لصحبة، أنا لست في حاجة

ان الحافة، طنجة هي مكاني المفضل. أجلس و يجلس هو معي. و أكتب لعله يتعرف علي. لا، لا أحتاج الى صحبة. كأس شاي بالنعناع و "زلافة البيصار" لتدفئ و تنقص من وطئة البرد و دخان السبسي و الحشيش من جنباتي يوقظ فية ذالك الشاب الطائش. أجل كنت انا أيضا شابا طائشا كالآخرين. ألعب و أمرح و أسكر و أفعل كل تلك الأشياء التي ان لم أفعلها لما اعترف بي مجتمع الدكور و لن أدخل بوابة الرجولة. و يا طيش.

أجلس و أتأمل و أتحاور و أتجادل أنا و هو. ماذا لو "حرَكت" أنا أيضا الى بلاد الفلامينكو و روديو. ماذا لو؟ لكن لا. لا أظن أنك كنت طائشا الى هذا الحد. ربما لم تكن ذا بعد نظر.الأمر سيان. عجبا!  المهم، أجلس في مقهى الحافة. أرسم. أتأمل في نفسي. تمر الأحداث من حداية كالسراب، كالأحلام، كديجا فو. أبتسم لتلك و أقهقه على هذه و يفور دمي على تلك، و تدمع عيناي على هذه. أنا لست بأحمق، بيد الا أن حياتي مهمة بالنسبة لي لا أبغي أن يشاطرني أحد ايها. أنا اناني. حياتي منحنى واحد.

هكذا أعيش أيامي الا ان يجمع بيني وبينهم الموت مرة اخرى. نهاري حافة و ليلي حجرة، أربعة جدران يُظلمها قنديلي. لا، لا أحتاج لصحبة. في حجرتي صديق لا بل عدو بل لا أدري من هو، لم أختره، يغيب و يستعمر غرفتي و قنديلي. يصاحبني من منزلي الى الحافة و من الحافة الى منزلي. أليس لذيك ما تفعله؟عرفته دون أن أعرف أني عرفته. كرهتها، كرهتها و حبست نفسي في حجرتي و حبست صاحبي. لن تذهب الى أي مكان. لن نذهب لاي مكان من الآن فصاعدا. هكذا منذ أن عرفت نفسي و أنا هكذا الا أن حدث ما حدث.... الحياة..

- "Move on . It's a chapter in the past, but don't close the book just turn the page ." they say.

- "Sometimes, it is healthier to change the whole fucking book, the whole genre, let be, from a romance to a fucking mindblowing science fiction, isn't it tempting?" That my responce, my doing!!

"Writing brought me solice."
G.G

"You don't have to do your homework in heaven, unless your teacher is there too"
L.S

"I am cultured enough to never forget my roots."

A.

 "c'est l'amour ; l'amour, le consolateur du genre humain, le conservateur de l'univers, l'âme de tous les êtres sensibles, le tendre amour."

Candide, Voltaire.

"أنا أكتب فقط من أجل حاجتي إلي الكتابة التي صارت ضرورية لي ، أنا محتاج ، محتاج أكثر من ذي قبل أن أربط أفكاري بموجودي الخيالي، بظلي، هذا الظل المشئوم الذي ينحني على الحائط أمام السراج ذي الفتيل و يبدو أنه يقرأ بدقة كل ما أكتبه و يتجرعه ،هذا الظل لا ريب يفهم أفضل مني."
صادق هدايت، البومة العمياء

.

've seen a fallin' star,

A soul saw the light, crossed to the other world.

R.I.P Nelson Mandela.

"Décrivez-vous en quelques mots", a request I fear to fulfil.

I am willing to go mad, if the world am in is the manifestation of sanity.

غزو

ليس من الضروري أن تعرف، بل أن تحس، و أنا متأكدة أنك تحس بالمدينة تغزو عروقك، تغزو أفكارك كغزو العرب للاندلس.... مع كل دقة قلب، يسري حبها المجنون و المسكر في أنحاء جسدكـ، يفتك بكل الأحاسيس التي تكنها للمدن الاخرى. طنجة الآن على وشك استلام العرش و تربعه الى أن يبغي القدر و يفنيني.
 أما الآن فأنا سكرى، أترنح من الحافة الى مقهى الريف. و يأتي ريح البلايا و يعصف بي الى المنار بارك. و يأتي الشركي و يعصف بي الى مكان الحشم و الخدم و البلاط السلطاني للقصبة. و يختطفني باب البحر و تتغزل بي المقابر التاريخية و يهمس في أذني حفاء خبزها الشُكري....
 ويغمض عيني منظرها الليلي، أجسام قوقعها البرد، أوت باكرا لفراشها، التحفت الاسمنت و تغطت بجو البرد القارس، تظنها جثت، بالفعل هي جثت بالفعل. دمها لم يتخثر بعد، قطراته  على أنياب الحياة لازالت بادية للعيان.
 ويهمس في أذني حفاء خبزها الشُكري.... يغمض عيني منظرها الليلي، بعد أن أوى خلق الخالق، و أَفاق خلق المخلوق، بالرغم عني، لا بل بارادتي الفضولية و همس حفاء الخبز الشكري، عشت ليلها و يا ليل....
أحدها أحد الجبن و السلع الجبلية، متبرج بملاحف حمراء و طرابش دوم و أوجه أكهلها الدهر واستعبدها البرد حتى انكمشت قهرا. أحد رائحته، رائحة"النعناع" و "الشيبة" و خبز زرع ساخن. رائحة تحيي ذلك الصباح العذري، صباح مثقل بنسائم تربة زارها ليل و ترك نسمة "أمل"  على شفتيها.
ويا ليل، تسمع ضحكات سكراه تعلعل، و انت مار، فى هواء دخان شيرة و عشبة. ضحكات بغو و عهر و استمتاع و هوى. أعين مترقبة و أيدي مكبلة، و عقل متلف، و شهوة مترجلة.... و يهمس في أذني حفاء خبزها الشُكري.... 

I am an addict.

My addiction is eye contact.

أ سحرتك طنجة؟ أ أوقعتك في شباكها؟ أ جمدت كل الأحاسيس الا حبها قي نفسك؟ اذا كان الجواب نعم، فدعني أرحب بك بين مسحوريها.

I can be whoever I want,
But 've chosen to be me, proudly, only me.

متهمة

لو أُستدعيت الى محكمة الحياة،

 لكنت سجنت و عذبت، بل شنقت،

تهمي اتهامات باطلات،

كم حقيقة زيفت،

كم كذبة ألفت،

كم فضيحة أخفيت، 

كم سرا أفشيت،

كم تهمة لفقت،

كم براءة اغتصبت،

أنا يا سيدي القاضي

من تتبسم لها الوجوه باكية،

و تبكي لها أخرى مبتسمة،

أنا يا سيدي

من تكذبني عيون،

وتصدقني أخرى،

أنا من تثق بي نفوس،

و تكرهني أخرى،

انا يا سيدي من سؤلت،

عن من هي الأجمل في الكون،

فأجبت،

الأجمل ليست التي اليها أنا الآن ناظرة،

فهاجت،...و عصفت بي خارجا،

لماذا يا سيدي لماذا؟

أهذا ثمن الصدق؟

أنا يا سيدي الشفافية بعينها

أنا الأحاسيس الباردة،

انا المشاعر الجامدة،

 فكيف أغير ما بي و حالي؟

في حقيقة الأمر سيدي،

ما أنا الا نبع ماء عذب،

لا أخفي ولا حتى أبوح،

أرى ولا أنطق،

لا أسمع، لا أجادل، لا أناقش ، ولا حتى أحاول أن،
أنا في وحدة قاتلة سيدي، حثى يتكرم عليه أحدهم،
في وحدتي قاتلتي، لدرجة أني أبحث،
أبحث عن أي شيء يخلصني من وحدتي

حتى ولو كان فراغا،

حتى و لو كان حائطا،

حتى ولو كان مسخا،
وجوه،
تدفئ، تذيب جماد السكون
في صبيحة يوم شتاء بارد،
أنا يا سيدي القاضي،

ما أنا الى جماد يتخبط في حياة الحركة،

تغمرني فرحتهم،

و يكربني همهم،

و يشغلني همهم،

و يوثري قلقهم،

ما انا الا أنا،
حاولت كثيرا أن أفهم معنى الحياة، حياتي،
لكني فضلت عدم المبالاة،
لا أفهم اذن أنا أنا
ما انا الا أنا،

تتغزل بي البكر،

و تلعن طبيعتي العجوز،

ماأنا الا أنا

متهمة وتهمتي اتهامات باطلات.

WWW

What a wonderful world!!!

I have a feeling that I cannot describe!

I can feel,

I can feel change coming from within,
I can feel my fear,
As much as I long for that change, as much as I fear my future me.

Now,

Now that I am thinking of it: X and Y are kinda the same, the subtle difference is that Y is missing a little part so to become a X.
I am an XX and he's a XY; Now guess who's incomplete and has a missing part :3.

I remember my grandma lullabying me to sleep,  telling me the story of Mi Sisi o B3essissi; I ve totally forgotten the plot, the story, the characters, but her voice, it is still ringing in my ears!!

Dear

Kaoutar,

I no longer know what you want and what you expect me to do.
I am curly, now you want me straight.
I am straight, then you want me curly.
I am lost.
Please, Please made up your mind, then get back to me.
Looking forward to,
Your confused tiresome curly/ straight stubborn hair.

.

I've met with a part-time "prostitute".
Details, coming later!!!

.

Happy Independence Day Morocco, and Moroccans!!!!
(Pic Credits: Google)

.

هزيت قلامي نكتب،

لحروف مني تسيل، و تجري تهرب،

وما تبقي غير بقع،

بقع على ورقة تدمع،

خلوني، تقول، خلوني نيكي على رايي.

I am noboddy,
Noboddy is me.

An Underground Halloween !!

When, October 31t, 2013 at 21.00 P.M. Where, at the Underground’s. What, A Halloween party celebrating walking dead.

It is my first Halloween party ever.  It’s crazy. It’s scary. It’s fun. It’s Halloween.

At the entrance, there were two pretty girls, I mean zombies, turning people into zombies: white powder, strawberry juice, lip stick, kohl…

When I entered the main place, I am all white-faced, bloody lipped, dark-eyed, scare-full. In brief, I am a walking dead.

The main place was black, decorated with red couches, balloons, candles, scary statues, all it was missing: pumpkins. I took notice of a big portrait of all the legends of music, plus seperate portraits of James Brown, John Lennon, Bob Marley, Bob Dylan, Ray Charles, Janis Japlin.....and I felt that they were walking dead around us.

As a time maniac, I went early. Later on, people, I mean walking dead started showing up, all disguised; Jason, Jack Sparrow, Cat Woman, the Naughty Schoolgirl, the Bitchy nurse, Pandora the evil, the Table Man, the Joker,….

The music, rocked. There were two Djs, a pregnant with her "Stop Co₂loniazation" laptop, and a male zombie who played crazy beats. Hours of deadly dancing, chatting and taking pictures with the amazing disguised. It was Halloween. 

Of course, there were wine and alcohol; there were cigarettes and joints. Many offered me cigarettes that I refuted; many asked if I want something to drink, which I refuted. They were all surprised: I read a question in their eyes: “what a all- alone girl who doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke and doesn’t do drugs doing in such a party. You girl miss the definition of fun.”

I have my own definition of fun, experience new things with little damages to my real self. I had fun, my way: seeing people having fun their ways.

"I drank so many reality glasses, that I know no way to soberness"
K.H

"When looking for love, while it was right before my eyes"

Bah oui chui Black, merci de me le rappeler à chaque fois, tu me rappelles que t'es un "sale" blanc, tu me redonnes confiance en soi! Merci!

Over the phone,

That’s how it always goes, my call to him or his to me

Monotone, flat and soul-less,

As if speaking to a statue,

A dead body, a dead soul,

Maybe because of the distance

Maybe I am distanced

Or Maybe he is

That’s how it goes,

Two strangers, asking out of duty, not concern, talking

Hi, how are you? What’s up? How was your day?

Hi, I am fine, What about you? Nothing special, as usual

Then the awkward silence speaks,

A mantra keeps turning on and on in my mind,

Loin des yeux, loin du Cœur

Loin des yeux, loin du cœur

That’s how it goes,

Since best wishes are done through the phone,

Sympathy is shared through the phone,

Visits are cut short, paid through the phone,

Socializing fucked up cuz” of the phone,

How pathetic!!

I guess, that’s how love too is mono’tunned over the phone

Everything starting to be of 2.0

Feelings, morals, values, l bac, religion, even faith

Love is just one clue

I remember grandpa saying long time ago

Blessed he is, since he and his generation knew no phone

Hhhhhh, I laughed my ass off

Saying that’s only old age speaking o kaykhref

But now, I got it the hard way round

Now that I am to be an 2.0 generation

Of wireless, texting, smart phones and God knows what’s to come along

That’s how it goes

Anyway, Goodnight, I’ll call ya back soon.

Living in your past means opening and re-openining the stitches, the about-to- heal wounds.

،يا ليث الصبا يعود يوما

فاخبره عن ما فعل الشباب.

- " what do you need, nakedman?" said the master. - "a kiss-in event m'lord" replied the peasant.

Knowing little, Leaving better!!

Tit for tat

one guy during the kiss in, blasted the bubble and his reaction only is argued for and against.

I believe that  we cannot detach his reaction from the context, Because this event caused that guy's reaction as simple as that. As the protesters wanted to express their belief, which is provocative and blood boiling not because of the concept of protesting itself, but the way of protesting, he too expressed his protesting to a way of protesting.  Tit for tat.

Kiss-in Rabat

Let's kiss the anti-kiss affair, that's how Moroccans, some Moroccans, in the name of freedom, human rights and God knows what else, created the Kiss-in event, like the paris' kiss in event, in support of the teenage affair in Nador.

A kiss-in event in Muslim country were ppl trying to preserse some of the values and morals that nowadays are to desappear in the light of globalization, modernism,..... Is that modernism? what is modernism, who defines it?Detaching one's self from its roots? That's what we gain for the occident and the western culture? Is that freedom: provoking others?

Yes, Nador affair was something to make one's blood boil, but aint there any other way to say STOP, than kissing in public in a Muslim country where kissing is sinning?!
Where are we?!

Dear you,
I miss you so much. Meeting you again is like heaven.
I never intended to leave you, but I couldnt help it, you went off, without notice.
I love you,
I, unconditionally, love pomegranate

Society have problems with me, Darn it maaaaan!!

"Cry me a river, because I cried a river over you"
.................................E.F

Under the spell,

And then again, I felt in love with those eyes

One look, and the spell was cast,

I couldn’t move,

I couldn’t think,

Just breathe, Hardly

And then again, I can’t classify

The color of your eyes,

Under your spell, I am ignorant,

Even illiterate,

Colors mix and twist,

But the color of your eyes,

The pitch of that oh

I would never forget.

I confess, I sinned,

I am a pervert.

I confess, I sinned,

I wanted those eyes on me, on every part

I wanted those eyes asleep, filled with desire, anger,

Drown in thought, reddened, dreamy

I confess, I sinned,

Under your spell,

I am enslaved.

".....A beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor penciled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance."
.................................Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

So are the questions, little do the anwsers!!!

الى الملتقى،

الى أن يجمع الموت بيننا.....

I just want to introduce my friend, his name is little pony; I met him at the beach, and since then we've become close friends :)

And he said, while laughing, come, and get a lollipop!! What!! you saying as if I can't afford buying one!!

The heavenly sweet smell of my new-bought old-to-be yellowish book is intoxicating me.

Those hands just took my breath away,

Mindblowing!!

- Salam, I am looking for a library, is there any nearby?
- Waalikom salam, umm you are looking for me
- A library please!!
- You mean like where they buy books and stuff?
- Yes!
- Books similar to those  the tourists carry?
- Yes, WTF, ( Yes, if you think that We dont read like they do, you've got some point)
- See, I am stylish and know style, next trafic light, turn left.
- Thanks!

And again, I came back home (from a funeral) with some bread and figs in my hand :(

"The blues takes many forms... It is variously a feeling, a mood, a nameless threat, a person, a lover, a boss man, a mob, and, of course, the Devil himself. It is often experienced as both cause and effect, action and reaction, and it can be used as both hex and counterhex, poison and antidote, pain and relief. Most importantly, the blues is both the cause of song, and song itself..."

And all of a sudden, without any former notice, people die.

"If you don't think, you shouldn't talk"

I am a mouth-to-pen kind of person.

Proud of them, proud that ve attended their trainings!! Big up Rabat Lions

Check out this video!!
http://vimeo.com/75959526

"Les gosses sont comme des robots fabriqués à la chaîne et moi je ne veux pas être un robot ! "
"L'herbe bleue", de Beatrice Sparks

"Love is a losing game"

A hit on me

Oh my!! I remember that day perfectly.

One ordinary day at the library back in Rabat, I walked between book shelves trying to make up my mind about what to read. I was at loss, so many books, so little time. Anyway I stopped at the department of English Literature, and I glimpsed a little fancy-covered book, I took it and to my great luck, I found it to be “Oliver Twist” by Charles Dickens. Yes that was on my “to read” list. With that masterpiece in hand, I went to the most far away, distanced chair I found, for to read, is to be in another world, I need some space, somewhere calm and silent. I started reading the book. It was a heavy book from the very beginning. 

My feet just started to leave earth, into the world of fantasy when somebody pulled me back to earth. “Yes” I snapped as politely as I could manage; It was a girl, seems like  my age, white-skined, black-haired. Looking down at me, she asked me about the book am reading; thousands and thousands of books in the library and she wanted the one single book between my hands. I told her its title and even let her check it out. When she gave it back, she sweetly said that she’s heard that title elsewhere, I confirmed, she was damn right, that title was given to some song, the reason? I don't know of. And the girl was pleased. I wanted to go back where I left; I smiled at her as a dismissal polite smile and then carried on my task. Something was wrong with her, or maybe with me. Whatever!

I got back to my reading. As preoccupied my mind was, I was conscious about somebody eyes at me over the book. That strange feeling of being watched washed my body. I kept pushing it to some dark side in mind but in vain. I finally looked up. It was the same disturbing girl. Just sitting across of me and staring. That's rude, I thought, to just stare at people like that. Or at least that's what I've been told as a child. I forced a polite smile and before she voiced that phrase lingering between her open lips, I returned to my Utopia. She didn't let go. 
..........