Posts Tagged ‘Blogs’

No!

She wasn’t beaten up by a coward of a brother,

Still her face had a hole in it.

She wasn’t an abused wife and mother,

Still her face had a hole in it.

Disheveled hair covered her empty stare,

Lifelike yet lifeless she stood there.

No!

She wasn’t a daughter slaughtered by a bastard of a father,

Her face had a large hole in it.

A modern day Pygmalion would have wept her disfigured visage,

But a warm embrace would have been quite the scandalous vestige,

A man loving a mannequin!

There she stands,

Behind a crystal sheet, naked, forlorn and made out of plastic;

With a hole in her face.

Unattended and abused like many a real women in this world …

P.S: I felt the photograph that I Photoshoped from the original looked silly so I decided to use the original.

Photograph by Mike V. Derderian – Taken with a Sonny Ericsson W880i

- Usually not suitable for the faint of heart but this post is okay –

The fiery flow in the unfathomed depths is rising. The acidic vomit has reached the esophagus. Weighed down by the bills of reality he is unable to move freely in the imaginary world.
Tired the writer decides to drink rum with his favorite author and journalist. He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a  water pistol that he safely tacks in his overcoat’s right pocket.
“You never know what might show up in those dark cerebral alleys!” he says to himself. Locking the doors he presses the lift’s button. Nothing! The elevator’s prehistoric engine doesn’t whir its usual symphony compliments of screechy cogs and oiled leather belts.
“Stuck again! Damn!”
With steps that are more like leaps he reaches the entrance of the old building that resembles the facade of a run down theatre in Al Balad (Down Town).
Spitting the gum, that lost its taste, the same way the memory of a teenage summer camp love affair fades in time, out of his mouth into the rat and cockroach infested drain he heads out to a pub not far away in his mind. After few minutes walk he finds himself in front of a shady establishment in Havana, Cuba.
The street sign reads, El Gato Loco. The moment he pulls the entrance handle fog-like smoke streams out the door.
There he is. His friend. Sitting with all the worries of the world buried deep in a young mind trapped in an old man’s body. He doesn’t show it. He will go out to the sea in about an hour or two.
His right muscled and hairy forearm is laid on the old wooden edge of the bar, inviting strangers to a manly game of arm wrestling, while his left arm is wrapped around the waist of a beautiful mulata.
He hasn’t shaven for a while. He is grumpy yet of jolly disposition that is obvious to everyone present. If life’s force was visible one would have been able to see it coming out of his pores and dripping from his furrowed brow.
He was talking out loud.
“Your sensibilities do not concern me. True one has to write for the ordinary reader but one must not relinquish his/her self while doing so. Writing is art reflective of one’s soul. You not only put your words on that piece of paper; you put yourself. You don’t see people complaining about paintings they do not understand. They simply refuse to talk about such paintings because they are afraid of being mistaken for idiots. Anyone can write and paint simple and that’s what gets them excited; a language they understand and that will move their swollen lips. Well, maybe they are idiots for not wanting to understand … a man’s effort, work, life … etc …etc … bullshit!” Hemingway barks.
His heartily laugh echoes across the stuffy room that smells of burnt out cigars, alcohol, cheap aftershave and delicious perfume.
“Welcome Mike! What brings you to Havana tonight? Have you seen Nick on the way here? You look thirsty dear boy. How about a drink of rum?”
I smile, take up the glass from his shaky hand, down its contents and go back to work. On the way back to my office I think to myself, “ADD is a bitch especially when you end up writing pieces of fragmented fiction instead of work! “

To be continued or not …

Blog art:

L’assassin  (Ink on A4 paper, canon scanner and Photoshop CS3) by SARDINE (Mike V. Derderian)


Lately my dependency on the Social Network has been turning into guilt-filled-angst that is spread thick on spent hours. Another strong reason behind my writing and designing the above visual statement is because Facebook is becoming my work after work.

For a husband and a father of a lovely little girl, and, pretty soon, the father of another child, this dependency is really irritating the existential Homo sapien within me.

I’ve contemplated deactivating my account so many times, however, every time a strong argument that goes in my head prevents me from doing so:

I now have so many acquaintances, from the region and the world, who I really enjoy conversing and interacting with; some are now even amazing friends that I care for!

Facebook has also become my personal PR headquarters, where I post my work through pages that reflect my passions. It helps me connect with creatives, be they writers or artists, or just plain normal folk like you and I, whose work and thoughts I respect. Of course I regard myself more of a writer and an aspiring comic artist than an artist-artist.

Plus disconnecting in this time and age would be PR suicide and it will turn you into a castaway much like Robinson Crusoe, who is constantly searching for his Man Friday!

So the above poster is to remind me – I am sure you don’t need my advice on anything, especially the time you spend on Facebook - that there is a real life beyond the  few centimeters that make up a computer screen within which I am leading a cyber existence.