Zoe… dearest

I had it with you up to the tip of my nose, may be even beyond.

My matrix could not take in anymore; “none”, ANY- more. You were very successful in making me want to cut all off, and continued not to comprehend, at all.

You knew, or if you did not, that, made it even worse.

I was walking through a field of broken glass blent in with glowing coal.

I was amidst a situation where any slight toe tip over could have put me a-blast; you did not at the least pretend unawareness, you insisted on claiming being aware, and continued your punishment.

I had told you, almost begged you, to help me through that transition into Calamity. But you chose to ignore that, and ignored that I might have been not as solid as you thought; I could, and had the right to, liquefy, even vaporize.

You chose to continue to be your usual self.

I had acquired bruises, my feet bled; yet, neither you, nor anyone else, thought that ‘that’ was possible, I was supposed to be “The Un-touchable”.

For me untouchable felt more like being dirty rather being divine; more like being a leper.

I had reached the border, at the exact same moment, which, by the way, was your birthday, and the exact same moment that you had me think you had cherished my remembrance.

At that exact, same, moment; me crossing the border; you, so manipulatively decided to tell me that I had been all along: Selfish.

‘Selfish’. Bold, discrete and absolute.

A song:

” Ill be lying if I say I still love you.

I’ll be lying if I say I can forget you.

I’ll be lying if I say I can ever forgive you.

But I continue to ask of you;

To choose me a shore, where I can break upon”

Yes, I did switch all off. I had previously switched my life off for all else to keep going, but I was even denied that.

It seemed that I had to be a catalyst for all else’s wanting; of course, mine, were if not diabolic, secondary.

I chose to disconnect, I had shut all. Couldn’t but.

At that exact second, you told me that I had been inconsiderate and selfish.

You chose that precise moment when my right foot was in Calamity and my left was still outside,

Well, I could not have said anything but that you had excelled in choosing the moment.

You knew what I was passing through; with myself, work, you, wealth, health, relocations…Etc,

I could have given you the benefit of doubt if you had spoken at any other time.

Any other time where I was practically begging for a hug from you, a word of affection, acknowledgement, a heartbeat, a tight, a really tight hug, a simple expression “I understand”.

Now, after you had exhausted me, you reminded me of dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, as soon as the bomb got ready, even-though, the war was already over and done with.

Too bad. I was a human, and a tough one, even tougher than Japan. Your maneuvers were and would continue to be futile.

I could have responded in a manner that would have been offensive, defensive, apprehensive, inconsiderate or socially inept, or I could have even complied with your manipulative pressures.

But;

I chose to disappear.

I ordered my left foot to move on, along with the right, into the Calamity city,

I knew, then, that you were not God and could not judge by intents, but by outcomes. Those were your choices; my only choice was to continue to act by intent.

You called, did call, after I had joint both feet into disappearance, into Calamity.

I could not go back.

Sorry, to say that, but your recklessness, my beloved Zoe, along with everything else was just too much.

I was a hard bee wax that would very willingly had tilted between your shoulders, like a daffodil, but you refused once, and continued to refuse, you wanted me to continue to be hard;

I refused to break; I melted, but sadly, not between your shoulders.

You, I have to admit, were considerate enough to call me back up and apologize.

But I had been already in the city. I was not sure whether I had no choice or did actually choose to keep walking, so I did.
“Not”, yours,”Anymore”

Delila

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Demoozi, awakening

Demoozi was awakened by his butterflies.

He felt that the barks which were growsing on him were, despite being flourishing,  were sending him mixed messages.

Tigris will come back if she chooses to.

Raheema will be awaiting an advice.

Breeze is desperate for  help.

And  Hulm, is just a child and someone has to be there for him.

So, Demoozi, stood up.

Kissed the butterflies and went in into the first floor of the calamity building.

Limpy limped happily behind him; neaw-ing to Nao: I told you.

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Why So Little?

As Demoozi was roasting in the sun shadow, the theme dominating his thoughts was exactly this question: Why so little?

As he seemingly quietly, was waiting the moments run by, his brain was folding and unfolding, skimming over then diving, ebbing and flowing attempting to find an exact simple answer to that exact simple question.

So little love. Could it be the same as so little oxygen?

He had learnt that we live constantly seeking and by oxygen, yet we harbor so little of it at any single time. That is because our viable tissues will just burn if oxygen was too abundant in its vicinity, yet we die so quickly when its absent.

Could it be that our vitality too, be that sensitive to love? Could it be that in spite of the fact that we always yearn for love, we are not capable of surviving too much of it? Could its abundance burn us, completely extinguish our flame, evaporates our viability?

A lightly, lovingly placed, whip lash can unleash pleasure.

A well organized bite can produce emotions.

A hinting look can bring back memories.

A magic wand, if touches a frog lightly will produce a prince, sharply, will make all vanish.

A lot of chocolate, a lot of sea, a lot of nothing, a lot of everything…

It only makes sense; a lot of love is incompatible with life.

Queen bees do not fall in love, butterflies do, they burn themselves loving!

It took Demoozi, so many pains, and so many heartbreaks to get to be this strong, this ready for the ultimate love. The love he is capable of disappearing into, of apocalypsing in. In his mind, no one else is ready; not yet.

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A Visit to the Second Floor

 

“Home is a concept, I think, rather than a place; a concept we carry with us, or lose altogether, at a certain point.”

This was what Enk explained to his son Hulm when asked about the meaning of home. Home, was the concept Enk was drawing. A drawing as unclear to Hulm as Home was.

Enk drew with charcoal, only black blunt tip charcoal pencils. He thought that since black was the only color missing from light, light would always seek it. And since black did not reflect any light, rather it absorbed it all in, then it was more capable of absorbing emotions, secrets, hidden desires and unspoken lust.

Black is the color most secretive, most mysterious, and most greedy. Like the Ka’ba in Makkah, hiding tremendous secrets under its black veil. Even the women around the area where Makkah is, cover their lives in black; they wrap their secrets in thin black cloth. The really expensive stones are wrapped in black. Oil is black. Pupils are black.

Charcoal is earth, the old parts of Earth, the ripe wisdom. Charcoal does not cover all pores of the drawing paper. It would not be natural to do so. Just like earth would embrace the tree, but still would allow air to infiltrate through and worms too.

To Enk, it always seemed that the only natural way to draw anything, or actually possible way, on paper, or tree leaves, is by the exact things that Earth is made of. For paper, its charcoal, with it’s complete absence of color.

The only other possible logical art form would be water art. Not water colors on paper, but water in water. Water is special in that regards, where it forms art when ‘in’ as well as ‘on’ other objects, everything else is ‘on’ screen, save for architecture and sculpture, which would be only ‘in’.

But water, as much as it is fluid and gentle, can be fierce and non conforming. And it is definitely independent and exclusive in its art.

Enk had moved in to the second floor of the family building, only when the old family house in the city was demolished. It was removed from existence when its maintenance cost ran very high. Just like people, when they accumulate illnesses, and they become too costly to maintain, they get removed. Transformed into another useful form of energy; coal for example was some people, who were removed, buried, disintegrated, and became charcoal that can draw pictures; pictures without color.

He had refused to leave the city house years ago when his family moved to the building they are in now. He had Raheema and Demoozi there. They lived together for the years that made most of the children’s childhood. Then he decided he did not want to live with the kids anymore. The girl and the boy were then sent to the building, to live with the grandfather in the third floor west. And next to the grandmother in the third floor east. When Hulm arrived into life, and with the mother disappearing, he was brought up by grandpa too. This one though, is still consuming his years of childhood in the building. Hulm is the only one who did not know the old city house.

The reverse applies for the family of cats; only Nao knew the old house.

The first floor in the building and second floor east, were vacant.

Enk, was, to be precise, living in a single room in the apartment, door to rooms around where he stayed were closed, not locked, but hiding empty spaces. The room he occupied had everything he needed, including whatever is needed for his own elemental fueling needs of food and cooking utensils. Environmental control necessities and of course, drawing books. Drawing tools and finished works. He would sit on his bed, and sleep on it. The only other area he would use was the wash room. The room was cluttered except for the immediate area surrounding him which contained well organized different size drawing papers, pencils, cigarettes, and all the tobacco accessories. The colors of the room were all dry; dry grey, dry brown, dry dark brown. No light colors, no white, no hint of living nature.

And there was a small aquarium, with a single fish of an unknown species.

Enk himself conveyed a feeling of dryness, could be through the way his skin seemed to feel, his ever dry mouth, eyes without moisture or luster, dry cough, and speech. He did not like to talk much. When and if he got into talking, really got interested, he would talk for hours on end. His voice was hoarse, again, dry. He drank his vodka dry, and ate his steak bloodless.

He was never seen crying, never heard moaning, never complained.

His decisions were always final.

His art, was as he called it sometimes abstract, other times conceptual. He explained: “When I draw, I wipe off all the make up, remove unnecessary details, erase all the color, bring back things to their basic elements; the basic elements that when one is removed, the concept will be lost. I seek clarity; I want to make the concept visible, raw, and blatant. I want to see what I think. I draw concepts that are mine. Some may be able to see my drawings if they share my concept, those who don’t, do not have my concepts.”

Hulm did not like his father; rather he was curious about what he was and what his thoughts were. Enk, to Hulm, was bottomless and featureless, was gloomy and isolated. Some of Enk was in his two other children; the remoteness, the independence, the un-realism. But Enk was unique in not looking forwards for anything and for not awaiting anyone. He was unique for being at peace with being alone. For Hulm, his father could have been a self satisfying hermaphrodite; like earthworms.

“See HulmEnk would never use any term of endearment with his son.

“One can have one home, numerous homes or no home at all. Peace lives in the ones who find their home within themselves; because that is the place which will stay.

People, who link the concept of home to a physical landscape, will ultimately move away, or the place will disappear, or more dramatically, stay but change, and become indifferent to its occupant. Those will suffer, not only because the place they call home is lost, but the bond they had built will not be conveyed into another bond, or other intimacy. They will seek home in other places, and never find it, missing out on many other potential homes in the souls of people.

Having home in another person is sublime, beautiful. Some call it love. I call it escape. Escape because no human other than ones self can be a home to you, all of you all the time. The only person who can be that to you is exactly and only you.

A lot of people keep looking for others to reside to, could be because they are dissatisfied with themselves, and refuse to reside in. Or, are just too scared to do that. But you know what; no one will accept giving you anything that you are not willing to give to yourself first.

That is why you find me content and not searching.

That’s why Raheema is searching for her impossible love.

And that is why Demoozi is waiting for his invisible one.

Raheema thinks that by de-feminizing herself, she would attract the man of her dreams. She is insisting on the love of a man who she would have a complete relationship with, whole love, and have a baby made of love, She is using up all her energy fighting all of the towns standards, and ignoring the fact that love between a man and a woman in this town is a taboo even if it exists.

Demoozy thinks that by purifying himself, and polishing his soul, he would attract the complete divine love altogether, also ignoring the fact that although man love in this town is cherished and encouraged, having complete intact love, is a delusion.

They both worship the non existent; they both look for a home in other people.

They both are not happy with their space, and not satisfied with themselves.

I am not looking for a home. I passed through the stages they are passing through now.  I became comfortable with the idea of being my own home.

Now, after the peace, when I examine my soul. I don’t find home, or the need for one either. The charge has been neutralized. I lost the concept.

That’s why my drawing of Home here is all black; empty.”

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Grandma…Choices

I am your grandma; therefore I think you had matured enough for me to talk some sense into you,

Raheema listen;

Fourthdimention did not choose me.

I did not choose this bitch that I live with, but she pampers my knees.

I did not choose your father, he was given to me.

Hulm did not choose his bastard father; he was obliged to have him.

You did not choose your body, but you do have It.; no choice there.

Tigris chose to escape, and, that was wise.

The desert did not choose to be brown,

The Mediterranean did not choose to be blue.

The titanic did not choose to sink,

America did not choose to be found.

Yet, we are convinced to believe that we choose,

Choose what, mother, father, life, God, brothers, sisters, what… It has all been dictated,

Almighty Faro did not choose to sink.

John the Baptist did not choose to beheaded.

Neither Herod nor Salome comprehended what was happening; Heroda did, the big loving mother,

Then we are doomed because we choose.

Choose…ha.

Raheema, listen to your grandma, and don’t bother, but take care of Breeze.

It is just not worth it.

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46

The blanks are empty, and someone has to fill them.

My bastard (Not insult-ive, but real) “super- cat” mother is nursing every other kitten in town.

Her kids are aborted.

But, making use of that, she gets milk, and gives to all other kittens in need.

We humans, think, that we think for all, the humane way.

There are many other ways.

Just to name one: The feli [a] ne way.

Almighty (God, Buda, Jesus, Meno, Moses………. or best (M) (F) [a] [o] [a] ther universe)…, [ ] bless.

Be humble and let go.

There is something superior to our work, it could be the ocean!

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