Summertime

Summer. Summer. Summer.
I bumped into the coolest Egyptian blogs yesterday. Turns out it's a whole culture, man. People have blogs that link other people who comment on their stuff and they criticize each other. It's a big fat mess. Now, I dont really know if people are going to read my blog now just because I have Egyptian Blog on it or what. It's not something to think about anyway. Let me give myself something to think about: Yes. Got it. The ugly-ass translator of The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. Now this guy is Lebanese, he's supposed to be a good translator. It is MY FAULT for reading the book in arabic that I now have this guy who is trying to act all literary and shit that I cant even understand what the hell he is saying. He is trying to appear all intellectual on the expanse of Milan Kundera. No one, and I mean NO ONE should get the copy of Ketab El Da7ek Wal Nesyan from Diwan. That copy sucks.
Yesterday I went pay my DSL bill at TEdata and I hear this guy screaming and fighting with the employee. Then, he makes a phone call and he calls TEdata "خصخصة و ضرب حكومة" And I just couldnt help but laugh my ass off about it. The guy was too angry to even look and see who is laughin at what he is saying. He was so into it that he didnt even notice me!
Gogo wrote me a song. She thought i would say that it's gay that she writes me a song. This girl is so dyke-sensetive. If such a word can exist. I wrote a poem yesterday. Then again, a "poem". Poem....poem poetry. What the fuck is poetry. It's eating my brains (lit. translated from" el mawdoo3 da byakol f rasi" hehehe.
Yesterday I took a Personality Disorder test on Tickle and guess what? It turns out that I have 10 different personality disorders. You'd better be cautious for I am schizo something. I cant remember the disease that was highest. Well that's just OK. I love personality disorder dont I. I mean, I am too happy for a person alive. Of course I have a personality disorder. How can I not have one...
Today I have to give my dad my fake grades piece of paper. Loving it.
I am a very successful person. Loving it.



So ah, yes. The poem.

Lips in Sepia

Part One: Narcissus

It is that heavy dusty frame I was looking for
It holds the portrait in sepia
With lipstick, carefully put on lips that
Tasted wine before it. Before the picture
Was taken. Before the blood- colored
Lipstick. What color is red in sepia?
Like white in the eyes of the blind or,
Even shapes in the light…
The frame, yes, the frame. The frame.
The portrait, yes, the portrait.
Glass is a liquid, water between me…
And her. Between us. Between me
And the portrait in sepia.

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Part Two: Realization of the Today

Years ago, it is, that I realized,
My dear, that I had your picture.
But between us, shadows of life.
Between us, shadows of others
Behind me. I fell in love with your-
Lips.
Your lips.
Like mine.
Silence, when I want it.
Talk, when I want it.
Laugh when I want it,
And cry when I want to.
For you are my voice, my love.
You are my love. For when I die, dear,
You will remain. For through this glass
I see you and I see myself.
You will remain.
When I die.
You are the
Picture on the face of the river, dear.
You are my voice, my love, myself.

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