Sunday, October 29, 2006

my life as the molested

after reading forsoothsayers post about the eid gropings/rapes i was utterly unsuprised espeacially after what happened to my sister but incredibly saddened . saddened this society is living a grand pretense . that we are pious and chaste and safe , when really we are no better than cavemen or animals.
here are a few of my memories
I remember the very first time i was physically molested . it was just after my 14th birthday
i was at the annual international bookfair which is a very important part of the year for me
as armed with the entire years savings plus birthday money i stock up on books for the winter
i was bending over a pile of books in the ahram tent when someone pinched my ass .
my god how violated i felt , i spent the rest of that evening with the my hands behind my back
so my hefty plastic bags of books would protect my derriere . i made a rather silly picture i suppose but it was only in that uncomfortable pose did i feel somewhat safe .
i remember the creepiest verbal molestation i ever got . i was walking abbas el akkad with my best friend Y . then this chap in a battered old ford fiesta yells out to us
if i could get at either of your boobs i'd cut them off !
i remeber us stoping in our tracks unbelieving someone could say such a thing
i remember walking along with my sister and her friend one day when a couple of morons in a car started yelling out the usual bullshit and my sisters friend giving them the finger
they came out and started threatning us because she had the audacity to swear at them

this are a few scenes from my life and they are typical of the life of any girl in egypt

what do i think ? how do i feel

i'll leave you to to imagine what i think and how i feel

Saturday, October 07, 2006

a warning to all (espeacially in nasr city area)

oh what a horrid day this has been !
my sister was at home alone today when a chap comes up with the bawabs son . he says he's come to look at the gas meter etc etc. seems safe enough .
anyway he goes into the kitchen and peers at it then asks my sister for a chair to look at it closer, while she is doing this he grabs her hips and tries to kiss her ! my sister didnt lose her cooland punched him and then shoved him out . the dumbass bawabs son just stood there and let the man go! my poor sister is still terribly shaken .
anyhow if anyone claims to be the gas meter reader ask him to show his id . and if he says he works for a private company . the he's a thief/conman/potential rapist be espeacially careful if you live in the nasr city area cos thats where that bastard and his gang is still on the prowl

its fucking unbelievable

Friday, October 06, 2006


a short poem in prose a la oscar wilde

my sisters who chose to shroud yourself whilst living or simply to hide your hair with rainbow colored scarves I want you to understand why i will never join the ranks of the modest and the chaste (if this is how you perceive yourself) so you may leave me to live the life i have choosen for myself though you may see it as a wayof paving a path to everlasting doom.
if i wear the burqa /niqab there is so much i deny myself that makes life beautiful . i will not feel breezes caress my face and hair , or truly feel the warmth of the suns rays though this very same sun renders my coverings unbearable . I will not be able to swim in the sea and feel the waves buffet my body playfully , i wont be able to really feel the tang of its salty breath upon my tongue . all these things that sing of the beauty of God will be denied to me .
dear sisters you forget that our bodies are not simply anothers pleasure, but servants of our soul
our legs were given to us to walk upon the earth, our arms for work and toil and our breasts to nourish our children
should we deny ourselves much of lifes joys because of mens lust ? but do we not lust ourselves
and long and yearn but strangely men do not cloak themselves from our gaze .
i do not deny you the right to do what you consider to be right and virtous but please tolerate me and do not condemn me simply because i am not dressed like you . all souls are equal in the sight of God and should be in the sight of men and women.
so leave me be as i do you

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

a life strangely lived

about a year ago I was flipping through an art magazine when i found an article about a documentary called "in the realm of the unreal" about an "outsider" artist called henry darger, i found his story and his art strangely compeling .

henry darger was seemingly an ordinary man , a little eccentric perhaps but in essense inconsequential. born in 1892 he worked a janitor in chicago his entire adult life doing nothing out of the ordinary beyond attending mass five times a day on an almost daily basis .he died in 1973 friendless,peniless and was buried in a paupers grave .
but it was only when his landlord came to clear away for new tenants that he discovered the secret life of henry darger

amid a load of peculiar junk including hundreds of pepto bismol bottles , thousands of balls of twine and religous icons was henry dargers life work,some 19,000 pages of legal-sized paper filled with single-spaced typing entitled The Story of the Vivian Girls, in what is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion.

the story is about the seven vivian girls angelnian princesses who fight against the godless glandelinians who are godless ruthless child enslavers .
henry darger himself appears several times in the text sometimes as general darger who aids the girls or even as a glandelinian torturer but even more ascinating is the vast amount of paintings and drawings left behind to illustrate this epic

his work is full of strange idionsyncracies like the fact that he often drew his characters nude , and the vivian girls are often portrayed with small hairless penises . some think this is due to dargers poor grasp of anatomy
Much modern fascination with Darger concerns his portrayal of horrific brutality against children. For some reason, it is often assumed that Darger wrote and drew this way because he was enacting repressed subconscious desires

one strange detail I learned about after further research (which made me want to cry a little) is that he almost always drew the girls pupils with a lead pencil so by the light of a candle it would seem like their eyes were alive

I find this story fascinating because this man took the concept of an imaginary life to a completely different level . this was his “real” life . and the amount of effort he lavished in the creation of this world is just mind boggling

Sunday, October 01, 2006

a taste of hebe

i was cleaning out my drawers yesterday when i found the remants of my very ambitious poetry project . rather grandiosely entitled "songs of adolscence"
i was 13 when i started it, but as always life (and laziness)got in the way and i never finished it .
so for your amusement here are two of my darling grotesques as i affectionately term them.

this dawn
so clear
like the spectrum on a glass
like an overturned paintbox
splashes of colour against the rapidly blueing canvas of sky
they overlap each other
each vying to boast their beauty
vain peacocks on a rose strewn path
the clouds float across the sky
like listless bloated sheep
their fleeces delicately tinged
by the tawny suns warm rays
see how it rises
beaming upon cold earth

the birds outstretch their wings
and in gods heavens fly
while people walk on by
unaware of their artless beauty
they shuffle in the streets
their faces solemnly creased
and i wonder
if their souls ; like caged birds
yearn to be released
to devour the glories of this life
this banquet ,this feast

long distance friendship

only snippets of the whole remain
a friendship where nothing is to be lost or to be gained
reduced to the fundamentals
just plain talk and stories shared
no fights, loans
mingled tears and laughter
just advice about living and love
and we've gone on with that
curious thing-life
constant with the passing hours
regardless of our parting
love still persists
strange isnt it
our heats are bound only by words