Monster
Before any bitch gets all excited, no this is not in reference to Lady Gaga's song. So you can relax and take it easy with the giggles and stop doing those spastic movements like you are possessed by a gay alien.
I was a little at loss as to whether to write this post or not. I got a lot of mixed feedback on my last post, people were shocked as to how I can completely change the authorial voice, content and style of my writing to such a degree. It did feel like someone else wrote it. It is true the caustic bitterness was still there but it is definitely ten shades bitchier and much more trashy.
So this post will be an amalgamation of many things, and many events and all kinds of random shit going through my head.
Whatever the feedback was for my last post, for me it was a liberating experience.
If one think of speech acts as acts constitutive of reality, i.e. what you say makes up your reality, and that there is no existence beyond language, i.e. you are what you say, this was one of a kind experience for me.
I was relating to my identity in a way that is not unusual to me, because I do use Arabic to express my sexuality in everyday life, but that is the first time I actually write in Arabic, and in a very specific kind of Arabic, a butchered mix of gay slang and faux-educated one.
It was spunky (yes pun intended) and fun. And I enjoyed it.
And although some bitch might judge the content for being 'intellectually inferior' than my other posts, well my answer to that is: I am not writing theorizations on human sexuality, I am writing about what goes through my mind when I space out under the shower. I know some will think, 'is this what you think of when you space out under the shower??' and the answer is: yes.
I am an intellectual queen that is often mistaken for an African-American lesbian.
And I am not remotely apologetic about it.
But it is this that made me think of writing this post.
Monster as in etymological sense of it, 'a malformed creature', foreboding, inspiring a negative omen, 'monere' is to warn in Latin.
And it is in this 'made-up' creature, with various parts, that are not only different, but come from different places. I think the word شتى (Shatta) in Arabic is more accurate, as it gives a spatial dimension to it, shatta does not only mean various, but it also coming from different places and even indicates displacement as in شتات (shatat), namely diaspora.
That is what lies at the heart of it, this sense of displacement, hence the foreboding appearance, the discordant elements, that seemed to be forcibly placed together, creating this disfigurement.
This feeling does not originate based solely on interactions with the wrong gentlemen/ladies. Definitely part of it is tied to one's ego and one's perception of psychological validation, but also a part of it is intrinisically tied to self-perception and the social interactions that affirm (exacerbate?) or negate (undermine?) this perception or maybe even assumption.
And it is in these social interactions that our assumptions about ourselves and others are "corrected" or continuously redefined. (Not that I am advocating social determinism but I am subscribing to the notion that there is a constitutive capacity to social interactions that can not be ignored).
Evil Sister or The Assumption of Evil
It is no secret how exciting and frightening is the current moment in time for this country. But it is also no secret how dry and dry we all have been since the breakout of the revolution.
And this state we all arrived at, whether by choice (people really were concerned about making the revolution work) or by force (all foreigners were forced to leave the country resulting in destroying the sex lives of many girls), the result was one and the same.
We all needed a break. Or rather a ball.
And who else but Ice Queer ventures to give a party while army tanks are stationed all over the streets of Cairo?
Hands down the girl knows her shit. I have never seen such attention to detail before. She definitely went the whole nine yards and then some more.
The theme of the party was to indulge in our "uniform fetish", specifically towards the army.
It was a safe haven for all the sexually oppressed girls to go wild with their authoritarian fantasies. It is a shame though there were not any real army involved.
But anyho, I am not writing here about the party, but rather its hostess.
Who I always presume is motivated purely by indefatigable appetite for snideness and evil. And maybe as she keeps using her sloppy psychology explaining that it is me projecting or maybe it is just more convenient, mentally convenient to relegate someone to a specific stereotype, because it is easier to deal with a stereotype than to acknowlege the complexity of human psyche.
But true to her monstrosity, my Scorpio hostess combined such contradictory and perplexing traits, forcing me to see her in new light.
She was genial, warm, funny, vicious, concerned, empathetic, dismissive, selfish and a host of other things, that do not necessarily go together.
But it was a combination as such that describing her as evil or that her motivations is purely guided by evil would too superficial and untrue.
This is not me accepting the Scorpio hostess for all her flaws and imperfections, but its a complex gesture towards her, as complex the one she has showed.
Sister this and Sister that, and Sister - Fuck You! or the Assumption of Goodness
Consumption of alcohol does not only decrease psychological inhibitions and impairs judgement but it affects the brain in such a way that the ability to think of long-term planning and the consequences of one's actions is temporarily suspended.
Having said that I do not and I can not accept the argument of 'temporary intoxication' as an alibi to wrongdoing.
In our long-awaited party, I came across dear friends that I have not seen in a long time (because of how chaotic living conditions in Cairo are at the moment) and it did feel like a big gay reunion. I was genuinely happy to see those I held in such high esteem.
As I entered the party one promising prospect (I can not use the term 'gentleman') that I saw in a few other parties was making his way out as I was making my way in.
And although I always felt that he gave some signs that he was not interested, I couldn't help but sense some interest somehow. But then again of course misjudging someone's psychological cues is a classic case of a delusional mind. And my mind is definitely.
I was a little dejected knowing that my promising prospect just left the party. And I spent a good deal sulking and pulling a long face.
But since this was a party celebrating our glorious Armed Forces, the Armed Forces did not disappoint. My promising prospect was forced to come back to the party as it was passed the curfew and no vehicles were allowed to drive.
Excited and anxious, and not able to read my promising prospect behaviour very well, I confided in a dear sister, and explained to her my dilemma while she was relishing her state of exalted drunkenness, having arrived late, everyone was completely shattered and I was not even remotely tipsy yet.
She, sweet and supportive, and completely bombed offered her wise counsel, and said, 'you should definitely go for it! He is not that hard to get at all! As a matter of fact, I think he already made out with two people!'.
Horrified that my interest of the night, did not have that much discretion, I was emboldened, and decided if other bitches can have him, why can't I?
While looking for my promising prospect, I was chatting with another dear friend, and as I turned I found my sweet, supportive sister making out ferociously with my promising prospect.
Nothing embitters one sister against the other, but ruining a promising prospect.
So I stood and watched them and true to the monstrosity of it, I was unable to make any judgement. Was my assumption of her goodness mistaken? Can I blame intoxication as the one element that would motivate such a vicious act?
It was monstrous because it manifested two things so irreconcilable to me.
Sister, sister I trusted you, sister, sister - Fuck you!
Sister Soul or The Assumption of Knowing
Horribly disappointed in one friend, I still decided to go on with my plans, incestuous it might be, but it will have to do for the night.
Waiting in line for the bathroom, there he was, my promising prospect, standing all alone, I approach him and in a moment where my own fear of rejection, my fear of others knowing how I feel, and against my better judgement that was suspended by then, I ventured and kissed him.
Now I have been rejected in many various and colourful ways but I was never pushed aside before.
That would be a first.
Stupefied by the apparent, self-evident rejection and the implicit violence of pushing someone aside, the evening was ruined for me beyond hope.
But then there appears at the periphery of such an event, other possibilities of intimacy and engagement.
Friends that presumed you knew and only caught a glimpse of who they are, but in the context of a 9 hours party, where people are forced to stay together (as the roads are blocked), and in a state of profound intoxication what you think you know, is maybe not as close to the truth as you first imagined.
Standing in the kitchen, in our state of profound intoxication, we spoke of faith, love and the impossibility of belief in a situation like ours.
This was a remarkable conversation, with a lot of heart, a lot of soul and rare moment of naked truth.
We both confronted a lot of fears, complexities and what we think we know about ourselves and other people.
It was a moment of looking at our own monsters, and that was made possible by this willingness for openness, for the sister soul.
My judgement is still clouded by my inherent tendency for uniformity and consistency and I still can not understand or begin to fathom these paradoxes cutting the heart asunder.
I was a little at loss as to whether to write this post or not. I got a lot of mixed feedback on my last post, people were shocked as to how I can completely change the authorial voice, content and style of my writing to such a degree. It did feel like someone else wrote it. It is true the caustic bitterness was still there but it is definitely ten shades bitchier and much more trashy.
So this post will be an amalgamation of many things, and many events and all kinds of random shit going through my head.
Whatever the feedback was for my last post, for me it was a liberating experience.
If one think of speech acts as acts constitutive of reality, i.e. what you say makes up your reality, and that there is no existence beyond language, i.e. you are what you say, this was one of a kind experience for me.
I was relating to my identity in a way that is not unusual to me, because I do use Arabic to express my sexuality in everyday life, but that is the first time I actually write in Arabic, and in a very specific kind of Arabic, a butchered mix of gay slang and faux-educated one.
It was spunky (yes pun intended) and fun. And I enjoyed it.
And although some bitch might judge the content for being 'intellectually inferior' than my other posts, well my answer to that is: I am not writing theorizations on human sexuality, I am writing about what goes through my mind when I space out under the shower. I know some will think, 'is this what you think of when you space out under the shower??' and the answer is: yes.
I am an intellectual queen that is often mistaken for an African-American lesbian.
And I am not remotely apologetic about it.
But it is this that made me think of writing this post.
Monster as in etymological sense of it, 'a malformed creature', foreboding, inspiring a negative omen, 'monere' is to warn in Latin.
And it is in this 'made-up' creature, with various parts, that are not only different, but come from different places. I think the word شتى (Shatta) in Arabic is more accurate, as it gives a spatial dimension to it, shatta does not only mean various, but it also coming from different places and even indicates displacement as in شتات (shatat), namely diaspora.
That is what lies at the heart of it, this sense of displacement, hence the foreboding appearance, the discordant elements, that seemed to be forcibly placed together, creating this disfigurement.
This feeling does not originate based solely on interactions with the wrong gentlemen/ladies. Definitely part of it is tied to one's ego and one's perception of psychological validation, but also a part of it is intrinisically tied to self-perception and the social interactions that affirm (exacerbate?) or negate (undermine?) this perception or maybe even assumption.
And it is in these social interactions that our assumptions about ourselves and others are "corrected" or continuously redefined. (Not that I am advocating social determinism but I am subscribing to the notion that there is a constitutive capacity to social interactions that can not be ignored).
Evil Sister or The Assumption of Evil
It is no secret how exciting and frightening is the current moment in time for this country. But it is also no secret how dry and dry we all have been since the breakout of the revolution.
And this state we all arrived at, whether by choice (people really were concerned about making the revolution work) or by force (all foreigners were forced to leave the country resulting in destroying the sex lives of many girls), the result was one and the same.
We all needed a break. Or rather a ball.
And who else but Ice Queer ventures to give a party while army tanks are stationed all over the streets of Cairo?
Hands down the girl knows her shit. I have never seen such attention to detail before. She definitely went the whole nine yards and then some more.
The theme of the party was to indulge in our "uniform fetish", specifically towards the army.
It was a safe haven for all the sexually oppressed girls to go wild with their authoritarian fantasies. It is a shame though there were not any real army involved.
But anyho, I am not writing here about the party, but rather its hostess.
Who I always presume is motivated purely by indefatigable appetite for snideness and evil. And maybe as she keeps using her sloppy psychology explaining that it is me projecting or maybe it is just more convenient, mentally convenient to relegate someone to a specific stereotype, because it is easier to deal with a stereotype than to acknowlege the complexity of human psyche.
But true to her monstrosity, my Scorpio hostess combined such contradictory and perplexing traits, forcing me to see her in new light.
She was genial, warm, funny, vicious, concerned, empathetic, dismissive, selfish and a host of other things, that do not necessarily go together.
But it was a combination as such that describing her as evil or that her motivations is purely guided by evil would too superficial and untrue.
This is not me accepting the Scorpio hostess for all her flaws and imperfections, but its a complex gesture towards her, as complex the one she has showed.
Sister this and Sister that, and Sister - Fuck You! or the Assumption of Goodness
Consumption of alcohol does not only decrease psychological inhibitions and impairs judgement but it affects the brain in such a way that the ability to think of long-term planning and the consequences of one's actions is temporarily suspended.
Having said that I do not and I can not accept the argument of 'temporary intoxication' as an alibi to wrongdoing.
In our long-awaited party, I came across dear friends that I have not seen in a long time (because of how chaotic living conditions in Cairo are at the moment) and it did feel like a big gay reunion. I was genuinely happy to see those I held in such high esteem.
As I entered the party one promising prospect (I can not use the term 'gentleman') that I saw in a few other parties was making his way out as I was making my way in.
And although I always felt that he gave some signs that he was not interested, I couldn't help but sense some interest somehow. But then again of course misjudging someone's psychological cues is a classic case of a delusional mind. And my mind is definitely.
I was a little dejected knowing that my promising prospect just left the party. And I spent a good deal sulking and pulling a long face.
But since this was a party celebrating our glorious Armed Forces, the Armed Forces did not disappoint. My promising prospect was forced to come back to the party as it was passed the curfew and no vehicles were allowed to drive.
Excited and anxious, and not able to read my promising prospect behaviour very well, I confided in a dear sister, and explained to her my dilemma while she was relishing her state of exalted drunkenness, having arrived late, everyone was completely shattered and I was not even remotely tipsy yet.
She, sweet and supportive, and completely bombed offered her wise counsel, and said, 'you should definitely go for it! He is not that hard to get at all! As a matter of fact, I think he already made out with two people!'.
Horrified that my interest of the night, did not have that much discretion, I was emboldened, and decided if other bitches can have him, why can't I?
While looking for my promising prospect, I was chatting with another dear friend, and as I turned I found my sweet, supportive sister making out ferociously with my promising prospect.
Nothing embitters one sister against the other, but ruining a promising prospect.
So I stood and watched them and true to the monstrosity of it, I was unable to make any judgement. Was my assumption of her goodness mistaken? Can I blame intoxication as the one element that would motivate such a vicious act?
It was monstrous because it manifested two things so irreconcilable to me.
Sister, sister I trusted you, sister, sister - Fuck you!
Sister Soul or The Assumption of Knowing
Horribly disappointed in one friend, I still decided to go on with my plans, incestuous it might be, but it will have to do for the night.
Waiting in line for the bathroom, there he was, my promising prospect, standing all alone, I approach him and in a moment where my own fear of rejection, my fear of others knowing how I feel, and against my better judgement that was suspended by then, I ventured and kissed him.
Now I have been rejected in many various and colourful ways but I was never pushed aside before.
That would be a first.
Stupefied by the apparent, self-evident rejection and the implicit violence of pushing someone aside, the evening was ruined for me beyond hope.
But then there appears at the periphery of such an event, other possibilities of intimacy and engagement.
Friends that presumed you knew and only caught a glimpse of who they are, but in the context of a 9 hours party, where people are forced to stay together (as the roads are blocked), and in a state of profound intoxication what you think you know, is maybe not as close to the truth as you first imagined.
Standing in the kitchen, in our state of profound intoxication, we spoke of faith, love and the impossibility of belief in a situation like ours.
This was a remarkable conversation, with a lot of heart, a lot of soul and rare moment of naked truth.
We both confronted a lot of fears, complexities and what we think we know about ourselves and other people.
It was a moment of looking at our own monsters, and that was made possible by this willingness for openness, for the sister soul.
My judgement is still clouded by my inherent tendency for uniformity and consistency and I still can not understand or begin to fathom these paradoxes cutting the heart asunder.
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