Eric Cartman's Cartoon Wars

as I'm sure you've noticed, I've finally installed Haloscan. I've been meaning to do so since forever but there was some problems with the automated install, so yesterday I finally had time on my hands to do it manually.

Yay.

Now let us ponder for a bit the all-too-familiar problem of the limits of freedom of speech, as it I have run into this problem myself recently on this blog.

You realize, of course, that freedom of speech is a difficult principle to uphold idealistically, the foremost implementation of said principle is, in the words of the great Trey Parker: "Either it's all in, or nothing's in." because, once you've given a particular group of people a preferential treatment, you would have eventually to submit to the wishes of every other group. Now, while I have banned some people from commenting here due to their repeatedly racist attitude (which they are oblivious to, most horrendously) towards a certain group of people to which I belong, I am obliged hereby to delete any other racist comment offensive to any group of people in the criteria. Eventually, the constraints would be too much so that commenting would become an inherently futile feature.

Which is what everybody seems to be doing, I have noticed that most of the big-gun bloggers end up eliminating their comments forum altogether as an unsatisfactory solution to that problem. Raed Jarrar did it, Riverbend, and most recently Angry Arab. This solution is flawed, but I find no other one that completely eliminates the problem as this one.

The world is bound with flawed realizations of freedom-of-speech, ِِِAnti-Semitism, for all intents and purposes, favors a certain group over others, so what's wrong if I uphold this flawed Anti-Semitism model (arabs are semites too) to my own use? But of course, that is no ideal solution, it is justification for my own flaw.

Another solution would be to remove the ban, but I cannot bring myself to it. On a personal note, I cannot stand them, I totally abhor their views, their ongoing campaign to blame everything on the inferiority of Iraqis, their racist, sly mockery of Arab-Muslim culture, among other things. and here is the problem, because I am certainly not going to feel offended by people who are anti-Christian or anti-Jewish ,or anti-anything else for that matter, but this ban prompts me to act just the same towards them. I don't feel like continuously arguing them, because, as I said earlier, it is futile on the long run.

What do you think?
I hope u get the reference of the title's post.

Sarafiya Bridge Re-Opened.

I can't believe it, it was as if from a parallel universe ; something actually was accomplished in Iraq - they have actually managed to reopen the Sarafiya Bridge. I am praying at the rate of 1000 prayers/hour that it doesn't prove me wrong and collapse because of cheap materials while some sleazy contractor is laughing his ass-cheeks somewhere far away from Iraq, I remember I was frothing mad when the bridge I passed countless times was destroyed a year ago by a terrorist attack. Shgad 3eb.

I remember how happy I was when our Iraqi team won [by the way, it has sucked balls recently in the World Cup qualification stage] but afterwards I found out that nothing really changed, we all love Iraq, and we want it to be something, unfortunately that something is still imaginary, and there isn't much to be optimistic about its realization in the long-run, but let us enjoy, for once, this moment in a silly larger-than-life fashion and say that the Iraqis are not just a random collection of sects but have gelled into becoming fully aware of their destiny as one nation and have had enough bloodshed. I liked Maliki yesterday, I never really criticized him, but I've always feared that he is marginal in reality. Let us hope, however silly and unrealistic our hope might be, that he proves us wrong. Thank you Abu Israa. Lak wuda3til abbas inta a7san zmal beehum.

This is good news indeed, I'm going to celebrate, I'll turn on Iraqi Jewish singer Salima Murad's Ala Shawati Dijala Murr (a song about Dijla (Tigris), which runs under al-Sarafiya), I can't adhrub talqaat here so I'll just adhrub jilikh, before I go to sleep. Good night. let's hope it's the last time Sarafiya will be reopened.

Happy Birthday, Abu Jasim!!!

Yesterday, Mohammed ibn Abdillah, salla allahu 'alayhi wa salam, the prophet of the Muslim faith, turned, wait, 1438 years, my mother made a cake for him, a chocolate and caramel cake with strawberries, I don't think she could fit 1438 candles on it, anyway, my parents, in a rare ceremonial move, decided to hold a "festival" in this anniversary yesterday, in which each family member is required to prepare an anecdote about the prophet. The cheery family sat down at tea-time like some cheesy scene from those Islamic Educational TV series nobody watches, my father talked about something, my mother talked about something else, my sister talked about the Danish Cartoons Controversy, and my 14-year-old Metallica-freak brother talked about something he didn't understand, while I hung out and played pool, chess and checked out some babes, I also decided to try out the Bluetooth-style pick-up technique at City Mall, all I got was a dozen guys and a lone woman called "Um Mazin", I sent a Divorce SMS to Um Mazin انت طالق ثلاثا and that's it.

ولد الهدى فالكائنات ضياء و فم الزمان تبسمُ وثناء

Happy Birthday, Abu Jasim!
My 2006 post about this occasion, it also has some history about my stint as the lead singer of an Islamic boyband that tours mosques when I was 12, it's funny, wil nabi.

A Tribute To My Iraqi Shia Friends

Looking at my recent posts, the word 'Shi'i' seems everywhere, I have been ranting too much, way too much about that ; so I thought I'd do this post to remember my good times with them.
Most of my college friends were southern Shi'i, when I first started learning about the differences and hostility between Sunnis and Shia in 2006, this created a dilemma for me, I would spend the night getting so pumped up with rage when learning about the Shia doctrine, and then I would go to college, and that frustration would all fade away the moment I met the first one of them.
When I went to UNHCR back in September 2007, I did not hang out with the elegantly-dressed Baghdadis, instead, I immediately connected with a southerner from Basra ; I can't help their simplicity and modesty, soon enough I was sitting with the whole mashraga, Nasiriya, Hilla, you name it. it felt back like college for a brief while. However, being in Jordan, none of my friends are here with me, and this has naturally led to some imbalance on that point, this post is aimed to at trying to regain that balance and to remind myself and you that it wasn't some apartheid segregation and that only religion is keeping us away from each other.


Sixi Princi: Princi is my best friend, we worked together on a lot of video projects (notice the early use of the name "Abbas" in this post, subconscious?) he is one of the nicest people one could ever hope to meet, he's now in Sweden and has long hair, beware. Princi has a picture of Sistani above his bed, but he is not an orthodox Shia, for starts he thinks it's completely valid to pray with Sunnis (and he did pray with us in public once in a Sunni mosque amazingly in 2005! Was it so good so late?) and last I heard he doesn't even believe in Mahdi.
Eihab: Eihab was a tall, strangely white, bald dude from Kerbala with Turkish descent. He was a very close friend of mine, an atheist, but like most Iraqi atheists his sectarian identity did not fade with his religion (he chose the 555 bloc). Like me, in his latter days Eihab became more aware of his sectarian identity, but that never affected our friendship ; we joked about it all the way until he died. He was killed in 2006 and he appears in the tribute video I made for him and three other dead pals.
Jidida: Jidida is a Baghdadi who had affinity for Muqtada al-Sadr. He's such a modest dude, he also bore intense hatred for the Badr brigade, who were unmistakably Iranian to him, but more so for Saddam Hussein. I talked about him earlier in my blog here.
Muqdad: Here comes the good stuff. Muqdad comes from Najaf, and he was named after Al-Muqdad al-Aswad, a companion of Ali (he too, is aswad, very dark-skinned), however, I think his similarity with the prominent companion ends about here. Muqdad was a very, very, very horny, muscled individual who'd tell us hilarious fantastical stories about his fake misadventures. God, those were the days...
Mudhaffar "Giraffe": A tall guy from al-Misyab, Mudhaffar was a very simple individual with a very imposing neck, he also asks every new girl in college to be his girlfriend.
Weezi: One time I burnt the garbage can with a hastily-thrown cigarette in our college department as a joke, Weezi instantly searched me out and introduced me to the "cool" community due to that feat. I didn't know Diwaniya people were famous for their wise-cracking until I met Weezi, a Yoda-like smartass character who, in his own words, if he ever wanted to talk to you then that means he wants 5 bucks.
Hamchi: Hamchi was an ultra-religious, Persian-accent-during-prayer Badr-sympathizer from Najaf. He thinks I will go to hell because I don't pray the Shi'i way and he thinks praying with Sunnis is a sin that rivals drinking wine, he was also one of the nicest people I have ever met. I used to mess with him about his suit and ties almost daily, it was with Hamchi that I engaged in the little *honest* sectarian debate at my college and it always ended so respectably, Hamchi is married now and he's working somewhere in the south. Last time I heard from him he wanted to elect Mithal al-Alusi. Both Hamchi and Eihab appear in this early post.

My time with those people were some of the best I have ever had in my life, I never felt strange or detached between them, we never discussed religion or politics, it was all regular college topics: girls, girls and girs. On the contrary, they were so easily lovable and very fun-going and hip, you can understand how difficult it is for me to talk about the huge sectarian differences when all my friends are of the opposite sect, of course, I am aware of some limits, most of these people, for religious reasons (including me) would not marry of the opposite sect (in fact, I did want to marry a Shi'i girl in particular just to annoy a sectarian member of my family, but on thinking it through I realized that the sectarian differences are just too great ; maybe if she's secular, and hot), but it is largely for the memory of those people that I do not want Iraq to divided, it is for those people that I feel truly belonging and I do believe a secular government is necessary to strengthen those ties and de-emphasize the hostile history. Looking back, it's hard for me to decide which is real and what to embrace: the violent religious and historical enmity, or the honest transcending feelings of friendship? I guess it's a problem for all multicultural societies.

*sigh*

My Metamorphsis

and hereby, the transformation is complete.

A New Crush

She looks so dumb, but I can't take my eyes off her.
If you're wondering why I'm posting this, it's because I'm trying to write something and it's not coming out right.
UPDATE: She just won. She's so clueless and childish ; I don't think she's dumb anymore ; she's just socially naive and clumsy. Maybe that's what I like about her.
UPDATE2: I forgot to include al-Jazeera's Barbie Iman Eiyad (Banoura), perhaps the only good thing ever coming out of al-Jazeera.

Marion Cotillard

In order to emphasize the masturbatory filler quality of this post, here's a list of all the previous celebrity women I fell head over heels with at some time.

Catherine Zeta-Jones

It's kinda predictable for somebody to have a crush on Catherine Zeta Jones, the embodiment of confident, beautiful aristocracy, her beauty is too predictable anyway, I prefer more exotic women, thankfully the combination of leadership and exotic have been fully realized here:

Aishwarya Rai

Too much to handle....how on earth will the 72 Virgins compete with that?

Shannon Doherty

Noorhan

This was Noorhan, an Egyptian actress, she is the only celebrity I really had a crush on, I totally loved her when I was 15. and not just a crush, it was a crush with feelings.

Are you seeing a pattern yet? They all look suspiciously alike...hmm...what does this mean, Freudians? Oh, that reminds me, when I was younger than that I had a crush on this one:

Snow White

Last, but not least, I had a crush on this Iraqi TV presenter, I couldn't find pictures for her anyway but she's right here interviewing Iraqi homosexual icon Saadi al-Hilli


Goddammit, she even looks like them, guess I must have been wanting to sleep with Snow White for 23 years real bad.

Yes, I'm 23, could you please stop referring me to as a genius 20-years-old, I'm as old as Riverbend when she started blogging.

I'm going to go watch the Oscars now, for Cotillard.

Things Are "Better"

My best friend during primary school was killed a month ago by a stray bullet in Baghdad. He was a Turkmen, I only knew of him yesterday.

Coupled with my four dead friends, Haji Amir, and a college acquaintance, this is the 7th person that I directly know who was killed since the war.

Konfused Kid Abandons Heavy Metal

In a shocking turn to his fans, Iraqi Konfused Kid, formerly known as Iraqi Konfused Kollege Kid a.k.a The Kid Himself decided to officially declare the end of almost six years of bone-crunching, fist-pumping, devilless-worshipping devotion to heavy metal.



It has been six years since that fateful day when The Kid, at that time a lonely, reserved misfit whose existence was largely supported by video games and Eminem, heard that ominous call, there was no magnificence in that moment, it was actually a boring evening and The Kid was flat on his ass checking out the new cassette he recorded at the nearby Radio1 shop, but at that moment when "No Leaf Clover" came bursting out the seams of his cheap Chinese player, that he felt like an ancient prophet in a cave.

After that, The Kid's mindset was completely captivated by the magnificence, power and intelligence this form of music can evoke in one's being ; little did he know it, but at that period of his life, he actually worshiped Heavy Metal, and NOT in a metaphorical sense of the word, all his existence was more or less devoted to that obsession, he saw in those drug-addicted, half-naked school dropouts the pinnacle of human evolution and development ; often did he sit late at night, pondering like a historian over manuscripts at their lyrics, carefully trying to "understand" the concise interpretation of this lyric and that, the epic, dark compositions uplifted his spirit and gave him meaning. In fact, unconsciously he believed that the juxtaposition of music and words in such a fashion unlocked a dangerous magic of its own that can only be felt and understood by those devoted followers, from this logic, he considered those rare specimen who agreed with his ways, whom he met during high school as especially enlightened human beings, who had managed to see beyond the usual range of short-sighted men, those men would simply label these highly powerful creations as 'a garbled mess that has nothing to do with music', The Kid knew of those people deviated ways for he had lived upon them for 17 long years, reveling in disgust at their stupidity and 'uneducated animality', he had seen their corrupt, idiotic music about love and butterflies, formless and odorless, and yet another facet of their inferiority, he loathed their attraction to the simple and benign and treasured the complex essence of the truth he had harnessed and uncovered in those magnificent manifestations of the divine. Often did he and his compatriots talk about forming circles to practice the faith, but he was often disappointed in his colleagues, for sometimes he thought that except for their admiration for this music, they were still the savage inferior beasts he saw everywhere, and that they did not hold the key of the knowledge of this great realm like he did. Undeterred, he silently upheld his new faith and tried secretly to flourish within the confines of his society. He had no money to buy a holy instrument, so he secretly practiced his faith passively behind locked doors, he loathed headbanging, which he considered to be an extremist invention that had harmed the faith more than it benefited it and led many common people to shy away from it in disgust, instead, he preferred to air-guitar his emotions while making performer poses and creepy faces, often fantasizing himself to be in the center of whatever social unit he was part of at the time, Singing 'The Wait' in his schoolyard, or fingerpicking 'The Call of Ktulu' in the living room, in those fits of fantasy, students of the school would gaze in awe, and his family would water their eyes, everyone would bow to his greatness and testify to his superiority. He would then sleep comfortably while analyzing the subliminal intentions of the complex faux-pop songs of Soundgarden, before waking up to another tasteless school day where he served as a nondescript entity in a world he felt he did not belong to.

From his youth, The Holy Kid had perceived hints of what was to come, at six years old, when The Kid was still held by his family to be some sort of tortured genius, when he could have told you the capital of any country and the number of days it took Hitler to invade any European country one by one, The Kid has often wondered, for no reason at all, if his playmates were some sort of robots, who were programmed to think and feel in the same predictable emotions, the faith of Heavy Metal came to confirm those theories about the inherent stupidity of those people, and increase his longing for a holy hijra to the promised lands he often saw in television screens.

Years passed and The Kid graduated, having devolved from a child prodigy into a plain and unremarkable dude, more plagued by his supposedly miscast nature than anything else, he joined college, determined to convert as many as he possibly could, into his new philosophy, he had crystallized his teachings in a simple leaflet, and he termed it 'F.T.W.", his determination paid through somewhat, for after years living as a misfit, he seems to have picked up, quite inadvertently, something of human social conduct, and for perhaps the first time in his life since his teenage depression, The Kid found himself to be truthfully enjoying his presence among the ignorant population of his perimeters. He had gained a few converts on the path of truth, and believing his happiness to be stemming from that blessed foundation, he continued in that path unabashed. Yet still, in that warped form of thinking, The Kid was still believing on some level that there are better, more 'educated' human beings out there and he often longed to meet them.

However, by 2006, the actual spell-binding aura which had protected him all these years had slowly faded away, the holy incantations did not move him like they once did, but he relentlessly listened to them in an attempt to bolster his faith, believing this to be a minor lapse, shaking away whatever childish demons that tried to manipulate him, unfortunately, it felt today like a regular routine with no emotions, he now had the means to procure a holy instrument, and be bought three of the blessed tools, thinking that the time had finally come to spread the doctrines into the unsuspecting hordes, to rescue them from the vile clutches of the satanic devils of Arabic pop music.

Laugh not, for The Kid genuinely believed this crap as intensely as it is shed here, he just did not know how religiously he believed in it. It was his driving passion, during boring lectures, he was found of creating setlists for imaginary live shows, he was forever obsessed with the correct order of songs in order to persuade the heathens into the true word of the divine.
But as 2006 drove on, more and more did The Kid find himself more suffocated than liberated by his faith, the search for new items always proved disappointing, both the new and old music he tried to explore he found to be rather lame attempts to sound glorious and evil, most of the bands only had a handful of good songs, barely fitting an album, and by now it had become something of a joke, a ritualistic practice that regulated one's conformity to nonconformity without any true quality of its own, like a failed Pan-Arab revolution ; you like this? then YOU MUST like this, or else you suck! Unfortunately, The Kid cannot pin down an exact moment when he said: "That's it, this is just too ridiculous! But it can be narrowed down to the following moments: The moment when his fellow friend snatched The Kid's holy instrument and played an Arabic medley of the sort The Kid looks upon with aristocratic disfavor, but to his own amazement, it appeared to him for the first time to have a magical shape of melody and it took him to those faraway mental escapes....maybe it was the fact that The Kid couldn't play shit at that time, anyway, this small bit took The Kid into a re-examining of traditional Iraqi songs, apparently an easy way to get people's attention instead of numbing their heads with chugga-chugga, this little oriental piece proved to be quite a decisive Trojan horse later.

But most importantly of all, it was The Kid's first foray at playing with dedicated musicians, there were two of them, the bassist was a weird, but overall okay person. but the lead guitarist, Teez (his real name), was another story. Teez was supposedly Iraq's self-proclaimed 2nd greatest guitarist of all-time (the first being Saad Zai), Teez was like The Kid's musical aspiration taken to extremes, a very idiosyncratic, egotistical person who apparently sucked at everything but playing guitar, and because of this very perceived insecurity, Teez used to insult and mock everyone whenever he could in order to be assured of his prowess. Teez was especially unbearable, and The Kid, now less unsocial and with friends and some girl to talk to late at night, found him to be rather a chore and a model of a human being he was afraid he would become. He loathed Teez, and with this realization, he loathed even more the archetype of the Iraqi 'mattalla' community and its trappings. Another practitioner of the faith, a girl who was even more devoted than himself and into black metal, which we could call 'Sufi Metal' shit, actually got married to another heavy metaller just because he was into the same shit more or less, having been a witness of the hollowness of those petty lives ; it was then that The Kid realized that those 'uber-human' people he dreamed about were nothing but imaginary, like the myth of the Mahdi, and that everybody is more or less quite ordinary ; if anything, those misfits he was one of were as remote as anyone from attaining a higher experience of life, it was more like an amateur venting of frustration that eased itself out through music instead of the way Osama bin Laden or the Virginia Tech killer would do it. If anything, those idiotic animals we held in contempt were having a richer, more realistic life than this denial.

With the death of his friends, and his growing interest in politics and religion, The Kid began to read less English and more Arabic, amazingly, the Arabic culture DID turn out to be capable of producing the intelligence, wit and imagination that he so respected and thought unique of Western culture, this reflected on everything of the Kid's behavior, he stopped wearing stupid rock/tanta clothes, began reading Arabic poetry and history, and music-wise, he is now dancing to the same music he found years before to be tasteless and inane, as a matter of fact, whenever an English-speaking song comes about on his play list, he immediately skips it, mentally commenting on its inability to possess the soulful, melismatic qualities of Eastern music. Sighing at the thought of all those leather-pant-dreaming western-wannabes who think they know something.

The moral of this story is that everything taken to extremes is bad, yes you might like something passionately and that's cool, but don't read too far into it, as it puts you in a warped plane of reality that is more often not really the be-all end-all you think it is, Here I only liked loud dark music, which doesn't hurt anyone necessarily, but still, thank God it wasn't something like religion or race.

To give you an example of how my life depended on Rock, here is a piece I wrote in my wee-years in 2002, about the song which I still consider the song that affected me most in all my lifetime, No Leaf Clover, compare it to this article I recently discovered which looks with the same academic analysis and fascination at an Arabic song, apparently, there are maniacs found for almost everything! The idea I'm trying to say here is that Your God can be found in everything, and one should really respect other people's beliefs no matter how inferior they sound to you, for you could end up liking them one day, and if you asked me right now, I'd say that this woman is the greatest singer in the world.


*****

NO LEAF CLOVER, Metallica.
Written by James Hetfield/Lars Ulrich
Reviewed by The Kid in 2001-2002
NOTE: You might not understand a lot without listening to the song (YouTube link to the left) first.

*REVIEW BEGINS*

This is probably the foremost fusion of words and music I have ever heard in my whole short life. Never has a song offered such power, emotion, and atmosphere as this one. While lyrically the composition is vague and daunting, with such everyday indistinguishable words, the mirroring of their ideas into the music is what makes Clover totally mind-blowing, the song was performed only once in 1999 in a live show with a SYMPHONY, Metallica wanted to demonstrate that their music owe a lot to orchestrated detail and this one is the prime example of their complex emotional treatment. The song is intended as mourning for the death of a wild, careless human. After a good intro from the symphony that introduces the main riff, the song really starts by James playing a creepy arpeggio figure played on a clean electric guitar, while the symphony coats him with a vivid, Swan Lake-like impression, which puts across a very serene, angelic, and mysterious atmosphere. In what is one of scariest sudden-shock experiences the whole environment is turned upside down by a thundering electric guitar with only a split second of transition between it and the previous calamity, ensuring a devastating back-to-life effect that is both cynical and crushing. In the same moment, rumbling Tambourines underscores the effect, to create a march that eventually reaches conclusion with a loud snare/cymbal crack from Lars Ulrich's drums, the last note is made even more haunting by a short epic horn play, it gives the impression of a vicious resurrection of a sudden mystic power, like the visceral awakening of a slumbering, long-forgotten evil. All this happens in only three seconds, which shows the depth and the understanding of Michael Kamen (the symphony conductor), immediately after this short 'transition' the music ferociously recite the verse riff (NOT the main riff), a heavy riff with a sort of a military seriousness to it, after a full bar James Hetfield comes on the vocal, in a melody that is both wailing and sadly mourning, the sort of reaction you'd expect from a mother who's throwing fits over the dead son, he sings in high-pitched, multi-layered shots : 'And it feels right this time'. The first verse mainly resembles the youth's life, with the loud, dense collaboration of rock and classical furiously ensuing the heating, blazing atmosphere of a wild life revisited in retrospective. The mourner then proceeds to shout some of life's best virtues, in cynical, agonized bites laid together in an abrasive, animal satisfaction and simplicity 'and it feels right this time/ on this crash course feel the big time! /pay no mind to the distant thunder/beauty fills his head with wonder, boy' stating the viewpoint of that said careless individual. When he reaches the verse's end 'Good day to be alive he says' he increases his intensity on the last syllable of 'says' while the symphony proceeds to lift up, then the vocal echoes to create a sort of a dissolving effect as the guitars slow down, the spirit of life is suddenly faltered, and vanishes in a puff of smoke, out of which silently the haunting guitar line of the introduction is reintroduced while James Hetfield leaks the sadness he's conjured in a low-pitch mumble, you could actually see how wild life decomposed into the nothingness implied by this chorus, which is even made more touching by the line : 'Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel / was just a freight train coming your way' It means that the distant, unclear thing up ahead of your life which you have not paid much attention to is basically the much-dreaded end, coming towards you in immeasurable speed, at the same time James pulls out an evocative vocal delay on 'way' the symphony menacingly rises up again, and a soft, assured kick drum then proclaims the impact moment, it's as if this slow moving, giant and inevitable slab of fate hits yet another piece of clay on its never-ending travel, easily plucking it away from the frail roots it had fermented earth with. James repeats the chorus line with percussion and a more refined angelic surrounding, with Jason Newsted's bass remorsefully throbbing a few reflective notes before the whole set is pulled back to the pit again, this time the lyrics deal with outcome of the man's mindless life and where it had led him: 'Does it feel right like this?/ All the pieces fall to his wish!' the 'his' in here is either a tribute to God, meaning that eventually everything happens according to God's will, or the other way around, stating that Devil finally got you and all the things he fed you with finally worked, probably the latter is more accurate as in the next line he blames the deceased for his easy trickery into life's 'quick reward', which, however, could imply God's reproach or devil's denial. After another repetition of the chorus, James struts a bit on the warning line 'It's coming your way', all this, however diminishes when compared with the song's bloody climax: After having Kirk Hammett (lead guitarist) play the silent intro guitar distorted –which creates a sort of a bottled suffering, with James's guitar behind descending into minor keys- the song then reaches the final point, undeniably the best part of the whole song, while at the surface the tension is mercilessly released with an out-of-control Hetfield frantically screaming the chorus line in paint-peeling high-pitch saturated with high voltage energy that would put any nearby Celine to shame while his guitar textures paint a chaotic mood underneath his bellows, the actual undertones is very much in precise control, the symphony tackles the dramatic apocalypse with a few violin notes, which paves the way for Kirk to repeat his distorted intro trick, it achieves the sort of fulfillment the song needs. After this heartfelt outpouring of the chorus, the set repeats the principal riff, and ends on a rising violin note underscored by grumbling tambourines. A sad lament to a deceased individual, and a big warning sign to everyone who is willing to listen. I still remember how it threw me upside down; I never knew anything about music other than it's just a way of spending just a fun time. This one literally blew me away (I kid you not, the actual analysis of this classic took me about six months, before that, I just listened, but I never expected the impression to be so awesome, I was too lowbrow to express my feelings anyway) and eventually it changed my whole outlook on music as not just a tool for having fun, all the silly, kitschy pop music seemed absurd and meaningless, it frightened me that a band with such depth, detail and intelligence actually exists, and if only a tenth of music was as good! It also harbored an as-yet-unexplored interest in classical music, often touted as the highest form of music. It taught me to carefully examine artistic works: books, photos, pictures, songs. Everything had whole new dimensions upon closer inspection. Consequently I found out that this line of thought has even influenced my usual real life relationships and social judgment of persons. Given the song's genuine impressions, it's hard to believe that it is also one of Metallica's most accessible works, while most Metallica classics would take a dozen listens to comfortably sit within the mind, this one could be absorbed in just a few listens, with little details slowly cropping up with each listen, ensuring the song's long lifetime. No Leaf Clover's most noticeable trait is contrast. The contrasting themes between harsh life and silencing death are so strongly realized on all aspects of the song: the music is hard rock on the verses, disproved by the symphonic laid together focal chorus; the vocal is an agonized, mindless simulation of ecstasy done in screeching high-pitch at verses, while at the chorus it's so solemn, peaceful and low-pitch it's hard to believe they came from the same vocalist, this theme is even engrossed in the lyrical context: from the barks of an underdog to the metaphors of a philosopher, even the title -'No Leaf Clover' is the diagonal opposite of a four leaf clover, a luck sign- is a contrast in itself.Several other theories have been discussed as of the actual meaning behind the song (the band rarely gives out interpretations of their songs) including a war theme (Metallica has often written anti-war songs, particularly in the 80s) and just plain, indefinite bad luck, but the song's epic, larger-than-life atmosphere and high musical vocabulary allows no compromises; it deals with the highest form of the old good-and-bad conflict, the most important of humanity's struggles.

A Faith Restored

ANYONE who's been following this blog would have no difficulty finding out that I am as optimistic about Iraq as a dead skunk on the side-road, all the books that I read, all the things I see and hear everyday, from friends, from TV, from parents, all serves to confirm my deductions about the future of the country-to-have-been. You could only imagine my own shock as I found myself trying hard as a I can to resist swelling tears as I was watching the Iraqi team win the semifinal on a penalty shot against South Korea, looking up, I realized something, none of the players were smiling...

They were all crying too.

It was magical, as if they were all thinking the same thing as I am. This is not a regular victory, this is a bittersweet one, a deeper, more meaningful one. To me, that was a 'born-again' movie moment, something which definitely was one of those moments that make life worth living. I did not even care if they won the final, as that moment had singlehadedly convinced me in a very practical manner of something I was dilligently trying to shed my skin away from all this past period : that one can love his country with no strings attached whatsoever - but they did win the final in a historic match.
If you do recall correctly, A similar event presented itself when Iraqi singer Shadha Hasoon won the StarAcademy contest, another event that was trumpeted up our helpless asses as a figure that Iraq was still strong, my reaction was audibly toilety. As a matter of fact, I was not basking alone in my cave of contempt but a great portion of people felt the same way, so why should football, yet another leisure-time concept imported from the infidel West, trigger such emotions? While both singing and football are universal delights, football is too embedded in the national consciousness to be regarded as a 'western import' now, even though some half-brained clerics occasionally try to voice that idea, football has nothing that could be considered as in explicit violation of religious decrees, and it found its die-hard audience as the number 1 sport in most of the world countries, including Iraq.

Here's something interesting: I went out after the game to the commercial Rabia district, where scores of Iraqis gathered shouting and chanting in front of the most popular Iraqi restaurant, Qassim Abu il-Kass, I even shared a bit into the 'mosh-pit' of people jumping up and down and it was all fine for about 10 or 15 minutes, and that's when this black 4x4 came in out of nowhere, somebody was standing on top of it, and he was holding a picture of Saddam Hussein, he was shouting at the top of his voice only for one thing: "our blood, our soul, we sacrifice to you Saddam" (which is hugely ironic, since "we" are still alive and chanting), a few chimed in this, but i believe most did not, and in fact it generated a counter-chant (our blood, our soul, we give to you Iraq), I was revelling with disgust and I really considered hurling a shoe at the picture of the man who was the only one sacrificed so far, but it didn't last long, since the Jordanian security guards came, very angry and rugged, and started dispersing the crowds, they took about a dozen young men for charges ranging from holding the Iraqi flag, talking back, and beating a daff (tambourine like thingie), they may have had a right to disperse us, as the street was a major commercial one and it was clogged bad, but their most violent, uncouth method of doing so was certainly reflective of the solidarity of the Arab nations, and it is really nice if compared to this picture taken in Sweden, where the people there are perhaps 1/10 of the ones in Jordan but the celerbation there was 10 times as bigger, allegedly WITH the help of the police, who closed the place for them (click to enlarge):

Yes, I do realize that probably it may have no effect on the bloodbath back home, and things could be darker than one would ever imagine, but what this thing did for me, and hopefully for many other Iraqis, is that it reminded us that there is indeed something that is common between all of us that is real and genuine, a deep chord that is resonating still inside, whether it was already present and we lost it, or whether we are all hoping for that could transpire practically in the future, in any case, for the first time in my life, I believe in Iraq with conviction, and that is certainly enough.

NOTE: This seminal Zeyad post includes a lot of pictures about worldwide Iraqi celebrations , the ones in Jordan feature the Saddam picture i was talking about as well as a hazy YouTube video of the Jordanian security episode.

God is listening.

I briefly interrupt my Ali al-Wardi postings to proclaim something that I realized while I was chatting yesterday with a friend, god exists, because:

A. I say so
B. We were talking about Azuz's lung cancer. My friend, a Christian doctor of high calibre, said that he'd give Azuz four months, as you know and I vaguely knew, cancer is extremely difficult if it is discovered later, this is especially true for lung cancer, and Wikipedia says that the 5-year survival rate for lung cancer patients is 14%. As you would lovingly noticed, I put Abdilaziz al-Hakim's name first on my God's Dead Pool on the right, miracle? Allah be praised. To celebrate this, I have decorated Azuz's name in yellow, much to the disdain of my sectarain friend, Shaqawa.

If indeed al-Hakim bites one last cigarette and goes in search for his lost brother, this would create a very vague power vaccum at Badr/SIIC/UIA, first, Hakim Jr, a smiling dude who looks a lot like high-school homosexual cannon fodder, is highly unqualified for this task, there are a lot of hawks at SCIRI, sorry, SIIC so while they cannot risk not crowning Uday, I'm sorry, Ammar's hand because the heavyweight clerical Hakim name means unquestioning public approval, my guess is that he would be a puppet in the hands of someone much more agile. Hadi al-Amiri, head of Badr Corps, is butch, and there's also one of the most wicked faces i ever saw, Jalal al-Din al-Sagheer. One can never forget somebody like Big Bear-double Adil Abdulmahdi, so it's a very interesting issue. Anyway, I am going to pray now. oh God, look at the rest of the list, NEXT NEXT NEXT!

CCNA and dating in Jordan

I was busy studying for my CCNA finals which I finished this week, I got 987 out of 1000. Naturally, this absence resulted in a lot of ideas for this blog, which might prove somewhat different. Anyway, I am a Cisco Certified Network Associate now, thank you ladies, all I have to do is find a job now. Getting a job in Jordan is highly difficult for Iraqis, as is everything else. On other personal news, I was interviewed for getting a 'G' passport about one week ago, I am supposed to get it next month. I have heard so much about this mythical document, so I wonder what will happen if I got it, maybe things will never be the same again. Also, I never knew I was that striking, two weeks ago, my dentist's Palestinian secretary started flirting with me, I wasn't used to it and she wasn't that cute. I met an Iraqi girl living in Jordan online, and three days later we hung out on a 'date', she was very strange - first she was one year older than me, and second she took me to all those empty places where I could do whatever I felt like if I wanted to, and third her style of dress was very conservative. After the date, she came online and said: 'what do u think if someone like you was 'engaged' to someone like me. Unfortunately she wasn't that cute either and her shameless begging for it made me disrespect her in no small amount, I kept turning her down for three times and she still calls me every once in a while. To top it off, I was waiting at the bus stop the other day for a bus at 7:30 PM in a cloudy cold evening with another man. After 10 minutes the dude, who was dressed neatly and had shaved his head, started pacing to and fro around me, in the end he offered me a cigarette and then said politely in an Iraqi accent: 'Want a job?'
I paused. 'What kind of job, friend?'
He paused. 'Come up to my appartment with me and I will tell you everything in an hour's time.'
Huh? What the hell? 'Why don't u you just tell me here friend.'
'I know what you mean' at this point some white car drove up to him, and he was prepared to get inside it, polite and slender as only non-heterosexual Iraqis can be, he continued 'but you won't understand what I am talking about and why I can't tell you right here until you meet my supervisor.'
I didn't know orgies had supervisors. Hey, I got a CCNA, maybe I can be your orgy's IT manager. 'No thank you', for a moment, a fleeting impulse that craved a break from the daily routine and sought adventure told me to go ride with him and see what happens, but the dude was too big for me and I don't think I could have outsmarted him or outfought him if things turn prissypants - and he might have had other means for which I am no match.
Iraqis also make fun of Jordan as 'Lot's People', as a slander because homosexuality is supposedly persistent around here, and also because maybe I think the anicent city of Lot is there, anyway, it is a little bit depressing and telling that the first gay man I meet in Jordan is a well-fed Iraqi.

Sarafiya Bridge

Yes, I'm angry, no time to be suave anymore. al-Sarafiya bridge is demolished. This is exorcism of some demons. not a real post, if u don't like it, fuck you.

Before I heard of what happened, I was watching an interview with a very disturbed individual, Mr. Mohammed al-Faydhi, the reason is that he is very disturbed is that he represents the Association of Muslim Armed Cars, better known as Muslim Scholars.
Some people get their fix when they bash America, but that's getting kinda stale in my opinion, and others just love throwing their feces eastward at the yellow-winds of the Persian Saffavids, but my personal venegance is against those fucking assholes who still shout those empty slogans such as 'Resistance', or 'Jihad'. Very arrogant, stubborn people without any vision for the future, all they care about is 'getting the occupation what', and then what? then what you motherfucker?!? THen what Khalid Jarrar?!? then what? The reason I was getting my teeth together was his explanation for the Muslim Gays position on al-Qaeda.

"Our position is clear, we support everyone who is against the American occupation but we condemn all the murders of innocent Iraqis, al-Qaeda entered at the beginning and did some very honourable deeds against the Americans, but afterwards they were infiltrated by people who began targeting innocent Iraqis."

Koss Ummak Ya Ibn al Sharmoota. So if a person kills 100 Iraqis and then kills 1 American then he should be lauded, this is the same reasoning which I used to hear from the Badrists and the Sadrists back in the day. Oh Yes, we are good people with honest deeds but we are infiltrated by some minority that does not represent us, as we represent the will of the Iraqi people. then do something about it, you Dickless Diaperhead...I just wish that you all will join the fate of that sadistic motherfucker right now where they're piling the molten lava that they could muster in his glorious netherend in the nether-realm.
And then a friend came and told me about Sarafiya Bridge - and as I saw the picture of that great strucutre on which I tread upon many days of my life, I just couldn't take it anymore. I'm really afraid of what might happen if structures I really care such as Imam Ali in Najaf or Abu Haneefa in Adhamiya are destroyed, now I can understand how Shiites felt when al-Askari was destoryed, it's horrible, just horrible i tell you, I pictured myself wearning the same armed belt, the same grenades and going around here to find where the fuck does that sick fuck Harith al-Dhari lives so I can just give him the taste of his medicine once and FOR ALL. What use is us? All we do is just sit around and do nothing as our country is destroyed by those pigs, those monkeys, those apes, Remember why I was so pissed off about that Star Academy bimbo? Because when al-Askari shrine happened I was really optimistic about the Sunnis and Shiite finally proving to the world that it doesn't matter like I always thought it doesn't, I was optimistic about all the joint prayers and I cursed fellow bloggers but then again I was proven how little do I know! So when I watched those 7 million asses voting and lauding it as some big deal I get a serene sense of Deja Vu, Fuck you Shada Hasson and fuck all the gay 7 million Iraqis who think you mean something...I'm beyond hate, beyond insanity now, beyond everything.

Iraqi Resistance and the US plan

Dear reader,

I'm gonna tell you something that all the Iraqis who pretend they're full of pride and shit don't tell you, every Iraqi who knows what's good for him wants the US military plan to happen - it's a known fact today that while US soldiers do occasionally rape 15-year-olds and add naked photos of our hairy butts to their family albums, they are still infintely more trustworthy than any Iraqi soldier from anywhere. When an American soldier knocks on your door for a search, you go 'oh thank god' but when Iraqis do the same, you are instantly on your toes. Forget about all those Iraqis and Arab bloggers who live outside or have never been in there recently, they don't know what it is like - Iraq is dead - we are living in a newfound, and very real, age of sect. The intellects and all the other deadbeats like you and me who do nothing but bitch about how Iraq is great and how we had a beautiful country before the war are having a hard time accepting this, but they're going to have to deal with it.
The American forces are the only forces that are to be relied upon in Iraq, as sloppy and careless as they are, because they don't have anything personal against Abu Haneefa or Musa al-Kadhim, I may have comitted national blasphemy by saying this, but it's 100% better to be honest than a nationalist hypocritical asswipe like most Arabs and Iraqis are. First step towards healing is diagnosis. I really hope they completely remove Sadr City and Adhamiya from the map.

Adhamiya

Ahh, my age-old district. How much I loved you and how much today I come to despise you, for harboring all those Saddamists and criminals who masqueraded under the glorious name of resistance, yes I did support them but only because I was afraid of the Anees & Badr Corps.
The other day, during the same day when Zeyad's brother reported a death of his neighbor, I actually lost a relative, the holy rockets which have been blissfully directed by the Hidden Imam, may Allah hasten his alarm clock, has finally managed to kill my aunt's husband's brother. You wanna hear something funny?

He was a Shiite, 100% to the bone, and the only Shiite linegae in our honest-to-Abu Haneefa Sunni family.

How I got the news? I woke up at 7 AM the next day, my mother came and told me immediately....I have cried like crazy over my four dead friends, and I was very upset about the death of a number of people, but that day I glanced uninterestingly...and then I shrugged, I said: 'Serves him right. He should've went out of the hellhole a long time ago.'

The fact that I didn't even bother to write about it then gives you an idea of how much emotional I got all about it. Death is to us a fact of life - examine the beautiful irony in the previous sentence. How did I become like this? I have attained the languid unconsciousness of an assassin with all the insecrutiy and the tight-sealed anger sown deep down inside. I am ready to do atrocities without flipping an eyelid if you want me to. Maybe if I was stupid and immature I would've already been with the rest of em, carrying an AK-47 I don't know how to use correctly in front of our local mosque, praying very little and cursing very much while exchanging short semi-porno clips on my latest Nokia mobile. Glorious be my crusade nevertheless, for I am an Iraqi Resistance.


Here are some of my other news which I didn't care much to say :

About a month ago, another college friend of mine was near killed in a bus stop, he was riding a minivan heading towards a Shiite district, al-Jowadir, when the beloved Iraqi resistance came and showered everyone with the bullets of mercy, ending their pitiful existence as sheep waiting for the slaughter, the bullet has come for you, Nameer - but Nameer had a thick butt, and the bullets couldn't get through him - they tore through every non-critical part of his body but they left his heart, lungs, head and penis intact, so he could continue to live as a decent human-being - he did lose his left hand though, and he is a lefty.
As Borat would've said : "High Five!"...oops, sorry I forgot you don't have a hand anymore.

and also I forgot to mention the lovely incident of Ubada, another college friend of mine who is also a glorious resident in Adhamiya, and precisely at the Sifeena, home of the most glorious freedom fighters - this Ubada is a bearded guy with blue eyes who likes to frequent the mosques and distribute Sunni bloc Accordance Front fliers, and one day his pop tells him to go bring something from his auntie's empty house, as she was a smart woman and left Iraq about a few months ago, little did poor Ubada know, but the house was rigged by the beautiful Iraqi resistance in case the infidels come in to try and search it.

The limbs that were once Ubada were collected and buried at Abu Haneefa mosque, so long, martyr, too bad you didn't have any pussy in your short 21-years-old life while you were busy doing all that mosque touring, well, maybe in heaven with your 77,000 virgins.

7 Taxis: Examinations Into Society

The first taxi I rode was on 10:45 AM. He was mostly silent, the only conversation we had was:

"Directly to the university?"
"Yes."
....
"Mighty cold, don't you think."
"Mmm-hmm."

----------------------------------

The second taxi I rode was on 11:10 AM. He was an old man with a knack of interfering in everything. I am with my grandmother, she wants to buy something from a poor person who sells calendars at the traffic stop.

Me : "That's expensive."
Granny : "Well, he is standing on God's door." (meaning he's really poor)
Driver: "Yes. Sure there are those people who will trick you instantly upon knowning that you are Iraqi, but this guy like the hajja here says is on God's door."
Me : "Yea."
Driver: "Poor thing, he stands there all day trying to make a living, and then they come and bust him, while the real thieves in the suits and the houses, and nobody does a thing to them."
Me: "They bust him because they can..."
I explain to him the intricate crime/begging network in Iraq.
Driver: "You know, what is happening to Iraq is that, there is a lot of money and hence everybody's fighting over it, and when a guy needs support, he coaxes all angry on Palestine."
Me : "You're right." This was an allusion to Saddam, clearly. Perhaps this guy is Jordanian, cuz usually Palestinains are gung-ho Saddamists.
Driver: "While in Palestine they are poor, they have nothing, they can't do anything."
Me : "I guess." That meant he was Palestinian. Weird.
He was a nice guy, insisted on driving us all the way to the door.

I dropped off my Grandmother at the embassy and went to do some errand at 11:15 AM, The third taxi driver was brooding, he was stone-chipped and wore a traditional Jordanian headdress like he needed to tell me something bad, but the conversation wasn't going where he wanted. We were talking about money.

Me: "But you know what I found out, money can buy everyone - there's no such thing as integrity in the world anymore."
Taxi Driver: "No such thing. My friend, are you Iraqi?"
"Yeah"
"Those people you were saying are not all people, there are still people who are genuine, who will not give up their traditions." His accent was bedouin, which suggested something important about his origins.

A guy in a Land Cruiser was reversing his car nearby, the taxi driver took the chance and belted out what he really needed to say.

"Goddamm peasant thinks he's rich, those Palestinians, let me tell you about them - they shied away from their lands, sold it to the Israelis, like a bunch of faggots, and they come here coaxing like they got a lot of money. Son of a bitch - You were plowing farms all your life...you look at me son when I tell you, these people can be sold at the whim, but the genuine article (it wasn't hard to know who he was referring to by that) keeps to his pricinples and traditions. They come in here with their fake phoney modern accents 'A'ollak' wu 'Ulu' and all that, while we talk in the genuine Arab tongue, like you Iraqis."

I just nodded.

"Look at my haircut, this is how we cut, but these Palestinains, see their haircuts, all standing and i don't know what (spikey, but he doesn't know how to say it), and their women, those are the women who wear tight and can be bought while their parents don't care, but our women, they are true religious and wear Islamic dress."

"Okay, I think so."


1:00 PM, The fourth taxi driver was resilient and silent. We both listened to a religious lecture about Umm al-Mo'mineen Hafsa, followed by Quranic recitations.

1:45 PM, The fifth was almost a re-thinking of the fourth, I continued to listen to the recitiation.


3:40 PM, The sixth was a bearded guy that screamed Islam. But he was easygoing and nice, this combination reminds me of my father's old friends, who have a favourable impression on my childhood.

Me: "So what do you think about Iraq?"
Taxi: "When the fitna (tensions) spreads, it spreads, and everything in the end works for the benefit of the Americans."
Me: "That's not the real problem, if we were strong people, we wouldn't have been affected, what we need today is good examples and to lessen these tensions. these horrible tensions."
Taxi: "But what brings these tensions?"
Me: "The cruelty of the leaders."
Taxi: "Exactly."
Me: "Brtutality does not solve anything, that is an old lesson learned from the days of al-Hajjaj, isn't it? You see, most people here hate Shias, but they are still Muslims just like us. right?"
Taxi: "You are absolutely correct." This was very unusual. It was my stop.

I tipped him extra.

11:30 PM, The seventh guy kept silent in a scary way, he's ask brief questions ominously that seemed to be going badly.

"My brother is Iraqi...?"
"Yes."
..........
"Where from?"
"Baghdad."
"You're Shiite, I guess?"
"What? Why? No." This was surprising, he probably wanted to lull me into assurance, but he kinda failed as he was asking in a very unnatural, careful way.
-----
"I just hear stuff about Baghdad being Shiite."
"It will be soon."
"Yeah, Shiites took it now."
"Yeah, Shiites."
....
"So I wanna know if that guy is Shiite or not, how will I?"
"Various things, name, dress, accent...you can't know unless u'r Iraqi."
....
"So, how many Sunnis are there in Iraq?"
"about 15-20%"
.....
"Hmmm...."
I was very sick of this by now. His talk rekindled memories of the taxi drivers in Iraq.
-----
"May God curse the Shiiites, you know how I know when a guy is Shiite, when he starts telling me : There's no differnece, we're all Iraqis - we're all united."
"But you should know...err...it's somewhat....true, even if they have some mistakes, they are still Muslims, you hate..er...Shiites because you have not lived with any all your life, you think that...er...you know..err...this sort of thinking is what crippled Iraq my friend."
"Yeah." He retorted, probably thinking I'm Shiite after all.

I walked out with a bad taste in my mouth, all I wanted to do was bust his head on the windshield, but I have a nature of being prudent with taxi drivers, something one learns from Iraq. I hated myself because I could not do anything about it. I am wary of all this hate, of all this name-calling when everyone is to blame.

I promise you, that on the next taxi fare, I won't shut up.

Omar's Oddyssey

---------------------------------------------------
This is a translation of the Arabic posted a week ago
----------------------------------------------------

In the past, I didn't want to leave Iraq - earlier to February 2006, life was difficult, but in a way, Iraqis got used to it, after my friends were killed, it took on a whole new meaning, and two days after the last friend passed to the world beyond, I heard this story, it was all I needed to know that there is no life for me here anymore.

Had this story told by anyone other than a guy that I know won't talk crap to me, I would have immediately called it off as typical Iraqi exaggeration one way or the other, Omar may have exaggerted as some point or the other - as it simply involves pretty much everything and everyone you see on TV - and much, much more! You are probably so bored of individual Iraqi death stories by now but this one simply crosses the Rambo line.

WARNING: This story has a happy ending.

------------------
ENTRY
------------------

An oddyssey normally refers to the mythical trip undertaken by Odysseus in ancient Greek literature, where he encounters strange beings and nameless creatures on his way back home. The following real-life story has been narrated to me by a friend of mine, Omar, one hot morning in Baghdad, and if it doesn't qualify as an honest-to-Homer Oddyssey, I don't know what does.
Omar is my Kia driver, he is my age, but have dropped out of high school midway through and started a carrier as a plumber, before buying a Kia and starting this 'line'. He is mentioned earlier in my blog, in this post. Omar is a streetwise kind of guy, but in the same time he is such a sweet lad, despite his constant swearing and sun-burned tan that suggests back-alleys, his green eyes betary a niceity which I have seen very little of these days.
One day, Omar's mother, his sisters, and two younger brothers (one born 1987, the other 1990) were all taking a taxicab from now-infamous Adhamiya, unfortunately, the taxi dude turned out to be a chewer, (i.e. a person who's connected to a criminal organization one way or the other, the traditional menaing of chewer indicates the middle man between regular people eligible for kidnap and murder, and the interested gangs) The Chewer delievered them to their Grandfather's house safe, but, perhaps on knowning that they are Sunni in someway, or perhaps of something they might have said, the guy returned with 3 pick-up trucks, broke the door and took the two boys away.
Omar wasn't around at the time, his mother called him weeping and sobbing, after knowning what has occured, he hurried back home, took a Shiite friend of his, who we shall call Salim, and went as fast as he could to an area in Baghdad now known as The Presidential, where a Sadr office is located. By the time he undertook this quest, the time was 9:00 pm, way past the curfew, he was stopped by several checkpoints, frenzily explaining his story he would be let go by the soldiers, at one point he asked them for help, but whenver the words 'militia' was heard, faces would recoil in fear and he would just be let through.
Upon reaching the presidential area, Omar lost his grip and his friend Salim took over driving, the area was barren and empty, like all of Baghdad, after roaming around for a few blocks lost they found a drunk guy, who answered in a drunk, overconfident "Hell, yeah! Sure I know where the office is!!!" They picked him up, and despite his drunk incongruence, he sure knew where the office is. However, The office was just as desolate and unhospitable as everything else is.
At this particular moment, Omar's frustration bubbled to the surface, and he let loose in massive frantic that cursed all the Shiites on the face of the earth, he kept on screaming, yelling and shouting until the glorious pick-up trucks came back to the office, and beat them inside it. Omar and Salim took a few cables, but the militiamen beat the shit out of the drunk guy, while on duty, in sync with the religious ideology of the Mahdi's army - they assume a very hostile tone to alcohol. That done, Omar and Salim were separated for questioning.

-What's your name?
-Omar. he gave that up, cuz they already looked in his ID
-You Sunni or Shiite?
-Shiite (cable slashes across his body)
-Don't talk shit to me now.
-Sunni....Sunni....
-What brought you here?

Omar told him his whole story, the tale was filled with joyful intermissions exercised by the investigator on Omar's thin, frail body. After the investigator got tired, they brought Salim, who looked like he's been treated with a similar reception, and then shortly afterwards came the Sayyid.
Sayyid is the 'religious authority' in the office, he's the guy with the turban, all militiamen cowered in respect, he asked the two about their names, and then quickly issued his verdict. "Those people are terrorists, go to Sadda and kill them very well."

------------------------
MEANWHILE.....
------------------------
Man: What is your name?
Omar's youngest bro: Mazin
Man: Are you a Salafi (Wahhabi)?
Mazin : No.
Man: Do you love Ali?
Mazin: Yes.
Man: Curse Omar.
Mazin: (curses Omar)
Man: Tell me what you know about the 'brave resistance'?
Mazin: I don't know anything....
(Man falls with a sledgehammer deep on Mazin's fingernails....a horrible shriek comes from Mazin, as broken nails are driven deep inside his own flesh in a mess of blood.)
Man (laughing): Good. The Mujahideen has taught you not to speak.

Afterwards, Mazin has heard the name of that man, when Omar told it to me, it was the first time I ever heard of it, but I would hear it countless and countless times after that.
The man's name was Abu Dera'.

----------------------
SADDA
----------------------
The executioner took the two unfortunate men and hurled them inside Omar's own minivan (Kia), they were blindfolded, he switched the ignition, and the car was filled with Hussam al-Russam's Iraqi party music, he quickly turned it off and murmuered in anger, and the car now headed to Sadda. Sadda is an area in Sadr City that serves as the execution ground for the Mahdi's army, Omar has now gone from crumbling despair through unflinching anger into silent oblivion. But his friend Salim kept talking to the man every now and then.

-Sir, where are we going.
-Sadda.
-How long yet?
-Soon. ...
-Sir, are you going to kill us?
- ....

The sir didn't answer, and his silence soon grew until it horribly engulfed the whole car, Omar became certain of his destiny at that moment, and he began reciting the Shahadas (couplets recited by Muslims upon death) as quickly and repeatedly as possible, he said that all he was thinking about at that particulalr moment of time was how his mother has wound up with losing all her sons together, he just wanted to have once last chance to see her and tell her goodbye.
The car reached the Saddah, the man descended and took the two silent boys to the ground, he took his gun out, reloaded....and then his mobile rang out. The caller ordered the man to stop the execution but continue routine investigation. It seems that Salim's father has connections, and his connections worked at just the right time.

As I told Omar, and as Iraqis normally would say, Omar has "the luck of bitches."
They were transferred from in various cars afterwards, until finally reaching an air-conditioned prison, the drunk man was reinstated in the shithouse, though.
After a merciful investigation that didn't involve attempts to connect coaxial cables with Omar's asshole, a man came smiling sociably and said: "Amoori, we apologize, you're free to go."
"What about my brothers?"
"They are doing well and alive in Sadr City. Don't worry, they will return soon."

For the first time that night, Omar exhaled.

------------------------------
OUTSIDE
------------------------------

Omar and Salim came out at 3 AM, like wet dogs in the rain, they rode Omar's Kia and proceeded down the road, but no sooner than they had crossed a few blocks that a swarm of bullets was being fired at them by local generator guards who mistook them for thieves. Omar pointed to the side of his Kia and sure enough, a nice line of holes decorated the side of the dark purple van. After they were well out of the way, they were met by, lo and behold, the old bandits of the streets! the average carjackers...four Opels flashed their headlights in the distance before Omar managed to use his experience as a Kia driver and dodge them around some side-streets, eventually ditching the car in some dump and spending the night at a friend's house.

Omar arrived in his house in Adhamiya the next day, to find that 2 brothers have already arrived before him, the older one wasn't tortured much, they only used his face as an ashtray, putting them out on his mouth, cheeks, nose and eyelids....but the youngest.....

the youngest was another story, a horror story, Abu Der'a's sledgehammer has made good memories out of his fingernails, and had transformed his knee-joints "Soaps, in Arabic" into actual soaps. His back was filled with light drill marks here and there....and whatever was left of him was filled with all sorts of mischief. He was immediately transported to Adhamiya's major hospital, al-Numan.

By noon, Omar's modest household was filled with all sorts of people - family relatives, friends and other people....soon, a group of men who Omar described as "al-Mujahideen" came smiling and tender, Omar's voice beamed with pride as he talked of the way one of them, upon wrapping up their diplomatic mission, swore to Omar that they'd make them pay back by 'hijacking a bus of Shiites.'

-----------------------------

"But, but, is that right?" I said to Omar in a low voice that came from the depths of some unrealistic pool that felt like an obligation, a laughable imitation of the corny, fake stuff they put on television.

"You're right, sure sure...I even told them so..." Omar's voice was just as dead.

NOTE: This story is happy, because nobody is killed - that's how far can a story be considered 'happy' in Iraq.

Mixed Emotions

On the end of my last post, I wrote: "and I can't wait to see what happens next, Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life"

and what a day!

The storm gathered by yesterday's evening...and by the time it was certain...I was too tired and went to sleep, I went to sleep at 2 AM...thinking that sometimes during my sleep, the most famous Iraqi of the 20th century will be executed...

I woke up at 9, mumbled Happy-eids to parents, then headed straight to the TV...and I recieved the images...the first thing that struck me was how unbelievable this was...Saddam was a part of my everyday patterns as a human being, I woke up, ate, drank, shat, slept, and Saddam is the undefeatable tyrant that never dies. It was hard, hard, hard to know that Saddam is no more, he was arrested, humilitaed and sentenced to death and I didn't feel much - but to know that he is gone is very strange - He was a given fact of life! and now he's dead...This doesn't happen in the world that I normally inhibit...

I also must say that from all the people that ruled Iraq at any given time, I do not hate any of them as much as I hate Saddam Hussein - through his stubborn Great Leader complex he has made us suffer so much, and pretty much a lot of the blame for the distingeration of Iraq as a fabric can be laid squarely on his shoulders, but while I was seeing these images, I had to keep reminding myself how much I hated Saddam Hussein, because they were flat-out disgusting. The problem of our politicians is that they always have to ruin the good stuff with the bad stuff, Mowafaq al-Rubay'ie, the national security advisor, said that Saddam looked very weak and pathetic while he was taking his final steps, but in the images I watched he looked just as brave, magnificent and charismatic as ever, despite his great evils, I must say that Saddam Hussein is the bravest guy that ever ruled Iraq. The problem is that Saddam is an extremely charismatic figure, he can drive many people to inspiration and is simply the most bravest man of all his opponents, Muwafaq, al-Maliki, al-Jaafari and al-Hakim wouldn't stand for two seconds alone with this guy, they all ran weeping to Americans...It's just, unfair, that they should be sing-songing like this while not only are they as cruel as he, but they are nowhere as brave or influential as him.
While I think that Saddam deserves a thousand hangings, I completely disapprove of the way they have handled this - they chose a very bad timing for it, the holy Eid is a day of joy, of happiness, of forgiveness, people do not want to start their day by watching a man insulted a thousand times with a rope at his neck, true, I completely understand the fact that there are hundreds of families who are glad to see Saddam suffer and die like their sons and families did, but they are not all Iraqis, and they are not all people, and true, maybe Shiites would feel there might be a religious conrguence for this timing as it is harmonious with the vengeful nature of Shiite Islam, as hatred of tyranny and cruel avengance are major pillars in their sect, but with the confusion of Iraqis everywhere and growing tensions, such delicate matters should not be handled as bluntly as they were when all the other people watch these images accompanied by the whole lot of insults and curses, on such a holy peaceful occasion, the feeling they give you is one of complete injustice and being cruller than the man they are hanging.

The joy that could have been to see Saddam executed was lost in the bad conditions to which Iraq is heading, from a strategic point of view, Saddam's killing could go a long way in dispiriting Baathists, as Baath is largely a personality cult - it is without doubt a significant hit to morale, but it still remains unknown how far could this psychologically curb them.

As for our naive Arab brothers here and Jordan, they completely condemned and rejected the sentence, they lost a 'great Arab leader who was the only one with balls' - yeah, Saddam did stand up, but look at the price we paid for that little hypocrisy of his.

I am sure many Iraqis have been relieved at the execution, and they have every right to, but it's a shame that this sight has saddened many others by the stupid way it was handled.

I don't know of a precise word for my feelings - Little if at all joy, unbelieving numbness and extreme disappointment. I've always wanted Saddam to be killed, but the guy had a way of making you feel sorry for him.

UPDATES: Here is the complete Saddam execution video that was partly aired on al-Jazzeera network from Kitabat.com, it's shot using a mobile phone by one of the guards, and it shows how his neck was broken in the end, the guard who shot it stands at the western side of the room - two other version have resurfaced, the other is from the right side of the room and was broadcast at Al-Sharqiya TV (bad audio quality though), while the other displayed photos of Saddam after he was killed and was aired on Ibrahim al-Jaafari's Beladi TV.
also, a fellow Shiite blogger has described this execution in the perfect words, which are the words of Imam Ali himself during the Great Civil War:

"Kalimat Haqq Yuradu Biha Batil"
"A word of right that is used for an implicit wrong."

The End Of Konfusion: A Year In Review

And hereby ends another year of my life, as I am writing these words I am exactly 21 years, 3 months and 3 days old. Looking back now, I can quite confidently declare that this year was one of the most pivotal years of my entire life. A year filled with tears of joy and wails of lament, of surging pure love and utter despair and disappointment, a year that both contains both the best and worst days of my life, 356 days some of which I cherish and some I wish I never lived.

Outside, the year started as usual, badly. Fuel prices were just going to the devil and the Badr brigade was still running around as it pleases, despite with more outcries than before. Little did Iraqis know that they're in new worlds of pain and suffering, starting from the explosion of the Samarra golden dome in February 22, 2006 - in a massacre that continues to this date and only grows bloodier and more gruesome by each passing minute.
A new government was elected, the general feeling was a sick greenish one at the bottom of your stomach, many hands contained purpled fingers, but many others contained red ones. al-Jaafari found it kinda difficult that a bunch of other no-gooders will harrumph him outside his comfy chair, which was kinda getting more and more defined by his assprint - so he decided to stick as much as he can to it, before Sistani got fed up of reading these weird books in his bedroom and decided to sniff the air outside one day - his replacement, grumpy aftershave ad leftover material Nuri Kamil Abu Jowad Abu Israa Abu al Mahasain al-Maliki, proved as much ho-hokum as his predecessor, Dr. Ibrahim Abu Ahmed al-Ushayqar al-Ja'afari.
The year also witnessed other events which didn't change much in Iraq: The death of Abu Musa'ab al-Zarqawi, the end of Saddam's first trial with a death sentence, et voila. It is still a long way to go, in my opinion.

Personally, this year is perhaps the most important one in my life, aside from the year that I was born.

It started very lukewarm, until the dome explosion, afterwards, I began to gather an interest in the religious and historical sides of Islam, driven by an inherent curiosity regarding the Sunni-Shiite struggle, I gulped book after book in search of a meaning, and this have significantly reshaped my interests. I became a lot more politically motivated than before as a result of my blogging experiences with the New York Times and interaction with other fellow bloggers. In these aspects of my life, maybe a change that is bigger awaits me in the future, I feel like I want to do something, but I still do not know what that is yet.

This year contains the best day of my life: The Graduation Day, I have never felt such an exaltness and looseness in my entire life, I danced like crazy until i got too tired to stand up - maybe it's also because i felt very cool that day - Our costume was a Mexican Mariaachi, I was the only one with the long hair wig and the fake big moustaches, I was the talk of the town! I also wrote a song for the march and had the guys sing it, I felt very happy that day.
That day was June 5, 2006, six days later was the worst day of my entire life, my four friends were killed - for most people, graduation is a big thing, for me it didn't register much, because its joy was swiftly encompassed by the great sorrow that swallowed it - this event has changed my incredibly - I became very pessimistic towards Iraq's future and have now entirely different thoughts about my identity, before this year I used to think of myself as an:

1. Iraqi first, and most importantly
2. Arab second.
3. Muslim thirdly, not as important as the first two.

But today, I am:

1. Muslim first.
2. Arab second.
and I don't want to be an Iraqi, I didn't ask for being one in the first place.
The longhand explanation requires much discussions for which this year-in-review has no.
For me, "Iraqi" now is just a tag I am identified with, cuz of my dialect, the place I was born, etc- as for the emotions it conveys, it don't register here anymore. and I wonder if it ever did..actually. I am not even sad as I write this, I just want to say this out and loud for all to hear.

Let me detach myself and look at what I just wrote, you see how I have changed upside down, this is a moderate, kinda rational kid becoming more observant of his religion because of the violence, imagine what it does to those who have no education and mostly follow their emotions, and there are many channels by which extremism abounds....

Romantically, I fell in love for the second time in my entire life, and have been incredibly hurt by the experience, it was a scorching one-sided affair that ended in a very ugly way. As a rebound, I vowed never to play with people's feelings again and have finally broken up for good with my long-time ex-girlfriend (see how complex this was?)...Amazingly, I didn't sever all my ties with her yet!!!!
But I must say that romantically this year ends very happily, without giving much details away. ;)

Musically, I started actively jamming with a few chums in a no-particular-place-to-go heavy metal band, Hamballah. The project was intended to be a mini-gig at my graduation party, however, due to time constraints and intra-band friction (I love that phrase, it's like we're a real band!) the project fell apart. They did play behind my back, and the result was so cringe-inducing that it made me give up on my dream of being in a band, also, after recording a few things, I decided that I didn't have what it takes to become a vocalist/guitarist, mostly because my voice isn't up to shape - this, combined with me getting kinda bored with my playlist, made my musical interest decline considerably. Guitar is now a 3rd-level hobby, my new hobbies include blogging, history and most importantly filmmaking - I have finished my grand video project later last year, and have uploaded two short films of them at YouTube, I wanted to keep this a secret until I have uploaded other videos there, but I guess it's nice as a Christmas surprise, here.

This year also is the year I finally graduated from college, I wished to continue studying two more years in my M.Sc. studies, but the security condition has been especially unbearable for my grandparents, who decided to flee this year - also, the death of my two bestfriends left little desire for me to see the university anymore, it wasn't much worth staying around for anyway: Most of the teachers have left and the remaining close friends of mine have all left too. I wanted to continue studying because I was afraid of stepping into the real-life really, but now I have been flung into it, and I still have many things to learn. I also got me a job earlier at the beginning of this year, while it was a temp job that's not much of an experience, it's keeping me hanging around.




As you can see, this year has changed me remarkably, and it deserves the title of being the best year of my life...Most importantly, I am no longer Konfused about myself...In between the hurt of losing precious ones, being rejected, feeling love again, changing my home, I now feel like I have a purpose in life, It's not clear yet...but it's better than the earlier konfusion that was an integral part of me - lost between contradictory impulses such as girls, wanting to look cool, music, religion, family frictions.... I don't know if I should rename the blog or not, I mean - I'm still a Kid, but "Iraqi" and "Konfused" are feeling alien to me today. I feel like I am wiser and have learnt much, maybe not much - but it's a start on the journey.

It couldn't be said enough, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.

Guitar Medley: An artifact of the 'good' times

I got a recording of a medley of Iraqi songs I did with Nabil earlier this year, I think May. I'm on vocals and classical rhythm while he's on solo acoustic...What's amazing about it is that it had brought back to me a flood of good memories and nostalgia, it was only May this year!!! Did it really change that much?
This recording was done a month before the graduation party, I had an idea that I would do some sort of mini-concert and I needed a back-up player, this was a time when I thought I could persuade Nabil, a proficient player in his own right, to play with me, I did it with somebody else in the end and it was a great step down from what I had in mind, but still...in some ways, this is a hallmark for one of the best days of my life, if not THE best ever, the graduation day, this was before my friends were killed, before several other things happened that made me hate my country and everything that is in it...
and also, it reminded of a part of myself that I thought was fading, my musical self, it's amazing how a person can change in such a short time, back then, I took myself seriously on the guitar and I was really convinced that I had a passable voice (evidently not, as u can see here -), after repeated tries, I found out that doing any musical project in Iraq surely not work out (not just because of the condition, the audience itself is largely unreceptive and would rather laugh first and throw tomatoes second)...but this short clip, in all its mistakes and amateurish charm, has somehow resurged my interest in guitar as not just something to attract chicas with.

It is a medley of five traditional Iraqi songs, thanks to Ilham al-Madfa'ie, a popular Iraqi artist whose mean feat is transcribing folk songs to western arrangements, they've been done to death on guitar, it's like a Stairway To Heaven for Iraqi musicians, you have to play them at one point or the other: Mohammed Boya Mohammed (Mohammed My Son Mohammed), Fog El Na Khal (Up There We Have A Lover), S'ghayeron (Little One) - perhaps the most sell-out song ever due to the fact that guys like Bashar al-Kaysi have sung it, and Bayn el Asir wil Maghrib (Between the Afternoon & Sunset), I didn't know the lyrics at the time for that last song, and being the naughty person that I am, have replaced them with a high-school rhyme that is lewd in a polite way (The Haji Returned From Mecca).

Nabil sings on S'ghayeron too.... Enjoy

Checkpoints

If Bush is a chimp, then al-Maliki is definitely an Orange-tang. Think about it. I don't believe in the theory of Evolution, but seeing Mr. Bush and al-Maliki tpgether was too strong a point that definitely made me reconsider.

I'm posting more often. I should stop doing this before it gets too much.
Ever since I left Iraq for Jordan, I was feeling a sense of guilt and remote detachment from what I was talking about, I was hoping that I won't be one of these people talking about things far removed from reality on the ground. It's nice to know that today the news came knocking at my doorstep.

Today, Abu al-Mahasin Abo Esraa Dawlat Prime minister Nori Juwad Kamel al-Maliki was about to meet up with George Bush. Hang on while I go get me a banana.

At 5 PM Wedesnday, my sister who was in college couldn't get inside our area, it was barricaded!!! She did manage to return 20 minutes later, but nostalgia almost made me stand up too quickly, what the? I left all checkpoints behind me in that hellhole....curious enough, I dug up a friend and arranged a hangout....
at 7 PM I was out and no sooner than a few streets away that I find a heavy entourage of police surrounding the Four Seasons hotel ; ever since the 2005 Amman explosions, the hotel has put up a 2-man checkpoint at its main entrance, today a memory-raiser Hummer (green, though) was lazily parked while about 10 men were stationed across nearby streets....all the cars parking at the nearby Arab Bank has been evacuated and they effectively cut off the hotel from the outside streets...they allowed traffic to come in at a regulated pace. As I was making my way through when a bus full of 20-policemen came into the hotel. What could be in there? doesn't King Abdullah II has a royal palace zoo for keeping these malicious simians? It could be the press, speculated mom before I left, but it's too much for that in my own opinion...could the Elephant Man Allawi be snoozing there? or maybe shit-grin Azuz? Sheeesh....The thought of al-Hakim being so near sent shivers to my spine.

Picking up my pal, we had to listen for the typical sermon of the valiant Arab hero, the Jordanian taxi-driver, after a nice exchange of the glorious Iraqis and the Arab nations, asked me where do I hail from, I replied 'Adhamiya' and he said after a moment of recognition, "yeah yeah those brave Sunni resistance" he then descended into the usual routine of calling Shi'ites as unbelievers that should be afraid of the 'Saffavids' and saying that how much we ADORE Saddam, we hate Uday because he raped women, etc etc....for the fuck of it, I told him that I was a Shi'ite. He was caught off guard for a minute and then I couldn't stand it and laughed out loud.

There was a rumor, launched by a subtite on hugely unreliable al-Zawraa TV, which has since Saddam's death sentence been following a very vocal pro-Baathist stance, going as far as broadcasting resistance videos, that Abu Der'a, the notorious Sadr City rambo, was killed. But I don't think so. and even so....what good did the death of Zarqawi do anyway?

The city in general was barren, and other hotels, such as the Days Inn, and the Radisson, which were actually attacked during 2005, did not have such security measures.

The great thing about that day though, was the movie...It's been a while since I last saw a movie that totally, totally blew me away. "The Departed" is a new entry into my picky all-time classics, it's already in my favorite gangster movie genre, reminding me a lot of Curtis's LA Confidential, another classic of mine....I never really appreciated Scorcese until now - the ending is one of the most original ever ; the unexpected, unexpected, unexpected climax generated all sorts of reactions from the crowd - the girl curled up next to me let out a gasp....I laughed out loud again! too loud this time though....but most were silent, awed.

Watch it.

Hey...looks like al-Maliki hit Bush with a pipe (Iraqi slang for dumped) for today's dinner date, I don't think it was because he wanted to shave though.

Nice going, Darwin!