I feel like escaping. I don't want to face things. I want to hide myself but I can't. I dont even know how to, it's not in my character to do so. Every time I get away I find the guilt pulling me back to where I was.

Certain topics suffocate me. I watch people repeat the same sentences over and over again, and
the more they do the less genuine they become. One can see their enthusiasm fading, theyre faces tired and in their eyes one can see no true belief.

I watch the others repeating what they hear with no thinking. They try to convince themselves that all is good when its not, and make me sick with their hypocracy and their lying. They defend what they know is wrong to the extent that they say the most inhumane things and defend those who are most cruel and violent.

I feel week and useless. My line of thought is no longer straight or clear. Instead, all different thoughts jump to my mind, leaving my head buzzing with too much noise and too many pictures.

مش عايزين تعديل دستور .. عايزينك ترحل وتغور

يوم الاثنين فيه استفتاء على تعديل 34 مادة في الدستور المصري دستور بلدنا اللي بيقول البلد تمشي إزاي وبيحدد حق وواجب كل واحد فينا, التعديلات دي الحزب الوطني عملها بمعرفته .. تعديلات تفصيل على مقاس جمال بيه , عشان محدش يتكلم أو يعترض أو يطالب بحقه أو يرفع راسه , مش كدة وبس كلنا هنكون مهددين في الشارع وفي شغلنا وبيوتنا وأكل عيشنا .

تعديل المادة 179 بيدي الحق لأي أمين شرطة إنه يدخل بيتك ويفتشك ويراقبك ويراقب تيلفونك ويسجلك صوت وصورة ويحبسك وكل ده بمزاجه من غير إذن نيابة ولا دياولو وبعدين يوديك محكمة عسكرية لأنك إرهابي ؛ يعني مفيش حصانة لمحامي ولا صحفي ولا قاضي ؛ يعني مفيش عدل ولا صحافة ولا قانون , وكله بالدستور يا بيه !

أما بقى تعديل المادة 88 فده بيلغي الإشراف القضائي على الانتخابات ويسيبها للداخلية وبتوع " نعم نعم يا مبارك " يطلعوا النتيجة اللي هما عايزينها . التعديلات كمان هتمنع أي مستقل يترشح للرئاسة يعني انكتب علينا وعلى ولادنا رئيس من الحزب إياه لحد ما نموت , ورئيس الجمهورية بقى من حقه يحل مجلس الشعب من غيرحتى ما يستفتي الناس ؛ يعني احنا ننتخب مجلس شعب هو ييجي يحله من دماغة ويطلعلنا لسانه .

يعني من الآخر البلد هتبقى عزبة مبارك وولده , واحنا عبيد وأنفار عندهم مالناش حقوق وكتّر خير ناظر العزبة إنه سايبنا قاعدين .

احنا بقالنا كتير بنتكلم عن الحرية والديمقراطية وحقوق الإنسان والشفافية وتداول السلطة والنهب والفساد والقطارات والعبارات والسرطان والعنوسة والبطالة والفقر والجهل والمرض و عندنا استعداد نفضل نتكلم ونحاول تاني وتالت , بس التعديلات دي هتحرمنا حتى من أبسط حقوقنا كبني آدميين وهو حق الكلام والتعبير, الموضوع مش المعارضة والناس بتوع السياسة بس , الموضوع هيضرنا كلنا , أي حد هيفتح بقه دلوقتي ممكن يبقى إرهابي مفيش حرمة ليه ولا لبيته وعرضه وحريته وكرامته , من حقنا نكون زي كل شعوب الدنيا اللي واخدة حقها والحكام بيشتغلوا موظفين عندها , من حق ولادنا يعيشوا في مصر أحسن من اللي احنا عشنا فيها , كل واحد فينا هيجيله يوم يسأل نفسه أو ولاده هيسألوه كان فين يوم ما البلد اتباعت وبقت تكية لمبارك والعصابة اللي معاه ؟!

دي آخر فرصة نتكلم واحنا لسة بني آدمين نرفض الاستعباد والذل اللي عايزينا نعيش فيه , يمكن تكون دي آخر مرة نقدر ننزل الشارع فيها نعبر عن رأينا ما هو بعد كدة اللي هيتكلم هيبقى إرهابي .

يوم الأحد 25\3 الساعة 6 هنكون كلنا في ميدان التحرير , كل الأحزاب والتيارات والاتجاهات , رجالة وستات , ولاد وبنات , هنبات ليلة في الشارع نقول كلمتنا ونوصل صوتنا ونبقى عملنا جزء من اللي علينا قدام نفسنا وولادنا وقدام ربنا , مهما يعملوا هننزل الشارع ومش هنخاف ومش حنسيب بلدنا عشان احنا أصحابها .
شباب بيحلم ببكرة

لبنان

كتب صديق ان هو في هذه الظروف لا يستطيع سوى ان يتذكر أغنية أميمة خليل شوارع بيروت و كتب الكلام

" يا يا يا.. يا شوارع
بيروت الحرب اليومية
يا مدينة يا يا مخزن هم
يا هيصة ووحشة جمرية
كانوا يتباهوا فيكي يناموا في حضن المرايا
وجوهن صفرا تعاديكي وإنتي ست الصبايا
أعز الأهالي
اللي وضعن بالي
ببيوت جواري
خيراتك يا مدينة إلنا نحنا زرعناها
وعالساحة لما نزلنا كلمتنا قلناها
جنوب وشمالي
بواريق بتلالي
وصوات عالعالي
يا يا بيروت"

و رغم ان الأغنية ليست جديدة بالنسبة لي و كثيرا ما استمعت اليها فعندما قرات كلمات الأغنية اردت ان ابكي

Contradicting Thoughts

He touches me often and kisses my hands. I dont really like it but I dont always mind it. I dont understand why he acts the way he does but I like that he takes care of me.
It angers me when he controls everything but I also like it when things are controled by someone other than myself. I feel relaxed for a moment, free of the responsibilities... then I feel as if I am paralysed with no control over things, and I become tense again.

We tend to ignore discussions, we know where they lead... but he started a political discussion last time for no specific reason... I wonder why? Was he trying to understand something or was he trying to make me understand something?

I feel I am living seperate lives but I dont mind it. I can escape from one life, when I get sick of it, to another. Sometimes I feel like a hypocrite and at other times I am simply tired, I feel I am not me and I am exhausted. Sometimes I dont care and I dont change skin with changing places, but then I feel out of place.

With him, I talk without thinking. I dont care what he thinks of me, and he doesnt judge even when its clear that he doesnt like a lot of what I say, think or do.

Dancing

He once told me angrily that it wasnt good to always drink and dance. I, on the other hand, felt that dancing is the remedy, the more frequent I party the more you know that I am not doing so well.

But when I had my first hour of dance learning, dancing was not a way to get out of a bad mood this time, it filled me in. While I danced I lost the feeling of emptiness and indifference and I felt inward calm and saturated. I could no longer judge, I could no longer be angry and I could no longer seperate myself from life and so the feeling of numbness faded away and I felt fully alive for an hour.

عن الأمنيات

لا تقل لي

ليتني بائع خبز في الجزائر

لأغني مع ثائر

لا تقل لي

ليني راعي مواش في اليمن

لأغني لانتفاضات الزمن

لا تقل لي

ليتني عامل مقهى في هفانا

لأغني لانتصارات الحزانى

لا تقل لي

ليتني أعمل في أسوان حمالا صغير

لأغني للصخور

يا صديقي

لن يصب النيل في الفولجا

و لا الكونغو, و لا الأردن, في نهر الفرات

كل نهر, و له نبع.. و مجرى.. و حياة

يا صديقي!.. أرضنا ليست بعاقر

كل أرض, و لها ميلادها

كل فجر, و له موعد ثائر

(محمود درويش)

The adventures of Peter Pan

She also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but Peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.

"Surely you know what a kiss is?" she asked, aghast.

"I shall know when you give it to me," he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feeling she gave him a thimble.

"Now," said he, "shall I give you a kiss?" and she replied with a slight primness, "If you please." She made herself rather cheap by inclining her face toward him, but he merely dropped an acorn button into her hand, so she slowly returned her face to where it had been before, and said nicely that she would wear his kiss on the chain around her neck. It was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life.

When people in our set are introduced, it is customary for them to ask each other's age, and so Wendy, who always liked to do the correct thing, asked Peter how old he was. It was not really a happy question to ask him; it was like an examination paper that asks grammar, when what you want to be asked is Kings of England.

"I don't know," he replied uneasily, "but I am quite young." He really knew nothing about it, he had merely suspicions, but he said at a venture, "Wendy, I ran away the day I was born."

Wendy was quite surprised, but interested; and she indicated in the charming drawing-room manner, by a touch on her night-gown, that he could sit nearer her.

"It was because I heard father and mother," he explained in a low voice, "talking about what I was to be when I became a man." He was extraordinarily agitated now. "I don't want ever to be a man," he said with passion. "I want always to be a little boy and to have fun. So I ran away to Kensington Gardens and lived a long long time among the fairies."

She gave him a look of the most intense admiration, and he thought it was because he had run away, but it was really because he knew fairies. Wendy had lived such a home life that to know fairies struck her as quite delightful. She poured out questions about them, to his surprise, for they were rather a nuisance to him, getting in his way and so on, and indeed he sometimes had to give them a hiding [spanking]. Still, he liked them on the whole, and he told her about the beginning of fairies.

"You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

Tedious talk this, but being a stay-at-home she liked it.

"And so," he went on good-naturedly, "there ought to be one fairy for every boy and girl."

"Ought to be? Isn't there?"

"No. You see children know such a lot now, they soon don't believe in fairies, and every time a child says, `I don't believe in fairies,' there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead."

...........
Everything just as it should be, you see. Off we skip like the most heartless things in the world, which is what children are, but so attractive; and we have an entirely selfish time, and then when we have need of special attention we nobly return for it, confident that we shall be rewarded instead of smacked.

So great indeed was their faith in a mother's love that they felt they could afford to be callous for a bit longer.

But there was one there who knew better, and when Wendy finished he uttered a hollow groan.

"What is it, Peter?" she cried, running to him, thinking he was ill. She felt him solicitously, lower down than his chest. "Where is it, Peter?"

"It isn't that kind of pain," Peter replied darkly.

"Then what kind is it?"

"Wendy, you are wrong about mothers."

They all gathered round him in affright, so alarming was his agitation; and with a fine candour he told them what he had hitherto concealed.

"Long ago," he said, "I thought like you that my mother would always keep the window open for me, so I stayed away for moons and moons and moons, and then flew back; but the window was barred, for mother had forgotten all about me, and there was another little boy sleeping in my bed."

I am not sure that this was true, but Peter thought it was true; and it scared them.

"Are you sure mothers are like that?"

"Yes."

So this was the truth about mothers. The toads!

Still it is best to be careful; and no one knows so quickly as a child when he should give in. "Wendy, let us [let's] go home," cried John and Michael together.

"Yes," she said, clutching them.

"Not to-night?" asked the lost boys bewildered. They knew in what they called their hearts that one can get on quite well without a mother, and that it is only the mothers who think you can't.

"At once," Wendy replied resolutely, for the horrible thought had come to her: "Perhaps mother is in half mourning by this time."

This dread made her forgetful of what must be Peter's feelings, and she said to him rather sharply, "Peter, will you make the necessary arrangements?"

"If you wish it," he replied, as coolly as if she had asked him to pass the nuts.

Not so much as a sorry-to-lose-you between them! If she did not mind the parting, he was going to show her, was Peter, that neither did he.

But of course he cared very much; and he was so full of wrath against grown-ups, who, as usual, were spoiling everything, that as soon as he got inside his tree he breathed intentionally quick short breaths at the rate of about five to a second. He did this because there is a saying in the Neverland that, every time you breathe, a grown-up dies; and Peter was killing them off vindictively as fast as possible.