Nov 1, 2011
Tunisia Trolls Obama
Following my Global Voices post on the #TrollingObama Tunisian social-networking-attack, I was interviewed by BBC TheWorld on this wave. Listen to the recording here.
Oct 31, 2011
Tunisia: Let's Invade Social Networks!
A crazy wave of posts hit the world of social networks when Tunisian
netizens decided to invade Facebook and Twitter with their comments. The
move started with netizens showing solidarity and support for the
American occupy movement by posting chants and messages on the official
Facebook page of US president Barack Obama. Many of those comments were
funny as they tried to Americanize the chants of their revolution that
started last December. This came hand in hand with a hashtag on Twitter
called #TrollingObama. Surely those posts are not only to support the protests across the US but to also criticize US foreign policy.
Continue reading this post on Global Voices
Continue reading this post on Global Voices
Saudi Arabia: Poverty Video Vloggers Released
Around two weeks ago, Saudi Arabia arrested three young video
bloggers Firas Buqna, Hussam Al-Darwish and Khaled Al-Rasheed for
producing an episode of their show Malub Alena about poverty in one of Riyadh's areas. The name of the show can be translated into We Are Being Fooled
and this episode was actually their fourth episode after previous shows
on youth and police corruption. Before the arrests, the show was having
a good number of views but in few days after their arrests, it was
viewed for more than 600,000 times.
Continue reading this post on Global Voices
Oct 26, 2011
Pictures from the Statelessness conference
word
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| On my left, famous stateless Dominican- Haitian activist Sonia Pierre speaking |
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| Next to Maria Otero, US under secretary of state for democracy and global affairs |
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| Reading of my speech about the stateless of Kuwait |
* Pictures taken, with permission, from MOSCTHA.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 5, 2011
The Beat Generation Tour
What am I but a Beat Generation fanatic; my senior thesis was on the image of America in the poems of Allen Ginsberg and Arab poets and this is all what I want to do in my graduate studies. The Beat ideals, methods, madness, screams, expression, and rebellious soul are the ones I relate to most, and I have previously dared to call the rising Arab generation "The New Beat Generation"; one without a face, though.
Last week, I got the chance to achieve one of my biggest dreams when I had a walking tour around New York City visiting the places where the Beat writers used to hangout, live, drink, buy their books from, meet, and read their works. New York is not like Paris as it doesn't care if a famous writer or artist lived in this or that place, because the capitalist question will always be the loudest to be heard "Turn a place that a writer once lived in, to a museum? who will pay for that?" so unlike all the writers' maisons I got to visit in Paris two years ago, New York has no special treatment for them and unfortunately no one thought of doing what Lorca once has done in Andalusia leaving marks on the places where the best minds of his generation lived.
I surely did not get the chance to visit all places; directions are not easy to catch, and time was too short, however I tried to visit as many places relevant to Kerouac and his masterpiece On the Road. I didn't take pictures of all places especially those I got to during the evening, therefore, I will surely have to revisit these spots next time.
[Click on any of the pictures to see it in full size].
In this Italian restaurant, William S. Burroughs used to invite his Beat friends to dinner.
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"Cafe Wha?" is the place where the Beat members used to go to listen to music, mostly Jazz. Great figures like Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix performed in this place.
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Caffe Reggio is a very simple and intimate place in Greenwich Village. It was not only a place for the Beat writers to hangout but also the site for Bohemians, a John F. Kennedy's speech, and some shots from Copolla's The Godfather II.
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In this basement bar called "Gas Light Cafe" the Beat recited their works. Bob Dylan has also performed there and lived in the upstairs apartment for a while. A teenager working in the shop next door told me the place changed its name six time, the last to be "106" and that it has had hard times. Unfortunately, many beat-relevant places are vanishing, getting neglected, losing their spirit, or even shutting down, as I've discovered in this short trip.
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In this building, Lucien Carr lived. He was the one to have introduced Burroughs, Kerouac, and Ginsberg to each other. He was the one that introduced Ginsberg to the writings of Arthur Rimbaud. Kerouac used to visit Carr in this apartment, and while sneaking out, once, Jack fell and injured his head.
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The White Horse Tavern is a bar where Jack Kerouac used to go drink sometimes. When talking to the bartender, he told me that they used to write 'Go home, Jack' in the bathroom so when he reads it he will remember to leave! The place was also a spot for Dylan Thomas, Norman Mailer, and Hunter S. Thompson. Kerouac lived across the street for a while in this building:
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Our Lady of Guadalupe is one of Kerouac's favorite churches. You have a weird feeling when seeing it left out of the 'developed' concrete atmosphere where one can notice the huge tasteless buildings, the metro stop, the bus stops, the European tourists, the tired workers, and the arrogant lunatic taxi drivers.
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In this apartment, Allen Ginsberg lived for a year. A passer-by gave me an absurd look for taking pictures of someone's door and did not hesitate to ask the question. When I answered, she replied "Ginsberg who?." I was of course disappointed.
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In this building, Jack Kerouac wrote his masterpiece On the Road. The building is getting renovated and I could not get in to see his apartment. One of the construction workers was nice enough to let me stand in front of the door and take a picture of me.
Aug 27, 2011
أكره العناوين

أكره الذين تجاوزوا تجربة الحب الأولى
أكره رجال أمن الدولة وضحاياهم
أكره الأمهات ممن رزقن بأبناء فاسدين
أكره الرجال الذين لم يقتلوا نسائهن الخائنات
أكره الشابات اللواتي اغتصبن في طفولتهن
أكره الأنبياء الذين يضعون أيديهم في أيدي من ادعى الإيمان بهم
أكره الأطفال الذي يتعاركون ثم يلعبون سوية مرة أخرى
أكره الراقصات اللواتي لا يميزن وجوه عشاقهن القدامى
أكره البحر الذي يبتلع خراءنا ويبتسم أزرق
أكره النساء اللواتي يتخلصن من ملابسهن كلما هلت موضة جديدة
أكره العاشق الذي يعلم أن حبيبته تكلم "أحمد" لا "مريم"
أكره السحاقيات اللواتي يركعن أمام حبهن ويقبلنه رغم بشاعته
أكره من يحذفون مسجات الأصدقاء الذين رحلوا
أكره العظماء الذين نكتب عنهم دائماً ولا يمكنهم تمييز أسمائنا
أكره رجال الأعمال الفاشلين
أكره الشعوب "المضروبة بالجزمة"
أكره الراسبين
أكره المرأة التي عبرت ابنتها الشارع وقتلتها سيارة نيسان موديل 87
أكره العاهرات اللواتي يلبسن جلوداً جديدة كل يوم
أكره الحرية التي تحملت كل الهراء الذي قيل في حقها
أكره أدراج المدرسة التي تبقى صامدة في وجه المراهقات اللواتي يسمنها بكلمات أغانٍ باهتة
أكره الأرض التي مازالت تحمل اسمها رغم مئات الحروب التي انتهكت عذريتها
أكره مظفر النواب الذي يغير قصيدته كل مرة
أكره أم كلثوم إذا أدخلت "عودت عيني" بـ "يا مسهرني" تحت تأثير الكأس
أكره من يكررون مقولات بصياغة مختلفة
أكره صديقتي التي انهارت بكاء في امتحانات الثانوية
حين لم تعلم الأبيات الأخيرة من قصيدة إيليا أبو ماضي
...
أكرههم كلهم
لأنهم يعرفون كيف ينسون!
يونيو 2008
Aug 11, 2011
Nocturno
La lechuza ciega
No quiero una sala llena de novatos,
No, quiero que se vacíe del resto,
Pero yo sigo como la lechuza
Que callaba
Para escuchar a su voz.
Debo pensar como ser rica
Por muchas cosas.
Debo guardar aquellas piedras
Que me saludan, carcajeándose,
Por todo el camino.
El mozo pintado en mi blusa
Rechaza subir conmigo a la buhardilla ,
Por eso estoy sola,
... y ... no quiero.
Oh padre mío,
Mas que castigarme,
Tachamos todo lo que escribo ahora,
todo.
La flor de la tarde
La flor de la tarde
Viaja con los perfumes del aire
Y me cambia por un juguete mudo.
¿ Acaso seré entonces como aquella ´´Yo´´
que vi en el espejo ?
La flor de la tarde
Me abandona colgada por la suerte de la arena
Y los niños hacen de mi palacios,
El infierno,
aquel dialogo con la muerte,
O palabras grises
Que desean abrazar la pasión vital
Aunque por minutos.
Quizás una carrera para apostarse
Sobre una canción
de lo que queda de la flor de la tarde.
Agua sobre madera
En las costillas del infierno
Se atasca la perdición en la garganta
Entonces no podrás atacar la oscuridad.
Así clavamos la puerta con las lagrimas,
Nuestras lagrimas,
Pero no se desangra
Mas que madera.
Las hojas del cuerpo
Se levantan
Y el poema vibra.
Pájaro
Me inclino
Para que pase la tormenta
Sin tensiones ni olor.
El pájaro lava sus plumas.
Mientras vuela en su nube,
Nos invade una clara extrañez.
Una Aguja, quizás es del sol
Cosechamos las mariposas por las agujas
El invierno nos vigila desde la ventana
Pero le obligamos a llorar.
Desde soles,
escondemos nuestro catástrofe
sin perdonarle,
mientras el silencio de las historias
nos ata con sus negros hilos
y nos pinta el cuadro del abandono.
Nocturno
Noche 1
Dibujo una plaza inmensa,
Donde bailo con la muerte,
Y cuando acaba todo,
Descanso,
Pero me ahogo en el llanto.
Noche 2
Aparece una nube
Creo de Dios sonríe a los pobres niños.
La luna se transforma en media,
Quizás esta triste por la caída de un estrella.
Noche 3
Sobre la cabeza de mi padre
crece una palmera blanca ,
¿No se como la coloreo?
Noche 4
La lluvia no deja a mi padre
Que pinta la puerta de la casa,
Y no hace nada.
Mientras mis manos
que no me dejan volar como un pájaro
Los tiro una comida para los gatos.
Noche 5
Una vieja nace de un árbol,
Me ofrece una manzana envenenada,
¿Acaso me muera,
O convertiré en un árbol?
Noche 6
La herida de la luna por la mañana,
Me imita.
La sonrisa del sol por la tarde
Se ríe de mi.
Noche 7 – fin
La muchacha de ojos finos
Me acompaña siempre,
Así no dejo de ver la cinta
De mi muerte,
Cada noche.
Mona Kareem
Traducción : A. Sadoun - 2006
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