Age

You are a sculpture

a beautiful one, carved meticulously
by one of the greatest artists that has ever lived

You, in the center, pose
Your naked body is slowly evolving
Your skin is slowly being smoothed over
by sand paper, followed by the artist’s caress
doubling his confirmation that it is as soft as it looks

He sees you in his mind
it’s like the artist has foresight
he can foresee the future of what should
slowly morph into being

Like any artist he is striving for originality
with a touch of uniqueness and brush strokes of
personal
He started with marble
because your skin is that soft, he wants you to be
the epitome perfection and your skin is just the beginning

He slowly guides his tools
from the top of you statue
starting with your hair
each strand he sculpts has a story
he smiles, knowing that every curl
every golden lock should be in place
the one on her forehead to the one the dangles on her neck

He is moving downwards, her eyes
“what a great choice of marble” he thought
as he adds the details in her eyes, the marble shone back
He carved her pupils in a way
that shows her marveling at him,
a reflection of his stare

As he slowly sculpted her jaw bone
he slowly moved down her neck
he could smell her, he carved the bone structure
the collar bones, the way he feels them

He smoothed the silhouette, that hourglass figure
he reached the waist, where he rests his hands
upon embrace

As he lost himself in his art
time was ticking and without noticing
his sculpture was slowly changing form
tic toc tic toc

Her thighs he slowly dented the line
where her muscles show
he knew that those legs will go places
he made them strong and beautiful

he smoothed the legs, the marble
was gorgeous

as he took a step back
he took a deep breath
and exhaled life into her

he looked at her
“you are the original
stay as such
life will do a better
job

life will add the
finishing touches”

Isamu Noguchi with Undine (1925) It's like Pygmalion

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Stencil

Her notes are everywhere
pencils and faded lead on paper
She even has used erasers 
scattered in places where you 
can detect are her “use zones”

She has that yellow notepad
with scratches on notes, 
parenthesis on clauses 
written with such depth
you can tell she was serious when she wrote them

That bic pen cap
Oh poor thing, chewed on 
it almost seemed like she was sculpting
her thoughts, as she bit it
thinking, igniting her neurons
into starting some electrical chain reaction

Her papers had circular coffee stains
she must be clumsy, but that did not stop her
from using that stain as a boundary for an idea
a creative limit, to enclose that floating thought

Oh headphones! That must be her secret to
her enjoyable seclusion
Her collection must be vast
since her headphones are big enough
to make sure she heard every note,
every decibel, every strum, every beat
every drop

Look! Her doodles wander from one page
to another, from one notepad to the other
signifying that none stop flow of random
little things in her head
Small pencils that have been used till the end
sit in a small bowl, to the corner of her
She keeps them, they signify a journey of doodles
they have utilized, they have been carried around with her
She wants them there, she collects them, like how people
collect pennies!
Each pencil had his share of writing!

Look there!
Pages and pages of clustered lines of writing
She actually hand writes!
HAND-WRITES!
It’s been a while, since I have seen anyone
or any paper that isn’t typed! You can see where she lay
her hand as she continued to fill the empty lines,
that lingered for be penciled upon similar to
how a tattoo junkie aches to be inked!

She barely kept any white space between the lines
She likes it messy it seems, juicy and weighty
filled with on going run-on sentences
and only she can probably know where
to insert the right punctuation, the moments to breathe
and the moments to smile.

Cigarette pack! It lays next to the phone
I am jealous of those death sticks that touch her
lips, she must be one wordy person

She probably takes a break
when she’s had enough of her rowdy thoughts
running in circles, rectangles, triangles
basically in any sporadic direction in her head
until they make her drowsy, dizzy with overthought
not the bad kind, but the kind that needs nicotine fix

So much un-wasted paper
so many blunt pencils,
random post its with fragments
sometimes with cursive and sometimes not

I wonder, do you think
she’s written so much
that she has stenciled herself
to the person she is today?

Has she drawn her thick eye brows
colored her eyes a darker hue
outlined her silhouette with charcoal?
Has she thickened her rib cage and
slowly brushed over those feminine
naïve feelings that have cost her
almost everything?

As I saw the progression of possessions
in her zone, I noticed,
more broken pencils
darker intensified notes
stronger
paper depths.
I bet it wasn’t always like this

She must have
started with shy blurry lines
that left mystery for discovery
Secrecy, beauty, rowdy, blurry
and slow
visibility
woman pencil

Thyselves

They told me to wake up 
from the state of mind
that has propelled me
through the muck of harshness

They told me to sober up
from the natural drunken state
I have taken from life’s happiness

They told me to “man up” 
and be the tidied-up and be well dressed woman|
that they find pleasure in feasting their vision on
How ironic! 

They told me to straighten my curls
and tame that last strand of human 
that made me myself

They told me to abdicate my freedom of opinion
for fear of hurting others, fear of violating social norms
or for fear of raping their poshed up asses! 

They told me to dull down my colors
Since their signature glasses weren’t equipped
with the brightness of reality

They told me to avoid certain places
and head to the ones where the height of the heel
defines the the height of their intellect


They told me to control my urge to dance
because “nobody likes a spontaneous girl”
who does what she wants when she wants

They told me to out my drink down
and fix my lipstick
Really? Lipstick! 
Has our social caliber been diluted down
to applied beauty?

They told me to change my diet 
because skinny girls get more attention
their protruding bones ignite lust
in suit up men, lest not forget
the blowfish lips and silicon breasts
that balance
their stick figure accordingly 

They told me to put down my cigarette
cross my legs, remove that piercing
wear a bitch attitude
They told me to stick my nose in the clouds
because the fucked up norms of society
dictate attraction upon such actions

They told me to wear a dress
They told me to go with the flow
when the flow was so disgusting
motion sickness made me gag 
all that societal poison
made me regurgitate all that
has become normal in terms of 
relationships, mental stimulation
social norms, physical attractiveness

They told me to get the car,
wear the brands, eat there
drink there, read somewhere
where water is as expensive as the sandwich

They told me to grow my hair 
They told me wake up and grow up
They told me to ditch them
and click to them
They told me to clean my opinionated mouth
they told me to write clean, they told me 
to submit, they told quiet girls are attractive
they told me no one will date you
if you remain and maintain YOU!

They told me that you won’t get what you deserve

I won’t lie to you, every line they uttered choked me
like an unwanted bite, like a gulp of water down the wrong tube
like that spec of cigarette ash that gets inhaled by mistake
like that first prick of a needle when you get your blood drawn

They told me….
STOP!
STOP!

What if I told
them…
What If I showed
them, the other side of every single line
the opposite side of the table, where they sat
lecturing!
What I showed them the beauty of colors,
drinks, lousy hair, jeans, flat shoes, cigarette mess
clumsy friends, hazy nights, beautiful music, definite
debates, artsy conversations, lazy walks, blurred mornings,
simple clothing, dingy places, creaking chairs, wooden bars,
drinking from bottles, biting nails, genuine
selves?

Stripped down to natural smiles,
beautiful skin, naked
in the face of society
and all it’s so-called
norms!

Stripped down to what
you always wanted to be

Stand in the face of your fears
undress slowly, enjoy every layer you remove
enjoy removing every burden you had to carry

Enjoy basking in the uncomfortable
nudity of thyself!

lovers


 



Glitch

It’s this odd feeling
of euphoria, every time
that drink dances on your lips

It’s this comfort that settles in your body
and you embrace it, wholeheartedly
Your eyes haze, you become lethargic
but that type that makes you float
You’re floating

Your mind is racing, it’s weaving
the moments into a beautiful quilt of
“I don’t remember’s” & “when did that happen’s”
Your mind fools you
giving you the illusion that you were aware
How evil!

You sew more patches into that quilt of yours
you sew squares of fabricated reality
into your factual events

This feeling progresses
with every sip, with every sunrise you witness
this feeling of transparency with your own self
smelling like the night, the dingy night
you enjoy the swinging of your imbalanced body
the swinging of your mind
Between that tangible happenings
and the invisible thoughts that felt so real!

As you sat there your mind
pushed you on that swing
whose stillness you enjoyed
it pushed you to oscillate between
the real and those dreams
Your awake
confused and lost in between two worlds

It’s a feeling of uncertainty
that thin line that separated your reality
from those private jumbles in your head
has been blurred, washed down by every sip
you ingest, burned by every drag you inhale
Slowly and surely, that line that once played
crucial role in mankind’s existence is fading
leaving you swinging back and forth
confusing the hell out of your world

You are lost
“Welcome you are in limbo”

Remember that quilt?
The one who’s real patches are stitched
to those unrealistic ones?
You find yourself
covered with your very own colorful patchwork
You have a hazy connection with reality
That line that was once there
well, it’s gone now
You have incorporated the real with the unreal
a dense homogeneous mixture,
Mysteriously scary!
Your days, have become a fictional
comic strip,
You are the lead character
you bump into your real moments, then
it hits you
“I dreamt that”
your state of turmoil confusion
signifies that glitch, that
“ezzt” noise!
you hear it and you feel it
Is that you teleporting between two worlds?
are you swinging from side to side
letting the winds of reality play with your hair
on one
and the waves of doubt clench to your soul
on the other?

The glitching persists
You’re awake
but
in which
world?

*Glitch*

It's Glitch Art / Photography

It’s Glitch Art / Photography

Solo

I passed by that drunken street
during the day
It felt like a different place
It was not infested with glamoured up beings
nor was it showered by the spilled drinks of others

I aimlessly walked and enjoyed a cup of wine
at 3 pm, marveling at the pseudo sober humans
holding conversations, conducting meetings
eating, having coffee

Oh my dear street, I have underestimated you
and limited your existence to a “stage”  (quoted)
for drunken souls, drinking their third world
worries away, enjoying induced pleasure
that will either be vomited or lingered
in your mind – knocking on your skull
“Hey, I am your hang over”

As I sat there, soaking in the sun
on that crummy wobbly chair
I spoke to a friend of mine,
I could actually hear him,
I sipped on my wine with no intention
of gulping it, I smoked my cigarettes
normally, not chain-ly

“Let’s go check out some art”
That statement rang in my ears
Art, my senses clung to that last wine sip
so as to enjoy it with the art that I was about to see

As we walked, on those streets
my eyes were gawking at the bits and pieces
eaten by the night, that our vision fails
to grasp, for some reason I felt like a tourist
foreign to the same streets I frequent
every freaking day!

As my friend opened the iron gates
those creaks initiated a sense of mystic
feel
My body hungry for something unknown
my soul yearned for the cultural stimulation
that my brain climaxes to
My eyes forgot how to blink
aching for masterpieces

We stepped into a room
with patterned titles
in front of the door was a painting
black and white
Yet there was something mysterious about it
My eyes slowly moved my body
towards it, the magic halted my body
at a certain distance from it

My vision could capture the whole canvas
The yearning has stopped and now
it is at a loss of expression
it “froze” digesting the aura of this masterpiece

I fixated on the eyes
I could hear it, I could listen
to the chaos happening
in that brain behind those eyes
I could feel the sadness
the aches, the experiences
the happiness that has backfired
those endless nights homogenized
with alcohol and cigarettes
those days of being used and abused
or using and experimenting

I could see those eyes
looking back at me, and silently
relaying a response
“I’ve seen it and felt it too”
Shivers, goosebumps
trailed along my arms
my spine chilled with a peculiar feeling

I stood there, feeling small
I stood there absorbing the instant relationship
the one whose commitment was strongest
than any of my priors held with real humans
The one where a silent conversation
echoes in your body
The one where your space is its space
That one connection you have with someone
or something
That enigmatic feeling
where justification is not needed
nor required

I stood there, gazing
gawking at those eyes
Dammit, I can literally
converse
in silence
I was taken
my soulful satiation has been complete
my mental cultural richness reached
the brim, yet my eyes
my eyes would not stir away from the sight
The connection was immense, it hypnotized my eyes
my mental capacity
the conversation kept going

“Shoulder pat”

“Did you see that one?” he said
My attention was abruptly cut
my eyes remembered how to blink

As I walked around the gallery
that painting, kept looking
I felt like a blushed lover, stealing glances
because of that connection
It was not all butterflies and colors
It was  a painting
in simple black and white
dank dark colors
harsh strokes and thin hairlines of paint

It was a portrait
of mere
mess
that
was
a reflection
of
me
and
I
for the first time
loved
it

art by Rafic Majzoub - Rain on Me solo show, Beirut, Lebanon

art by Rafic Majzoub – Rain on Me solo show, Beirut, Lebanon

FRAME

Don’t constrict your vision
to what you can confine within your hands,
it might hurt, it is risky, you will grow some balls
but widen that freaking frame,
your portrait will be much more colourful
you will have a story
whose series of events
are not in YOUR control

Don’t be scared
Keep it in the back of your head
the cocktail of events
will stab you, kiss you
hug you, dump you
but, think about it
why would you confine
that frame to your
so called “comfort zone”
constricted vision

Widen that frame,
involve people
involve ass holes
involve lovers
involve beauty
involve ugliness
involve strangers
involve pets
involve family

Widen
that
frame

Let the events paint
your masterpiece
some blotches will be messy
some corners will have details
some parts will speak to many
others will be precise

but
take my word
for it
widen
that
Frame

perspective

Canvas

I am not sure
how to jot down
the surrounding
ideas that swim in my brain

they are not ideas per say
they seem to have a direct link
to my heart

I am truly happy
am I?
the conflict
I am alive, more alive
that I have ever been

I am in love
not with anyone, I am in love
not with anything
but this natural high has taken
me places and brightened
my dull confidence

Everyone knows after a high
comes the low, I am in limbo
I am stuck on a blank slate
with no plans ahead
nor any behind me, I made sure
I threw acid on them and burned them to ashes
those past mistakes, oh silly mistakes

I am on a tabula rasa pinned
by the beating heart and keeps me going
Yet, those beats always play solo
sometimes they long for the other
to comply with every thump
sometimes it beats so well, it enjoys
its aloneness

That slate, my canvas
what should I do with you?
Should I go wild and slap colored paint streaks on you?
Should I meticulously create my future?
Should I mix-n-match a messy creation and
then watch it burn?
Is this liberating or just confusing?

I am caught between
the two extremes of the scale
I am alone and I embrace it
I am alone and I dissecting every
layer that has covered me and hid me away
from my true being

Thick impermeable layers that I
inflicted on myself to please others
Give me the damn scalpel, I feel my inner bright rays
aching to shine, to expose themselves
As I make an incision, I felt lighter
I felt better, those dark layers
fell one by one, day by day
I am naked, I am comfortable
in my own skin
I am naked
and my heart
beats by itself
for
itself

NUDE

NUDE