Gorgeous Alien

The tablecloth is damp. No matter..sit outside and enjoy the smell of rain on freshly cut grass..lose at virtual poker and run out of games to play..look up sewing classes..don't book any..you know you're never going to actually sew, don't you?..stare into your cinnamon tea for an eternity, witness it get cold, colder, then really cold..reminisce on the taste of sugar..take a deep breath..wet grass smells like watermelon from your balcony..it always has...
Reassess, it's a favorite pastime..revisit your bank account, anonymous donations aren't unheard of..daydream, at night;it's important..donate some of the fake donation you just received, get rid of your virtual guilt..and now travel.
Travel without bags, with no emotional luggage..go to mars and meet a gorgeous alien..forget about men with fake yellow teeth who dare disappoint you..audacity..what a fab word! Savor it..roll it onto your tongue and enjoy it, just like you enjoy all words..you keep running from words but words keep following you..what an adventure..the thrill of a chase and the volatility of an abstraction..you recently even had a dream complete with a word to explain it..even your dreams now come with a title, with a label, with the utter stupidity of confinement..inescapable confinement..you've tried, but you are confined..the less you say it, the more pressured you feel to admit it..the past is just not easy to escape..a horrendous task with no aids, none in your present anyway..
Tidy up your living room, it's said to lift up spirits..go back to your balcony and light your cig...look up to the sky, witness the passage of a machine..pretend it's a shooting star and wish for mars, for your gorgeous alien and his pearly teeth..

Alternative Curriculum

I am sitting here, unaware of how I got here, of why I chose to be here in the first place. As I try to make my recollection, I realize that I decided to come here, I even inquired on how to get here, and drove in a daze with only one purpose in mind: being here.

I have only been here once before, and considering my poor driving skills, it is far. I believe the memory of the vibe this place had given me the first time around brought me back. It gave me the sense that this is the kind of place in which I need to be in order to clear my head, to refresh my crowded thoughts, and to try and simply, relax.

None of the above has been achieved though, and for a very simple reason: I realized thoughts cannot be organized, feelings cannot be disciplined, and the myth of the brain and the heart getting along has been deemed as such for the right reasons. As for the relaxation part, I feel even tenser than when I arrived.  

All the students surrounding me with heads buried in their books made me think back to my school days, and more precisely, to my school books. I sit here wondering what most have spent a good part of their time wondering. When will we ever use these useless equations throughout our miserable life? Why would it help to know the name of that body part and that one’s function? How is memorizing stupid outdated poems going to help with life’s entangled problems?

Tonight, here, I would like to take a shot at creating an alternative curriculum; one that I believe would help much more with life’s path, at least in the way life seems to me, here, tonight.

I propose a class that would make math look so last century, and I would like to call it “how to lower your expectations”. Take that algebra.

And how about replacing science with “the metaphysics of luck”, “the alchemy of hormones and how to control your stupid impulses” and “beauty and the beast”?

Instead of literature, I would go for “the art of winning an argument”.

Philosophy shall become “the reality of evasiveness”, and civism will go by “the one on one book for etiquette and mutual respect dummies”.

As for geography’s substitute, a special course on “how and where to cultivate the fruit of your decisions” will be conducted by the master of your being, Mr. Ego in all its splendor.

History is so easy to replace, it will become, with the blessing of – for once – both your head and your heart, “guidelines and techniques on erasing the past”.

Regarding activities, a twice a week constructive lesson will be given on “ways to tell a lie from a truth and other practical advice”.

Have I forgotten anything? Maybe. You wish to tell me to shove my curriculum and get over it? Most probably. Do I even care? Of course note. Has this helped me move on with my night? A definite no. Why have I written all of the above? Not so sure.

The lesson: None.

The teacher: An idiot who will never learn by himself.

The one to blame: A system that has probably taught me everything but from which I have learned nothing, and yet, it is still the one to take the blame.

The objective: Filling the blanks in life with elusive meager literature.

The result: Time killed, the acquisition of an illusively mended heart and of course, continuum boredom and loneliness. 

Wanderings

I opened my eyes and for the very first time, I truly understood the essence of magic. For the very first time, I felt bewildered, swept off to a land far, far away. I felt submerged in rivers of honey. My hair soaked with heavy drops of sweet cocoa and my nostrils widened to the smell of exotic flowers, of raw nature and of weightless air.

Golden shades flickered all around and bright glittering sparkles surrounded me. I swam effortlessly in the thin air and flew between tall flamboyant trees in search of nothing.

I encountered many faces I never knew and few that have forever been encrusted in my memory, since the beginning of time, since the shaping of nothing, since the molding of emptiness, of frugality, of thoughtlessness.

In the light of shimmering, void stars, I instinctively drew my way. I used imaginary silky brushes and satiny wonderful palettes of colors never discovered.

Unripe, beautiful fruits fell off barren trees and gathered around me, pinning me down to rest with their ever so soft stems. Beds of feathery flowers welcomed me in the comfort of their illusion and the sweet breeze whispered lies of no language into my ears.

My eyes thrived to open up, to succumb to the magic, to see the wonders all around, to swallow the sweetness of dreams and the end of what was never there, what was never here, what will never be.

Tremendous was the word that kept occurring to the safety of what was left of my shaky, shady consciousness. Ts and Rs and S's kept rolling on my heavy tongue until the vowels left me and joined the shiny birds chirping over me.

I heard a sound so peculiar, so sincere. I strove to retain it, but the birdlike creatures kept hovering over it, collecting the vowels and stealing the truth.

I closed my eyes again and concentrated on the only glimpse of the already thrifty image I had of you. I concentrated, I focused so hard, but that ferociously friendly wolf that brought me here kept draining you away. It kept digging into my soul, into the roots of my evil, into the very branches of my existence. He dug sweetly, yet fully. He enchanted me with more glitter, with more tall trees, with more honey, until I felt one with the flowing stream, until I took the rising trunks as my shelter and collected sparkles in the hems of my imaginary dress.

My hands surrendered and stopped chasing volatile vowels as Bs and Rs and Ls voluntarily left me while my heavy breath tried to say bring me back, leave me alone.

My unconscious now belongs to a beautiful wolf, living against all odds in the driest of deserts, only drinking honey from the rivers of my imagination. This is how it tastes to succumb to the sweetest yielding, to the magic of the best charlatans and to the will of the way, leading to nothing.

The Good Life

There are some moments in life that makes it all worth it somehow. Those moments are scarce, they are short, but they do exist. 

I had one of those moments a couple of nights ago when I was with my friend at her workplace. We had just finished dinner and were about to head to the coffee shop. But since she still had some things to finish, she suggested that I have an espresso while I waited. A Nespresso to be more exact. 

You might not know this, but I love coffee. And I came to love it even more that night. 

My friend offered me a selection of Nespresso with the catalog to choose which one suited me better. I went for a Ristretto, the one with the highest "intensity" she had available, and she placed the matching Nespresso longo cup in the beautifully carved machine, and when the coffee was ready, we waited till the foam seperated from the coffee and floated on top of it. 

That was a beautiful cup of coffee. A truly amazing one. It looked great, smelled fantastic and tasted wonderful. 

That cup of coffee had me dreaming of someday owning the same coffee machine with an even wider selection of Nespresso  in my own home, a home I am yet to buy, I am even a long way from buying, but still, a home I would like to have one day. And you know what you will get if you visit me there... someday.

Today I had another one of those lovely moments. And it seems food and beverage are my number one source for such moments. Because the moment I had today had something to do with sugary watermelon crushing between my teeth. It was so good I couldn't believe I had to miss on this taste all winter. And I am a winter person. But it seems even the summer I hate conceals in itself some good things it keeps stashed to compete with my winter. 

I know this must be disappointing, to feel the greatness of life in such petty things, but it is enough as long as I get to feel it, no matter through which means. 

I am having another great moment right now actually. The old singer guy with his Tarboush is sitting across me singing old Arabic tunes that I love and people are tossing coins towards him. I like this guy. I like afternoons sitting outside at Sassine Square, sipping my bad coffee and listening to this old guy. I just love it. I wish I had some of my friends with me, or that special someone sipping bad coffee with me too, but I think it is nice enough as it is. Company would have made it a lot better, true, but sometimes loneliness isn't so bad after all.