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Alright, here’s the thing. I don’t usually like to dissect my tweets, but there is one that requires a little explanation and defending. Last night I tweeted this and went to sleep:

This morning I woke up to several responses to that tweet, not all of them as poorly-worded as this guy, who apparently likes to go around the internet calling people idiots. To be optimistic, I’m grateful that I didn’t get the F-word adjective at least:

There were a few more responses that I’ll add on the bottom, but there was one more response that particularly compelled me, mostly because Kevin decided to come out of his silence just to speak up for his belief that I was wrong. His first ever and only ever tweet was for me, and I’m honored:

Let’s get down to it, then.

You see, anyone who’s ever attended school — hell no, anyone who’s been near a school, or drove past a school, or just heard of school — knows that Yuri Gagarin was the first man to journey into outer space. This is not new information, so we can stop throwing it at people like it’s a revelation. And, since we’re on the topic, I underlined “journey” because the first man in outer space, technically, was Alexei Leonov, who went outside of the space vehicle and ‘walked’ in outer space. I’ve had the luck and privilege to interview Mr. Leonov in 2006 for a publication, when he visited my university. But that’s just me showing off on that last one, sorry.

Moral is, Yuri Gagarin is not news. What seems to be news here is weight loss vs. weightlessness.

Continue reading ‘on weight loss, Neil Armstrong and twitter’s watchdogs’ »

A man

and his

veiled wife

are playing chess in the park.



Behind them, a younger couple

‘s relationship is dying.

Two Weeks.


He caresses her and she responds; her movements

equal and reciprocal to his.


But useless.



The veiled woman

is ready

to checkmate,

but she doesn’t see it.

she doesn’t see

the strength

of her position. She

is unaware

of the many weaknesses in his defense.




husband pays close attention to her


he cannot save himself

if she


to kill.

Yes, you can complain about the bad things in your life, but at least remember to acknowledge and praise the good! This universe, with its earthquakes and cancer, also gave us pineapples & dandelions. Be as balanced as the universe.


You won’t know what love is until you hear the blues,

‘Cause that love you love to talk about, baby,

That’s old news.

You see, it’s not about holding hands

And it’s not about the kisses

And it’s not about making plans

To be somebody’s Mrs.

You will never know what absolute bliss is

Until your heart dances to the subtle romances

In the notes and cues

Of blues.


Something happened at the park last night. Without any interpretation, here it is:

We were four people sitting on the grassy hill of Parc LaFontaine, talking about regular things, books, life, the absurdity of existence. The conversation was sweetened by the pineapple-basil-flavored ice cream that we picked up from a nearby shop.

Alongside us, on the hills, were groups of young people enjoying their Saturday night as well. The grassy whiff of marijuana filled the air. Not everyone was into ice cream.

Below us, closer to the lake’s edge, garbage dotted the grass surrounding the trashcans. The litter was scattered by people who had enough energy to walk to the trashcan but not enough dedication to put their waste inside it. In short, the condition of the lake’s edge was an embarrassment to civilization. But then,

Continue reading ‘last night at the park’ »

I have not forgotten much:

The tarmac was night.

And the streetlamp’s reflection,

A full moon in a puddle of dogpiss;

Sidewalks effervesced with ghosts

That blossomed out of the cracks

In my memory of the place.

I sat solid; not of cold,

But of fear that the slightest

Tremble might clear my visions

So that the street becomes

Street, and the ghosts become floating

Faces that resemble faces

Of ghosts I have hidden, and not so well,

Below the concrete of my fears.

The morning frost

Binds my eyelashes

And for a ghastly minute

I cannot open my eyes

To rid myself of the night.

The bittercold concrete

Defeats my temperature

In ravenous vengeance,

But I don’t remember much more.


بحثت كثيراً على الانترنت فلم أجد أية تصوير للسنفور السعودي. لذلك قررت أن أُهدي بابا سنفور السعودي لهذا الشعب الجميل، الذي ألهمني وأستقبلني خلال الاعوام الخمسة الماضية.

المغزى من هذا السنفور هو التسلية، وليس المسخرة على تراث أو ثقافة السعودية. لذلك أنا أهديه لكم لكي تستعملوه. أرجو منكم تنزيل الصورة وتعبئة الفقاعة بما يناسبكم، ومن ثمة تحميل الصور إلى تويتر أو فيسبوك، مع إستعمال الهشتاق BabaSanfour# لمتابعة التطورات. و شكراً.

وفي الختام، أريد أن اشكر دانية البصراوي على المساعدة في “تلبيس” بابا سنفور. تابعوها على تويتر.

وبما أن السنافر هي فكرة وتصميم وتنفيذ الفنان الراحل Peyo فلا يحق لنا تسجيل حقوق النشر.