition

A Message...

I had an “amazing” dream last night. And am not making it up either. I dreamt that I was in some very narrow dormitory, that looked like a corridor more than anything else. It was dark and damp. There were 4 beds lined up, one next to the other. These beds were fully occupied by armed men. One had a sectarian Shia, the other an American, the third a Kurd and the fourth I could not tell... A man whose face I could not see for it was covered, suddenly came out of the closet and said to me whispering with a sense of urgency “Get out now and make no noise, we don’t them to wake up.” I replied, whispering back, trembling. “I have nowhere to go.” He pointed to a balcony which was equally dark. I left hurriedly and lay low on the balcony. It was very cold out there and he kept repeating. “Keep your head down, keep your head down. Make no noise.” I crouched there for what seemed to be an eternity. Then one of the armed men woke up. He must have heard me. He branded his gun and was about to sho

Extreme Makeover...

I need to be relooked, made over... I need to be revamped, refurbished, reshaped, remodeled, redone - All brand new. I need a new wardrobe, new shoes, new furniture, new home, new car, new eyes, new body, new blood...A new heart. I need a new passport, a new identity, a new name, a new nationality, a new language... I need a new map, new borders, a new flag, a new country... I need a new land, new neighbors, new people, new faces... Someone find me a plastic surgeon. A surgeon for the heart, the mind, the soul... Someone find me a musician who can play a tune I've never heard before. I need a new song, a new melody, a new rhapsody... Someone find me a new medical invention, a potion, a magical pill that will erase it all .... Give me a new bag of new memories... Anything , give me anything, away from the "new" hideous "people" of Iraq. Anything, give me anything away from the "New" Iraq. Painting: Iraqi Artist, Qais Al-Sindi /the Iraqi Flag.2007

An Intervisit - Afternoon Tea (2)

Following my Morning Coffee exchange with my neighbor, Paola Pisi - which I do hope you have enjoyed - I would like to let you in on the rest of our conversation which took us right into the afternoon in time for a nice cup of tea or should I say a small glass of strong Iraqi tea... Prepare your own hot or cold drink and join us for the rest... You mentioned at some point a pro-Iran line, can you elaborate on this ? Following what I said before, I need to add that the support to Moqtada al-Sadr and his death squads must be seen in the more general pro-Iran political line of most of the anti-war movement and its alternative information. Of course Iran has all the rights to use nuclear power for civilian purposes and most of Bush’s accusations against Iran are false and grotesque. Not only doesn’t Iran arm the Iraqi resistance, but the militias backed by Iran actively fight against that resistance. And the Iranian government, far from arming the resistance in Afghanistan, actively suppor

An Intervisit - Morning Coffee (1)

I have a neighbor. We cross each other's paths occasionally... We sometimes wave hello and sometimes stop and exchange a few words from across our "garden fences." I know that my neighbor, who also lives in Iraqi land, is an editor/publisher of some sort. The other day, driven by both curiosity and an eagerness to get better acquainted with my neighbor, I invited her over for a virtual cup of coffee. And since she lives in Uruk Land, I naturally, wanted to find out more...So we chatted a little... I will let you in on our conversation. First let me introduce you to her. Her name is Paola Pisi and she is the editor of And the following are bits and pieces of our meeting over a virtual cup of coffee... Since what she had to tell was quite important. I will share it here with you, in its entirety. So get yourself a cup of coffee, tea or your favorite drink and read on... I have noticed you've been in the virtual uruknet land for quite a few years now. How d