iNFINTEwRITES...

Politics (and as always the BULLSHIT that follows)

Sat, 06 Sep 2008 22:29:32 GMT

Though I have not been following the debate as I did when Bush was sadly being re-elected, I have been kept up on the details that we (as the people) either tend to look closely at or look over completely.

I was awaken the other night by the annoying sound of Palin's speech. Annoying one, because she was rambling on about more "bullshit" as most politicians tend to do. Amanda was streaming the speech and I guess slightly interested in the things that are happening over in America or there where a world is trying to be controlled by "them" and not by us. Anyway, I listened closely, though partially still trying to wake, sleep still in my eyes and my vision slightly blurred. Amanda told me a play by play of McCain's body language, his confused hands trying to comprehend how exactly he chose this person as his running mate.

Again, though I am not following because I do not care about the politics and who will win, will only matter because of the "uppities" who vote the most inadequate person(s) in. (though I admit not always because who votes and who gets voted in matters to me because of my love ones and how seriously all this means to me) I've only read/heard small things about Obama (part online news - part a friend who post on her blog), but I feel he's getting an ample ass bashing and I can point my fingers at a thousand reasons to why...but then I guess this who blog would go on forever and never stop.

I heard Palin use the sentence "good ole boys" and I was pretty much reminded of the most racist slurs I've ever heard or read in history. And regardless how its usage (negative or positive) I'm for certain that if I were voting I wouldn't vote for anyone who says "good ole boys".

All I know, for those of you who are deciding to vote, please make sure you are reading in between every line and even reading in between the lines you've already read in between. This is a sticky as debate and race cards and sex cards and classism cards are being played as hard as though this was a gamble to win millions. Which if oil or war has anything to do with it, it is a battle for millions!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lM3oww9Vk-c

{I dont know much about Obama nor Kerry but goddamn if people arent playing these fucked up roles of "i'm too blind to see the truth".}

how soon I forget (gullible me)

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 21:55:38 GMT

So if you read a few blogs back, about proper clothing to wear in the public or company of a male, I mentioned the concealing the visibility of skin. I spoke about checking clothing accurately. Well, I have another incident in which I know was my fault but I wonder what other options I had.

There was knock on the door. Suddenly I thought, "oh shit I left the water on". I ran, naked, to the kitchen to see if I had. No light - then water is off. Who could it be knocking at 9pm? I cover up with her robe, my legs still show slightly. Robe length below my knees, above my ankles...mid-way I suppose. I flick on the porch light, no one standing. Almost as fast as I blinked my eyes a young man runs up the stairs. I think, "oh shit something must've happened". I dunno why. Cause I can be pessimistic sometimes or because I saw a child. So I opened the door. He rambles, in Arabic of course. I know nothing of what he's saying. Them Tumbleweed (the cat) walks out, then further, almost onto the rooftop. I try asking him to pick he/r up. He doesn't understand. Tumbleweed is going further. Now, I could leave her until let him walk away, as she gets further onto the roof. I cant go after her, I'm not appropriately dressed to step out in front of a male like this. My skin, just the skin between my knees and ankles, is showing. But I think, "he's just a boy". He gesture to me to go ahead and come out to get her. He steps back, almost politely. I step out onto the rooftop and locate, grab and begin walking back with Tumbleweed in hand. As I am walking back towards my door - same as towards him. He's standing with his hands on his hips. His arms with his elbow pointed out. He sucks his teeth a little, then leans in to touch me with his elbow. Yes, it is ever so slightly, but if you know anything about these kinda movements in Egypt, its not meant as nice. As I stood back in my door to close it and say "ha'laas' as the door closes he says "wahid taniy". Gesturing with his head if he could come in for a minute. I say no and close the door.

I blame myself I do. But what was I to do. I was talking to her about if something happens to Tumbleweed while she's away, she'd blame me. And as she should because I have threaten to kill the damn cat a few times. I don't truly mean it but he does get on my damn nerves and I dont like her all that much. Regardless, this isn't about the cat or about how she would feel if the cat ran off, this is about harassment. This is about being disrespected by a boy who appeared to be like 13 or 14 years old (a boy). Ah, I laugh cause....I forget sometimes and I hate that I do, but when I look into the eyes of the male children I see at the nursery, I can't help but wonder of the large percentage that will grow up to be these disrespecting, degrading women, racist, sexist little fucks. (anger - anger...i am admitting my anger...and may be some fear).

So, though this incident was minor it has made me feel quite inadequate about my sexuality again. Instantly it reminded me of when I was. Watching eyes, hands or any limb touching without my verbal permission. I needed to talk, I needed to voice...instead I climbed back into bed, continued watching Venus Boys and continued working on some things for the nursery. I blog now because I feel bad for the young man/boy. Once, when he was a younger boy he was probably very adorable and loving, and now he is a degrading little asshole who should get his ass kicked. And though I know that is my anger speaking or my fear (in which I use to believe I wasn't afraid of anything). But every time I blink, I wonder what would have come of me letting him into this place I call home. This place I flinch from every time it faintly sounds like the sheet has blew from the window or a hard knock on the door while laying naked and passionate with my lover. What would come of us both?

this book...

Tue, 26 Aug 2008 22:49:47 GMT

7:22pm 26/8/08

I have no one else to rage to
I don't even know what book I'm in
how the fuck do I know what page to turn to
I'm suppose to unlearn you
but I'm too caught up on who's who,
my anger exceeds me at times
I can barely steady my hand with my mind
if there was a remote I'd press rewind
then watch the past in slow motion
get the formula to the potion
that has caused all this disease
in which I can't shake,
my soul has hardly ever been able to sleep
shit all this time I've been sleeping awake,
trembling to some decision to break
all these wrongs and make them right
so all my days turn hours into the night
I fight this battle continuously
staring bold faced into me,
I'm fuckin' exhausted
who pays this cost and
will I get a muthafuckin' refund
shit I've been over done
I don't give a fuck who has won,
and no I ain't angry
not at this particular moment
I just don't understand what's meant
or have ever understood
the bad - ugly or the damn good,
I just realized this planet
ain't my hood--------
these folks who play life as a joke
and I choked (you know off what)
so what the________,

okay. so here's to future plans
here's to adventuring into unknown lands
to shaking strangers hands
and/or possibly meeting new women
a woman
who can hire herself as my mentor
asking her questions when I'm unsure
drool over her ambitions
track her past missions
to her present
seek experiments
to her black stature,

(okay - okay
here's to not completing this poem)

(2bcontd.)
7:43pm
©2008ARS

his name is Slaam

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 15:58:35 GMT

5:51pm

August 25, 2008

There is something about getting too use to living in this country – this city, where I’ve become too comfortable with people trying to scam me. As a foreigner it is something to always expect. Prices will differ for you. Ranging from renting a flat to drinking shai and smoking shisha at a café. Though there are moments when you look into someone’s eyes and for split seconds and you are caught in the unknown truths or lies.

Today as I was taking a ride in a taxi the driver pardons himself and begins to explain to me, in his broken English about his sick son. He goes on for minutes, the duration of the drive actually (approx, 5-15 minutes). Every once and while I’d fade out into a thought of whether I could or should believe him. He’s telling me that doctors think his son has kidney problems and the procedure to find that out cost quite a bit. But somehow they decided to also do a “scan” on his head and found out he in fact has issues, in addition to his kidneys, in his head. As I am still trying to piece all his words together I continue to fade in and out. Do you believe this shit Nita? Tell me you aren’t buying this? Why are you being so inhuman Nita, that ain't really you? But then I’d morph back into his words and look up into the rearview mirror and see his eyes staring back towards me and I can see his truth, somehow. I see his honesty and I see his concern and love for his son. A young son, his three-year-old son, struggling to live. This man driving this taxi wanting selfishly or selflessly to experience future connections to the child he calls Slaam. And for a few seconds my heart remembers what its like to have just a tiny bit more. He says, “…but I am just driving this taxi…I am sorry madam…if you know – if you can help…I can’t pay for this doctors test…” He even hands me a document, that can or can’t be legit, that has the name of the hospital on it. It is in Arabic and in English. There are words, medical terms I can’t pronounce accurately but definitely words I’ve seen before. There are list of procedures and also a date. The last test was taken 6/6/07.

A year has passed since then, for his son. And I am here and I am nowhere. I see these faces and these eyes. Sometimes they are followed by harsh words – that I can’t clearly translate in return but I know they aren’t nice. And sometimes after the eyes and the harsh words there is this hand out. No really, the extending of a hand, begging and/or asking for money or food in return. It’s a burden to bear, not theirs but mine. Because who am I to question or judge it, whether it is real or not. The reason behind it is more than I could ever possibly comprehend. And still here I stand up against young kids who say, “fuck you, welcome to Egypt” and I stand up against men who hiss at you or ask “bi kam?” (how much?). It is a harsh, sometimes, reality. The whole country isn’t this way. Every person is not this way. But there are hard times when you cant figure out who is who.

So, you question the sincerity of man who seems to internally cry out for the life and breathe of his child. Daily I am running wild and speaking loudly over a class of children whom I adore seeing. He says. “ma’am sorry, sorry – if you can …if you want you go see-come see Slaam”.

I handed him the amount for the ride and then a little extra. I saved his mobile number and stepped out. His face not angry, his face not mad but his face lost, confused, and sad. So although these words have struck blogging, writing, questioning, mental and emotional sentiment…I am still left to confusion and wondering what I’m suppose to believe.

in the Course of...

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 22:59:38 GMT

(15/8/08 @4:44pm)

been living out of my suitcases
for a week now
words pierced the beating
of my ear drums,
and what was heard
reflected dreams and meanings
detected under
red-light sensational body motions,
these roles this four playing
saying we see as one
- two pairs -
trying and relying on
what we know as best
so I've been resting my cases,
been living out of them
opening and closing
knowing only
that my wings will spread again,
wishing the kissing felt like
burning bites
leaving this heaving temptation
to breathe you
as I once breathe,
my time here is expiring
but you've inspired
beyond lyrical explanation
adoring has been a scoring
though many a times lost tempers
meant
communicate - debate
communicate - wait and see,
suitcases three
what to take with me
what's at stake with this flee
forget my world
lose my girl
spin in this whirl
drowning pool
school,
and as I see you sit
and later in arms we'll spit
words back and forth
and again adore
conversations making us smile
until our faces crack,

back again
reality check
sweaty palm - pen a slipping
this
grip
this
tip
words keep going
flowing as knowing this black skin
wants in
wants determination
which I've created
before I arrived
I must strive
to keep focus and alive
this time to always fly
and continue to embark
to continue to move forward,
what
what
and what did happen to
Louis and Clark?

4:57pm
©ARS

360º (when words meet paper)

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 22:40:48 GMT

6:51pm
12/8/08 (btw, in Egypt dates go....DD/MM/YY)

When I was preparing to travel, I was so excited and proud of myself, and of course scared as hell.

I was traveling outside the country for the first time. Flying for the first time. Going to Africa (Egypt), for the first time. Now I wonder if this was part of a "test". This part of my journey, I know, but is Egypt the reality of my patience and understanding or lack there of.

Since being here I have definitely learned and liked quite a bit about this country, its people, its reality, its difference and its how genuine. Since being here I have accepted that I must be one of those people who "just can't hack it". The heat is draining but gives you a sense of fight and drive. I enjoy it half & half. The pollution (both in the air and on the ground) is sad and overwhelming. I don't like that and it wears me own within. The people/the culture is ever see-sawing. Some days I cry, other days I'm a cocky bitch. Very few days am I in between.

Preparing to come here was a change for me. It was passion and dreams and ambition. Arriving here was redefining, eye-opening and meaningful. Being here is draining, sometimes depressing and somewhat selfish.

I miss my family, yet I feel as though even when I am home, we don't strive harder for each others time. (pause @ 7:04pm)

(back @ 8:01pm 15/8/08)

But nonetheless I am home, there. I miss the time I spend with friends. Talks on the phone and late late night chats parked outside in a car.

Before I came here, when I still had not decided for sure, I felt as though I was working towards a more positive me. Cause if you've known me well enough from my past, I was damn near always pessimistic. Before coming here I wanted change in that. And because I felt this was a once in a lifetime opportunity for me, I jumped on it for many reasons. Though I have no regrets (well sorry Tumbleweed) if I had it to do all over again, I would. The tears, the fears, the anger, the few Arabic words, living with someone new in a brand new space - I totally would.

I'm realizing though that my journey to more optimism, eating healthier, walking, biking, making new friends was not barely begun, back at home. Maybe, though all part of it, this quick change of heart was to show me things - teach me things I was seeking answers to. This test of my faith, my patience, my anger - Egypt is all of that. And though there have been moments that couldn't bear it here, and negative thoughts and doings were foot steps away. I am here as my own witness to be thankful.

To be appreciative of the woman who has been putting up with my shit, my moods, my insecurities, since I've been here. To her for wanting just ME and helping deal with the baggage. To a couple who allowed a perfect stranger to live in their home for a month or so. To the women who exposed and shared with me parts of their lives that they could have chosen to leave secret. For the dancing, hashish, laughter, dinners, outings. To Egypt for opening its borders to me. To allowing me when they could also have chosen differently. To accepting my visa and its return. To any persons who tried with me and my broke down ass Arabic. All the way back home, to the people I love and miss. For education, I hope like hell I can get my old ass back into school. To any job that hires me while I hopefully am back in school. To future travels, my return to Africa and Amsterdam. To heartaches that felt like the end of time. To all the hurt that isn't mine but I hold on to it anyway. For pushing cause I'm going to keep pushing until I'm out of breathe. To this journey, to the people I still hope to help and will allow my help.

Change happens, hurt, love and leaving. I don't know an exact date but I am just fine about my needing to return.

8:39pm

Losing Confidence

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 10:59:48 GMT

I would save face for the air I'm breathing but I'm not breathing nor believing in reality or the life I'm choosing to live if only I could kill to give back to what has been given to me this is not free life is not free I am not free here I want to go home where is home why have I felt so alone I placed myself in this spot I wrote and re-wrote the plot and I've still got a lot to think about I'm out of touch with my search with the hurt and now I want to roll up and die I'm tired of being tired I'm too tired to cry but it seems to keep on happening I dont want the simple life I dont want a husband nor wife but I think someday I may want kids again no matter what I do I cant win and I'm not sure when it became a means to win or lose I've got the blues but no rhythm to suffice it I'd fight it but my strength exist not anymore I've lost the score and I dont even care to how much time I've been wasting there is haste in the purpose I am trying to find my mind keeps rewinding and I constantly feel as though I'm making the same mistakes the same mistakes the same mistakes and I cant control alt>delete my feet move forward but like two steps back and her smile looks more like a frown I've been held upside down and the head rush is causing symptoms of anxiety or mental abuse I use to like many things now I'm way polluted my foundation is no longer rooted and this growth is beginning to weed thats what I need help solve all the problems and it never was that way before the door got shut and she hushed me up and now the swollen belly looks like another my sister and my brother seek no connection and I hold that like its a torch only hoping someday they'd run this way and assist me in holding it up but this simplicity this mobility to move sluggishly but subtly is causing me to break fast and digest without exhaling this hell this hell these mistakes rake up like leaves falling from my limbs like remembrance of how it use to be before I met me writing in my little heart shaped diary of saving the world of becoming this boy-this girl with all the answers to all the hate and now I hate her furry little paws and the laws are broken and the heart is broken not even a token of appreciation can heal those wounds the smiley toons that use to moon over her(my) glory all exist now like some make-believe story...

(2bcontd.-maybe)
12:42pm (egypt time)
2008/08/08

Thinking Back to School

Sun, 03 Aug 2008 15:47:07 GMT

August 2, 2008
10:01pm (egypt time)

So, since I have decided to return to school, I am contemplating trying to require a minor in African-African American studies and in that attempt will also try to follow and/or learn the history of Rastafari.

"

The Rastafari movement has spread throughout much of the world, largely through interest generated by reggae music—most notably, that of Jamaican singer/songwriter Bob Marley. By 1997, there were around one million Rastafari faithful worldwide.[6] About five to ten percent of Jamaicans identify themselves as Rastafari.[citation needed] Many Rastafarians follow an ital diet which is derived from the dietary Laws of Leviticus and Deuteronomy in the Old Testament.

Leonard Howell, who has been described as the "first Rasta",[7] formed a commune which grew as large as 2,000 people[8] at a place called Pinnacle, at St. Catherine in Jamaica. "

Anyway, though I do not consider myself a Rastafarian and I do not follow any of the religious or ital dietaries of being a Rasta (and/or I am not a religious being my no means) I am still very much interested in its history and how its teachings date back to times of slavery and information on Jamaica and information of historical Rasta leaders.

Also, in addition to that study I hope to separately learn more on Cannabis and its many ways of usage. More on how it can be both harmful and helpful. And also take some part in legalizing it.

Slurs of a Headache

Fri, 01 Aug 2008 23:35:56 GMT

2:39pm

01/08/2008

This morning when I woke up my face felt as though I slept really hard. I took a shit - then a shower. The damn cat is still here and most times I wish she wasn't. I was in a not so great mood. Not angry, not sad just not present, and not wanting to be.

I wanted to be back at home. I don't know why really, I just thought it would've been nice to have waken up in my own home - my old apartment. The cute one with red & black decor in the bathroom, two queen sized mattresses on my bedroom floor and my first royal blue bicycle awaiting me at my front door. It was not because I felt dislike for Egypt, I just wanted home. I just missed home. It is the place where I belonged.

The truth is that, now, travel is evident and possible and necessary, but Houston is my home. And though I do not want/wish to live there for ever, it is where comfort and connection was born.

I have a headache, the heat is draining, my clothes are sticking to my skin and my face feels gritty. I am surrounded by four beautiful and intelligent women but I feel apart from them. Part my own shit - part disconnection from this place we all live in(Egypt), that I currently live in. My presence is here and at times I have great moments (ie. meeting new queer folk) but I do not feel such a deep connection to this place.

She is positive for me here. I am thankful to try again with her. To being more positive in the approach of her - of us. However, I feel movement again. And inshallah 6 - 8months (1 yr) from now I hope to return to my birth place = the starting place, and continue a new checkpoint. Hopefully school, new job, friends again, better connection to my family and an apartment again. I hope to stay connected to her - I hope she to me. I hope to make it work - to keep trying. I adore her and I like her TREMENDOUSLY.

I am light-headed and can barely breathe.

2:53pm

vacation Nuweiba (Sinai)

Fri, 01 Aug 2008 23:05:52 GMT

"Nuweiba is a less developed tourist resort on the coast of South Sinai, 70 km south of Taba and 180 km north of Sharm el Sheikh..."

"Nuweiba today is an insider tip for tourists and travelers who are looking for a unique holiday off the beaten path. It is a very personal experience, an adventure that lets you experience the art of hospitality and the encounter with friendly local people. Maybe put is like this: Nuweiba is a wild and tortured land of incredible beauty." by www.sinai4you.com

(my take on it all...)

(what's this look like?)- we have named her Vagina Rock