Scraping for sanity

I overslept today.

The testes make around 100-300 million sperm cells a day. And when they’re not released, the body has the unsolicited tendency of ejecting them during REM.

Life becomes a bit more complicated then because one has to change the sheets, cover the ‘manifestations’ and shower at 3-4 in the morning.

I was so tuckered I didn’t even hear the alarm.

I overslept.

Later, as I dragged myself to the bathroom, my cell’s SMS notification beeped.

I brain-stormed all the possibilities of that message; Who? Why? What? When? It was made all the more gratifying by the discharge at the toilet.

I rushed to the mobile.

It was a missed-call notification message: Grandma.

Right, her sister’s spouse died last night at the hospital because of gastric cancer (stomach cancer) and we agreed that I would pick her up on the way to the funeral at 8am.

It was 07:24.

I switched off my phone.

Mom was sleeping on the couch in the living room.

It means today’s a Friday.

Dad’s a bit of an exhibitionist and we have a domestic helper.

Mom’s been suspecting foul play.

She’s been asking me help monitor the situation but I decline.

“I wish you were dead” she usually retorts at our every disagreement. “Really. I wish you were dead!”

Ouch!

Sometimes, I would be run over by a tractor or, if she was in the mood, wish she cut her womb open when I was in it.

It doesn’t have to be something serious, even if, say, I parked the car at a different spot from where she had asked, I’d be assassinated in a variety of ways.

I counter with her contextual perspective. I know she isn’t a typical suburban mom.

My mom’s father, my grandfather, was an abusive alcoholic.

A few years before I was born, he developed throat cancer. It metastasized so fast he couldn’t talk, walk or eat, just tied to a bed with the drip for a couple years till he succumbed to it.

Karma.

During this time, my grandma took care of him and the eight kids by working as a domestic servant. She was a Persian immigrant without any acquaintances and his family were evasive.

As a result of his neglect, one of his sons has furthered his father’s reputation by becoming a rapist and a pedophile with a criminal record.

The other, the youngest, was too young to be influenced by him when he was alive but he’s, nonetheless, a philanderer.

The six girls grew up with obvious security and emotional issues, but apart from that, they’re very normal.

My grandmother’s a derelict with one eye now.

The prostitute, whom he escorted into their home and force his family out the house where they would spend nights on-end sleeping at the doorsteps of a mosque, is a religious scholar now.

Karma?

She was asleep on the couch.

Like her mother, my mother makes major sacrifices to stay within the bounds of a dead marriage.

Speaking of, I had to attend to the funeral.

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It was crowded.

Two other people were going to be entombed today.

Someone remarked he hoped other people shared his burial date to have a similar turnout.

Persian men remind me of the Italian Mafioso.

Race and appearance apart, they make uncanny facial expressions and gesticulations. Some of the older men there wore thick wire-framed glasses, like the big heads of ‘the family’.

They even have conversations reminiscent of Goodfellas. For instance, an elderly man was telling us stories about his childhood, growing up, in Manama ‘City’ and how he worked in a series of “odd” jobs just to afford a living.

He used to be called Ali “Tomato” now he’s Ali “Tillah” (Gold).

The orthopraxy of the burial was postponed for a couple of hours because his sister in Kuwait wanted to be present.

I left.

I went to my Grandma’s (dad’s mom).

So her knees were hurting, she called earlier to tell me she wasn’t attending the funeral.

She was cooking and turned the TV on to keep me company.

MBC were playing a segment about Prince Charles, the British monarch. They were portraying his turbulent life and marriage with Princess Diana.

It dawned on me that if he couldn’t keep that standard under control, what would’ve happened if it were people’s lives he was governing?

To my recollection, thousands died and the church of England was established because of some King who wanted to marry a woman forbidden by the Pope.

Human history is interspersed with wars and other man-made disasters that were ignited to serve the interests (and ego) of elites, who go to extreme measures to convince their people into accepting the repercussions.

Our King’s son died in a car accident too a couple of years back. He was just 15.

The sad part is the King never acknowledged the reasons in public: a spoiled, underaged, speeding in a suited-up Audi.

A fake leader has to look invincible. His son would’ve tarnished that public image.

It’s funny how the papers here run stories building a hype about the ‘elected’ parliament’s ineptitude and then inject the “Majesty’s” wisdom and generosity in solving the issues.

Of course the joke’s so intimidating we’re too afraid to laugh.

And any dummy parliament, through out the Middle-East, that grows the nerve to challenge the Monarchs gets dissolved.(Kuwait, Jordan, Bahrain)because a politically active monarchy depends on drones to resume it’s reign, which explains the artificial cities all around the Middle-East and the stifled inherent advancement.

No amount of cronies or surveillance-cameras or tell-all moles can assist in that grand ambition.

One has to be in the middle of all the privation to fully apprehend society’s ever changing requirements and the sprouting austerity.

It’s a relentless process that demands a humble presence.

I don’t see how anyone living in a sequestered palace can have the good-will to do that.

The irony is, we have to tolerate an entire family and an extended family, with the impression that they’re holier than thou, and who, as a corollary, have BIG, FAT Swiss accounts.

Thanks to them and their nepotistic ways, Wasta (connections), works like magic and makes the impossible possible.

The sad part is a change of government is usually achieved through violent and bloody means because you can’t talk somebody out of so much power and privilege.

There’s really no point complaining about a monarchy to a monarchy.

Would you exchange a palace for a residential villa?

Would you exchange a throne for anything else in the world? The afterlife?

No?

She was beautiful, Princess Diana.

Reminded me of a coquette I fell in love with.

Would I have waged a war for her (had I not known she was a phony)?

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Fridays have khutbah and jama’a.

The khutbah usually contains a recycled sermon in which the Imam blames our lack of faith and religiosity for our debased lives. A speech almost written by government officials.

Today he spoke about optimism. “We need to generate more optimistic views on life.” he said, “We need to take the example of so and so...”

What about Sweden?

They’re majority atheists and one of the most advanced countries in the world, also, a refugee haven; thousands of Iraqis sought asylum and got them in Sweden.

Are they more humane than we are, even though we pray five times a day?

In fact, let me pose another question: What have we achieved by praying to God for the salvation of Palestine the last 60 years?

It’s salvation?

Ok. What have the Israelis achieved through their proactive smarts?

Do we really need to pray harder, or work harder or work smarter?

Saudi protests were clamped down during the Gaza massacre of 2009 because according to one bearded hypocrit,“It diverts our attention away from asking God for help.”

Remember when Sheikh Faisal starved the world of oil? What an inconvenience huh? The US almost immediately rolled over.

All we need is one phone call from their Secretary of State and over night get the 1960’s Israel/Palestine geography back.

Can’t we do that? Collectively?

No? Why?

Oh yes, that’s right, life in a palace can only generate the good-will for a fat bank account.

What if, my dear Imam, you tell the whole truth next time during your Friday sermon?

What? The consequences of speaking that truth is imprisonment, torture, rape and death?

See, that is why we have debased lives.

Glad I cleared that up.

I’m not an anti-Semite, I’m an anti-injustice and in my opinion, what’s happening in Israel is much less harsh and brutal than what’s happening in the Middle-Eastern prisons and political-detainee camps.

In fact, if we had the means, we’d indiscriminately attack Israelis too and take pride in our actions. How are we any different?

How?

Pathetic, our double standard.

Glad you agree.

No matter what its aspirations or ideals were, today, greed and the subsequent loss of democracy, racism and a heartless inhumanity are what define the Israel, and the US. And of course, us. In fact, we’re proud of it.

Wait, why did this get so political?

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The only reason we get out of bed is the unpredictability. I’ve managed to somehow change that for myself, and as much as I need it, it’s proven to be destructive for my mindless-self; my brain’s autopilot.

The most effective way to have a predictable circumstance is to be isolated. I’ve learned it calms the senses, at least mine, from all the noise and the flash. So much is out there that creates a visual stimuli so hard to match with whatever boring manual that needs to be read and studied that improves us as people.

In fact, almost any creation demands a set of restricted movements for a stretch of time.

One call can create a digression that requires a 15 minute restart time; another 15 minute stationary wait to calm the senses and reduce the emotional high.

I’m sorry if this is all very cryptic. My intention is to delineate the fact that almost everything I wrote, apart from this last bit is noise. It may seem like interesting material, but it’s useless. And we’ve become programmed to accept noise as an intellectual stimuli. We’ve internalized the idea that pop culture refines us.

I don’t need another human to validate things for me. I don’t need more noise.

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I wrote a poem:

Eco-friendly parking lots,

For gray pastures and green minds.

More and more budding issues,

we should get more aligned,

with solar-powered industrial designs.

now’s the time to breakaway, and think about the dandelions.

With the pace with which we plough the fields,

Other life dying will cease to thrive.

In our lonely planet this should generate a flagging sign.

Stop the madness and the withering, lets bring back the good old times.

Good old times of life-style necessities.

Not one of fad-driven-cosmetic-high

And extradite those corporations,

whose sole purpose is to exploit,

every resource for your every penny,

And strip this world of it’s God given right.

It’s with now, and you and here.

So come bring back the good old times.

Sounds like a nursery rhyme. If I edit it some more, I can make it sound much better.