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Inkbloodedwoman

''Do you need to touch a thing to transfer your emotions or not?'' I touch music,calligraphy and air…can you catch the sun rays? I can…

Lesson #3

Note to self : you’re never too old to get a play station 4

Lesson #2

Note to self : nobody is taking notes for you but you.Ironic isn’t it…? Your scars are your notes . #Observe #Heal #Bloom

Sarkasmos !

Lesson #1

Note to self : Do not seek refuge in people . Invest in books,coffee,and shisha. 

Sarkasmos !

Ambedo..

 

It’s extremely hard to pour my heart out and confide in someone,so I burden the electronic non-smelly ( ironically public) pages of my blog with words and run-on sentences . Here is where I lick my wounds,and where my fantasies lie and die one after another.Here is where I destroy and reconstruct the brain of an ink blooded woman who is often very lost,hopeless and melancholic ,yet incredibly strong ,crazy,semi-nymphomaniac , and extremely competitive against her own demons and shadows. 

I have to admit : lots of these words taste like tears : salty and bitter and proud generous tears.

One of my favourite quotes is by Margaret Mitchell : ” Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them ”  . I became Atlas,I’ve carried burdens as heavy and as bloody infinite as the universe; but my shoulders are growing tired,and my attempts to lift the burdens higher only turned into a nasty relapse.there is this deep seeded feeling of pain,anguish,endurance and an infinite void that I failed to hide every time I tried to look my creator in the eye…

I don’t know how to write or what to write anymore,but I loved him because he defied me.He was the shoulders that took the weight off mine and celebrated ever scar,every scratch and every wound on my mortal skin.He was simply a beautiful ambedo.

There was a big miscalculation.I never did calculus despite my great admiration for Newton,and I really hate numbers ,maths ,and logics.however, I never knew I’d be reduced into fractions that equal DIVISION ,thus the result of our “situation ship” is irrational…yes ,irrational.Common sense,rationality and logic were nonexistent in his world and I loved it and lived it; but we were never together : divided and helpless.

He and I are parallel lines,with the same force,same intensity that goes on and on and on ..am blithering.again.gibbersih.

He was an act of desired violation of my body and soul,and I did not mind it..at all.

Sarkasmos !

قهوة و أشياء أخرى

 

هو : أنت قهوة لوجع القلب و ليس لتعديل المزاج !

هي : منذ متى تحتسي القهوة؟ أقصد…منذ متى يستهوي القهوة قليلو الصبر و العشق؟

هو : آه على قولة شسمو : القهوة لا تحتسى على عجل، يا قهوة وجع قلبي!

هي: و القهوة لم تُخلْق لأمثالك ،القهوة امرأة تقبِّل شفتيك لتلجم لسانك و تختصر الكثير من زلاته و جنونه و مداعباته .يناسبك كأس من أهل القِرَب و القلوب الشجاعة : كأس سكوتش مُعتَبَر …انظر كيف تكتب بالعربية : سكوت – شششش ، حتى مشروبك المفضل يدعوك للصمت .

هو: يعني أبدعتي،أنا هيك جد سكتت.

هي: الصمت لا يناسبنا ،أتعرف لماذا؟ لأن قنوات الاتصال مقطوعة من (جذورها) .نفشل في الكلام فيزيدنا الصمت فشلاً . أتدري ما المضحك في الأمر؟ أنك أنهيت فنجان القهوة . ما صنع العرب نبيذاً ألذَّ من ذلك ها؟

هو: الكوفي؟ أو الكاففيه بالإيطالية؟ تبقين ألذ قهوة و ألدَّ عدو بالنسبة لي رغم كل شيء .

هو مجدداً : قولي لي ، أتقرأين الفنجان ؟

هي: نو نو نو دعني أقلها بالعربية : لا

هو: حاولي ،عشاني

هي: طريقك مسدود مسدود يا أخا العرب،و الله أحس بأنني أواعد رجل كهوف أحيانا !

هو: أُف ! لم أقلب فنجاني بعد !

هي: و لم تقبّلني بعد ،ما نفع القهوة إن لم تدعو شَفَتيّ لتكون برداً و سلاماً على شفتيك؟

هو: قبِّليني إذن و اختصري !

هي : أتصدق أني أغار عليك من فنجان قهوة ؟ ربما لأنني أريد فنجاناً أيضاً .و ربما لأن تلك المرأة المستلقية على صفحتي البيضاء عليها أن تستيقظ و تحتشم .

هو: أنت امرأة من حبر و هي امرأة من فحم

هي : و أنا و أنت أبطال الكوميديا السوداء

أمسك بيديها و قبّل  أناملها

هي: و الآن عاد لسانك إلى مداعباته، دع أناملي و شأنها ( مبتسمة طبعاً)

هو : أنت قهوة برائحة امرأة ،مرّة كالفحم . كيف بس؟

هي : أفحمتني يا رجل!

ح – ب- ر مبعثرة

  

أنتِ حِبرٌ و حَربٌ و بَحر…

أنت حبر أسود،خطّ بسواده درباً يشبه تلك المتاهة  في جدران فنجان قهوتي . يشبه الطلاسم التي يمليها إخواننا و أشقاؤنا تحت الأرض لمن فوق الأرض . حبر يبوح بسطورٍ حلفت ألّا أقرأها بعدك …حرّمت علي العربية يا امرأة ! 

لقيت حَتْفِي حين عرفتك،و كرهت ضعفي أمامَ عينيك.و كرهت عبدالحليم و قارئة الفنجان. و أشعار نيرودا و ذهب مع الريح.حبذا لو عشقت أبا العلاء المعري أو جاكومو ليوباردي! كنت عرفتني متشائماً و تركتني و سوادي أخلاء!!

ويحك ! كم تعشقين التاريخ و الحروب،ما علمت أنّكِ أشد وطأةً من البسوس و أشد إذلالاً من حرب الأيام الستة ! مئة دقيقة في حضرتك تساوي حرب المئة عام !

 يا نازيّة المنطق ! إن كان هنالك فسحة للمنطق !

أهلكتني و عَدّلتِ حدود محبتي و جنوني.لا تعترفين بوقف إطلاق النار !  تركتني أسيراً أنسج في ذهني اتفاقيات سلام،  و ألعن وثائق حقوق الانسان و المحاكم الدولية التي أسقطت حق المرافعة إن ماتَ أحدنا قهراً من الحب و قلة الحيلة ! يا إرهابية

أنت حرب بلا بداية أو نهاية ! 

أنت بحرٌ سقط سهواً من ذاكرة الفراهيدي . بحرٌ كتومٌ لا مفتاح له و لا مفاعيل …أسأل نفسي أحياناً إن كنت قد أحببت أم حقا سقطت  ( وقعت في الحب) . تماماً كتيهِ أوديسيوس في لُجّة بوسيدون .لا أدري إن كنتِ إحدى لعنات الآلهة أو العالم السفلي ؛ لكنني أعترف بأنني خسرت حربكِ … لعلي أكتب رسالة غفران جديدة ،تمحو خطاياي و تمنحني حريتي من جديد .

أعطِني حرّيّتي أطلق يديااااا …حتى أنني أبغض أم كلثوم لأجلك ! 

ساركازموس طفح الكيل !

Error!

  

She’s just as messy as a zentangled canvas;yet rich and unpredictable : black and white flow in streams of ink.

She’s too wild to tame,and has a world of her own .Her brains are magic for she believes that God is the greatest magician ,and she is God’s favorite child.

White canvas : pure ,innocent ,immaculate . How boring ;she thought…

She confessed her sins on her canvas.Her life tangled up in pretty black ink , but the hands were shaking,and she erred…

Not a perfect canvas after all but she did it .Her own damn canvas with errors and corrections.Well done #Inkbloodedwoman !

Perfection is boredom ,to perfect is to err !
Sarkasmos !
*first attempt zentangling and doodling . 

Lie big,or lie trying..

I really wanted to touch the tip of his nose,you know what they say : if you tell a lie the temperature of your nose rises. Stupid Friday fact ? He smiled and looked away.My heart was detecting a lie ,not a big one; but the kind of ridiculous false piece of info that could stir a storm in your heart and untie your tongue,so you could blurt out all sorts of nonsense .

He : What’s more intriguing : science or magic?

I don’t know.magic? 

He : Wrong : science. 

Oh.

He : What’s more important : truths or lies ? 

That’s a tough one.

He : Not really,just pick an answer.

Can I touch the tip of your nose?

He : Can you kiss the tip of my nose? I’d kiss your chin in return.

Why? Is there a stupid Friday fact about chins?

He : Maybe.my kisses are sincere though,just the way you like them.

My lips were so close to the tip of his nose,so close I felt the warmth of his breath on my chin.as if he wanted to let out a big sigh he said : I lied.

I still wanted to kiss his nose,and I didn’t feel like going back to my chair.
We were reading The Kama Sutra : “When a woman, having placed one of her feet on the foot of her lover, and the other on one of his thighs, passes one of her arms round his back, and the other on his shoulders, makes slightly the sounds of singing and cooing, and wishes, as it were, to climb up him in order to have a kiss, it is called an embrace like the “climbing of a tree.”

He : Would you like to climb a tree? Would you like to coo?

I’m fine with spooning and moaning.what on earth does cooing sounds like when it comes from a human?!!! No seriously, this book is not about sex.if you insist on climbing a tree go climb a cactus !

How about Mahmoud Darwish‘s Kama sutra ? He again.

No,no no no no.let me say that in Arabic LA’A

He : I’d want a woman who wouldn’t mind climbing a tree.

I’d want a man who would mind that.
The warm breath I felt on my face was pleasant and hypnotizing , his thumb was softly caressing my lower lip,trying to force its way in .
My tongue spoke a strange language that hardly appealed to you that night.you’re too good for me, yet I can only rest my body on yours.I never loved her and I never loved you.but you shoot my demons down ,and you become my refuge when I’m with you,when I’m inside of you.when I’m licking your tears when I fail to lick your wounds and ease your pain.you’re marvellous,addictive ; a morphine shot that I desperately need every now and then. I was born a bad seed and you didn’t mind at all.Don’t let go just yet. Don’t let go.

I have to admit : we are so beautiful together,we crash into each other and spread our wings and fly over the cuckoo’s nest.we are good together and good to eachother. 

Would I still be his favourite – girl unclassified – ?and she ? Was she magic too ? 

Placing one foot on his,and the other on his thigh while passing one of my arms around his back and the other on his shoulder .i whispered : I never really climbed a tree .you’re my first cactus .imagine that ?

As my nose touched his neck he smiled and said : Al…the temperature of your nose is unbearable ..

Cactus is a tree? Shhhhh…..

Sarkasmos !

The Meta-Morphine!

  
– Seriously Al ,what’s with Kafka?The Metamorphosis and the desperate Gregor Samsa?how about metamorphine instead?it will silence your demons for now..

Morphine blooded woman


Sarkasmos !

Unfinished

  

Who are you?

I’m a question mark that follows a very silly question.A question mark that is followed by an even sillier answer. Replace me with a dot…will you?

I’m an unfinished drawing of a woman , sitting and waiting helplessly for an eraser to tickle her lines and redefine them sharply and mercilessly with a pencil.

I’m a chain of infinite thoughts,slowly forgotten after a glass of wine,or two…

I’m an unfinished sentence ,the rest of me still lingers in his eyes.

I’m an unfin……

One thing I know for sure : I’m not his ” le mot juste” , never was,never will..

Finished 

Sarkasmos !

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