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Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Marwan Imam wants you to join foursquare!



Marwan wants you to sign up for foursquare. You should give it a try! foursquare helps you meet up with friends and discover new places nearby. As your friends check in to places, your phone will buzz with messages like this:

Marwan I. is @ Ace Bar (5th Street, btw Ave A & Ave B). Swing by and say hi!

when you check in to bars, restaurants, museums, we'll pop up tips like this:

Since you're so close to Ace Bar, Marwan I. says: Don't miss the skeeball machine in the back. Break 400 and the bartender will buy you a drink!

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Thursday, August 26, 2010

So I read Channel Zero and it got me thinking

This is a year of an election, not for the-now more than ever-useless union of what we call students back at university, but for the big dogs that run this shithole we call home. When the time will come we will have to choose one out of a group of under qualified overzealous “politicians” that think they can run it better than the dude who has been doing it for 30 years (and doing a crappy job at it).

I believe no one is fit to run this crazy-ass corrupt government, yet someone has to. I reserve the right to choose no one then because frankly it won’t matter, the ones running are either legacies or just people who think they can do better, great if you think you can do better, but can you really deliver? Fuck, I doubt it. Hell if there’s anyone who can actually do a good job of running this country, they would probably be corrupted with power as soon as they get into it.


You see the presidential seat in Egypt is like Frostmourne in Warcraft it is the artifact that corrupts the purest of souls with the most honorable and noble intentions. Not that I’m saying that those cocksuckers who can think they can run it have noble intentions or even slightly care. Power in this country is everything and with it one can get anything; money, fame, chicks you name it.


At this point I really don’t give a rabid baboon’s cock as who will win this election. I’m not the protesting type of person that runs down streets in torn shirts yelling down with the oppressors, you see the problem with us is not the leader, he has been there for far too long to be a problem anymore. The one coming after him wouldn’t be a problem either, and granted they will try their best to fuck up the status quo carefully placed by the previous one in the name of change. Hell, even change is changing no longer are we going to see the quarters with holes in them. And then what they’ll just sit their fat asses comfortably on top of that everlasting seat in that fortress in Heliopolis and just relish the power going mad.
Fuck, these elections aren’t even fair. With some parties illegalized so as not to run. What the fuck? Are you so afraid that some people have more pull with the public that they can steal the lights from you and in turn the precious throne? Since when were political parties illegal, for this to be a proper democracy everyone from the religious extremists to the communists, lenninist-marxists, anarchists, scientologists or even piss fuck masochistic dominators who think they should form a political party should have one and have the right to run for election that is the pure essence of democracy a dying label that is overused to the point that it’s becoming meaningless.


Blame the system? Well you were gonna say it at one point. What’s so wrong with the system? Hell if I know. I doubt there even is a system, I think our government is just the best example of how one can ad lib running a country. There is a system of input and output of cashflow into the arrays of pockets of officials. The best thing I love about our language is that the word for government officials is “responsibles”, laughable at best, I can’t hold my sniggers when I hear it. Responsible ? for what? Making themselves fatter? Richer? More obnoxious? I don’t know who the hell is the minister of whatever the fuck ministries there are, and frankly I don’t care. I don’t care what system you use be it a socialist system, capitalist system, FUCK IT use the metric system if you have to I just want this place to be better.


You see the biggest problem here is the people. No one is catering for their needs. People that are dying standing in line for bread, a staple in every local’s dining table (if not also the appetizer, main course and desert). People who have to endure being raped and dry humped on the bus everyday going to work. People who are bombarded with 750 million pounds worth of elephant semen covered horse shit that is broadcasted through the airwaves during the holiest of holy times. Brainwashed to the nth degree the people have reached a state of mental limbo and are scared shitless to make any move lest they miss the 200 year old unaging hottie in her crude attempts of imitating western entertainment and failing miserabley. I’m as much part of these people as anyone else. Hell one of these shows is playing on TV this very instant and I can’t help but enjoy it to my dismay. Hell I stopped typing for a bit to watch even.


Maybe I’ll get into more detail about the so called “entertainment” industry in a later time but for now let’s stay on point. You see these people that are in dire need of help think that a simple leader can help fix all their problems. I know for a fact that no matter how much a leader tries to fix this place there will still be problems that he (or possibly yet highly unlikely she) will have to deal with. It is up to those people to stand for themselves and do something about their lives. Everyone is capable of changing their own lives if they want to. Now really the system and government and the corrupt responsible or even that “president” won’t matter if the people want something. Power to the people is such an overrated phrase. The people always had power, the power of the masses. What can a small group of people do in front of a large mass of unflinching public opinion. Rage an emotion wrongly expressed in this country. People channel their rage, repression and oppression unto one another forgetting the true cause of their fucked up lives that will not change unless they do something about.


Sure go ahead and vote, express your opinion by all means be a model citizen and be politically active, stand in protests yell out against the power to be, if you want to, I won’t but that’s just me. But the next “politician” the controls this country won’t clean the streets for you when your ignorant ass litters the floor with the shit you so happily consume. The next politician won’t clear the streets for you when you decide to drive in four lanes in a two lane street. They won’t do your job for you when you half ass-edly do it just to cash your pay check and life goes on. You see the problem and the solution lie within us, this whole election, democracy, system, politics, activism BULLSHIT is just the names we give to the game we blame on all our miseries, in the end the only way for us to truly have a better country is to start from within, change yourselves, fix yourselves, get over the beast of procrastination and the demons of apathy. Try to work around the system and not give in to it. When you do a job do it right, because in the end only you will look bad. You can be the happy consumerist public all you want but the least you can do is be so in a better environment. And next time you see some asshole throwing a bag of chips on the floor PUNCH THEM IN THE FUCKING FACE.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

when in rome would you really do as the romans do ?

when in rome would you really do as the romans do ?

Answer here

what does dues ex machina mean to you ?

what does dues ex machina mean to you ?

Answer here

how often would you say often ?

how often would you say often ?

Answer here

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Wisdom of the ages

you know, no matter how much one says it and no matter how cliched it might sound "enjoy the little things"

Life is a fleeting presence that we tend to take too seriously, sometimes that small event can just cheer you up to a massive degree.

The company of a friend, no matter how short it might be (even five minutes) can cause immense satisfaction and happiness. That pee after holding it in for 3 hours. That meal after being hungry for a while. Those two kilos you lost last week. Those pants that fit you again. That joke you remebered. That chocolate you were practically dreaming of and couldn't find in 5 supermarkets.

All these tiny moments should be highly cherished because they fill our existence (be it miserable or otherwse) with cheer, and that notion that everything will be allright.

Ps this has nothing to do with me watching zombieland again this morning but rather this feeling I got while sitting in a street restaurant (right now) while waiting for a dear friend and a good meal, and I felt this immense rush of satisfied happiness...
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Never give up. Never surrender (bloody fist)

So egyptian action movies have been famous with subpar action scenes that could only be described as a good attempt, with the exception of a couple of good ones.
On the other hand comedy is usually where we excel, yes there are fiascos that still happen to be funny but overall egyptian sense of humor is pretty much epic.
Now the mixing of both has always been a tricky situation, either you get the serious action hero with the comedic sidekick that has lame jokes that could be potentially funny (ala ahmed el sakka movies) or the suae charming action hero that has a couple of lines that are funny. And then there are comedy movies that throw in an action scene in the end just to serve a paper thin plot. And there's always mamdouh farag's masterpiece (not) 3al2et moot.
Now in comes ahmed mekki, a creator and an actor that has had hits over the past couple of years that are unrivalled in humor.
He approaches the action comedy genre in a different manner, rather than taking himself too seriously with a plot that would otherwise be described as cliched and overused he emphasizes that point starting with the movie title itself and keeps poking fun at the script itself and the actors overact in some parts just to make sure you don't take them that seriously (and I assumed that was intentional because I know they CAN act)
The movie has a simple plot government agency wants to capture a druglord his right hand man dies, the police find a doppleganger to plant within the organization, throw in a love interest and you got a story going. Now make the doppleganger a funny accent and mannerisms and you have katkoot a failed mohamed saad movie from 4 years ago (which they mention in the movie btw along with a couple of the plethora of movies that used that theme) but add in mekki and co's acting and ingenuity and you have a great movie.
In touch with modern day pop culture and blending it in with the movie perfectly (as they are famous for) as well as a very cleverly funny script.
The movie falls into the trap of being divided into the funny part and the action part but other than that it stays fresh with the comedy though, the first half of the film is nonstop laughter that is so loud the ground will shake, the action is still subpar yet there are some impressive feats, key word impressive not awestruckingly micheal bay but then again production value here is low anyway.
An enjoyable movie overall and it has a ninja, so that's always good. Hilariously funny and a great take on the cliche that kills it to death. An avid movie goer will love the the references to older movies and type cast actors in egyptian cinema (ala tarantino name dropping)
I enjoyed it immensly. Another point of view from a friend that was with me was that he found it hard to follow the lead due to the selected accent and voice, which made it hard for him to identify. So be on the look out for being alienated for some of the references unless you are really up to date with all the egyptian pop culture.

A must see nontheless, it is probably the best comedy hit this summer from the looks of it.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Another Trophy

He smirked as he saw the crimson liquid flow down onto his hands. The knife now deep within her chest, the warm blood flowed out of her. There is something about the color that amuses him. The warmth sends a tingling pleasure across his spine. The smirk extends to a grimace, and he lets out a small chuckle. Her screams have died out; now it is only the silence of death.
He was following her for while, the brunette with eyes as blue as the sea, and are even deeper. Her skin so soft, he wants nothing but to run his hands across it. Her ample bosom heaving with every step she takes, his heart follows its rhythm. A week since he first saw her; he knew then she was to be his next one. He would claim her like he claimed the others; after all he always got what he wanted.
He followed her home; she didn’t notice him. He now knows where she lives. It doesn’t take much time to plan. In fact he usually doesn’t plan. It’s instinctive. He waits not to plan, but merely lets it linger to increase the thrill of the hunt. The pleasure lies not in the capture, though that is a large part of it, but the true pleasure lies in the act of the hunt itself. The tracking, the anticipation, the hiding in the shadows following the prey’s every move. That is all they are to him, prey, trophies to be collected.
Then the fateful day comes, he gets bored of following her; now he wants her, and he will have her. He goes to her house and waits. She comes out, and the chase begins. Like a lioness stretched in the savannah his senses sharpen. The sun sets, signaling that the chase will nearly come to an end. Darkness always provided him with cover. He hides in the shadows now following her every step. Once it is dark enough he announces his presence by stepping into the light behind her and pacing in her direction. This is when they run; he smiles, he loves it when they run.
She looks behind her and sees a dark figure approaches fast. An ominous feeling swells in her stomach and she starts moving faster, he follows likewise. She is running now. He is excited, adrenaline now flowing through his blood he runs after her, allowing her to get a little ahead just to have her think she could get away; he knows she won’t, but that way it’s more exciting.  His smile widens now showing his teeth. He can’t help it and starts laughing manically after her. She screams, oh how he loves it when they scream. He laughs harder, pulls out his knife that glistens brightly in the moonlit street. She scream louder, she’s desperate, and he’s closing in. her screams send chills across his body, he is excited now, but he won’t move in for the kill yet; he has to revel in this pleasure. She screams louder; he laughs harder.
She sees an exit to the left and runs into it, she’s not familiar with this neighborhood and the fear has overtaken her mind; she can’t think straight. He knows it’s a dead end, they always run into a dead end. It demeans his hunting skills, but he doesn’t care this is when the climax happens. She runs in only to face a wall. He slows down, walking in behind her. She turns around and screams, he joins her screaming with a howling laugh and walks slowly towards her with the biggest smile on his face. This moment he torments her walking as slowly as possible towards her knife drawn, shimmering as if death is signaling her from the dark. Her horror now is paramount; his eyes widen, it is time.
He won’t rape her. The only pleasure he gets is in the hunt itself, and now it’s time to end it. He closes in; she falls backwards, looks up to him and screams. He grabs her breast with his right hand and stabs with his left, into her heart. He feels her ribs collapsing under the force of his blade, he never misses the heart, not anymore; he’s been practicing, this one will be his masterpiece.  He pushes the knife in deeper, his other hand squeezing in unbelievable ecstasy. This is his moment; he lays her down slowly, pushing the knife in till the end. The blood starts to flow; this is why he likes to stab the heart, the blood flows instantly; a warm, gleaming, crimson stream flowing through his fingers. Her soft white skin is now smeared with a deeper shade of burgundy that reflects the moonlight into his eyes, now wide with madness. There is a reason they call it lunacy, the moon just enhances the entire experience; he knows it, he loves the moonlight it just makes his work more poetic.
The struggle stops, it is done. But to him it is not over yet. It is never over till he licks the blade. He pulls out the blood drenched knife from what was once a chest full of life and pleasure; Raises it up in the bright moonlight, turning it to either side admiring the warm blood on the cold steel. He lets out another howling laugh and sticks out his tongue, scarred and hideous; it is a marker of his work. Every time he hunts he has to lick the blade leaving another mark on his tongue. He has a favorite scar, the one going straight down the middle of his tongue, nearly splitting it in two, like the viper he is. He draws the knife closer to his face, eyes widening mixed with a deranged smile. He turns the blade to face his tongue and licks it from bottom to top. His tongue bleeds mixing with her blood now drying on the blade. This union of blood is why he does all this; now she’s part of him, and he is satisfied. He looks down on the body; still beautiful, her dead blue eyes like diamonds glowing in the moonlight. He looks up to the sky and send out a laugh that sounds more like a screech of a thousand cats being killed. He runs off into the darkness tongue sticking out, knife still in hand, and disappears.
The next morning she leaves her house to work. It’s warm outside she’s wearing shorts; her legs seem endless, tanned to a perfect shade of bronze and smooth as fine Chinese silk. There is a bounce in her step, a childlike skip, she loves these sunny days. She crosses the street, bumping into this tall man who seems oddly distracted. She stops and looks up to him, her blonde hair flowing away from her face to show her hazel brown eyes. She smiles politely and apologizes in a hypnotically melodic voice. He seems remote, yet he nods slowly. She walks away, off to work. He turns and looks at her, her feet barely touching the ground, her legs rising to a perfectly shaped behind.  His lips curve sideways into a smirk. “let the games begin”

Into the Light

It’s dark backstage. The audience seems promising today. He has checked them out. They are receptive, in a good mood, perfect audience. He tries to listen to his predecessor; his ears are so full of adrenaline he can’t make out a word. He hears the bustling of the audience. He is doing well. He’s not nervous. He won’t get nervous yet, he’s too excited at this point. He starts getting pumped up. He has done this a billion times before; he has rehearsed it so much he knows it back and forth and sideways. He is ready, as ready as he possibly can.

The performer before him walks in with a cheer booming behind her. He pats her on the back “great job” he doesn’t even know what she said, he knows one thing the audience is happy. The announcer walks out on stage. This is when he gets nervous. For a split second his already pounding heart starts pumping a little more intensely. The excitement is too much though; he uses it to shake off his nervousness. Like the climb at the beginning of a roller coaster, this is the calm before the storm. “I would like to introduce my next comedian…” the announcer dishes out the same introduction every night. If it’s not broken why fix it. He likes his introduction; it’s personal, funny, and over.

The audience starts a wave of applause and cheer; he is pulled in by its tide onto the stage. He steps into the spot light, ears now completely deafened by the sound of a hailing audience; for a second there he is alive. All the senses in his body disappear in his background; there is only one thing, his act. The rush on stage is so big, he doesn’t remember seeing anyone or doing anything. He is just there; this ephemeral presence in the light is all he wants. He draws energy from the cheer, and greets them loudly. He doesn’t want the feedback to die; he doesn’t want the audience to stop; it is his job now to keep them alive.

He starts off, simple at first; short and sweet to grab their attention. He tries to have them identify with him. The all sense something of them within him, he is successful; now they would be eating from his hands. He throws at them another joke, the laughter says it all, now the energy is up there, strong and pulsating. He uses this energy, draws it into himself and sends back another one. More laughter, the game is on; this is tennis, he serves up a good joke and they follow through with a response. They love him and he loves it. For the entire time he is on stage their eyes are fixated on him. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He was born to be in the light, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. The eyes intensely following his every move. The ears sharply tuned to his voice amplified by that ever so familiar microphone that is under his grasp. They give him more energy, he eats it all up. He feeds off the crowd, and now he’s happy.

The act is nearly over, he doesn’t remember how it began, or where he is, he’s just doing it. It is a blur of laughter and words; all he remembers is the light, that bright light that blinds him, that bright light that brings him to life. He finishes the set and thanks the audience, the high is over yet one last applause fills him with enough energy to leave, content. He bows and places the microphone on the stand. He walks out, and steps back into the darkness. It is dark backstage, but he is now happy.

Tiny Imperfections

To say beauty is in the eye of the beholder is to claim that everything is essentially beautiful; it just has to been seen through the right eyes, within the proper context. A picture of a dead dog could be horrific to people, but that picture would be a beautiful piece of photojournalism had been a picture of a dog that died due to drug testing on animals in Singapore; context, it governs us.

Personally I find beauty in tiny imperfections. That line that just went astray in a painting, that bass line that just deviates away from the beat for a second to do a 2 second solo. Life is filled with these little things that fill it with beauty. What I like most about these imperfections is that they almost always go unnoticed, making finding them more rewarding; appreciating them even more. That was all before I saw her.

The events leading up to that instant are now irrelevant. Clichéd as they may be, I ended up in one end of a smoky room discussing the mating habits of the seahorse with a guy that barely seems remotely interested in any marine creature, and a girl dangling around his neck more focused on which would be the best way to bite his earlobe. The dimly lit room was full of these clusters of pseudo-intelligent conversations. I could have sworn someone was talking about politics somewhere until I heard them say “So seriously, who’d win in a fight? The Queen of England or Dr. Stephen Strange?”

Small talk, a tiny imperfection of our human existence that has taken an ugly turn up the shit stream we call society. The entire purpose of the so called social life is to maintain pretentious relationships with people you don’t even care about just to get what you want in the end. This was networking at its best, and I’m good at it, the best. I also come out with the occasional one night stand or maybe relationship, win-win I think, perpetually optimistic as usual. All this came to an abrupt and screeching halt as soon as that room’s door opened.

She walked in, and it was as if my mind went into slow motion. The couple in front of me went out of focus so fast the motion blur lingered in my retina for a second. As I regained control of my sight there was only one focal point, her. To say time stood still would be an understatement, but then again I wasn’t looking at my watch. I was looking at her. Her deep orange hair was gleaming in the dimly lit room, radiating a shimmering glow of red light. Accentuating that long, wild, uncontrollable mane flowing around her head, were her eyes. I first saw them as she removed a stray lock of hair from over her face; they had a magical deep green hue mixed with a yellow that gave the color a taste of mint with a hint of lemon. She looked up with those viridian jewels into my humble pupils, I felt my heart drop two stories below me, my stomach joined in the plummet as I noticed her face, her pale skin glistening in the fiery refraction of light through her hair. This is when I noticed the tiny imperfections, freckles, all over her face like little kisses from the sun. Her face was almost completely covered with these randomly spread spots. I don’t know what it is about freckles that just make the face more beautiful to me; I think it’s the tiny imperfections thing. I appreciate the beauty of that “imperfection”.
Her small rounded nose was also covered in them. The only part that was spared was those lips, full and ripe, like the forbidden fruit, because to kiss such perfect lips would be so good it would only make sense that it would be a sin. Yet on the lower lip one freckle presided on the left side, as if beckoning for someone to approach and embrace those lips with another, in a gentle yet loving embrace; an embrace that would be immortalized in song and lore.

Her hair led me to her neck slender and long. She wore a necklace with a small turquoise pendant hanging from it. I could have sworn it was her neck that made the necklace look good. The pendant rested on the nave of her neck leading my eyes to her bare shoulders, also covered in freckles. My heart sank a little more, I think the neighbors below would complain now as to why my heart was hanging in the middle of their living room.

The turquoise strapless dress she was wearing was simple as it was elegant. It curved at the right places and flowed at the others. I would lie if I didn’t say my eyes strayed back to the center to meet with that freckle spangled cleavage, just slightly showing as to tease the on looker but only enough to be also respectful and classy. The dress curved down to hug her hips and then flowed to end up in a slanted ruffle near her knees. The legs that followed seemed to flow endlessly till they met with those shoes. Now as a guy I claim no intimate knowledge of female shoes, but something told me those were the shoes girls would kill for.

She walks within the crowd as elegant as a specter floating through unnoticed. I was mesmerized I barely noticed I was the only one in the room fixated on her, also that my mouth was now a gaping void that was about to fill with saliva. She extends a hand to the buffet picking up a glass and pouring herself a drink. She looks back in my direction; she knows I see her, yet looks away dismissively. I try to gather whatever courage I could muster and start walking towards her.

At this point a tribe of African natives decide to drum the beat of a thousand drums within my chest cavity. With palpitations resonating in my throat I try to lift my leg to start walking. My brain is trying to protect me, I don’t need protection, I need a spine. I drag my feet through the room. The distance between us within this small apartment was barely a couple of steps, yet it felt like I would have been better off with a plane ticket, if that doesn’t prove relativity I don’t know what would.

I get closer, and closer. I stand right in front of her and suddenly my brain ceases to function. Any form of eloquent speech, or random trivia related to marine animals mating habits have disappeared in a puff of smoke that has joined the cloud of nicotine drenched smog circulating near the ceiling. I slowly open my mouth hoping that by the end of that action some words would come out from in there. A grunt and a mumble, I am surprised I was able to get any sound at all out of my throat. That is what I was reduced to, a grunt and a mumble, caveman conversation all that was left was for me to yell out “me tarzan, you pretty”.

“Excuse me ?” she says, slightly un-amused yet as polite as she could be.
“Er... hi” I reply

“Hello”

“Um… I haven’t seen you around here before”

“ Yes, I don’t usually come to this, but Liz dragged me to this one”

“Oh you know Liz?”

“Who doesn’t ?”

“Touché!”

Small talk, yet another tiny imperfection that just shows how simple human beings are. The spark of a conversation that flows between two people ignites this bond between them. It is the basis of human connectivity, a simple hi and a wave. Millions of years of evolution and still the way to get to know someone would always fall down to communication. Be it in physical form or digital form. The smoky room I was in has been replicated so much over the internet it is not even needed for one to go through the effort of physically having to be at a social gathering. It is still done as a form of tradition to prove that one still has that elusive thing we call a “life”.

But what now, do I just keep talking? Do I ask for her number? Ask her out maybe? That stunning creature radiating in the midst of a faded existence, how will I proceed from here? Small talk is all fine and dandy and then we all go home. I decide to take her number after the conversation concluded somewhere around the discussion of the resilience of the African dung beetle and how that inspired the sun cycle in ancient Egyptian mythology. She wrote her number on a napkin and gave it to me with a playful smile from those succulent lips.
It has been a week since that night, the napkin lays there by my phone, both gathering dust. My brain is conjuring up scenarios of rejection and what ifs. My brain is trying to protect me, but I don’t need a brain right now, I need a spine.

Le Papier

She spends the day cleaning after them; a glorious job that receive little if any gratitude. Sure the pay is lousy, it’s not like she was offered a better job. She readjusts her headscarf. At least she is keeping with the teachings of her culture, or so she tells herself as she puts the mop back in its place. Every time a man walks out, she has to mop the floor. Every time a woman walks out, she has to check if there is a bloody tampon that missed its destination.
It is near the end of her shift, one more hour and the mall closes; she would leave these bathrooms to the comfort of her own homes. The apron she is wearing is gathering up a stench she’s grown used to. “ce la vie” she needs the job, the money to send back to her family.
She finishes wiping the floor of the first stall, and is followed by a young man. “Pardon ?” he says “ er.. toilet paper ?” he can’t speak the language, she ignores and retorts “papier ?” “oui, merci” he smiles, she picks up a large roll of toilet paper and leads the way. She goes into the bathroom and looks at the stalls, then at him, there is this inherent sadness in her eyes that is mixed with habitual indifference. He points at the third stall following his gesture with another extending three fingers indicating the number of the stall.
She goes to the stall; someone is inside. She knocks at the door “monsieur, le papier”. No reply, she can’t even get recognition from a fellow human, one in need of her service at this very instant. “monsieur, le papier”, no reply she looks at the young man perplexed “what is wrong with this guy inside” she thinks. She tries to slide the roll underneath the stall door “le papier”, fails. Tries the top of the stall “monsieur ?”, still no reply. Accidentally the roll drops in the stall. She gives up, give the young man a look that could only mean “ah well at least it is inside now”. A grey haired man walks out of the stall looking slightly confused and discomforted. The young man over looks him and walks in the bathroom. She walks out resuming her usual work.
The mall is nearly closing, 8 pm finally. She drags the caged door down, blocking the way in towards the bathrooms. She waits for the last tenants of the bathrooms to leave. The young man walks out; confused he looks at the way out now caged. She explains to him how to get out, he nods. “he didn’t understand a thing” she thinks, and it’s true he went straight when he was supposed to head left. “monsieur ! monsieur !” she tells him to go left. He does yelling a polite “merci !” before he disappears behind the corner. “incroyable !” a woman behind him mutters.
The day is over, every single one of these pissers and shitters is gone. Finally she can take of this stinking apron, and get on the metro home. She takes the apron off, changes out of her camoflauge outfit; she wears this to work, it is more comfortable and doesn’t stink as much. She puts on regular clothes, clean ones. Locks up the mops and buckets and heads out.
As she is getting on the metro she reminds herself “when I go home I need to buy more toilet paper”

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Screen Seperation (or Strangers on Rails)

Early morning, sun rising lazily but barely visible through the early morning fog. The dew rest on the surrounding surfaces and this cold chill fills the air.
Not a lot of people are in the train station, but enough to form a small grouping. the rails gleam in the hazy light while everyone grabs onto their luggage awaiting the arrival of the train. The PA rings and the voice of the lady inside announces the arrival of the train.
The red beast approaches, a two story train bespeckeled with people sitting separately from each other.
The train stops and opens it's doors with that familiar sound of pneumatic release greeting those standing outside in the morning cold to the warmth of that red leviathan. In seconds lovers exchange kisses, relative exchange hugs and hasty farewells. The travellers rush inside, all grasping their luggage and movie with zombie like coordination, it's still too early in the morning even the air itself is lazy at this time.
She makes her way down the corridor finds an empty seat and makes herself comfortable, the train is empty so she places her bag on the adjacent seat. "It will be an hour till I reach my destination, might as well get some work done". From her smaller bag she pulls out her pink Toshiba placing it carefully on her lap, and put s the bag next to her feet. She un zips the bigger bag sitting next to her like that accompanying passenger she doesn't have, and pulls out a paper bag that has a sandwich she had bought earlier from the store in the station.
She remembers the lady that sold her the sandwich, a very friendly portly woman in her early sixties. She has that smile that seems like it has been there forever and dimples that accent the sparkle in her eye. She proceeds with her job with such diligence and satisfaction that anyone who buys something from the store can't help but be amazed at that admirable woman.
She picks a cheese sandwich, looks like it could be a good breakfast she picks a snack bar, nuts, a healthy snack is better, chocolate just won't cut it this early in the morning, after all she has a long day ahead of her today. She gives them to the store clerk, the sandwich in its paper bag and the bar afterwards. The clerk asks if she wants a bag, she is already carrying two and a plastic bag will just waste the environment more, she shakes her head in negation and says a simple "thank you".
She has opened her pink laptop now and turned it on, grabbing a bite or two from the cheese sandwich while it boots. "Tastes good enough" but she isn't worried about taste now, more into her work. She opens the document and starts typing away. She pauses every now and then to glance at the green landscape whizzing by, trees follow trees across the window next to her. The railway passes through the woods it's surrounded from both sides by trees at times. As the train moves out to a more open area she notices the vast green plains to her side, filled with the familiar side of electric windmills, the familiar sight of the presence of man. Simple devices rotating in the backdrop of an otherwise flat green space. Proof that humans have yet overtaken another part of this earth for their own.
She directs her attention back to the screen. "This paper's deadline is closing in" she rummages through her bag and pulls out her notebook. She opens it and checks her notes, scribbling more in. Her thoughts are volatile, if she doesn't right them down they would evaporate. She strokes her chin thinking; proceeding to type afterwards.
"More words in, this paper doesn't look like it's going to end. What is missing in my research" she passes her right hand through her golden blonde hair and looks up only for her eyes to meet his. He looks confused trying to find a proper seat in an all empty train. He doesn't want to sit facing backwards. He politely asks he "mind if I sit here" she doesn't mind, but then she is more occupied with her work than everything. More scribbling with the pencil on a heavily highlighted page.
He makes himself comfortable now not noticing her more into the Nintendo ds he got out of his pocket. Something to kill the time, he has headphones on, video games are always better with music playing. They're sitting at opposite sides facing each other yet not really facing anyone but the screens they are using.
He is into catching that next pokemon to beat that annoying gym leader he's been trying to beat all week. She has to finish this research before it has passed it's deadline.
The train darts across the countryside and both of them headfirst in their own digital worlds. A million degrees of separation between the both of them. The only other time they make eye contact is when the conductor passes by and they gave her their tickets to stamp. Then they both look at the screen.

She types away on her bright pink Toshiba while he mashes more buttons, "why won't a great ball work this time, it's what caught it last time before my save got erased. Onward the two storey red train goes through the beautiful countryside and heads into the main station. They all gather their stuff and everyone in the rain hurriedly heads outside he goes left she goes right and they both disappear into the sea of people heading down the stairs.
The station below bustling with life people going left and right more like the machines they just got off, one stops to glance at a shop window every now an then, but the rest constant as a drum beat in a jazz guitar solo. All following one hasty chaotic rhythm that gets them going from one spot to another. For some reason camel's "god of light revisited" starts playing in her head and pushes her to join the frantic pace that is overwhelming the bustling station.
She proceeds to move into the see of people towards the next train, he has long disappeared into the depths of the vast station and just as fast as they met they got separated not even getting a chance to notice each other from blocking their sense with technology. Like that they get on different trains and head on to lead different lives on different rails.
She heads up on the platform and waits for her connecting train. It arrives exactly on time, everything here runs on time, no one can afford to be late. The train empties its contents, businessmen in suits, men and women of different ages all heading out to work, a policewoman puts on her hat as she walks out the door, another man digs in his pockets for that pack of lucky strikes, he has enough time to smoke one before getting on the next train, she waits for everyone to leave then climbs on the train; looks for a seat and finds an empty one opposite this young man reading a book on his digital reader, while slightly nodding his head back and forth to the music he is listening to through these giant headphones on his head.
She sits opposite him, takes out her pink Toshiba and thinks, while taking the last bite of her cheese sandwich " I need to finish this paper already"
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Screen Seperation (or Strangers on Rails)

Early morning, sun rising lazily but barely visible through the early morning fog. The dew rest on the surrounding surfaces and this cold chill fills the air.
Not a lot of people are in the train station, but enough to form a small grouping. the rails gleam in the hazy light while everyone grabs onto their luggage awaiting the arrival of the train. The PA rings and the voice of the lady inside announces the arrival of the train.
The red beast approaches, a two story train bespeckeled with people sitting separately from each other.
The train stops and opens it's doors with that familiar sound of pneumatic release greeting those standing outside in the morning cold to the warmth of that red leviathan. In seconds lovers exchange kisses, relative exchange hugs and hasty farewells. The travellers rush inside, all grasping their luggage and movie with zombie like coordination, it's still too early in the morning even the air itself is lazy at this time.
She makes her way down the corridor finds an empty seat and makes herself comfortable, the train is empty so she places her bag on the adjacent seat. "It will be an hour till I reach my destination, might as well get some work done". From her smaller bag she pulls out her pink Toshiba placing it carefully on her lap, and put s the bag next to her feet. She un zips the bigger bag sitting next to her like that accompanying passenger she doesn't have, and pulls out a paper bag that has a sandwich she had bought earlier from the store in the station.
She remembers the lady that sold her the sandwich, a very friendly portly woman in her early sixties. She has that smile that seems like it has been there forever and dimples that accent the sparkle in her eye. She proceeds with her job with such diligence and satisfaction that anyone who buys something from the store can't help but be amazed at that admirable woman.
She picks a cheese sandwich, looks like it could be a good breakfast she picks a snack bar, nuts, a healthy snack is better, chocolate just won't cut it this early in the morning, after all she has a long day ahead of her today. She gives them to the store clerk, the sandwich in its paper bag and the bar afterwards. The clerk asks if she wants a bag, she is already carrying two and a plastic bag will just waste the environment more, she shakes her head in negation and says a simple "thank you".
She has opened her pink laptop now and turned it on, grabbing a bite or two from the cheese sandwich while it boots. "Tastes good enough" but she isn't worried about taste now, more into her work. She opens the document and starts typing away. She pauses every now and then to glance at the green landscape whizzing by, trees follow trees across the window next to her. The railway passes through the woods it's surrounded from both sides by trees at times. As the train moves out to a more open area she notices the vast green plains to her side, filled with the familiar side of electric windmills, the familiar sight of the presence of man. Simple devices rotating in the backdrop of an otherwise flat green space. Proof that humans have yet overtaken another part of this earth for their own.
She directs her attention back to the screen. "This paper's deadline is closing in" she rummages through her bag and pulls out her notebook. She opens it and checks her notes, scribbling more in. Her thoughts are volatile, if she doesn't right them down they would evaporate. She strokes her chin thinking; proceeding to type afterwards.
"More words in, this paper doesn't look like it's going to end. What is missing in my research" she passes her right hand through her golden blonde hair and looks up only for her eyes to meet his. He looks confused trying to find a proper seat in an all empty train. He doesn't want to sit facing backwards. He politely asks he "mind if I sit here" she doesn't mind, but then she is more occupied with her work than everything. More scribbling with the pencil on a heavily highlighted page.
He makes himself comfortable now not noticing her more into the Nintendo ds he got out of his pocket. Something to kill the time, he has headphones on, video games are always better with music playing. They're sitting at opposite sides facing each other yet not really facing anyone but the screens they are using.
He is into catching that next pokemon to beat that annoying gym leader he's been trying to beat all week. She has to finish this research before it has passed it's deadline.
The train darts across the countryside and both of them headfirst in their own digital worlds. A million degrees of separation between the both of them. The only other time they make eye contact is when the conductor passes by and they gave her their tickets to stamp. Then they both look at the screen.

She types away on her bright pink Toshiba while he mashes more buttons, "why won't a great ball work this time, it's what caught it last time before my save got erased. Onward the two storey red train goes through the beautiful countryside and heads into the main station. They all gather their stuff and everyone in the rain hurriedly heads outside he goes left she goes right and they both disappear into the sea of people heading down the stairs.
The station below bustling with life people going left and right more like the machines they just got off, one stops to glance at a shop window every now an then, but the rest constant as a drum beat in a jazz guitar solo. All following one hasty chaotic rhythm that gets them going from one spot to another. For some reason camel's "god of light revisited" starts playing in her head and pushes her to join the frantic pace that is overwhelming the bustling station.
She proceeds to move into the see of people towards the next train, he has long disappeared into the depths of the vast station and just as fast as they met they got separated not even getting a chance to notice each other from blocking their sense with technology. Like that they get on different trains and head on to lead different lives on different rails.
She heads up on the platform and waits for her connecting train. It arrives exactly on time, everything here runs on time, no one can afford to be late. The train empties its contents, businessmen in suits, men and women of different ages all heading out to work, a policewoman puts on her hat as she walks out the door, another man digs in his pockets for that pack of lucky strikes, he has enough time to smoke one before getting on the next train, she waits for everyone to leave then climbs on the train; looks for a seat and finds an empty one opposite this young man reading a book on his digital reader, while slightly nodding his head back and forth to the music he is listening to through these giant headphones on his head.
She sits opposite him, takes out her pink Toshiba and thinks, while taking the last bite of her cheese sandwich " I need to finish this paper already"
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Screen Seperation (or Strangers on Rails)

Early morning, sun rising lazily but barely visible through the early morning fog. The dew rest on the surrounding surfaces and this cold chill fills the air.
Not a lot of people are in the train station, but enough to form a small grouping. the rails gleam in the hazy light while everyone grabs onto their luggage awaiting the arrival of the train. The PA rings and the voice of the lady inside announces the arrival of the train.
The red beast approaches, a two story train bespeckeled with people sitting separately from each other.
The train stops and opens it's doors with that familiar sound of pneumatic release greeting those standing outside in the morning cold to the warmth of that red leviathan. In seconds lovers exchange kisses, relative exchange hugs and hasty farewells. The travellers rush inside, all grasping their luggage and movie with zombie like coordination, it's still too early in the morning even the air itself is lazy at this time.
She makes her way down the corridor finds an empty seat and makes herself comfortable, the train is empty so she places her bag on the adjacent seat. "It will be an hour till I reach my destination, might as well get some work done". From her smaller bag she pulls out her pink Toshiba placing it carefully on her lap, and put s the bag next to her feet. She un zips the bigger bag sitting next to her like that accompanying passenger she doesn't have, and pulls out a paper bag that has a sandwich she had bought earlier from the store in the station.
She remembers the lady that sold her the sandwich, a very friendly portly woman in her early sixties. She has that smile that seems like it has been there forever and dimples that accent the sparkle in her eye. She proceeds with her job with such diligence and satisfaction that anyone who buys something from the store can't help but be amazed at that admirable woman.
She picks a cheese sandwich, looks like it could be a good breakfast she picks a snack bar, nuts, a healthy snack is better, chocolate just won't cut it this early in the morning, after all she has a long day ahead of her today. She gives them to the store clerk, the sandwich in its paper bag and the bar afterwards. The clerk asks if she wants a bag, she is already carrying two and a plastic bag will just waste the environment more, she shakes her head in negation and says a simple "thank you".
She has opened her pink laptop now and turned it on, grabbing a bite or two from the cheese sandwich while it boots. "Tastes good enough" but she isn't worried about taste now, more into her work. She opens the document and starts typing away. She pauses every now and then to glance at the green landscape whizzing by, trees follow trees across the window next to her. The railway passes through the woods it's surrounded from both sides by trees at times. As the train moves out to a more open area she notices the vast green plains to her side, filled with the familiar side of electric windmills, the familiar sight of the presence of man. Simple devices rotating in the backdrop of an otherwise flat green space. Proof that humans have yet overtaken another part of this earth for their own.
She directs her attention back to the screen. "This paper's deadline is closing in" she rummages through her bag and pulls out her notebook. She opens it and checks her notes, scribbling more in. Her thoughts are volatile, if she doesn't right them down they would evaporate. She strokes her chin thinking; proceeding to type afterwards.
"More words in, this paper doesn't look like it's going to end. What is missing in my research" she passes her right hand through her golden blonde hair and looks up only for her eyes to meet his. He looks confused trying to find a proper seat in an all empty train. He doesn't want to sit facing backwards. He politely asks he "mind if I sit here" she doesn't mind, but then she is more occupied with her work than everything. More scribbling with the pencil on a heavily highlighted page.
He makes himself comfortable now not noticing her more into the Nintendo ds he got out of his pocket. Something to kill the time, he has headphones on, video games are always better with music playing. They're sitting at opposite sides facing each other yet not really facing anyone but the screens they are using.
He is into catching that next pokemon to beat that annoying gym leader he's been trying to beat all week. She has to finish this research before it has passed it's deadline.
The train darts across the countryside and both of them headfirst in their own digital worlds. A million degrees of separation between the both of them. The only other time they make eye contact is when the conductor passes by and they gave her their tickets to stamp. Then they both look at the screen.

She types away on her bright pink Toshiba while he mashes more buttons, "why won't a great ball work this time, it's what caught it last time before my save got erased. Onward the two storey red train goes through the beautiful countryside and heads into the main station. They all gather their stuff and everyone in the rain hurriedly heads outside he goes left she goes right and they both disappear into the sea of people heading down the stairs.
The station below bustling with life people going left and right more like the machines they just got off, one stops to glance at a shop window every now an then, but the rest constant as a drum beat in a jazz guitar solo. All following one hasty chaotic rhythm that gets them going from one spot to another. For some reason camel's "god of light revisited" starts playing in her head and pushes her to join the frantic pace that is overwhelming the bustling station.
She proceeds to move into the see of people towards the next train, he has long disappeared into the depths of the vast station and just as fast as they met they got separated not even getting a chance to notice each other from blocking their sense with technology. Like that they get on different trains and head on to lead different lives on different rails.
She heads up on the platform and waits for her connecting train. It arrives exactly on time, everything here runs on time, no one can afford to be late. The train empties its contents, businessmen in suits, men and women of different ages all heading out to work, a policewoman puts on her hat as she walks out the door, another man digs in his pockets for that pack of lucky strikes, he has enough time to smoke one before getting on the next train, she waits for everyone to leave then climbs on the train; looks for a seat and finds an empty one opposite this young man reading a book on his digital reader, while slightly nodding his head back and forth to the music he is listening to through these giant headphones on his head.
She sits opposite him, takes out her pink Toshiba and thinks, while taking the last bite of her cheese sandwich " I need to finish this paper already"
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

The Power of Song

       A verse, another verse a chorus a verse a solo bridge then chorus one of many formulas a song could have, from an accapella group harmonizing to a rockband playing in someone's garage. Song has been part of the human experience since the beginning of time. and as much as humans admire the power of story telling, and it has enriched culture be it through mythology or folklore. but the power of song has been there with humans, with song they tell these stories, the transfer the lores, they express the happiness and the sadness or even just the crazy indifference and just make you laugh.

      I love music, but I've always had it as a personal experience I draw energy from it that fuels my imagination.  I use music in my movies to drive the emotion of the scene in a certain direction or another. a powerful song can move mountains, patriotic propaganda know this and hence you have allot of wartime songs to motivate people, like el watan el akbar or el 7elm el 3araby here in the middle east. they stir up emotions fast. A good song get's stuck in your head for days, a catchy one too. lyrics become quotes, quotes become credos.

       We start appreciating music early on in life. I've been noticing my 3 year old cousin, observing what makes him tick, what makes that small human being grow to reach the state we are in. Yesterday morning, his grandmother started singing to him, and he kept asking for more, over and over. She kept singing to him and was very happy, he was happy too, smiling all the time. Then I saw it when his mother sang to him another song, it was in her eyes, pure love. Raw unfiltered emotion transferred through lyrics into the ears of a smiling child. if this was a video game, text would pop out from on top of them and say "mother-son bond +2" or something like that.
     
      This reminded me back when I was with Ragia, she had the vocal range of a chainsaw really, and yet I LOVED it when she sang to me. It was because she used to get very excited and try and learn all the lyrics and as soon as she saw me she would want to sing them. that emotion transferred in the song was all it took, this bond formed that would make me enjoy a song sang completely out of tune. And I would sing back, first time she asked me to sing her a song, I couldn't think of one, till the beatles came to the rescue, these songs really fit all situations, that and disney songs (I'm just glad I know them by heart). singing these songs then just acted like magic somehow, there will always be memories associated with some of these songs due to that emotional residue emitted through us singing them to each other. like us screaming at the top of our lungs the lyrics to tenacious D's fuck her gently.

      singing in itself is an emotional transfer system like no other, singing to someone is beyond human comprehension in terms of it's effect on the receiver as well as the performer. this would then explain why vocalists are very popular with the ladies, I mean all they do is emit that large wave of emotions to an unsuspecting audience no wonder the women then faint. which brings us back to the beatles fame. their songs were just to powerful emotionally and very catchy that everyone loved them, in any situation I can just pick one and sing it, travelling or even going to sleep "close your eyes and i'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you....", just started dating or crushing on someone "oh yeah I'll tell you something, I hope you'll understand....", just broke up "I get by with a little help from my friends" and so on and so forth. they have this power of uplifting oneself, or just emphasizing with one's sorrow.

       the same unfortunately couldn't be said about comedians, at least not to my experience. a comedian gets up on stage, makes people laugh and gets off but is he chased by girls, not as much as singers no. it's simple, though laughter is the only unbridled emotion humans can experience, it is honest and uncompromising, and girls like a guy "who can make her laugh", this emotion fades quickly and is too raw, also it is not even in the same league of emotional transference as song, songs that have been affecting us since we were kids being sung to by our parents, songs we sing to each other, songs we love and sing to ourselves, songs we drive to, we live by, we work too etc. all this emotional attachment to songs and their singers just gives them that emotional power that shakes the heart.

at least that's how I see it

Short Story: Escape

He took his blackberry and ipod and head out bare foot into the back yard checking twitter every five seconds, he wants someone to reply to his tweets, thousands of kilometres away and he still craves the attention addicted to technology, but then again he is trying to see if his crush is doing something, stalking made easier by the internet day after day with facebook, twitter, tumblr and a plethora of weird names that just pop in and out, people join them by the masses.
He takes off his socks and says "fuckit I'm going bare foot", he turns on his ipod and lies on the grass, picks a song, yes at first then camel trying to capture the mood of the surrounding environment. His phone goes out of range he can't tweet anymore,"ah well fuckit I'm enjoying this too much. He stands up and starts walking deeper into the yard. He finds a door that leads to the wooden walkway over the pond he walks out and sits there dipping his feet in the water.
The music is choking him he turns off the ipod, his ears are bombarded wit the sound of beautiful silence pierced by the singing of birds heading home after all the sun is setting it has been since 6:30 and it will still be setting in an hour when it's 9 pm. four hour sunsets, German summers are too romantic.
He listens the birds tweet and chirp this time it's pure music, the wind picks up pace and does a nice follow up in his ears. The distant occasional car wandering in the distance adds a nice whoosh to the ambience. The percussion joins in distant at first rolling into bigger stronger notes, thunder from behind him. He looks up and there's a blanket of purpulish blue clouds covering the landscape of the lilypad filled lake and tall trees in on the other side.
"A storm's coming" but he doesn't care this feeling of beautiful nothingness is just too pure to give up.
Rain starts to drizzle forming a nice rhythm and tempo to the now building symphony orchestrated by nature herself, the rain increases and a nice soothing sounds formed by the falling of drops on the lake like bongos and congas. The wind starts the string section, it picks up the pace and starts moving the leaves around him.
He get's cold takes his feet out of the water, this is no weather for shorts. He shivers slightly while the rain drizzles on him and the wind kisses his side with a cool but loving embrace.
He is enjoying this too much, he doesn't want to leave. He ignores his blackberry lying there next to his ipod now covered in a nice pattern of water drops.
A duck lands in the lake with a light sound and then pierces the ambience with a loud quack, and as if signalling the skies the rain stops. But the wind violently blows playing the climax with the leaves.
Thunder plays again this time short and electric followed by a quick flash by his twin lightening.
Birds fly over head, and the dancing leaves approach him closer with every blow of the wind as if beckoning him to join them. But he is an outsider, an observer and he is loving this so much.
The waves now forming in the lake add another visual dynamic than the spotted pattern previously formed by the rain.
The wind stills, giving rise to the brass section. The birds all in harmonious unison chirp with their different calls. Another duck land in the distance he catches its landing with the corner of his eye
" I just had to leave my nikkon d60 at home" but no camera can truly capture this beauty. The sights the sounds. The owl joining in to the left while the older birds reply in short concise riffs. A crow adds a bass line.
The view gets brighter again as the rays of the setting sun penetrate the now blue clouds. Light and shade ciaro-scurro, he just realised that this visual orchestra is also a light show, it darkened with the heavy part of the song and now lightens near then end, when all is calm.
Thunder now in front of him, the clouds have moved on forward like a wandering band, visiting spot after spot. They will be joined with the winds in another location for another concerto. And like that with a beautiful demenuendo only the birds remain. Now joined intensely by the distant hooting of owls.
The birds won't stop anytime soon, not till it's dark. It won't be dark for another hour. Thunder roars again. He looks at the tall trees infront of him and the thick woods to the right all surrounding that one lake.
A pigeon flies up to his right the fluttering is a nice addition followed closely by distant church bells, on is enough.
The background now fills with engine sounds and people talking in the back. This one car drowns the sound of birds. He relaxes once it passes and tries to shut down the chatter behind him from interrupting the finale played by the birds.
This isn't really isolation, but for now he is alone, he is happy. He doesn't care what will he do next with his life or what will he have for dinner; will his crush go out with him and where that would lead him. He doesn't care he likes it here, likes the silent natural orchestra that is playing just for him, live from the lake in the German countryside.
He just sits there on the wooden walkway legs crossed, feet now dry yet still cold from being in the water, looks up unto the fluff covered sky, his eyes descend to the trees then the lake. The leaves behind him alert him to the wind picking up pace again. Crows start off in the distance while he thinks to himself "I'm enjoying this"

Epilogue
He gets up reluctantly, he doesn't want to leave this but the rain is starting again and now he is feeling colder. Also he has to get back to "life", that existence that is so dependant on machines. Before he leaves he makes a vow, a promise he knows he wouldn't keep. To try and savour moments like this for later, not to get so immersed in the technology and being busy with career to miss out on the simple aesthetics that fill his heart with joy. Those things that inspire him in the first place. Inspire him to create. He gets up leaving the rain drops play a solo on the lake and heads inside back to the "real world", it was nice . "I should do this more often", he thinks as he checks twitter now that his phone picked up a signal
again. As a cuckoo bird starts behind him he looks back one last time and heads inside the house.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Life, or how it should be

Enjoying the music of chirping birds in the silence of the four hour sunset by a lake accompanied by the distant whirr of the random car passing in the distance and the rolling percussion of thunder in the back while dipping my leg in the lake, a slight drizzle now starts forming a bass line with the lake (more like a choir) and I'm in shorts, das ist lieben mein freund
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

The little things

You know we tend to lose track of life in the midst of what we do with work school relationships etc, and we forget how small things make us ecstatic

Just simple things in life, I just took my cousin with Uncle and his wife to this fair in germany and he is just having a blast at the carousel he doesn't want to leave, just the illusion of power he has over the miniature truck that is going round nd round over and over never getting bored being really happy, it's because like that he's satisfied.

Nowadays we are never satisfied we tend to overlook these little things. And they make the difference between euphoria and misery.
I'm walking through the fair just observing everything having fun by just being there, being somewhere new different and just enoying it, happiness was aways supposed to be simple so why complicate it.

Anyway, I'll go have more fun now

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Mornings

I think I missed yesterday's entry ah well

Final morning doing the government stuff brother's with me being a cranky bitch so it's not pretty, anyway leaving for germany tom this should be fun.
I'll try to get the next page of cherry apocalypse up before then, and maybe use the flight time to draw too but we'll see when I'm up in the air

I need to remember to charge up my ipod and fill it up since I haven't done that in like 2 months
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Cairo government run

Good morning everyone

Blogging off my phone again, in the car going on what I call the government run, basically it's this day when I go to various government and army offices to finalize permits for my trip to germany next friday as well as my international license it's easier with a driver tagging along which is exactly what I did.

Haven't slept since last night. Played a shitload of god of war 3, and loving the prodigy album "invaders must die" just got it so I'm listening to it for the first time (mostly) but immensly loving it like. Really good album it also has songs in kickass and the new scott pilgrim trailer so you know the sings are epic.

Also highly anticipating scott pilgrim now so yeah....

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Monday, May 31, 2010

High seas, low lives

So I woke up today and went to the living room turned on my ps3 and started playing god of war 3, kicked hades' ass saved the game turned the ps3 and decided I should go take a shower and head out since I have to finish my travel permits' papers so I have a long day ahead of me going to army bases and shit, anyway so I pick up my phone and decide to check twitter first to my dismay I find the #flotilla trending.

I open my laptop google flotilla and take my laptop in thetoilet while I take my morning shit I start reading what the fuck is going on. So a convoy (flotilla) of ships is heading from turkey to the gaza strip carrying pro palestinian activists and about 10,000 tonnes of aid including water purifiers, electric wheelchairs and food among othet things.

For those of you who don't know gaza is under siege by israel because they contain the headquarters of the resistance movement hamas. The seige is preventing anything from going to gaza which is fucking up the lives of the people in there. They even prevent them from getting cement to rebuild their homes which were destroyed by israelli attacks.

Now the flotilla is obviously peacful they are carrying a fucking white flag and they are headed to give the aid, israel told them the immortal gandalf phrase "you shall not pass" and yet they didn't give a fuck and proceeded to head to gaza. Over night last night the fucking IDF(israelli defense force) pissants decide to fucking board the ships and take control of them WHILE THE SHIPS ARE IN INTERNATIONAL WATERS.

And they have the audacity not just to commit such an act of open sea PIRACY but also to fucking attack the civillians on board who are not and armed btw and who have people like holocaust survivors and ex-politicians. And not just attack the civilians on board but also to fucking kill 10 of the people on board with only one excuse that they had knives and rods WTF fucking israelli IDF boarding the ships with assault rifles and machine guns and they're afraid of kinves from civilians, sure that makes allot of sense (ps SARCASM)

And not just that they call it the right to defend themselves, IN INTERfuckingNATIONAL waters IDF wanting to defend themselves agaist deadly stick wielding civilians on an AID SHIP wow no wonder the israelli army so strong and brave (sarcasm again)

This is a massacre and it's not like it is their first offense gazaians have been slaughtered for a while now, remember sabra and shatila, remember jerusalem now they have grown the balls to attack anything without caring they are attacking ships with a cosmopolitan populus on board openly killing them in international waters.

The irony here is uncanny since the ships are turkish and turkey is one of israel's main muslim allies in ther region, now an israelli attack on a turkish ship is probably the stupidest most braindead DICK move one can pull. Turkey is pulling out the israeli embassador which means no more political relations let alone being allies. Seriously stupidest actions could not have been done.

And israel is still proceeding with their piracy WTF the world is turning against them if you're on twitter trend #freedomflotilla let someone take action to save these international civilians and have them reach gaza with the aid. For once in your lives DO SOMETHING.

Warman out

Ugh blackberry battery ran out took me two hours to send this I blame israel
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Sunday, May 30, 2010

Rant #1

Listening to take the power back by rage against the machine
Sitting in The starbucks in Tivoli dome, as an attempt to get my creatvie juices flowing and get some work done
I read more transmetropolitan and get this urge to write a hate rant, one of that is truly pissed, it's a good exercise really, JUST TO BE FUCKING PISSED AND SHOW IT.

anyway so across from me are 2 12 year olds, I swear they don't look a day older than 12, 14 tops a guy and a girl chilling at a starbuck, sure I don't mind people dating that young, maybe I'm just too bitter I started way late in the game, but dating this young just looks weird, especially in broad daylight, the did doesn't even look like he got his pubic hair yet, but I digress. that isn't really what is pissing me off.

it's the overall show of these two fucks, the dude is trying too hard to look like the posers I see in my university day in and day out, (of which my brother tends to run with to my dismay) the sockless shoe the shorts just the manner of dress and the way which he carries himself is just, I dunno, I can't put what it is in words but the fact that it is getting on my nerves trying to hard to be someone he isn't someone older, more mature even though maturity isn't really about mannerisms now is it.

ok the girl is dressed fine, for her age maybe, all 12 to 16 year olds these days are into that whole punk/post punk emorific look, and what saddens me is that they probably don't know the music that started the fashion, they listen to fucking lady Gaga and Akon or the bane of my existence (sans daft punk) HOUSE ugh...

then the scene of the two sitting together to me is out of place they just look too young for it, or maybe I have gotten too old, eh to be cynical at 22 means I'll be senile by 30 FUN.

The Cherry on top of the icing on that shit cake is that the kid is smoking, now smoking pisses me off, I have smoker friends and I don't mind them, my brother and my dad smoke and I don't really care, my ex girlfriend smoked, I believe journalists smoke as part of their job, and some of my characters are smokers, it's part of life and in egypt it's common, but a kid that young, to me it's still a social stigma, hell a smoker friend sitting next to me just commented "that kid must be fucking twelve and he's smoking" now this looks just wrong if not plain outrageous, the scene of a kid like that trying to dress and act like an adult, like someone he is not, let alone someone he might become in the future. it's outrageous but this is where the youth is headed, another reason why i want to get into teaching, I mean other than trying to feed the revolution to the kids when their brains are ripe for the picking, to try and stick a little fucking morality in the whole thing. you can't expect children acting like that to grow in world leaders or instigators of change, no scratch that in this country a kid acting like that probably comes from a family that is connected well enough to get him in a position which will cause him to do much harm.

it's us the dreamers that have to work hard enough to earn it, hard enough to pull the revolution through (ps when I say revolution I talk about my personal agenda my revolution will be in movies and comics, trying to spread them here, spread the good ones and through them have people aware of the fact that this world needs to be changed nay mutilated then reconstructed)

what is ironic in all that is when my friend wanted to smoke he borrowed a lighter from that kid, and no one else from the smokers in starbucks had a lighter but him.

anyway
warman out

Early morning dump

This blog is coming to you from the toilet.

because I need something to kill time while I finish my early morning bowel movement, I've had a measly four hours of sleep, wake up slightly cranky only to cheer up in seconds, I am the perpetually optimistic cheerful person, I am incapable of being cranky for long. THANK GOD FOR CYNICISM. yeah so still trying out the new blog every day to try and get my writing on, but I guess that's just me being affected by Spider Jerusalem, I started reading transmetropolitan and it's eating into my brain and also inspiriing my to do more comics which is not a bad thing.

so yeah more writing so I can enhance my writing, though blogging isn't really writing, I mean I'm not doing any journalism, I'm just jotting down thoughts, I'm defintely not doing story telling either. and I AM AN EDITOR'S NIGHTMARE, when it comes to punctuation, I don't give a rat's ass what goes where. and frankly does it really matter to you while reading ? punctuation on the internet is over rated. I'd rather have just one run on sentence and end it with a fucking exclamation mark! so why is punctuation that important anyway ???

God of War 3 is epic started on hard to try to prove something to myself, gave up after dying allot decided to go start over in medium since now I just care about the story more really, and I don't have that much time to play anyway (plus I'm using it as a preface to ff13 the game I REALLY WANT TO PLAY)

meanwhile business as usual, I'm being talked into tumblr which is sounding more and more appealing every day so i might give it a whirl sometime soon. till then ENJOY, oh and you can always know what the hell I'm doing through twitter, but now I have to get off the can...

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Blogging for the hell of it

it seems like good practice to write up what ever the fuck runs through your brain every morning and just post it on the web, because that is what the internet is all about posting your shit there for everyone to see.

went to bed around 6 am and woke up now, spent the night reading transmetropolitan and epic graphic novel that I feel bad having not read it up till 2 days ago, it pushed me to work on my other comics, now with the shater hassan out of the way i just feel motivated to draw more and more, there's something about finishing a 40 page graphic novel in a month that just tingles in your balls and makes you don't want to stop, hell I'm in balls deep know why stop, especially when I'm getting better by the minute stopping would only mean deterioration of whatever skill I've built up, I am by no means a superior artist but I'm working too fucking hard and diligently to be that next great comicer. Bob Kane sucked when he created batman and so did schuster and simon(?) when they created superman, yet they didn't care they pushed for it and they got what they wanted, look at batman and superman now.

it's all about that burning passion within it is the drive you need to get somewhere, here in the backwoods of society deep within a country that should have had a rich history in comics yet the illiteracy rate (among other things) is holding us back, it needs more people to push the status quo I say. and here I am promising to do so and if any of you want to do the same tell and let's tear this fucker up.

great idea was told to me by a friend last night, join a newspaper and do strips for them that's how you get your name out there, great idea I've been working for two school newspapers for the past year and one of them I've been doing the same series since 2006 yes driving home is that old, so why the hell not move it to a realy newspaper, something like el masry el youm or el dostoor or el sherook, I would have a weekly series if not daily (hell I can handle daily over the summer and maybe beyond If I'm getting payed) get my name out there that way when the day comes and I walk in a publishing house with a manuscript of a another graphic novel they would grab it at once. that is if i dno't get work by then, I mean doing driving home got me constant freelance work from the history department which is epic cause all I do is a poster per semester and I get me some cash not a bad deal really.so anyway if you know how to get in any of these newspapers try and reach me.

Friday, May 28, 2010

PAGE 2

ok so a while back I posted pencils of page 2 of cherry apocalypse well then here it is complete

Enjoy

I'm really happy with the results on this one

formspring.me

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/warman58

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

formspring.me

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/warman58 yes yes I'm doing this now

formspring.me

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/warman58

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Completed

ok this might be a little late, but the comic was completed last sunday and previewed at the gallery opening my dear friend ahmed shaltout is working on a cover for it other than the one I did, and then that PDF would go to print at a real printing shop that would get me 500 copies of what it would be when published (indie publishing)

Ed I'll be sending you a copy to pimp around publishers in the us (vertigo and the like if you can) bear in mind it would be in color, I have done it in bw now to reduce printing cost but on publishing I want to do it in color if you want samples of my colored work ask me about it.

Naje you still need to see a copy of it.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Bad Betengan

Here's a nice diversion to watch, Ahmed Safi an Epic comedian in his musical debut bad betengan



Enjoy

Sunday, May 9, 2010

The last days

Ok so here are the chronicling of the last days

As the deadline to print comes close I realize how fickle time can be it wastes away and disapears into the nothingness with other deadlines closer I really don't want to d anything else but ink nonstop till tom night but it doesn't seem like that is going to happen
I have to write a 2000 word paper about shinto relegion and work on some english I just hope the printers are flexible with that deadline either way I'm hauling ass isA

Editing the story has been a success though my editors/proof readers did a great job editing I had a major problem with my ending bu thanks to mojadidi and ahmed naje that got fixed real good

Naje also did an awsome job fixing the arabic version now it actually sounds like a proper literary piece with good language my brain got lost while writing it bilingually really also great many thanks to azoul for pimping the book out on twitter and same gs to rams and ali nasser
Also adham el khorazaty, the rougster and mohamed samir for their work in reading the early versions and everyone else for cheering me on
Francesc ruiz had great input to it too and I'm just ecstatic about the whole thing.
Just one last push and this baby will come out and breathe life isA everything will be fine but for now the water just broke and I'm enduring the last 2 days of contractions but at least it's crowning
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Saturday, May 8, 2010

Progress Report

ok Here's the skinny on what's going on, 40 pages pencilled looking allot better than I thought they would be, Script written out in word document and sent over to editors, (both arabic and english) awaiting editors results isA they won't butcher it much I should start seeing stuff by tonight.
till then I will be inking, postponed the printers deadline to monday gonna try and pull an all nighter all day all nighter from tonight till monday isA it will only mean i'll recieve the books thursday night which will be fine since I'm installing on a daily basis so it won't be much of a problem come installation next thursday.

isA inking won't be that much of a time consumer, I'm prolly skipping school tom all over, since I lost allot of time over the weekend socializing, meeting the editors and going to an open mic night with the hopes of performing (which never fell through but still had a great time)

anyway now I'm meeting one of the proffessors of my grad project course to dicuss the book and afterwards meeting the great Francesc Ruiz also to talk about it, get some pointers from a proffessional artist doing neaqrly exactly what I'm doing atm, Putting comics in an art gallery, his work is awesome you should google him or something. he's a great guy very nice and called my work "very special" so I'm enthused atm hopefully this one comes out great (I'm skeptic about the whole B/W thing my strength lies in colour) either way the story is shaping up nicely I hope the editors point out enough plot holes for me to fix in time before I go do the lettering on monday isA.

anyway we're trying to trend it on twitter so people would know about it more so if you are a fan of the tweets try and trend #elshaterhassan and publicize my comic, release date which is may 16th 7:30 at the AUC sharjah gallery new cairo.

aight Warman out

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Here we go

Ok so the basic plot was complete now I've written down what goes on in every page hopefully by the end of tonight I'll have the layout sketches done isA so I can get on with pencilling over the weekend isA

Wish me luck
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Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Artist statement Edited and translated

El Shater Hassan (Hassan the Cunning)
A tale of morality, El Shater Hassan is a modern day adaptation of the original bedtime story made popular by moms, grandmas and maids for ages. The story is that of the perpetual protagonist who fights the forces of supernatural evil and saves the damsel in distress, followed through with a heavy handed moral of the story. It is not the superficial “just give him a blackberry and an iPod” adaptation but more of an homage to the tale through a new original tale that fits within our modern society. It tackles elements of moral choices and what pushes man to do one choice over the other within extreme situations. This story is more of an experiment of morality, the characters being lab rats. They are thrown within the story and observed for reaction. Through this I reflect on their moral choices and form a conclusion, and hopefully so will the reader.
This work is divided into form and content. Yet the selection of form in terms of medium and treatment of subject matter here is in itself a conscious choice selected to emphasize a certain point.
Comics, Graphic novels, Manga in Japan, Bande Dessinée in France and Fumetti in Italy is that form, this medium of sequential art that is placed (usually) in narrative form, accompanied most of the time with textual elements. This form is a marriage between art and literature, transcending both yet viewed by society as less. It has so much potential yet it is seen always as the underdog, hence the choice of using it for my project.
Through this work I try and offer two points of views to the audience. The first is that comics can be treated as a literary medium for adults, and the second is what moral choices would one make in certain situations and the latter is better elaborated in the tale of El shatter Hassan.









الشاطر حسن لمروان  إمام
هذه قصة عن المبادئ. قصة الشاطر حسن المشهورة  التي تقص  على الأطفال منذ قديم الأزل. قصة البطل الهمام  الذي يحارب قوى الشرالخيالية من الغيلان والشياطين لكي ينقذ محبوبته في قصة تعلم القارئ أو المستمع مبدأ يفيده في الحياة. هذه القصة هي معالجة حديثة لذلك التراث. وهي ليست بالمعالجة السطحية بل تتوغل في العمق لتري القارئ نبذة من مجتمعنا الحالي. وتعالج القصة ايضا الاختيارات التي يتخذها المرء في المواقف الصعبة. فهي تجربة في المبادئ, وشخصياتها هم فئران التجارب. وضعوا بالقصة في مواقف تقتضي منهم ان يتخذوا قرارات تدل على مبادئهم.ومن خلال تلك القرارات يرى القارئ كيف تتحول مبادئ الأفراد في المواقف المختلفة.   
هذا العمل  ينقسم إلى مضمون و هيئة . وإختيار هيأته هنا  ينبع من إختيار واعي لمحاولة توضيح فكرة معينة.
القصص المصورة, التي يطلق عليها اسم مانجا  في اليابان  وباند  دسيني  في فرنسا وفومتي  في اطاليا , هي  المحيط المستخدم في تقديم القصة هنا. فهذا  المحيط أو الهيئة المستخدمة هنا هي إجتماع بين الفن والأدب. ولكن يارا مجتمعنا أن القصص المصورة اقل من الإثنين. ولهذا اخترت تلك الهيئة لمشروعي لكي أوضح للناس أهمية هذا المحيط الفني.
ومن خلال هذا العمل أحاول ان أوضح وجهتين للنظر, الأولى هي ان القصص المصورة هي نوع من الأدب  المتطور الذي قد يوجه  إلى  البالغين وليس فقط الأطفال . الاخر هو  ان الانسان حين مواجهته لموقف صعبة قد يتخذ اختيارات  مضادة  لمبادئه  لمجرد انه استسلم  لغرازاهه الطبيعية.