Twinkling blue eyes
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Sunday, August 1, 2010 at 9:38pm
That sweet old man whose face lights up when when i walk into the terrace every morning at the club.he smiles at me with those ancient blue eyes.a smile so warm and fatherly,like one would smile at a favourite daughter,or a long lost friend.those eyes that seem to run deep through decades of a life that was based on kindness.and joy.yes joy.all those joyful memories trapped for eternity,dancing and jumping in that ocean of heavenly blue.Why are you so happy to see me?every time? do i remind you of the love you lost as a young man?every man,when he was young has lost a love,the love he could never win back.the love he never forgot.remember that rainy winter night,almost fifty years ago when i ran away from you .I loved you then.I love you still.
you see me and you are filled with joy,and you sometimes seem to murmur some very sweet words.You look at me as one would look at a puppy,or a kitten or a doll.And I who have no form am immediately transformed into that pup or kitten or doll.I am beautiful when beheld by beautiful eyes.
Never once have you tried to talk to me or bother me in any way.because you know me .you know my soul.Who are you?...may be you are a great surgeon who saved many lives,not by the precision of a surgeon's knife,but through the compassion of a saint.maybe you were the captain of a ship and sailed the world,and came back with the greatest treasure in all the islands,and all the ports and all the faces,the treasure of human kindness.maybe you were a great statesman who believed in justice,and there were times when you almost went crazy,but you stood your ground,and pushed a little further,hoping that the one who follows you will push further still,for rightful causes,for feeding the poor,and human dignity.to all.
and maybe,maybe you were one of the great noble warriors in the armies of Salah El Din.You were nicknamed by your soldiers "The merciful" and your enemies called you "the Merciful and the brave".every night you prayed"God grant me forgiveness for the blood shed on the battlefield today,and grant my enemies some rest,and solace for the brothers they have lost".
You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,and decades of life separate us.I will love you in silence as you have loved me in silence for all those years.I will never ask who you really are.and i will imagine you to be whoever i want you to be.
If one day,and another after it,and yet another..and another...if for a whole year you disappear from the terrace,and i know i will never see you again.I will not ask anyone where you are.I will not want to know where very old men go.I will come back from the port where Ive been waiting for your ship.I will sit in your chair at the club.I will order your coffee,and read your newspapers,and bid you farewell, and imagine you sitting somewhere in the forest around the fire,among your friends,laughing and drinking after having saved that day the lives of many women and children in a burning village. Yes now you are somewhere,saving the world ,restoring it's beauty.in wisdom.in mercy.in joy.and across the forest that separates us i will see the twinkle of those wise blue eyes,as you raise your glass in a joyful toast to the world.
To You,My father,My Lover,
My brother,my friend.
moataza.
Do i remind you of her?? the world you have lost?...the world we have all lost.
you see me and you are filled with joy,and you sometimes seem to murmur some very sweet words.You look at me as one would look at a puppy,or a kitten or a doll.And I who have no form am immediately transformed into that pup or kitten or doll.I am beautiful when beheld by beautiful eyes.
Never once have you tried to talk to me or bother me in any way.because you know me .you know my soul.Who are you?...may be you are a great surgeon who saved many lives,not by the precision of a surgeon's knife,but through the compassion of a saint.maybe you were the captain of a ship and sailed the world,and came back with the greatest treasure in all the islands,and all the ports and all the faces,the treasure of human kindness.maybe you were a great statesman who believed in justice,and there were times when you almost went crazy,but you stood your ground,and pushed a little further,hoping that the one who follows you will push further still,for rightful causes,for feeding the poor,and human dignity.to all.
and maybe,maybe you were one of the great noble warriors in the armies of Salah El Din.You were nicknamed by your soldiers "The merciful" and your enemies called you "the Merciful and the brave".every night you prayed"God grant me forgiveness for the blood shed on the battlefield today,and grant my enemies some rest,and solace for the brothers they have lost".
You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,and decades of life separate us.I will love you in silence as you have loved me in silence for all those years.I will never ask who you really are.and i will imagine you to be whoever i want you to be.
If one day,and another after it,and yet another..and another...if for a whole year you disappear from the terrace,and i know i will never see you again.I will not ask anyone where you are.I will not want to know where very old men go.I will come back from the port where Ive been waiting for your ship.I will sit in your chair at the club.I will order your coffee,and read your newspapers,and bid you farewell, and imagine you sitting somewhere in the forest around the fire,among your friends,laughing and drinking after having saved that day the lives of many women and children in a burning village. Yes now you are somewhere,saving the world ,restoring it's beauty.in wisdom.in mercy.in joy.and across the forest that separates us i will see the twinkle of those wise blue eyes,as you raise your glass in a joyful toast to the world.
To You,My father,My Lover,
My brother,my friend.
moataza.
Do i remind you of her?? the world you have lost?...the world we have all lost.
kinder-garden love.(my version)
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Friday, August 6, 2010 at 10:34pm
The boy i love
he's all too sweet
if i say i love you
he says i love you too.
and when i disappear
and hide behind a tree
he disappears too,
and hides behind a tree.
i go mad and say,
oh!i don't love you anymore
i ve found another.
he goes mad and says,
oh!i don't love you anymore
i've found another
and we're both fashareen*
he's silent now
i'm silent now
and one step forward
and two steps back
we're both
sooooo crazy
dancing to the rythms
of the maddest guitar.
mimicing each other
and no one knows.
it's all so secret.don't say a word.
discreet! hush-hush!
and no one knows,
or so we think.
but everybody knows
eveerrryyyyybody knows!
and then he whispers
"come closer now."
and then i whisper
"come closer now."
and one step forward,
and two steps back.
"these two must not meet.
or ever be alone."
THAT was her verdict.
that's what she said,
the big fat nazra * of KG2.
she had us locked up
in two separate rooms,
i said " i won't eat.or play.or speak."
and as if he knew,
he too did not eat.or play.or speak.
at mid-day recess,
i knew he was hungry,
i sent him an apple,
he took out his knife
carved it in a heart shape
and sent it back to me.
but just the other day,
i saw him
carving the same heart
to a very cute girl.
i hit him with a stone.
he hit me with two.
i called him a bastard.an asshole.a jerk.
a playboy,a monster,the devil.
count dracula and frankenstien!
the nazra, she came,
with tears in my eyes
and looking so cute,and vunerable,and hurt,
i opened my heart
and showed her my wound.
and the blood!the blood!the blood,
that filled the playground
"i swear mama it's true!!"
i told her"he started!!"
she struck him on his face,
and patted my cheek.
a tear formed in his eye,
and wouldn't come down.
i bit her hand,and stepped
on her foot.
i pulled at her skirt,
and scratched at her face.
again she locked us.
all night he cried.
all night i cried.
the walls too. they cried.
"i swear mama it's true!"
"it's true,it's true,it's true,it's true!!"
and so we go on
it's one step forward
and two steps back
one step forward
and two steps back
to the rythm of the maddest guitar.
until what happens...?
and what if "it" does?
and what if "it" does?
my love,my love,my love.
its one step forward
and two steps back
forever and ever
until our hearts burst,
until it consumes us,
until it destroys us,
the maddening rythm
of this crazy guitar.
i miss you baby,
i miss you so much
but please my sweetness,
no more steps forward
no more steps back.
to the hateful rythm
of this cruel guitar.
cause now i am grounded,
i m grounded for life.
i've been scolded,locked up.
they know i've been naughty.
so maybe when we grow up,
consenting adults,
and absolute strangers,
who barely remember,
in one of your nightclubs
we'll catch a dance or two.
my love,my love,my love
and how i love saying it
i miss you baby,
i miss you so much,
but the wounds of our childhood
we know they've never healed.
so no more steps..... anywhere.
my love,my love,my love.
moataza.august.6.2010.
*nazra: headmistress.
*fashareen:beautiful children.who grow up to be great artists,or psychopaths.
he's all too sweet
if i say i love you
he says i love you too.
and when i disappear
and hide behind a tree
he disappears too,
and hides behind a tree.
i go mad and say,
oh!i don't love you anymore
i ve found another.
he goes mad and says,
oh!i don't love you anymore
i've found another
and we're both fashareen*
he's silent now
i'm silent now
and one step forward
and two steps back
we're both
sooooo crazy
dancing to the rythms
of the maddest guitar.
mimicing each other
and no one knows.
it's all so secret.don't say a word.
discreet! hush-hush!
and no one knows,
or so we think.
but everybody knows
eveerrryyyyybody knows!
and then he whispers
"come closer now."
and then i whisper
"come closer now."
and one step forward,
and two steps back.
"these two must not meet.
or ever be alone."
THAT was her verdict.
that's what she said,
the big fat nazra * of KG2.
she had us locked up
in two separate rooms,
i said " i won't eat.or play.or speak."
and as if he knew,
he too did not eat.or play.or speak.
at mid-day recess,
i knew he was hungry,
i sent him an apple,
he took out his knife
carved it in a heart shape
and sent it back to me.
but just the other day,
i saw him
carving the same heart
to a very cute girl.
i hit him with a stone.
he hit me with two.
i called him a bastard.an asshole.a jerk.
a playboy,a monster,the devil.
count dracula and frankenstien!
the nazra, she came,
with tears in my eyes
and looking so cute,and vunerable,and hurt,
i opened my heart
and showed her my wound.
and the blood!the blood!the blood,
that filled the playground
"i swear mama it's true!!"
i told her"he started!!"
she struck him on his face,
and patted my cheek.
a tear formed in his eye,
and wouldn't come down.
i bit her hand,and stepped
on her foot.
i pulled at her skirt,
and scratched at her face.
again she locked us.
all night he cried.
all night i cried.
the walls too. they cried.
"i swear mama it's true!"
"it's true,it's true,it's true,it's true!!"
and so we go on
it's one step forward
and two steps back
one step forward
and two steps back
to the rythm of the maddest guitar.
until what happens...?
and what if "it" does?
and what if "it" does?
my love,my love,my love.
its one step forward
and two steps back
forever and ever
until our hearts burst,
until it consumes us,
until it destroys us,
the maddening rythm
of this crazy guitar.
i miss you baby,
i miss you so much
but please my sweetness,
no more steps forward
no more steps back.
to the hateful rythm
of this cruel guitar.
cause now i am grounded,
i m grounded for life.
i've been scolded,locked up.
they know i've been naughty.
so maybe when we grow up,
consenting adults,
and absolute strangers,
who barely remember,
in one of your nightclubs
we'll catch a dance or two.
my love,my love,my love
and how i love saying it
i miss you baby,
i miss you so much,
but the wounds of our childhood
we know they've never healed.
so no more steps..... anywhere.
my love,my love,my love.
moataza.august.6.2010.
*nazra: headmistress.
*fashareen:beautiful children.who grow up to be great artists,or psychopaths.
What July and August Forgot To Tell September
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Sunday, August 15, 2010 at 3:05pm
Dearest sweetest papa,
Today is the day you died many years ago.or so they say. I hate this day.And i hate the month of August because of it. There is never going to be a peaceful co-exsistence between me and August.Hoping each year that they cancel him, and take july away with him too. I am never speaking to August.Ever!!. please ya papa tell him that. And since July, is the accomplice and friend of August, I am never speaking to him too.And it's a totally lost cause to make us sit and negotiate. September however,is okay. He came later. He didn't know that July and August were planinng to kill you.
It's not just your death.No it's not just your death.
I fear and hate the audacity of the summer sun ya papa.It's the season of uncompromising truths.It makes me see ya papa, things that i would have been much happier,had i not seen.The summer sun makes everyone and everything too real,too obvious, even to the most naive.It lines us all up as if in a big prison courtyard under an equal non-discriminating glaring light. The most unmagical of all realisms.The winter however is sweet and deceptive. throwing a tender sympathetic shadow on all.Even those of us who are truly monsters,in winter,half in shade, and half in light,are beautiful monsters.The winter heals, heals quitely,like an adoring mother,the ferocious wounds of summer dogs.
This time they bit my shoes papa.
this time they bit my legs papa.
this time they almost cut my face. papa.
but i ran ,and i ran ,and i ran, and i ran,
and i ran ,and i ran, and i ran, and i ran.
and on my way home to you papa,
i saw a girl,she was playing.
i borrowed her smile.
The biggest i could find.
look papa im smiling!
look papi im smiling.i m smiling, im smiling,
im smiling at you
look papi,im happy.im happy,im happy.
no papi im not scared.
no papi im not crying.
i swear im not crying.
im smiling ya papi.
im smiling at you.
**************
I love you and i miss you ya papa,and i'll meet you in the winter,like we do every year,in our secret hideaway.
Moataza.today.14th August 2010.
BLUE CAT
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Thursday, September 30, 2010 at 4:47pm
today i'm a BLUE CAT sitting under a chair,waiting for a little mouse to pass so i can grab him with my claws and bite him with my teeth, and tomorrow..hmm..tomorrow i want to be...let's see....let's see...Yes! tomorrow i want to be a PINK GIRAFFE!!! ... i'm really really sorry my dear friends i know i have not said one serious gomla all week,and have failed to live up to any level of intellect or intelligence or maturity.but what can i do?. i have an eye infection and some powerful beshoy turned out to be psychotic and so are the creeps who said don't talk to christians,"Yimmy" still wants to rule,and Barad3y is disconnected,and Nasser"bakhaf ya mami bakhaf" haunts the facebook.PLEASE GOD turn me into a pink giraffe.soon pleeaase! before all the shit hits the fan!!,please.( and yes god ba3d eznak ya3ni, can i also have orange ears to go with that,so i can wear a nice red feyonka??).and next week i promise to be so so so serious you will be so impressed. overwhelmed actually.next week i will go to school, and do my homework, clean my room, comb my hair and be a very very good girl.walahi.i promise.but first you have to turn me into a pink giraffe.
moataza
What The Giant Wave Said.
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Tuesday, October 5, 2010 at 3:19pm
I caught you by surprise.You never saw me coming.
I swallowed you inside me,all at one gulp.
Surrender to my will now.
I'll rattle you a little bit,i'll turn you upside down,
I'll fill your mouth with water,
and brush your legs with sand.
I'll rub you against my rocks,
you'll bleed.but not too much.
I'll deafen all your senses,and when you've lost prespective,
That's when I'll let you go.
Kill you?? no..I am not going to kill you!
Don't be such a baby!
and if you really must know,
i took you to my heart.You are in my heart now.
in my stomach you would have died.
little girl of my heart.
now go out in the sun ,and never come back here.
Go!
before i change my mind.
And years from now when you are older,sitting on the beach,
remember me and smile,I will be smiling back.
I have been your first lover,
little girl of my heart.
remember me as gentle.
i have been merciful,i have been kind,
to the little girl of my heart.
Moataza S.abd elsabour
today.october 5th 2010.
THE SURVIVING JOKER FROM AN OLD DECK OF CARDS ( An extract from a longer text i am still writing .)
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Tuesday, October 5, 2010 at 6:00pm
And now that we're talking and obviously we are friends,let's order a coffee,and I'll tell you some more.Back in the 60's,i was taken from my home, in the middle of the night.i was shot in my head in the famous deserts of "masr el gedida".very famous back then.now i am a skeleton, and in a few million years, I'll be the fossil of the earth.no one spoke of me then, and no one knows my name. I am the sweet gentle Lorca still breathing somewhere,with a bullet to my heart"I'd realized i'd been murdered,they looked for me everywhere,in cafes.in restaurants,but they never found me,they never found me,they never found me."
I,my friend was born in the mind of a dreamer,and i died in his heart.and the whole world died with me, that night.I 've been tortured in dungeons in appartments,on the streets and even in castles!! ,in Cairo ,in Alex ,in chillie,in Brazil, and in almost all the capitals of the world.I am also the torturer.I am also the good doctor,who stands next to the torturer who is me,to monitor my heart beats ,so as not to let me die.The show must go on.
I was crippled in Vietnam, but i really died in Iraq. I am a martyr in Palestine. I am the terrorist of the world. I've been thrown from the balconies of London over and over,again. I am the actress, the army general, the spy. somebody,somewhere,that day, decided i had to die. I have oversized lips now and grotesque breasts. I've been recycled in Beirut, and i want to thank my doctors,my fans,and all of you ...i love you all... all so very very much!!... and the show must go on.
And sometimes my friend, I 've been the ultimate villian, at the end of a movie.The one no one suspects. El Melligy at his best.I ve been the master planner of filthy charades,of robberies,of murder,of bombings...yes that too...that too my friend , but keep it hush hush!!. I,I am the surviving joker from an old deck of cards, i 've been held too many times,by the sweaty palms of naive players.they all left the table when they finally understood,that the game has been rigged,and that no one ever wins.i 've been thrown in the garbage,and recycled again.now i am coffee cup.watch it,don't burn your tongue,the coffee is still too hot.
The Cat's Forever and The Snake's Blessed Curse.
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Monday, October 11, 2010 at 7:31pm
I,The Cat
sitting at the opposite end of the room, i am watching you. Sometimes i will pretend not to be watching you. But i will be . Watching you. Brushing my tail against the cold floor, an exercise which helps me to think, and dream. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And after i have lulled you into what seems a forever of silence, a forever of separation, a forever of indifference. After the thread of white, lavender, and blue fire between us is almost extinguished. After a while, a considerable amount of "while", the cat's concept of timeless time, I will get up, gather my beloved tail, walk slowly towards you, crawl into your lap, And sleep. Forever.
would that surprise you?
I,The Snake
If i meet you on the street, and do not remember who you are, please do not be offended, or hurt. I have shed so many skins, so many times, under so many trees, in so many jungles, All in one life time. My memories of all my previous lives are constantly lost forever from me. You beautiful smiling stranger, eager for my recognition,are probably rotting somewhere now, in some tropical forest inside an old rag of skin which used to be mine. And if you were lucky, maybe as we speak, you are being fashionably worn, by a sad,scared sleepless model.she's walking down the catwalks of Paris and Milan,she's dying of bulemia. Her heart is closing up. And you are her handbag. I am sorry
Moataza. october 11th 2010.today.
I promise...
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Sunday, November 14, 2010 at 9:12pm
Tonight ,dear friend,you and i are the distinguished dinner guests of sweet Lorca
in his invisible forest,
we will sit and drink beautiful wine,
laugh together with the gentle swaying trees that protect us,
trees that are dancing,and laughing,and giggling.
untill day break.
And suddenly,because it pleases us to do so, we will become
three tropical birds.
and fly off we will, to a distant sunny shore,
just so we can watch the sun rise from the toppest top
of a mountain top!
we will be smiling.
we will be content.
You,me ,and sweet gentle lorca.
Yes. I promise you that.
Desire
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Friday, November 19, 2010 at 5:32pm
He calls me his "Fallen Angel". wow! How sweet...how romantic of the brute. I was really touched. Did he cry ?? Does he miss me?
I only asked him why? " Why do you let this happen,if you can let it not happen?? or at least that is what you say?. that is what you always say."
Now i am banished from his "Heaven". And from something else called "Grace" . Grace Kelly i suppose! i am sorry,he really makes me laugh.
So much love between us. Sooo much love. Sooooo much... hate.... hate.
The Ghosts in My Room.
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Sunday, November 21, 2010 at 5:22pm
I , a very narcissistic I. All my stories start with an I.
I, now know your story.
As you sleep in your bed at night.As you are trying to sleep in your bed at night,there is the ghost of a woman,standing at your mirror,combing her hair,humming the same hideous tune she hummed when she was alive.
It was her way of telling you,but also not telling you,that she had just come back from the bed of another man.
The bond between you .That hideous tune. It drove you both insane.
You killed her,one day.you also killed two of her very insignificant lovers.
And now you can't sleep.She'll keep singing and combing, and you will never sleep.
When you killed her, were you hoping to kill all the treacheries, all the betrayls of the world??
You are an innocent. You are also a fool.
Night after night now,you lay in your bed crying,and She just goes on humming.
Please, Do get out of your bed tonight, open the door, and ask her to leave.She will,I think she will.
Though still obssessed with her beauty,and combing her hair,she no longer sees her reflection in the mirror.
She's always been doing it to get your attention, that's all. And now that she did, by killing her if you must.
And that you did.
All she wants now is an almost impossible smile of forgiveness.
Please smile, smile, smile, she'll leave,
and then you will finally be able to sleep.
NOW, and a very important NOW, why did i get involved? this is your story not mine.
And I, I am a very narcissistic I.
I, I precede all. And you are just a man who cannot sleep.Who are you ? i do not know you,and why did you walk into my room with your beautiful ghost? ask her to get away from my mirror, and to put down my comb. I really do not know you. Your story came before you. An error in the sequence i suppose.
I am sure you soon will appear.But for the time being,you and your beautiful, treacherous and very dead mistress will have to get out of my room. I,I, I, would like to go to sleep. And before you leave , clean up all that mess of a pain, that you have left in my room.
And also wipe the blood from your viens off my beautiful wooden floor.
I,I, I am not heartless...the truth is..
The truth is i am scared,scared of all the ghosts, the living and the dead...can you make them all go away?? make them all go away?
Coming Home...
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Monday, November 22, 2010 at 3:00pm
In this very big city,
i seem to have lost my mind,
i seem to have lost my heart,
My body i have preserved,
in perfect condition.
so that when they come back,
if they come back...
they have a place to stay,
a place they can call "home".
my babies who ran away.
The Beauty of the politician
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Monday, November 22, 2010 at 3:55pm
I am corrupt, I am corrupt, I am corrupt.
And I have lost my way back.
I am a glutton, I am a glutton, I am a glutton.
i have sucked at all your veins,
now i am sucking my own.
I am paving the streets for demons,
for the anarchists,for their clowns.
I am hanging up the banners,
that praise and uphold their name.
I am paving streets of bullshit,of horseshit,
of any kind of shit,
to cover up the stench of a Young rebel's blood,
that seems to have married the asphalt.
Damn! it won't go away.
I am sweeping away all innocence,
and there is going to be a carnival,
everybody bring you clown.
bring your clown.
I am corrupt,i am corrupt.
I am corrupt.
And I am here to stay.
Emerald.Tin.
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Thursday, November 25, 2010 at 5:40pm
I am all of you,but i am also none of you.
I am my mother.my father,my sister,and i am also all my friends.
I am fire,fire that spreads against it's will.I am water,water that turns me to ashes,and i sink deeply into the sand.
I am sand, and water makes me heavy,she takes away my freedom.when she turns me to mud.
I am also the mud.
I am Emerald.I am ruby,I am gold.I am tin, I am plastic, I am marble, i am alabaster, and i am also clay.
I am all my pets.I am dogs. i am cats.but i am also a snake.
And for you sometimes i will be the dove.
Just to please you, I will fall into all your traps,and just as easily i will chew my way out.I shall live up to all your expectations.
And i shall bitterly disappoint you also.
I am the little white mouse that my father let me keep, while mami was screaming. I am my grandmother's pretty manicured nails,Her serpent skin bags and her mighty shignion. I am also the tears of that old woman sitting on the stairs of the courthouse.Her son is in jail .Her son is a murderer.Why did i stop to watch?...I am a vampire of sorts.
I am my cat.
I am my cat in every way, chasing phantom enemies around the house.Possibly a lover, a friend, her long lost brother,a history that escapes her time and time again.I am the long lost brother, who died in 73. I never had a brother who died in 73.My mother had a brother who died in 73.I am my mother.he is my brother.my cat.
To put it to you kindly,and briefly, i will just this once,reveal my identity to you.I am at will,or against my will, whomever, whatever i please, whenever i please, and sadly also whenever i don't please.
Take it,take my blessing, take my curse, try it for a day,and tell me how you feel.
You don't feel.
I have picked up all your stories. I have made them all my own, my dress, my scarf, my shoes, my nose, my heart , your heart, your shoes ,your dress,your scarf, your nose, i have none of my own.
I am touched by everything, but nothing really touches me. I am ached by everything , but nothing really aches me.
Leave now,please leave.I don't want to become you.Then i can never judge you, or hate you, or simply, just simply, love you.
Simply hold your hand , walk with you down the street ,pretending i am human ,pretending i am happy,That i have feet on the ground...I will be constant??t.But suddenly you will turn....I forgot to tell you ...
..... I am also the air.
I am sorry.. It seems i have made you cry. can i..can i ..may i please touch your face.... I am fascinated by tears.
اول جملة اكتبها بالحروف العربية
علي ال فيس بوك
و لا بد لكي تروض الأ سد أ ن تروض نفسك أولا بحيث تصل الي الدرجة التي تواجه فيها أسدا أو عدة أسود و أ نت غير خائف منها"
يوسف إدريس
الآ ن حدث شئ. ألم يعودوا يرونني بطلا؟ أم هم لم يعودوا يريدون البطل, أي بطل. أيكون الا مر أنى لم أعد أحفل أن أكون عليهم البطل؟ أيكون الكفر المزدوج قد حدث, كفرت أنا بهم و كفروا هم بي و جميعا كفرنا بوجود بعضنا البعض. و البطل مثل اللا بطل,و الميت كالحي, و الحي كالميت, و المومس كالفاضلة و الحرامي كالشريف,الامس كالغد, الامل كاليأس.إن البطل لا يولد وحده.البطل يخلق.و لا بد كي يوجد و يعيش أن يترعرع في ظل إ حساس عام بضرورة البطولة, بروعة البطولة, بتفرد البطل.البطولة قيمة, و لا بد ان توجد في وسط محصول وافر من القيم.لا مجد للبطولة,بلا مجد للكرامة,بلا مجد للنبوغ,بلا مجد للشرف..بلا مجد للعمل الصالح.و ايضا لا توجد البطولة بلا جو عام تلعن فيه اللا بطولة, تجتث كالحشائش الضارة منه, و تجتث معها حشائش ضارة اخرى, كالجبن,كا لتفاهة,كالنفاق,كالكذب.أما حين بنجح الجميع, المجتهد و الغشاش و المزور و الابله و النابغ. حين يصبح لا فرق,لا اعلي و لا اسفل,لا ارفع و لا احط.حين تمضي الحياه بامتحان لا يرسب فيه احد و لا يتفوق فيه احد, و لا يفصل احد, حين يحدث هذا.ماذا يبقي من الانسان؟
من "أنا سلطان قانون الوجود"يوسف إدريس.
The Shark's testimony
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Thursday, December 16, 2010 at 9:35pm
What exactly is your problem? No seriously what is this big fuss about? so i ate four tourists in the sea waters of sharm el sheikh.Big deal ! so what? is that not what i do? am i not a shark? i honestly do not recall signing any agreement with the human race that i will not eat you if i am hungry or that we are friends.So why all the drama? and more importantly why all the revenge? our motives are different ,our motives are always different.we will always be different.I eat you because i am hungry.you are my food .end of story.i do not eat you to maime you ,disfiguire you or deprive you of your precious life.you killed my brothers after the incident for revenge,you called it making the waters safe for tourists.but it was revenge.the waters of seas are not safe .they are not meant to be safe.they are my territory.let me explain it to you as i would to a two year old.do you see me coming out on the beach to share a beer and a few laughs with you,and pose for nice pictures with your cute kids.Hmm?you were in my element and i am a predator.a predator.Does it say in any book that i am a canary or a vegeterian or a dove?.you come with your friends under water and take pictures as you are feeding me boiled eggs and shit.i eat it all, i build up an appetite and i eat you.you are also food.i walk away, feeling full until i am hungry again.not joyous or truimphant, i do not go home to my wife and kids and brag about having eaten a human,i do not ask my friends to take pictures of me smiling next to your dead body or with my jaws going through your flesh.you are not my enemy you are my food.that is all .and i am not your pet.i cannot pose as the grateful kitty cat whom you will pat,after feeding,i will not be affectionate or grateful,or tamed. I am a shark.I do not eat you because you offend my sharkhood by attempting to pat me on the back.i take no offense.unlike you i have no ego.i have nothing to prove to anyone.I eat you because you are my food.and i was hungry. thats it. at least for me.Now can i go? Telegram to an Artist
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Monday, December 20, 2010 at 7:46pm
Dear artist,In answer to our last correspondence,which made me very angry.indeed!!,MY death should be./ will be./ midnight blue and gold./( none of the colors you suggested .)/ AT ALL!!!.As previously agreed:Vibrant blood splattered./ all over face./ and clothes./ and everything around./ Do you understand??./ need i remind you?/ this is MY Death./ not yours./you are getting paid./ Do as i ask.There should be laughter in that painting too.yes,yes,laughter. laughter that you can actually hear.Don't ask me how,now please.i 'm in a hurry.my heart is bursting.and you,you are the artist.after all.(All my respect,of course!)to you and all the aritists of this fucking world.Dear sir.you mediocre man.Need i explain??explain,explain,explain,again,again,and again.
let me explain;Sweet...Sweet.not shrill.not bitter.not metal.or even touched by a hint of sadness from your brush.Sweet innocent laughter.that during life had hoped to wake the stillness of the chronically.clinically.sad.Now Do You Get It??? Get It At All??...please get it now. I'm out of time.In this euphoria of laughter.Colours.And the bursting heart.this moment of my very fantastic death.I will. ONCE AND FOR ALL. KNOW FOR SURE. BEYOND ALL DOUBT. who was there in it, all along,and after all..."come out,come out,come out to play""And there you are. where have you been?? and i have missed you?? why didn't you tell me?? before i died?? so close to me?? inside a heart?!! that suddenly bursts?!! that's where you hide??!! AND SHALL WE DANCE???I'm dying yes. but i want to dance.and i want to dance.and i want to dance.and all this music,this music.oof!!there is so much music! so much music that fills my head. and now we dance.please let us dance.meet them,meet them now,meet my friends.and i shall miss them,these winter mornings of my city.my city. my city. my city.the city that loved me. the city i loved.the city that killed me. the city i killed. Let's go on dancing...
yes.yes...yes i know!!my heart is bursting,it's overflowing,do you think they noticed?please hide me,hide me in your coat,and let's go on dancing....let's go on dancing.Twirling,twirling,twirling,and turning!!Yes it's funny...ha!ha! very funny!also bizarre.don't be alarmed, disturbed,or anything. I'm leaving now.... Oh my God!......oh!oh! my God...An afterthought!!! (the music stops)I want to live???!!! i want to live.give me a handkershief!!!too late for that.look at my heart... there's too much blood.
Oh just forget it.! (the music starts)Just let it bleeeeeed!!be drained of blood.but not enough to ruin the beautyof my midnight blue and gold.
my eternal sleep in a peaceful shroudof midnight blue and gold.
wrapped in a canvasfor eternitywith music and laughterforever twirlinginside a dreama sweet sweet nightmareof midnight blue and gold. ******************************P.S. to artist.:in this painting,1- Do make my hairsoooooo extra long!! Always my dream,never achieved it.2- Dress me in laceoff-white+ blood= my life.3- don't call this painting "the girl with the bursting heart" !an ugly name. and common too.makes life seem violentwhich it was not.( i swear.not true.!!)even if it were,no need to stress it it's over now. it's over there. there... See??
Always and entirely in your debt, Your biggest fan, And faithful friend, Your dying client.... M.S.
Dearest Santa
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Monday, December 20, 2010 at 4:30pm
Dearest santa,Last year i asked for wings, you sent me a can of Red Bull. Very funny . Santa please I want real wings this time!! with real feathers!. Sweetest Santa,things have become so critical,i really do need to fly! so please a pair of very strong white as snow wings.Very strong, because i will be travelling far,very far. Wings so strong, that when i flap them they will shake the biggest trees! Actually i want one wing white and one black, so that when i am flying in the dark i will look like a huge one winged bird.And children stomping their feet on the ground will say "Yes mami ! it was a huge one winged bird flying across the sky! was too!" . Their very sad parents will take them away from the windows, tuck them into their beds,walk sadly into the living room,light a cigarette, fix their drinks with shaky unhappy hands,and call their friends on the phone,so they can all panic together,and be very very sad together. Please Santa I really do want to flap those wings,and listen to the sound of my truimphant heart beats in the silence of midnight skies,our co-conspirators. I love you SANTA
Passages from a very beautiful book I am reading now, My Christmas present to all
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Friday, December 24, 2010 at 6:36pm
From MY FATHER,CHARLIE CHAPLIN By Charles Chaplin Jnr.
"A cat" he told me once when i was a child," is proud and independent.If a cat is hungry it'll drink the milk you give it.But it won't for a minute think it owes you anything in return.It never sells it's liberty.And just look at it's grace and beauty!" As dad grew eloquent on the the merits of a cat he jumped to his feet and started being a cat.His hands became paws,he put each one before the other with liquid grace.Now and then he flicked one hand behind him and twitched it, and it became a tail.he craned his head forward,peering through slit eyes,a sly inward smile on his face.He was exactly like a cat.He was a cat.
******************************************************************
The songs Dad loved best were Irish ballads...Sitting cross legged on the floor among his guests, he would sing..my father's best audiance was not Irish,but Swedish. She was Greta Garbo, she would be sitting there with that grave,almost austere look of loneliness which has become her trademark,holding a drink in her hand and twisting it around and around, but never drinking much. As she listened to dad you could see her relax. Her withdrawn face would begin to sparkle, and before the evening was over she would be as giggling and gay as a schoolgirl... Dad never dated Garbo, they were friends. My father admired her for her intellect as well as her beauty, and when he spoke of her there was always a note of deference in his voice . His conversations with her were usually about some creative aspect of motion picture making, the arts or ballet. Every now and then when they were talking,Dad would get expansive and come out with an idea for a picture he wanted to do with her. Unlike the people who took Dad's sudden enthusiasms seriously and then were angry or hurt when nothing came of them, Garbo accepted it all with a grain of salt." I'd love to do a picture with you Charlie," she would say. And then she would discuss the idea with him without expecting to hear anything more about it after that.It was like a little game between them.
*************************************
On September 3, France and England formally announced they were at war with Germany.And a few days later my father began production on "The Great Dictator".It was five years almost to the day,since he started filming "Modern Times". All through that period he had been making periodic statements about getting out a picture a year,-"quickies" he called them...When he read about the "quickie" productions of other studios.The news that Darryl Zannuck was going to make forty eight pictures in the current year left him incredulous." This is what's wrong with the business." my father exclaimed " How can you make forty eight good pictures a year?".Dad's long absence from actual production, together with the fact that he hadn't yet gone into talkies, put him in the position of a Rip Van Winkle returning to the land of the living after twenty years. By this time unions were firmly intrenched in the motion picture industry, and if dad wanted to use his crew for more than an eight hour period, he would have to pay them over time.( and when dad was on the job it was often customary for his workers to put in a twenty hour day)- he had to pay them overtime. All over town producers were hiring replacement crews to out overtime expenses.Dad refused." No " he said sternly." Never cheat on labor. Let them earn the extra money."Perhaps most perplexing to my father, when he started production on "The Great Dictator", were the new stand-by employees that,according to union regulations, he now had to add to his staff.What possible use could dad have for an augmented staff, that one-man dynamo who was used to doing everything for himself?" What are all these crowds doing here anyway/" he would ask, looking about him every morning." But what's a script girl?" he would ask the script girl when she reported to him. Dad had always been his own script girl...When a makeup man appeared in his dressing room,Dad stared at him. Makeup man for Dad, who had always done his own makeup and would go on doing it because he enjoyed it? he paid the makeup man to stand around and watch him and get a lot of fun of putting on a show for him as well.Dad took out a thick strand of fake hair about a yard long.He fastidiously dabbed some liquid adhesive on his upper lip and cemented the center of the strand of hair to the adhesive so that the long ends hung down one on either side of his face.Next Dad picked up a tremendous pair of shears and started snipping at the hair- first one side, then the other, in a delicate , precise rhythm. while he snipped he talked to Syd and me. " What on earth is a makeup man boys?" he asked with a grimace and a quick snip on one side."Who needs a makeup man?" Snip,snip- with each snip a grimace and a questionDad didn't have much use for a film cutter either.He did most of the cutting himself, and the cutter was paid primarily, i guess, to see how a past master did things. One cutter once told me that sometimes when Dad was impatient he wouldn't bother to reach for the scissors to cut the film.There he would be with it wrapped around his neck in garlands, looking at it against the light. When he came across the offending section he would just rip it out with his fingers, leaving the cutter to trim the edges and fasten the ends together again.The new sound-effects technician was someone Dad really needed, but he didn't like to admit it, because he didn't like to admit that anyone could do any phase of picture making better than he. ONe time he spent two whole days trying to get the sound of an airplane motor. He would sit in front of an electric fan holding a piece of celluloid against the wehirling blades and varying the pressure,his head cocked to one side,listening.He would exchange one piece of celluloid for another with different thickness and one fan for another with a different size while the sound expert stood by humoring him.Finally, when Dad gave up on experimenting, the sound technician got the effect by simply going down to the airport and recording the sound of a real motor.Dad was never too concerned about saving time.Picture making wasn't a business for him.It was creative play and he loved it. *****************************************
Sitting down and copying these passages from a book I am truly enjoying has also been a labour of love for all my friends. Merry Christmas and Happy new year lovelies.
يوسف إدريس
الآ ن حدث شئ. ألم يعودوا يرونني بطلا؟ أم هم لم يعودوا يريدون البطل, أي بطل. أيكون الا مر أنى لم أعد أحفل أن أكون عليهم البطل؟ أيكون الكفر المزدوج قد حدث, كفرت أنا بهم و كفروا هم بي و جميعا كفرنا بوجود بعضنا البعض. و البطل مثل اللا بطل,و الميت كالحي, و الحي كالميت, و المومس كالفاضلة و الحرامي كالشريف,الامس كالغد, الامل كاليأس.
إن البطل لا يولد وحده.
البطل يخلق.
و لا بد كي يوجد و يعيش أن يترعرع في ظل إ حساس عام بضرورة البطولة, بروعة البطولة, بتفرد البطل.
البطولة قيمة, و لا بد ان توجد في وسط محصول وافر من القيم.
لا مجد للبطولة,بلا مجد للكرامة,بلا مجد للنبوغ,بلا مجد للشرف..بلا مجد للعمل الصالح.
و ايضا لا توجد البطولة بلا جو عام تلعن فيه اللا بطولة, تجتث كالحشائش الضارة منه, و تجتث معها حشائش ضارة اخرى, كالجبن,كا لتفاهة,كالنفاق,كالكذب.
أما حين بنجح الجميع, المجتهد و الغشاش و المزور و الابله و النابغ. حين يصبح لا فرق,لا اعلي و لا اسفل,لا ارفع و لا احط.
حين تمضي الحياه بامتحان لا يرسب فيه احد و لا يتفوق فيه احد, و لا يفصل احد, حين يحدث هذا.ماذا يبقي من الانسان؟
من "أنا سلطان قانون الوجود"
يوسف إدريس.
The Shark's testimony
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Thursday, December 16, 2010 at 9:35pm
What exactly is your problem? No seriously what is this big fuss about? so i ate four tourists in the sea waters of sharm el sheikh.Big deal ! so what? is that not what i do? am i not a shark? i honestly do not recall signing any agreement with the human race that i will not eat you if i am hungry or that we are friends.So why all the drama? and more importantly why all the revenge? our motives are different ,our motives are always different.we will always be different.I eat you because i am hungry.you are my food .end of story.i do not eat you to maime you ,disfiguire you or deprive you of your precious life.you killed my brothers after the incident for revenge,you called it making the waters safe for tourists.but it was revenge.the waters of seas are not safe .they are not meant to be safe.they are my territory.let me explain it to you as i would to a two year old.do you see me coming out on the beach to share a beer and a few laughs with you,and pose for nice pictures with your cute kids.Hmm?you were in my element and i am a predator.a predator.Does it say in any book that i am a canary or a vegeterian or a dove?.you come with your friends under water and take pictures as you are feeding me boiled eggs and shit.i eat it all, i build up an appetite and i eat you.you are also food.i walk away, feeling full until i am hungry again.not joyous or truimphant, i do not go home to my wife and kids and brag about having eaten a human,i do not ask my friends to take pictures of me smiling next to your dead body or with my jaws going through your flesh.you are not my enemy you are my food.that is all .and i am not your pet.i cannot pose as the grateful kitty cat whom you will pat,after feeding,i will not be affectionate or grateful,or tamed. I am a shark.I do not eat you because you offend my sharkhood by attempting to pat me on the back.i take no offense.unlike you i have no ego.i have nothing to prove to anyone.I eat you because you are my food.and i was hungry. thats it. at least for me.Now can i go?
Telegram to an Artist
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Monday, December 20, 2010 at 7:46pm
Dear artist,
In answer to our last correspondence,which made me very angry.indeed!!,
MY death should be./ will be./ midnight blue and gold./( none of the colors you suggested .)/ AT ALL!!!.
As previously agreed:
Vibrant blood splattered./ all over face./ and clothes./ and everything around./ Do you understand??./ need i remind you?/ this is MY Death./ not yours./you are getting paid./ Do as i ask.
There should be laughter in that painting too.
yes,yes,laughter. laughter that you can actually hear.Don't ask me how,now please.i 'm in a hurry.my heart is bursting.and you,you are the artist.after all.(All my respect,of course!)to you and all the aritists of this fucking world.Dear sir.
you mediocre man.
Need i explain??
explain,explain,explain,
again,again,and again.
let me explain;
Sweet...Sweet.not shrill.not bitter.not metal.or even touched by a hint of sadness from your brush.
Sweet innocent laughter.that during life had hoped to wake the stillness of the chronically.clinically.sad.
Now Do You Get It??? Get It At All??...please get it now. I'm out of time.
In this euphoria of laughter.Colours.And the bursting heart.
this moment of my very fantastic death.I will. ONCE AND FOR ALL. KNOW FOR SURE. BEYOND ALL DOUBT. who was there in it, all along,and after all...
"come out,come out,
come out to play"
"And there you are. where have you been?? and i have missed you?? why didn't you tell me?? before i died?? so close to me?? inside a heart?!! that suddenly bursts?!! that's where you hide??!!
AND SHALL WE DANCE???
I'm dying yes. but i want to dance.and i want to dance.and i want to dance.
and all this music,this music.
oof!!there is so much music!
so much music that fills my head.
and now we dance.please let us dance.
meet them,meet them now,meet my friends.
and i shall miss them,
these winter mornings of my city.
my city. my city. my city.
the city that loved me. the city i loved.
the city that killed me. the city i killed.
Let's go on dancing...
yes.yes...
yes i know!!
my heart is bursting,
it's overflowing,
do you think they noticed?
please hide me,hide me in your coat,and let's go on dancing....
let's go on dancing.Twirling,twirling,twirling,and turning!!
Yes it's funny...ha!ha! very funny!
also bizarre.
don't be alarmed,
disturbed,
or anything.
I'm leaving now....
Oh my God!......oh!oh! my God...An afterthought!!! (the music stops)
I want to live???!!! i want to live.
give me a handkershief!!!
too late for that.
look at my heart...
there's too much blood.
Oh just forget it.!
(the music starts)
Just let it bleeeeeed!!
be drained of blood.
but not enough
to ruin the beauty
of my midnight blue and gold.
my eternal sleep
in a peaceful shroud
of midnight blue and gold.
wrapped in a canvas
for eternity
with music and laughter
forever twirling
inside a dream
a sweet sweet nightmare
of midnight blue and gold.
******************************
P.S. to artist.:
in this painting,
1- Do make my hair
soooooo extra long!!
Always my dream,never achieved it.
2- Dress me in lace
off-white+ blood= my life.
3- don't call this painting "the girl with the bursting heart" !
an ugly name. and common too.
makes life seem violent
which it was not.
( i swear.not true.!!)
even if it were,
no need to stress it
it's over now.
it's over there.
there...
See??
Always and entirely in your debt,
Your biggest fan,
And faithful friend,
Your dying client....
M.S.
Dearest Santa
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Monday, December 20, 2010 at 4:30pm
Dearest santa,
Last year i asked for wings, you sent me a can of Red Bull. Very funny . Santa please I want real wings this time!! with real feathers!. Sweetest Santa,things have become so critical,i really do need to fly! so please a pair of very strong white as snow wings.Very strong, because i will be travelling far,very far. Wings so strong, that when i flap them they will shake the biggest trees! Actually i want one wing white and one black, so that when i am flying in the dark i will look like a huge one winged bird.And children stomping their feet on the ground will say "Yes mami ! it was a huge one winged bird flying across the sky! was too!" . Their very sad parents will take them away from the windows, tuck them into their beds,walk sadly into the living room,light a cigarette, fix their drinks with shaky unhappy hands,and call their friends on the phone,so they can all panic together,and be very very sad together. Please Santa I really do want to flap those wings,and listen to the sound of my truimphant heart beats in the silence of midnight skies,our co-conspirators.
I love you SANTA
Passages from a very beautiful book I am reading now, My Christmas present to all
by Moataza Salah Abdelsabour on Friday, December 24, 2010 at 6:36pm
From MY FATHER,CHARLIE CHAPLIN By Charles Chaplin Jnr.
"A cat" he told me once when i was a child," is proud and independent.If a cat is hungry it'll drink the milk you give it.But it won't for a minute think it owes you anything in return.It never sells it's liberty.And just look at it's grace and beauty!"
As dad grew eloquent on the the merits of a cat he jumped to his feet and started being a cat.His hands became paws,he put each one before the other with liquid grace.Now and then he flicked one hand behind him and twitched it, and it became a tail.he craned his head forward,peering through slit eyes,a sly inward smile on his face.He was exactly like a cat.He was a cat.
******************************************************************
The songs Dad loved best were Irish ballads...Sitting cross legged on the floor among his guests, he would sing..my father's best audiance was not Irish,but Swedish. She was Greta Garbo, she would be sitting there with that grave,almost austere look of loneliness which has become her trademark,holding a drink in her hand and twisting it around and around, but never drinking much. As she listened to dad you could see her relax. Her withdrawn face would begin to sparkle, and before the evening was over she would be as giggling and gay as a schoolgirl... Dad never dated Garbo, they were friends. My father admired her for her intellect as well as her beauty, and when he spoke of her there was always a note of deference in his voice . His conversations with her were usually about some creative aspect of motion picture making, the arts or ballet. Every now and then when they were talking,Dad would get expansive and come out with an idea for a picture he wanted to do with her. Unlike the people who took Dad's sudden enthusiasms seriously and then were angry or hurt when nothing came of them, Garbo accepted it all with a grain of salt." I'd love to do a picture with you Charlie," she would say. And then she would discuss the idea with him without expecting to hear anything more about it after that.It was like a little game between them.
*************************************
On September 3, France and England formally announced they were at war with Germany.And a few days later my father began production on "The Great Dictator".
It was five years almost to the day,since he started filming "Modern Times". All through that period he had been making periodic statements about getting out a picture a year,-"quickies" he called them...When he read about the "quickie" productions of other studios.The news that Darryl Zannuck was going to make forty eight pictures in the current year left him incredulous.
" This is what's wrong with the business." my father exclaimed " How can you make forty eight good pictures a year?".
Dad's long absence from actual production, together with the fact that he hadn't yet gone into talkies, put him in the position of a Rip Van Winkle returning to the land of the living after twenty years. By this time unions were firmly intrenched in the motion picture industry, and if dad wanted to use his crew for more than an eight hour period, he would have to pay them over time.( and when dad was on the job it was often customary for his workers to put in a twenty hour day)- he had to pay them overtime. All over town producers were hiring replacement crews to out overtime expenses.Dad refused." No " he said sternly." Never cheat on labor. Let them earn the extra money."
Perhaps most perplexing to my father, when he started production on "The Great Dictator", were the new stand-by employees that,according to union regulations, he now had to add to his staff.What possible use could dad have for an augmented staff, that one-man dynamo who was used to doing everything for himself?" What are all these crowds doing here anyway/" he would ask, looking about him every morning.
" But what's a script girl?" he would ask the script girl when she reported to him. Dad had always been his own script girl...When a makeup man appeared in his dressing room,Dad stared at him. Makeup man for Dad, who had always done his own makeup and would go on doing it because he enjoyed it? he paid the makeup man to stand around and watch him and get a lot of fun of putting on a show for him as well.
Dad took out a thick strand of fake hair about a yard long.He fastidiously dabbed some liquid adhesive on his upper lip and cemented the center of the strand of hair to the adhesive so that the long ends hung down one on either side of his face.Next Dad picked up a tremendous pair of shears and started snipping at the hair- first one side, then the other, in a delicate , precise rhythm. while he snipped he talked to Syd and me. " What on earth is a makeup man boys?" he asked with a grimace and a quick snip on one side.
"Who needs a makeup man?" Snip,snip- with each snip a grimace and a question
Dad didn't have much use for a film cutter either.He did most of the cutting himself, and the cutter was paid primarily, i guess, to see how a past master did things. One cutter once told me that sometimes when Dad was impatient he wouldn't bother to reach for the scissors to cut the film.There he would be with it wrapped around his neck in garlands, looking at it against the light. When he came across the offending section he would just rip it out with his fingers, leaving the cutter to trim the edges and fasten the ends together again.
The new sound-effects technician was someone Dad really needed, but he didn't like to admit it, because he didn't like to admit that anyone could do any phase of picture making better than he. ONe time he spent two whole days trying to get the sound of an airplane motor. He would sit in front of an electric fan holding a piece of celluloid against the wehirling blades and varying the pressure,his head cocked to one side,listening.He would exchange one piece of celluloid for another with different thickness and one fan for another with a different size while the sound expert stood by humoring him.Finally, when Dad gave up on experimenting, the sound technician got the effect by simply going down to the airport and recording the sound of a real motor.
Dad was never too concerned about saving time.Picture making wasn't a business for him.It was creative play and he loved it.
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Sitting down and copying these passages from a book I am truly enjoying has also been a labour of love for all my friends. Merry Christmas and Happy new year lovelies.
2 comments:
مجهود جميل اخ هانى
أشكر مدونه الأخ محمد عسكر انسان عادى جدا التى عرفتنى بمدونتكم الجميله والتى تتحسن يوم بعد يوم
أشكرك يا أستاذ تامر, و أشكر أخونا محمد عسكر
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