Planetmoose

Little dreamy bits of the self here and there.

[planetmoose]

I am so angry.

(I will speak for myself because really what fucking else)

I feel an intense unfathomable anger, that only 1% of which can be channelled through our frontal cortex human language. Language, at least spoken/written, communicates while continuously excluding and erasing margins. It moves and it eats out a lot of what could otherwise be real or possible.

I am sick of you all turning your faces around, we all do it with beggars on the street. As cliche as that sounds. We are assholes, I think. And the more "civilized" and "sophisticated" we get I feel the more brutal we become. Just push that fucking button! and pretend, deny that your missles have hurt anyone because the law allows you, you asshole. Because the whole situation is getting more complex, like a brain that keeps folding into itself..and any person who has something genuine to feel or say, isn't enough or credible or worthy. They have to follow the rules of societal fuckery that comes from...... God? ?? Yet, we are all in this positivity know your worth craze, and we are becoming such individuals...Narcissitic pockets of indivisbles.

I woke up in the middle of the night filled with pain and rage. I am angry and I can't point my finger at anyone. Because really it shouldn't be like that. But at the same time I want to point my finger at everyone!

I was thinking of a different unfolding scenario where things click, where I feel like am florishing, because my creative needs are being met and because the environment is so godgift(the opposite of goddamn) fertile. But in reality I feel like I have been in a rut rotting. Unable to enjoy all possible fruit. I feel broken and helpless, and its not because I am stupid or weak (we all are). It's because this world is perhaps a great wound, that keeps expanding and getting infected.

I have been going crazy, everyday a little more, sometimes a little less....to what end? Why are we even?! Why do we establish ridiculous microcosmic heirarchies? What is compassion? How can the brain grow out of its limits. Can we cure the fucking cancer that is called the institution? The institutional burden that we carried on our tiny backs in those heavy backpacks on our way to fucking school. The tears and cries of young children who go to school and get hushed and normalized are the most legit statement.

I am angry and I am crying like an infant.

We are so confined and limited and restricted by our very breath and limbs.. I want to rant and yell and curse and lose fucking TEMPER..at humanity. I mean I was hoping, I gave myself up to hope and hoping and like hope for change..and like all that bullshit. We are doooomed and I secretly hope this changing climate to actually undo this human bullshit sooon. Perhaps sweeter forms of life could emerge after we move the fuck out.

I am so angry!

[planetmoose]

You are a pretty little lair who was told that the earth was linear on the edges. Now as you cross the street you look past your lack of medicine. The heart is a muscle and my knees are as fluffy as your onion eyes. Whatever her name was, we flew all the way to a shitty Italy, one that is even more disturbing than the one in your story where the woman who kills the poor privileged beast..escapes digitally. It was rainy and gloomy, just like Cairo. The city looked grey from the fallen rooftop where your stupid critical theories couldn’t hold. The amount of power you execute wouldn’t give you leverage on that roof, you would break the wall by your heaviness. You reiterate your life, relive your thoughts, undo your commands on the keyboard, that took you by surprise when you were 11, and now you pray that you live to the age of 111. These codes are non-sensical but they love me because they branch out like the fish in the red sea. Problems in quantum computing get processed in tandem. You had the highest IQ and the lowest grades. Not that the “i”/you matters. I to retain life, need my senses. I need to retain my senses. 

With more computing power, I will ask the lord of the algorithm to rain money on my ass. I need to feed my cats, to build a crate to ease your boredom. To leave you lying on the sidewalk like a dusty half-human experience. Every now and the you rise up from your slumber. You understand the world because of the Internet of things. Things that need no food. That need no respiration. That don’t have to need no combustion. You need to sit suspended in your zen. But someone has to feed you in your zen. In a world full of strangers and bees, you are turning into a hunger artist and soon you will be replaced by the beast that the woman had slaughtered and ate. Just dial them numbers and order McDonald’s. Just dial them numbers and order that moon milk. Just don’t fuck up and exercise in those nasty walls that wouldn’t feed you unless you drilled holes in them. The city eats you. That’s what the city and that’s what the city does. That city preys on your lack of balance and on your shortcomings. The ones that were scripted for you.

Undo the shuffle or just let it take over and flow with it.

[planetmoose]

Deep wounds still.

a wounded heart, a happy heart

a wounded heart, a happy heart

a record spinning to a needle

a song without  meaning

a rhyme just for the sake of repeating.

an ill heart. i told my dad my heart is ill.

we never talk. at first he didn’t want to listen.

i need to to seize control of my own life.

to be able to say goodbye, and let the tears dry.

i fry in the heat. 

my writing sucks. like the world sucks.

poetry died on a hot afternoon.

I wish sadness was a coat.

that you can lose at the beach.

my coat follows me

i follow it. a sad mystery.

It’s not a rational or a real number.

It’s every thing in between the one and the two. 

the source of this sad existence is not calculable.

It’s numerical but nor numerable. 

my brain is fried the french way.

loneliness makes it worse

the world is not our enemy.

the enemy is not our enemy.

god is light..god is love.

my cat is love

the breeze is love.

compassion is my god. compassion is my god.

I am sorry dad for what I said.

I wish you could read this and understand.

[planetmoose]

The distant stars disappear into an internal vast continuous space that is filled with awareness.

[planetmoose]

I am done dissecting myself for the day.

I have come down from the stormy trip.

I feel clean. I feel free. 

The air is blowing at me while I sit on the same desk.

I threw up. I threw up a baggage of pain.

There is no point in worrying about tomorrow.

The Power of Now is my motto.

I was there when I first saw you.

Maybe I want to be there more than I want to be with you.

That was a tad closer to my vortex.

But that resistance was cleansing and eye opening.

I am sorry if I scratched your skin by my loud screams.

I won’t feel guilty over being a baby.

Into this world we are thrown. We are born as babies.

Our baby lives leave traces in us.

I like it when I also disturb the medium with my words.

When you say something sincere and real and it stirs some sort of emotions.

I seek sensation, aliveness. It’s dying with the computers.

It dies with depression. Sensation gets dulled by the over stimulus of the city.

The resistance in the copper wires.

The distance between human islands.

I am a reckless writer.

[thepoetsnotebooking]

Midnight flower of my youth, we ran out of reasons to stay together, after all the nights rolled into one beneath the stars, and we smoked them like joints, trying to escape all the unspoken pain of small town thinking, all the one way streets that lead to dead ends, and dust. We were before our time, you and i, as some songs on the radio still sound good today, because they were inspired by something larger than  us, and we feel it in our bones, even it we  can’t give it a name.

(via jcpoetries)

[planetmoose]

On love and ghosts.

You saw me sailing out the window of our wicked love problems. There are wicked and there are hard problems, my friends read an article on the Atlantic or so. Love is wicked in the sense that it travels faster than the speed of life. You are unable to recognize your briefs from your shorts. It wounds the women more because they wear none of those clothing items. It infects the brain with memory loss. Upon losing it, you lose all other files along, a list of life’s guidelines. The strands that give out instruction in your DNA stop responding and your cells become bleak. You mistake yourself for a mattress, a deflated one, like a soggy left boob. “A blessing in disguise” you think to yourself, that the little red hoodie girl could be wearing the wolf. No wonder, its a cycle, a cycle of an ugly face going to war, to find a distant but relevant mate. One that glistens amid the galaxies that nurture neoliberalism. The transient mode of consuming people, that fluid love modernity. That slippery reality, that leaves the slow ones contemplating the ghosts of what was and what could have been. You are left with nothing to dissect. 

[planetmoose]

“This constellation of people isn’t going to work” She thought to herself.

Don’t express your sadness.

I believe in all sorts of crazy things like remote viewing.

Like synchronicity.

The fact that I can think about you and have you show up.

The idea of a soul-mate.

Love.

Why don’t you wanna be with me?

[planetmoose]

فكرني كده

This film was a project I did in a Workshop in self-reference cinema. It is a rumination on the questions of “Who am I?” in relation to the process of film-making. 

[planetmoose]

Vapor Plant dreams..

Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9zZ4Gj75xs

[planetmoose]

Dreaming up the Amalfi...

[planetmoose]

I am in Amman now.

I spent a long day having very little food..

Petra beer was good.

I am sleep deprived.

Conflicted.

People are slow, chill and nice.

I am not used to nice ever since my grandma passed away.

Back in the artist space, the lady who works there came and introduced herself.

[planetmoose]

The Caretaker - Everywhere At The End Of The Time

0:00 It's just a burning memory 3:32 We don't have many days 7:02 Late afternoon drifting 12:37 Childishly fresh eyes 15:35 Slightly bewildered 17:36 Things ...

[planetmoose]

Still I don't feel like sleeping. Stamina is declining because it’s time to sleep. No, because I put up the strong initial performance but float motionless in the middle. If I wrote a story, it would just be a bunch of fine jumpstarts. 

My muscles won’t let me swim to the mushroom.

And my body aches after a good performance.

[planetmoose]

I need to sleep to go swim with my mom tomorrow. To have a better body. To get in touch with muscles that were sleeping. To reconnect with the child who had to swim every single day and night. The smell of chlorine, the laughter of friends, the many conversation, hitting puberty in a swim suit, watching my body become something sexy for older men to stare at and women to judge. In the pool I took a plunge, my senses were alive. I swam in the rain. I swam with mosquitoes, with assholes. Now I go alone with my mom in the morning to expose my armpit hair to the sun while the workers hover around the tiles like eagles. I go back and forth in my lane. I start with strength and confidence but then watch my arms become weaker and weaker. It reminds me of championships where I felt paralysed half way through the race. My language is empty bitches cuz I didn't register that many words. The reserves are empty. I'll go eat a dictionary after I come home from a long strenuous exercise.I don’t want you to pity me my beloved bitches. I need me a good dealer and some friends in the desert. We're even now.

[planetmoose]

Have you noticed how thin your life is?

How your health and death are carved by the well-being of others?

Have you ever been pretending in a space?

Pretending that others understand what you say?

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

The world sucks.

[planetmoose]

Don’t make fun of my obituary

Ok god.

Come out.

I am ready to go. Just take me away.

Take me.

I don’t like this world.

Take me like a moth that burns in the fire.

All this relentless meaningless stuff.

I don’t know.

I am really tired.

I am sick of my pretentious tongue.

I am tired.

I am tired.

I am tired.

I am sick.

I have little faith in everything and everyone.

I feel that my brain is as flat as my chest...

I feel like I failed whatever test this is..

I need to flip the chart.

I want to be reborn in the underworld.

Another world.

A world of mirrors that unfold and heal.

I am getting old.

Time is running.

I thought it isn’t.

We thought time was a fake construct.

But it’s real.

We age.

We die.

Death everywhere.

Everyday.

God.

I am crying.

Why am I crying?

I hope my period comes on time.

I don’t know about the boy.

I guess I should dig deeper into the Dao.

Pivoting the Yin and the Yang.

Writing rhymes with the holes in my brain.

Losing sight.

Losing interest.

I guess I should go back to therapy.

But I have no energy.

But I want something to feel.

I need to let the world float without me.

Near the edge of the galaxy. The smell of death is all over. She took her coat off and rolled over.