My portefeuille, My cartes, My vie !!

Un portefeuille (porte-monnaie) qui est bien garni pourrait signifier beaucoup de choses ... mais grosso modo, c’est la richesse!
Quelque soit les contenues, de l'argent, des piles de cartes bleues, des cartes de services, des cartes d'identité, des coupons, ou tout simplement des souvenirs, c’est toujours une signification de la richesse, tout en correspondant à la relativité subjective.

Le fait que je suis Syrien en France me fait un de ceux qui ont les plus gros portefeuilles… pourquoi?
Tout simplement parce que je suis obligé de porter du liquide pour être acceptable dans le monde de fraudeurs fiscaux qui acceptent pas les cartes bleues (la moitié de la population)
Parce que je suis obligé de porter mes cartes bleues (4 cartes grâce aux questions de stabilité) afin d’être acceptable dans le monde de ceux qui n'acceptent pas l'argent a cause des raisons fiscales par des fraudeurs (l'autre moitié)
pas mal de déplacements quotidiens me forcent de porter une carte de métro, une carte de bus, et une pile des monnaies pour les cases d’urgence…
Puis, pour le boulot, je porte des cartes d'assurance maladie, une carte pour la restauration, des badges, des cartes d’accès et des cartes d’autorisation, et plein de cartes que je ne sais même pas ce qu'ils font (je crois qu’il y en a qui ouvre la roche d’Ali Baba au lieu de « Sésame, ouvre-toi ! »)
De plus, mon porte-monnaie est pareillement chargé par un autre piles de cartes d'identité pour rassurer mon id syrienne, en tant que mon id étudiante interntaionale, et mon id employée en France.
Enfin et surtout, des souvenirs et des souvenirs qui se cachent entre les plis de mon portefeuille, quelques-uns des jalons de ma vie ici, et certains qui détiennent le parfum de ceux qui pensent de moi de l'autre côté de la planète ...

Dans mon portefeuille il ya un petit Armageddon entre tous les mentionnés ci-dessus, ce qui rend mon portefeuille le plus épais, et qui me rend le plus riche ???!!!


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ال(ع) بال(ع) ... هيك بيقولو

 س : بني آدم عبيط بيجمعني معو آلام و آمال واحدة على قولة كتاب القومية تبع الصف السابع و التامن و التاسع والإلخ ..
ع: أنا : أعبط من عليها, و أطرش من الأطرش بالزفة
سيناريو و حوار: الزمن الأغبر الأعتر
مشهد 100 لقطة 100
صوت مترو بالأفق, محطة إنتظار تحت الأرض الضو فيها عم يرقص, الساعة  8:00 ص, درجة الحرارة 17
س: بونجور أخوي
هلا و غلا
ٍس: وش حالكم السبح ؟ سافا؟
أنا "أتعذب و أفهم إنو كيفك" : ظريف و إنت؟
ٍس: الحمد رضا من رب كريم... "كوشة كلام غير مفهوم يتخلله حروف الخاء و الضاد دلالة إنو عربي"
"ثاغر الفاه أبحث عن ترجمة أو سب تايتلز أسفل الشاشة " : هاا ؟؟
س: إنتي رايحة تخدمي؟
"أبحث عن أنثى رايحة تخدم ورايي"
س "لكزة": إنتي إنتي؟ عمل عمل؟
أنا: آه؟ إي والله أنا رايحة إعمل, هممم, صديقي بتسمحلي قلك شي؟
ٍس: فا ظي! (تفضل بالفرنسي المعربن)
أنا: يحرء حريش و يلعن فخامة العربي شيتك, لك لو هندي أبو ريشة عم يحكي كنت فهمت أكتر؟ على حب عبد القادر و سيدي منصور يا بابا, حل عن مكوايتي من وش الصبح و بلا جأجاة حديث قبل ما زلاعيط جناني تخليني إئدحك شي دنغورة بنص خلقتك, العفش والله زايغ نظري و فاتلة معي الحكايا من غيرك يا تشكل آسي, ريتك تئبش الماما شو مهضوم دعني و شأني
س: هاه؟
: شفت كيف بتوجع؟


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5 to 10 minutes…

It’s a daily period of anticipation that both wise and airheaded could learn from each according to their sharpness, and that’s as we stand there in a foosball-like rectangle awaiting for the metro.
Anyone could easily realize how lucky those whose foot touch the ground of that spot along with the arrival of their “chosen” metro, knowing how they will not have to endure neither the discomfort frustration of awaiting with a bunch of strangers two floors underground, nor the happy teasing smug faces of those who are on the other side of the metro platform as their metro arrives to swallow all of them and hit the “rail” once again… bastards!!

As for me (an unlucky airhead with coarse observation skills and a tendency to unremittingly “amuse” myself), I have started to learn from this experience to keep it as enjoyable as possible.
Therefore, whenever I’m there, I silently look people in the face and categorize them as if they were china on my cardboard’s shelves.

Never-endlessly, there is always a difference PDA-ist couple, but they all share the same behavior that screams out “look at us, we can lick and stick, huggle and suckle, moan and groan, because we’re FREE and our organs are not only to PEE”, and what makes the charade always even droller is the presence of more than one couple, making it feel like a sex contest, and kudos to he/she who hath the longest tongue that slides the furthest into partner’s ear.

When the scene becomes boring and you look further around you’ll meet “Sad and Sadder”, who walk down the stairs as if they have the weight of the world on their shoulders or hanging from their diminishing balls or saggy man-boobs, they come down and they scan the foosball hoping to find someone who’s more pathetic, but they end up tilting their head in disappointment like a widowed clown.

White and blue collars (mostly original French which makes them a minority around here) take a seat to fake a newspaper-reading session, trying to isolate from everyone else including a fragile hot “single” MAMA, a cranky grandpa, a wasted drunki drunkenton, and that airhead that is looking people in the faces to categorize them.

Being to any metro station is 50% of the whole experience of living in France, because there… You get to see it all in 5 to 10 minutes.


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Nostalgia for people, places, and memories…

Being possessed by demons of nostalgia is not the most glorious bless a man could have, especially during those moments when it’s cold enough that you can clearly hear the sound of steel teeth of those diablos sinking into the flesh of your soul, deep to your very heart.
We know profoundly how those cold moments are there to stay, for hours, days, and even centuries. Regardless how they fade temporarily squeezed by our urge to fight insecurity between the sweaty rush of life and the yellowish summer smoke of the city

There I was, nostalgic to and haunted by daydreams of her beautiful flawless wrinkles, getting more wrinkly with ever goddess-like smile, her creamy tones adding taste to my morning coffee, the nourishing energy spells cast by her caring hands that fed me for years, the rays of light shining down on me from the halo around her head, her systematic heart ticks whispering in my ears as I’m wrapped in the heaven of her arms, and mostly… the muse of her voice bathing me with her early morning and late night blessings.

I have missed you mom
I’ve missed how you fight the urge to smile wickedly whenever I’m cheeky
I’ve missed how you fight with me to change my opinions and beliefs in order to keep me with you in afterlife, and yet you rub it in my face when you sometimes prove that you’re right
I’ve missed how you cook the most delicious food in the world no matter how cranky and tired you could be
I’ve missed how differently your glasses change the shine of your eyes and their purity
I’ve missed how angelic you look no matter how dark the colors you choose to wear
I’ve missed how you protect me from being cocky by not giving me any credits, but still can’t hide your cockiness when you speak of my name in public
I’ve even missed those grieves we have had shared, how you gripped my arm as we prayed our final farewell to dad, and how you gripped it once again when we said our not-final goodbye to me in Damascus Airport.
But I’ve missed more the happy dofus pleasures, whether in our humble family house, or in the naked outsides, starting by the giggling at the shadows we made when the power was off, and ending by the late night ice creams long walks and talks.


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كحل الليل أثقل سماء تلك المدينة التي غرقت بعبق البحر و الباستيس, تماماُ كما أثقل هواء الغربة نبضات قلبي الماضي في طريق الضمور
لم يكن هذا الغريب في الموضوع, فهذا هو حالي في أفضل أحوالي في هذه الأصقاع القاصية, و لكن ليلتي هذه مختلفة الحلّة ليس لأني قررت التناسي و التلاهي كما أفعل عادة مع أشلاء أصدقاء لا تعيض عن نفحات من أخلاء في أفق بعيد , ليلتي هذه كانت مختلفة لأن قبتها ستضاء بسحر ملون عوضاً عن كواكب و مراكب السماء

جلست وسط آلاف أعرف منها حفنة قليلة, مترقبين, مرهفين, ناظرين إلي السماء راجين, و كأن الخالق كان سيتجلى في أي لحظة شفقةَ على إنسايتننا الضائعة في عصرنا التكنولوجي اللاكهنوتي هذا
جلست وسط آلاف كنت قد سقمتها, مشرئب العنق, مشنّف الآذان, راني النظر إلى الثريا و إذا بها تنشطر لتمطر ألوان و أضواء راقصة بتناغم قوسي قزح في شهر العسل
أحمر. أخضر, أزرق, لازوردي, و أطياف لون عدة لا أعرف حتى أسماء لها . و لم يكن بيدي غير أن أدفع بفكي الأسفل لأقفل فاه الذهل خوفا من أن يسقط أحد هذه الأضواء في جوفي.
في تلك اللحظة أحسست و كأني أحد تلك المخلوقات الخرافية التي كانت قبل وجود البشرية. تلك المخلوقات التي شهدت لحظة الإنفجار الكوني الأعظم. و تقاسمت المجرات فيما بينها.

عمّ الضوء في الرحب إمتدادا من وجه البحر في المرفأ القديم إلى أعلى نقطة في جبين السماء الدنيا ولكن....
لم أرى إنعكاس ذاك الضوء في عينيها....



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Un rêve à la française

Un rêve qui n’est pas comme les autres, une vision magique d’un pays magique.
Un rêve à la française, dans une ville française, où les personae sont françaises, et même la musique au fond viens d’un accordéon français.

Elle, je l’appelle  « le rêve » parce qu’elle est l’envie du monde entier, et la raisons de ses souriras purs et sincères. je l’appelle le rêve parce qu’elle est légère comme un sieste dans le pluie de l’été, lunatique comme les sirènes de la nuit en voyageant parmi les étoiles filantes, et qu’elle est une princesse d’un conte de fée.
Elle est vivide, lucide, et réel comme l’âme de dieu qu’elle a portée, pourtant elle l’appelle le rêve.

Elle… elle est la raison pour laquelle j’écris en français au nouveau, car seulement elle m’a donnée l’impression que j’habite en France, et que je pourrais avoir un ou deux moments pour apprécier le vrai esprit de ce pays.
Enigmatique et « Enormatique » plaisir pour les yeux, délicieuse comme une péché, jolie comme le paradis, à couper le souffle comme un voyage astral en donnant le frisson du Mistral.

Chaque mot français est sorti de ses lèvres fines m’a donné la chaire de poule, chaque mouvement a causé mon cœur à faire un bond, simplement car c’était elle, et elle … casse tous les standards de la beauté

Elle… elle est le seule ange concret parmi tous les anges de concret en France et l’Europe entière.
Elle m’a donné la confiance en la beauté non-artificielle en ce pays artificiel.

Si tous les enfants sont adorables et mignons, je l’appelle un autre spécimen, je l’appelle le rêve.
Je vous présente « Élodie »


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كلمات ساقطة

لم أكن أريد سوى أن أجد زاوية صغيرة لشخص واحد لأهرب من عناء يوم طويل متكوكعاَ حول "سندويشة" متواضعة تسد رمقي و تسكت معدتي التي كانت تصرخ بالعربية "جوعااااانة"
و لكن على ما يبدو كان هناك أصوات أخرى تشغل مساحات الصمت بالإضافة لجوفي...

"وااااااااااااااااااااع" كان يصرخ و هو يعض و يمص و يشرق على "لهايته", بالرغم من كونه في سن يؤهله للعمل كصبي ميكانيكي لو كان في مكان آخر في العالم, الأسنان كانت تملأ فمه بينما الطعام كان يملأ فم أمه غير المكترثة.

خانتني ملكاتي اللغوية, و لم تسعفني كلمات المدح و الردخ و القدح ولا تعابيرالذم و النم و الهدم, و لم يتناهى إلى طرف لساني سوى تعبير واحد بالرغم من معرفتي بكلمات السب بتسع لغات مختلفة, تعبير واحد أحسست أنه قد يفش خلقي, "كس إخنك ما أغلظك", و تنفست الصعداء...


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Epiphany on the road

Like every day when I’m all alone and almost unknown in a “terra firma”, when the road is  my one and only true companion, I saunter through colorful streets to gaze upon faces, some of them are as banal as winter to the point that they become hardly-noticeable, and some are quietly the opposite in every extraordinary aspect.

He, an old man in his late 60’s, was one of those unforgettable faces. He was standing there on the edge of a bridge cradling the horizon with his eyes, wearing pride, history, and a heavy winter “Manteau”, staring far away with persistence as if he was preparing to call upon lost souls or welcoming memories of the past as if they were old friends. His facial expressions have got that thing that awakes a sleeping sensation in you, to leave you there jaw-dropped with a scar-deep like memory.

Something strange made me step into his head to see what he was seeing.
It was like a Hollywood movie, as we both shared the same view tunnel within our heads, erasing new architecture, constructing an old one instead, drawing people with smiles on their faces and finishing up by coloring the sky to our liking.
For that we both smiled at the same time to the perfect image, and the perfect memory.
Was he a man that sold the world just like me? Could he be me in 25 years from now? or could me be him from the past? … I don’t know.


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Life In Code

 * @author UNKNOWN
public class MyLife
    public static void main(String[] args)
        Human me = new Human();
        me.setLifeLength(49837693769);         // Lifetime in days
        God god = God.getInstance();              // Singleton (supposedly)
        god.setLifeMiserable( me , true);
        while ( me.isAlive() )
            if ( god.exists() )
                if ( god.loves ( me ) )
                    Question[] qs = new Question[38295729];
                    me.ask( qs );
                    god.setWickedEvilAndSadist( true );
            if (me.hasHadIt())
        me.dieAnyway(); // Kalb w Fe6es
        me = null;
        GarbageCollector gc = new GarbageCollector ();;


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Letting some negativity out....

I feel abrasive, abused, afraid , aloof, angry, annoyed , anxious, ashamed , awful, bad , bewildered , boorish , boring, callous , careless , clumsy , combative , confused , coward , crazy , creepy , cruel , cynical, deceived, defeated , defective , demonic , depressed , deranged , disagreeable , disillusioned , disturbed , draconian , embarrassed , envious , erratic , evasive , evil , faded , fanatical , fierce , filthy, finicky , flashy , flippant , foolish ,forgotten , frantic , fretful , frightened , furtive , greedy , grieving , grouchy , gruesome , grumpy , gullible , helpless , hesitant , homeless , horrible , hungry , hurt , ignorant , ill , jealous , jittery , lazy , lonely , malicious , mean , naïve , nasty , naughty , nervous , outrageous , panicky , pathetic , possessive , repulsive , ruthless, sad , scared , selfish , silly , sore , strange , tensed , terrible , threatened , tired , tiresome , troubled , truculent , undesirable , unsure , unwell , upset , vengeful , venomous , volatile , voracious , vulgar , wasted , weak , worthless , wretched ...

yet , certainly NOT Nostalgic ....


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Happy Wild New Year !

You know you’ve had a wild new year’s eve when...
  • You think you had the Four Basic Food Groups on dinner: Nicotine, Alcohol, Cannabis, and Women, and what makes it worse is that you can’t tell whether you’re having an orgasm or it was just the toilette flush.
  • You notice your tie sticking out of your fly, even though you were not wearing any ties earlier.
  • You piss on a tree log on your way back home, but suddenly the tree has an angry face of someone asking you in Spanish to stop pissing on their feet
  • You wake up in a car that is not yours to find a Spanish dude named “Manuel” on your right and a stranger dudette to your left.
  • You are so hangover to the point that you think you’re achieving the miracle of walking on water while you’re taking a shower.
  • You remember images of people licking clean their alcohol glasses instead of putting them in the dish-washer, other images of people drinking beer to clean their blood system of the massive amounts of alcohol, and other images of people dancing salsa in their seats.
  • You go to the bathroom to drop your pants and check what gender you are, and whether you still got what it takes to prove it, and what makes it funnier is that you don’t find your underwear in the process and remember images of yourself doing a dirty dance on the toilet seat in someone’s place.
  • You come back to one of your friend’s house to find your underwear that you lost last night hanging from the chandelier.
Thank God I have not had a wild new year’s eve…
Even though belated, Happy New Year everyone !


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