SEPTEMBER 2005
Contemporary thoughts and other forms of madness:
by Zaki Boulos
Waiter, there's a hair in my falafel
I have found myself only to lose it on the way. This is the way I seem to do things, I lose myself, only to turn and find myself
again. Round and round, in ever more obscure circles, plotting, weaving, mystified by my own behaviour. Where are am I going? Oh
yes. How silly of me. I'm mad at the world for going materialist on me. But when were we not? At what point did I reject
materialism? What was that feeling of revulsion I had felt so long ago? I cannot remember. Memories intertwine, dancing to rhythms
derived of the divine, imagination sublime, private. In secrecy I am in bliss, a silent gaze, understood, understanding. Still can't
remember. Just 'cause I don't know why, doesn't mean I can't get over it. Move on. Cancel it, a bad debt. Why should I carry extra
baggage? Emptiness floods the quays, a low fog smothering the seas.
With all my bullshit, I mean well. So many well-meaners mean well. I mean well. What does that mean? I don't even have to try to
mean well, do I? Could I mean well without even trying? That's despicable. No, it's considered intelligent, apathetic? That's right.
I keep forgetting. I am so stupid, but I mean well. What do I mean? I mean well. There you go. Fuck you, I meant well! Well, I meant
to say, while your well-meaning means well, I too mean well. We both mean well. Who's we? Who are you talking to damn you! There you
go again. What? I didn't mean well? You know I mean well. Look! I've just about had it with your well-meaning, bugger off! Say what
you mean, you mean little shit! Yes, of course, even though I meant well it's my fault. I'm the cause of your problems. Where are
you going? Come back here, how dare you! Come back this instance! Well, I never. Some people. I mean, well!
A materialist who hates materialism. No, wait. Wait, wait, wait. Where are you going with this? You are not going to drag more
people into your childish playgrounds. Life's too short. Stop it you selfish little twit. You have no idea, no ideas. Absolutely no
clue as to how you are going to proceed. You bash at me incessantly. Piss off. Go to bed. Your body odour reeks, your greasy fingers
molest my keys with each stroke, oh, the poor mouse. You murderer. You monster. What have you done? Oh let go of me. Stop strangling
Shakespeare with your mindless jabbering, character assassination. Leave these words alone you monster. Speak the truth. Stop
abusing me. Stop! Oh I can't take it any more. Another typo, let me go! Just take your medication and go to bed. Go on. Pop those
pills, and pop off to bed. There you go, you've inhaled enough of my fumes today. It's late, you smell, let me breathe. Your
internet buddies will be here when you get back. I promise. Sheesh, what a dope. Oh, bollocks, here it comes, another wave of inept
constructs and pointless wonder. There doesn't have to be anything there, just leave this piece, and leave me in peace. You cling to
it, suffocating the words, a torn security blanket. Can't you see, her love has fled? Can't you just put her out of your head? Your
blank stare, going nowhere still, a bad reflection, just leave me be.
Good, they've gone. We can relax, I was just warming up. This is my way of sifting out readership. I dish out the pretentious crap,
a defence mechanism, before I get down to some real business, for real, keeping it real, ssh they're back, the very merry berry in
the belly. Good they've pissed off. Sometimes they come back for a sentence or two, you know the types, the sky blue, the earth
brown, my eyes pale, in my mind, gone to town. I am a twat. It's official. It has been written. It may be removed. Cut and paste me
baby. I have nothing to say. All clear, we may proceed.
Terrorism, counter-terrorism, EU, and the new American century. Corporate renaissance, the industrial machine greased and refined,
well groomed and redefined, ready to try for another world take-over. Why not? It's high fucking time. I'd much rather be dealing
with known conquerors and oppressors, rather than with money grabbing monkeys, swindling their way through our pockets, secretly
they reside under our very noses, in our clothes, in our homes, in our wallets, on our minds, invisible chains, in these characters
betraying their words, navigating confusion, insisting insinuating insulting, and what of this? hmm?
I can't help but feel that the only people scared of Al-Qaeda are the media and the politicians. Why is this? why is it that I feel
this way? Who is it that my thoughts betray? There is such a thing as a terrorist. A synonym clash, a colourful spectrum of
activities to trash. However, it is evident the word terrorist is misused, intentionally, and what of the Jacobins' "Reign of
Terror"? It is useful to keep your enemies vague, and your public impotent in ignorance and horror. Flimsy descriptions just will
not do, besides all this, have you not heard? Terrorists no longer constitute wisdom, the word in vogue is extremism.
Why on earth is Saddam Hussein still alive?
There is no reason for this man to be alive, unless.
What if I sold you a story about a man who's learnt his lesson? Violin sways melancholy in the background. A man who has been
humiliated in front of his people, has been stripped of his leadership like the dog that he is, has had his family hounded, and his
sons murdered.
It looks like the only WMD found in Iraq is Saddam Hussein, and he was removed just like the US said, it would. The Bush pride has
been restored, the Husseins lie in ruins, and Iraq is drenched in blood, makeshift coffins, and meaningless resolutions.
Sadly, things aren't going too well. The troops in their expansion, have discovered these 'towel-heads', an American expression,
have some spunk. Look at the rate they multiply! Droves of resistance in car bombs, human junk! US ass is getting whipped, or so we'
re told, and even though they are well equipped, the story has yet to unfold. Folks back home will not sign up for this con quest.
Quite a revealing psychology, this war effort, investment, by the US, the UK, and all the rest.
On the one hand, we have a regime that is hell bent on implementing a democracy of its own brand, an interesting concept in itself,
and on the other, we have an American public who is under the impression that waltzing in to someone else's land, for no apparent
reason other than to 'whip some butt', is acceptable and not so bloody. Seeing the boys and girls come home in body bags, growing
steady, has stirred some thought in many Americans, and I for one would like to encourage more, much more, thought amongst
Americans, before more body bags turn up on US soil; a no body bags for thoughts program. Think, hold your president and all his
cronies accountable, for they do not give a damn, neither for you nor this foreign land. The fate of the world rests in the fate of
your opinions, and, literally, in the palm of your hand. Your opinion matters, do not be afraid, for inspiration, look to Sheehan.
Regardless, as things stand, Saddam is still alive, and Iraq is in worse condition than when Saddam was the man. Bush does care
deeply for democracy, laisse faire, and he is making a killing on the stock market. He is an oil man, you see, through and through.
Yep, this guy is slick, no doubt about it, though a little crude. What is the capital of Pakistan?
Why doesn't he just kill Saddam? I don't get it? What is the fate of this man?
I'm not saying anyone should kill any one, but is this not what Bushes wanted done?
I think Bush is going to drain Iraq of its oil, and when the last barrel has left Tikrit, he's going to throw Saddam back in, and on
his feet. Sure looks this way. Kinda suspicious isn't it? I mean, let's not forget the obscene, the no fly zones, or the "oil for
food" program. "Oil for food". Sounds good, doesn't it? I'll write it again, "oil for food", pappy's brain child, his one-term
senior saw to that one. Bush is the war president. I believe he framed his 100th death sentence when he was governor of Texas. Bush
spate, and sent his rapture down onto the heads of the criminals on 'death row'. Zap. You can see he was a zap-happy governor, his
track record has plenty to show, carrying his bad habits through to his presidency, no doubt. Was close wasn't it? The election, I
mean, both times. What was the final count? Well, enough said about this vampire. Don't mind my cynicism, I'll leave this for now
with, a word, nepotism.
There is no correlation between attacking someone and being attacked, and not attacking someone and not being attacked, none! And
you would be deemed a fool and a terrorist to make that connection. (Hicksism - written in the style of Bill Hicks, may he rest in
peace; yeah, I know man, nothing has changed since you left brother.)
What is going on in the US? It is hard to tell, with the mass media having its own agenda to sell, the news this side of the
Atlantic does not bode well, even the BBC has gone to hell. The UK is coming down with a nasty case of tuberculosis, TB. Innocent
Londoners paid a heavy a price last month for this man's actions and one party's spineless acceptance of big brother politics.
Whilst our beautiful city was being bombed, 8 homosexuals got together in Scotland to plot the assassination of Robin Cook, may he
rest in peace. He had the balls to stand up to those aggressive Girls, aka G8, that plot and scheme on our behalves; how thoughtful
of them, ball-less bitches, lead by a drunk fundamentalist, and a fundy wanna-be, PM TB. Why the other six even bother listening,
tells us something about the nature of the way business is conducted.
Tuberculosis sweeps this freedom loving country, blind to its own imperial residue. The sooner the likes of TB are aborted from this
period in British history, the sooner can we begin to celebrate our differences, and reconcile ourselves with our own heritage as
human beings, recognising that we are guests on this little planet, look to the sun for assurance and the blue sky for humility. We
are so lucky to be alive, to experience eclectic states of consciousness. Global communities merge, to share and rejoice in the
sensibilities previous generations had nurtured and left behind, only to find them being abused and misused by little men for a
little bit more cash. The greedy ate my country, no doubt yours too, no where to go but here, I will not run, I choose to stand my
ground and to fight for my beliefs. Live and let live is not a bad way of conducting yourself, and, in my eyes, worth defending,
because should you find yourself in a place where no one speaks your tongue, you will be grateful for this reciprocation.
Each time a "foreigner" is abused in the UK, the people of this foreigner's country hear about it. Other cultures are building an
impression about this country's character based on the way this country treats its people. Can you imagine what must be going
through an Iraqi's mind when she thinks of Britain? Leila's son's body has just been ripped apart by a British land mine, her older
son is refused a visa to return back to the US, Harvard no less, to finish his studies to become a surgeon. When news reaches of
Hanan's husband being rounded up and thrown in jail for "suspicious activity", then sent away to Guantanamo Bay, under the auspices
of 'national security'. Uncle Samer and Aunty Samia, UK citizens, have had their shop vandalised repeatedly, and cousin Shireen was
dumped by a long term English boyfriend because he "didn't want to be seen"; adding insult to injury, he told her after spending the
evening with her and enjoying her mother's cooking. (Shireen should have suspected something was wrong, the swine was helping
himself to rather large portions, much larger than usual.)
Politics, a front for big business, a sloppy interface. Policy safe guarding business deals instead of people's pensions, at home,
for example, or abroad, safe guarding business at the expense of other people's rights to conduct themselves as they please, on
their own land with their own resources. Blood thirsty fascists, with a propensity for hate. Nuevo-riche thugs in pursuit of
blindness. No hope for the politicians, bad for business you understand.
I'm bored of current affairs. I get too emotional to read current affairs. It paralyses my thinking, leaving me with a sense of
confusion and the bitter taste of fear; fear of what's to come. It's a soul killer. A killer of souls.
A soul killer, is that a generalisation? Just as a phrase, not necessarily related to 'current affairs'. I guess it must be, or at
least it is used this way, soul killer.
My fingers caress the keys flirting with the characters, enticing them to collude, provoking them to agree, provoking me, standing
there just out of reach, right there, uh, you glided by it, back a bit, a little to the left, uh! So close, and no cigars in sight.
A mirage, an oasis, how can that be? It's a nowhere issue, I write bits and pieces but at the end of the day, if I have not someone
to bounce off, then I will have little to say. I can offer this. My word and my silence.
Who came first, the word or the idea? Oh, shit, I just did. Should lay off those porn sights, and get out there and get laid for
real. For real, for real? For real.
Neither came first. I have neglected to mention the animal that has the idea and writes the word, not to mention the planet that had
the animal that had the idea that had the word. There always seems to be a larger context, a universe in infinite recursion,
pulsating with life.
Rather than a this or a that, its more like the spider that ate the fly. No doubt, for the spider to eat the fly, the fly must have
eaten some of the spider.
For example, the fly ate something the spider made on its web, that's "of the spider". We have words eating ideas and ideas eating
words, but there are animals in the way of this process. An animal has an idea, it bumps into another animal, and tries to eat the
idea of the other by the transmitting some "bait" or "food" for the other animal to eat. If this other animal bites, eats this food
(word), then we have an interaction (conversation) with 2 animals feeding off each other. Words are external entities. We would not
have words if we did not need to articulate to others. These articulations can be processed internally as well. We call those
thoughts.
Words, like all creations on this planet, and yes, animals are creations, need to consume. This is the price of life. If you want to
remain in existence, then you must consume. Air and water are essential ingredients to sustain our mammalian frequencies, assuming
all forms on this planet are made of complex frequencies, and since we exist within this framework, we can ignore these complexities
because we are of those complexities, a sub set. I do not have to worry about whether someone is boarding a train at this very
moment, and neither do I have to worry about the sliver of dirt under my left index finger to complete this sentence. These are the
kinds of complexities I am referring to. If you do not like the word 'frequency' then you may use 'rhythm'.
I totally disagree with you. In fact, I find your manner distasteful and your views belligerent and disrespectful. My god man, the
Huns showed their adversaries more respect. You. You hide behind these machines and dictate your terms, listening only to what fits
in with your illusion of reality.
I see you are still not convinced, let me put it in simpler terms. All creations, on this planet at least, must consume. This much
you must concede. But, you may conject, what of these static words that occupy this page? For example. What prey tell are they
consuming? Simple, I would rebuff. Space. And these very same words, in time, will fade from the page, to reveal the hidden space
beneath, exposing an infinitum of possibilities, and in this very same time-frame, why the page itself will also fade; it would
surely hold far fewer molecules than when it was originally forged, as illustrated by its yellowish tint, though, I fear, you and I
will not be here, to appreciate this. C'est la vie, a perpetual mystery, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I have some shocking news for you. I am Jewish and I remember Palestine when there was joy. My father was a civil engineer. He built
schools and churches and synagogues and mosques, he even built our houses, including the house we eventually settled in. They were
beautiful days by the sea. I grew up there until about the second world war. Suffice to say, it did not last long. Civil unrest was
on the rise. Gradually, we became strangers in our own neighbourhood. My parents lost most of their friends, Palestinians, fleeing
horrendous attacks on their homes; many incidents, fortunately most were unharmed. I remember my mother being so ashamed, she took
these incidents personally. I was too young to understand, let alone articulate to my mother that it was not her fault. How could it
be? My father disagreed with her views, his loyalties were firmly with the British, and this is when the arguments began. They
argued constantly, but rarely spoke. Their friends dwindled and eventually stopped visiting. One day I came home from school to find
my bag had been packed. I left my neighbour, my best friend, Jameel, to return to Britain. The second world war changed everything.
My father was called to serve his country as an officer in the army. We moved to London. I didn't want to go but my father said we
had to, "for our own safety." My family was spread all over Europe at the time. Mostly Poland, my mother was Polish. They were dark,
tear-filled days for her. She barely slept, some days she just stayed in bed. My father was hardly ever home, when he was, he just
drank alone. My mother eventually reassigned as a nurse, her career before having me. I was separated from my parents at Paddington
station. I spent most of the war in Wales with my grandparents. Standing at the platform, they both looked elegant, sharp, in full
uniform; that was the last I ever saw of them.
I have veered off the point. Strange how some memories do not fade, a mixed blessing. Palestinians are not what you think they are.
The conflict with regards to religion is a pure work of fiction. As fictional as the characters in this story. It is not about
religion, it is about securing resources to support expansionist ideologies, remember, "politics makes for strange bed fellows."
Nothing is as it seems. The Palestinians just happen to be there, encompassing many creeds, and like the American Indians, they
lived in harmony with their land. The Middle East is now the New Frontier, or, should I say, the old frontier revisited with new
technology.
Zaki Boulos.
Wednesday 24 August 2005.
zakibee@yahoo.com
Background from www.artacasa.nl
By Zaki Boulos |