"Dealing with it"

Love is a four-letter word that crumbles most and humbles many. It is synonymous with pain and the distant cousin of lust.  I have been a victim of this poison twice in my twenty-five year history. The first time, my soul was washed away into a rotting pool of poor saps such as myself. The second time, which I am currently experiencing, is a unique feeling. At times I feel like I am on top of the world. Then there are days when I am drowning in my own tears wondering where did I go wrong.                                                                                                                                    

After the first heartbreak, I vowed to belittle as many women as possible. I wanted them to feel the pain I felt and for the longest, this was my life. Meaningless sex, and a few random dates sprinkled in between. It was not until a year ago did my heart begin to heal.                                                                                                                                     

Love was now back into my life and I welcomed her with open arms. Her beautiful eyes made my soul dance the Waltz. Her touch made quiver. Her lips pressed against mine and made men envious for miles. This was love and she was all mine. The problem here is that all good things must come to and end. After months of bliss, hate was released from its cell. A few miles later, he was back into our lives. I was living in a world of pure fantasy and now the real world crushed my spirit.                         

I am still in love, but hate has not left. This is a feeling I must live with to make love happy. She adores me and I her but hate is watching. She presumes not to know what I mean or say when I mention hate. Meanwhile, hate smiles in the background awaiting his triumphant return. Tears form out of the corner of my eyes as I think of hate returning. I wipe, smile and cry again. Love and hate were once a magical couple that dominated the Midwest. Now they live separately. As a man, and a lover, I know that all I can do is “deal with it.” 

"Arabian Nights"

Lord knows if I could choose what family to be born into, I would have. Wealth, power and respect are not family’s attributes I would have looked for, just love. The pressure of being the first born to an Arab man is insurmountable. We have all heard the cliché’, "weight of the world on my shoulders” but right now, I would welcome that weight. It is the biggest talent show around. How one son can out do or out smart another. Our last names are battle armor and we protect our families’ legacy with death if necessary.                                                                                                           

  It was not until my twenty-fifth birthday did I realize that this burden was not mines to carry. Pegged with the name Saddam at birt, God had other plans for me. Presidency, political figures and fame were not for me. I was cursed with normalcy and with this I was content. Writing was always an obsession for me, not a passion. The only real time in my life where someone would listen, where no matter what I wrote or felt, my thoughts would be heard.                                                                        

My parents were beyond old-fashioned. They claimed that there path was the path to righteousness. They did not care if following this path meant changing who I was, they just wanted a piece of mind. A sense of accomplishment, knowing that on Earth, they instilled “values” in their children as their parents before did. This killed me on the inside. The world had become a melting pot, and my parents were blinded by old-fashioned beliefs and traditions. These aspects they followed, dealt more with culture than religion. Of course religion was always intertwined and made to believe our foundation. But as always, I was not buying it.                                                           

  I hate my life. Spending countless nights typing away drafts of this particular piece, there is no other way to sum it up, I hate my life. Everything about it does not represent who I am. My body roams this earth but my soul and heart is somewhere far away. At times, I find myself trying to catch up to my mind but it is always just a few steps ahead. My heart yearns for more but is currently forced to accept the inevitable. I will die an Arab. I am a shell of a man, who if given the chance, would run as fast as his fingers type. Never stopping. Never looking back.  Forever running deep into the calm aloof gaze, of the Arabian night. 

M.A.N. (Men Against Nags)

I have never been known for ranting, but “venting” is another case. This vent is dedicated to women. Women who have no real idea what they want. I have mastered languages, studied Shakespeare literature, and even figured out the real meaning of life, but woman have always puzzled me.                                                 

Woman whose list of tangibles they want in the perfect mate out does those of NASA requirements. The problem is, many of the men they have been do not even come close. Yet, with all this in mind, they tell you that you re perfect. That you have been sent from the heavens above, you are exactly the man they needed. Men, this is a lie, women just hate being alone.                                                                                                 

What confuses me is that you want men to do what you say when you say it. Yet our statements are looked at sideways and as being demanding. Are you that naïve as a species that you honestly believe men, I, care about half the things you nag at? That our soul purpose in life is only your happiness? What about our happiness? What we want to do?  What about our personal feelings about religion, politics, life in fucking general? No men, they do not care. It is there way, or the highway. Personally as a man with ethics and pride, I say, “fuck that”. I hereby decree myself as president of M.A.N (Men Against Nags). At the end of the day, women are only truly good at one thing, nagging!

The "Double" Standard

Normally, I am not a fan of the “double-blog”. This is done when a blogger posts a blog then blogs again a few minutes later. Under the circumstances, I am giving myself an official pass. Being ignored has never bothered me before. Hiding in shadows and being unnoticed has actually made me a better writer. I am confined to my thoughts, which seem to ooze more from my fingertips then they do my mouth. Blogs are diary entries I do not mind sharing with the cyber world. Now back to why I am blogging for the second time today. The love of my life, the only women who can match me wit for wit has been ignoring me for more than two weeks now. Although I am partly to blame for this, I do miss her conversation and her tender touch. Yet, my ego controls my heart with dismal instructions of anger and hate. Reconciling would be the right path, but as men, the right thing seems to easy and we find harder ways to punish ourselves in the long run.                                                                                   

 Love blinds many and cripples most. Currently your favorite blogger is both. I seem to lack direction not only in writing but in life as well. My heart yearns for my queen but I am left entertaining the court as a joker and not a king. This entirely falls on me, yet my ego can only blame her. So now, I am left with my fingers and a blank canvas to express to the world, what I should be screaming at the highest mountaintop to her. Love is a four-letter word synonymous to pain. Yet, I would welcome pain with open arms if my love would follow suite. 

Ex..... the Text

I have not been texting for long. As a rambunctious sixteen year old, all I wanted to do was text. The problem here is that my mothers cell phone plan didn’t include texting so I was forced to talk on the phone and I hated it. It was not until a year ago where I discovered the wonderful world of texting. This world crumbled after a month or so. Every conversation I text seemed to cause an argument between my significant other and myself. The funny thing is I was not even upset when writing the damn thing. Her reading, of my writing, caused this debacle. Texting became my enemy.                                                                                                                                        

Whenever I tried to call her she would be “busy” and not pick up. Yet a few minutes later I would receive a text. Now, a rocket scientist I am not, but smarter than a fifth grader, yes I am. It seems to take more time to write a text, then it would to answer the phone. Am I the only one seeing this point or am I truly blinded in an age dominated with fingers instead of lips and tongues. Well I say put the fingers down and lift those lips to the receiver and proclaim our stage in society once again!

Capitan of the RelationSHIP

      Men and women. Together this combination is stronger than any element on earth. Separated, the opposite sex fails to exist in happiness. I have been in my fair shares of relationships, some good but most ended in disaster. Looking back at it now, it was not my fault. Yes women, you are to blame.

       A man's attributes when describing his soul mate are all physical. We are humbled if you took the time out as an adolescence and developed a personality and brains. For the most part, we only care if everything else developed quicker.

       On the other hand, women want a man with stability, a nice car, raging biceps and penis that needs its own pant leg. Women this male does not exist. I know this comes as a shocker. Most of you have been waiting since sixteen and were hoping college men were your way out. Again, sorry. For women to really be happy, remember one thing, we hate listening, talking, or caring about things that do not appeal to us. If you follow my advice, you will be happy by the end of this blog.

O(no)bama.....

It has come to my attention, that recent supporters of our preseident have began "bashing" his views on certain issues. Matt Damon feels "dissappointed"....and Spike Lee wants "more anger". Although it has been almost three years, many of you babied celbs need to realize that Obama was given a "Shit Sandwich." This different from other sandwichs which contain a variety of meats. This one only has one key factor shit! Our last president ran the country amuck and bolted. He was been quoted  saying he would do the "exact samething" if he had to again. So guys do me a favor, lay of the man. Obama didnt point a finger at you for doing that horrible movie Green Zone did he? As far as Spike goes, you are almost fifty years old in a Knicks jersery! Your team hasnt made the playoffs in five years. Instead of critizing Obama, direct you attention to Donnie Walsh and the Knicks.