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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 . 

 

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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 !

 

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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 !

 
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Posted by on June 3, 2015 in A myopic saga..

 

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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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La Fin …

She was a skilled puppeteer,manipulating her puppets and pulling their strings ; some fall dead,some struggle to elude her curse, and others just wait for a move.she resented the feeling of being the Goddess of their stories,but somehow it was consoling for her to write a line or two for her puppets to recite and follow .Her stories were the usual ,or not :  no antagonists ,no winners,no happy endings ; only random thoughts of a thantophobic .

The swollen reddish lines around her fingers from those tight strings notoriously made her the queen of puppetry.Fishnet gloves, red nails ,and black strings : she never played safe.

For the ones who admired her reflection in the mirror it seemed an inescapable fate to fall for her fishnet,or become another helpless puppet,but they never knew how desperately she was longing to break free from her own strings,it was a matter of time though…she was no Houdini .

The time has come,the queen of puppetry pulls the strings with her teeth.it was so painful it cut deep into her skin .the puppets fell without making a sound.it was mirific ,orphic …almost a vision as she gazed vacantly at her own reflection in the mirror.

Curtains fall.

 

Sarkasmos!

Pencil sketch with carbon overlay

 

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Image

عندي ثقة فيك – فيروز

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My heart is a drum-aaaaa in progress

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This time it was not a ceiling I was staring at,but him.Beck is playing : Heart is a drum ; I say here comes my favourite part ! Beat beat beat beat ,Beck Beck Beck Beck …My heart is a drum,not keeping time with everyone…but syncing with his heartbeats while sinking into me with his piercing eyes.

As if I had the world at my fingertips when he caressed my cheek with the tip of his nose and the warm breath that could drive any woman,any living creature crazy .Beat beat beat be…

It wasn’t much the anticipation as his lips quivered to touch mine and seal the evening with a kiss;but wishing for it to be as meaningful as I wanted it to be.

Why why why why …Oh why Beck

I was wrong ofcourse.

In memory of a memory that once made the world stood still for a few seconds before his phone rang.

Switch! Time for me to go back home,time for him to go back to her…

It’s a night phase..Beck

Beck – Heart is a drum

Sarkasmos !

 

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