The Return!

This blog has expired, in every way.
Because the one who used to write it has expired as well.
Today, friends, family, cairenes, egyptians are protesting as I write this blog and I stayed home because there's a rat in the house and I don't want him to eat my books. I'm not trying to make a metaphor, there really is a rat in my house and I spent the whole morning cleaning and trying to find him and kick him out, away from my books and all the wooden things I keep around starting with the wooden floor and all the way to my bed.

As I write this blog, fellow human beings object to the torture of an innocent by-stander, as innocent as they come and I realize that geography doesn't define me.

The road was chosen, I came back and found that home really lies somewhere between a heart beat, a strange dialect, airplane sounds, 7ad 7atet fool 3al nar, bedsheets, a ring, a reading list, my professor who taught me almost everything I know, and how a longing I always feel no matter where I am.

I've been away for 4 months and now I came back and found that this fear of being away was very childish because I know my approximate place in the world and it doesnt get any better than that.

The fear has expired, and the language of that fear with it and so, it's time to start something new, or nothing at all. Let go.

I want to rhyme

right now rhyming would really help - after having left for a week i am back now for a couple of weeks of heaven here.
heaven bound both ways, i hope it never gets boring. it's mine and i'm owning up to it (everything)
home is where my feet can be smelly and it's all gonna be fine even if it isn't

Knowing I'm not going to be getting any sleep tonight, I can safely say...

I'm sleepy as hell.

Dear Sarah Kane (take 2)

You might be on to something.
You might not be my favorite playwright but you're on to something.

I see what you're trying to explain.

It's not the rape
It's not the dead babies

It's why the rape
And who really killed the baby.

I am sorry about our miscommunication and misunderstanding on my part
I still hope this will be the last time you choose to speak to me in my dreams
and epiphanize my thought process.
Really, though.

Thanks.

Dear Sarah Kane

You don't have to show me my nightmares.
or the nightmares of humanity
i already know them,
remember them
see them every once in a while in my sleep
war
blood
rape
blindness
dead babies
hunger
and all.

i don't need to be reminded.
but then again, maybe you didnt write these plays for me
and my likes
and so i will stop here and pass on the opportunity of butchering your every word even as you lie in your grave
tired
hurt
torn
hanged in your bathroom.
maybe i never have to read your words ever again.