Omlette Rainbows and flimsy people


I thought about getting

tattoos over my scars

But a book is always

better than a movie


I have over one hundred stitches on my body…… I’d rather tell the story about how I got them to my children as mundane as they may be than to tell the story to my soul of the regret of creating colourful scars in haste and absent-mindedness.

I’m not taking a dig of people who get tattoos for very personal well thought out reasons, but I am questioning the plethora of what now appears to be fashion statements without real thought.

Young men covered with sleeves, getting tear drops etched on their cheeks as if to express fallen comrades or kills they’ve made but they walk around with plucked eyebrows,  white as snow sneakers that have never stepped in the mud of life, shaved bodies and a course of steroids for three months that inflated their ego’s more than it did their bodies. Young men who have never taken a good hiding and shook their opponents hand said ‘cheers, fair fight’  and walked away to live another battle. Just paper fucking people that burn in a puff of capooof as soon as a little heat enters their lives.
Fuck off with your bullshit tats.

Same goes for all you women getting painted for no fucking reason other than to sit in your mother’s house, taking selfies in your underwear trying to garner social media likes whilst you struggle like the rest of us with a normal life, covered up in your uniform at work, too embarrassed to reveal what you really do to your colleagues. When you have your second child and that loose skin won’t go away and that tat looks like a rainbow omelette, you’ll think  back, more than likely you’ll have a real scar, as the mettle of your make up is that weak that you won’t have the backbone to push a baby out naturally and beg for the epidural and for the doctor to gut you open.

Be careful guys. Think hard. Don’t be so fucking irresponsible and reactive.

Rockstars in my house



When the fervour of youth wanes

All that is left is humility and pain

When beauty is lost and faces grow wrinkled

I want to be able to live with your brain

When your vigour for lust has all but died

I still want to be able to dwell inside

Labyrinth your soul and ravish your mind

That way it won’t matter if we’re also blind

When sinews grow hard and skin is no longer supple

The meaning will manifest of us being a couple

When we can dwell within and find tranquillity

We wont be longing for that youthful ability

So why do we squander all this youthful zeal

Enjoy our minds much younger, sex appeal that’s real


There’s only so much physical beauty your eyes can take before they are satiated.

Attracted as you may be to certain flows of hair, colour of eyes, tone of skin, shape of body, unless you’re a numb brick of a person, you’re going to want someone that can appeal to your mind and or soothe your soul.
But what if you’re like the majority of people these days, squandering their youth in neglect, chasing after the outer life, in neglect of the inner? What if the superfluous is what has got you occupied and have done this for so long that you no longer even recognise you have an inner life to nurture? There’s the dilemma right there as all the counselling in the world won’t help you comprehend if you just don’t know and have never been acquainted with your heart, mind or soul.

A very basic neuroscience principle that applies here – and we know it in laymen terms as ‘Use it or lose it’ – applies. You have a period in which your mind can develop neural pathways to better create connections in brain body and now as we know, even heart centres that will make you who you are. If you neglect some, you pretty much lose your ability to have those connections later in life without serious and struggling effort.

The other area of neuroscience now focussing on this topic is neuro-plasticity. It’s fascinating to say the least and the doctors are showing that long into old age, brain centres can rewire and take over the role of other areas of the brain that were formally responsible for tasks or thought. This happens through constant repetition and the brain can take new routes, alas, it takes a lot of effort and it’s not as simple as just plugging a cord into a different socket if one socket doesn’t work.

The point is, do as much as you can that is healthy for your mind, heart and soul now, whilst you have the chance. Do as much as you can when you are young and have energy and zeal to boot.
Some will take this to the extreme and indulge in harmful activities, if you want to miss the point, sorry, I can’t help you aim straight as you piss all over the bowl of your life. Hey, it’s your life.

My children are rewarded for intelligence and are taught that this along with other inner qualities are the measure of a human to strive for. I couldn’t give two fucks about what’s-her-name’s new dress and how she showed up at the grammys. Heck, it’s been over fifteen years since I sat at a T.V. to watch a program. Intelligence, soul, character, wit, charm, empathy, kindness, love, caring, helpfulness, chivalry, honour, honesty, bravery, courage, relentlessness and more, they’re the rockstars in my household. Funny enough, I have five children and not one of them knows the words to any pop song. Don’t get me wrong, they’re into the arts and music and I have never forbade or stopped them from watching pop media, but they’re just not into it because we talk of higher ideals in this household.

It’s my job to prepare them to be outstanding and exemplar spouses and partners in their older ages. It’s my job to ensure they function from within and will be self healing, self correcting and self managing humans able to run households and share lives with their partners and their own families as well as function amongst others in society at a much higher standard than the norm.


Kindness and generosity.


Give of yourself so graciously that in the

end you efface the receiver and their

tongue speaks  involuntarily,

“You’ve been kind to me”

‘Kindness never touched something except it made it more beautiful and cruelty never touched something except it made it more vulgar.’

Those words are immortal and sadly many of you will never know their origin because of the outrageous picture painted in the media nowadays of a people who are known worldwide by tradition to be the most hospitable and generous. What has culminated now in their modern new age generations are self fulfilling prophecies against their own heritage. They’ve severed themselves from their true history and instead indulge in reinforcing stereotypes of what society and media presents them as.

You will still find cultural pockets of tradition in Morroco, Egyptian deserts, Turkey, Yemen, Jordan and other Bedouin cities where the kindness and generosity will shame you into the above state of expressing gratitude involuntarily.


You can do many things to Arabs, I mean real, traditional Arabs, the type that know who they are and are tied to all things spiritual and are in love with humankind, not the bogus media pin up boys and girls that are blasted into your retina,  but one thing you cannot do is call them miserly. If you do that, you may as well have killed them!

That is the highest insult for men and women of tradition.

Learning, Knowledge, Wisdom



Throwing your ego into the sea and watching it drown in the vastness of what
you don’t know.


Admitting you have the ego to drown and that the sea of vastness is there


Showing someone else how to do it.


Humility is what will commence the journey.
It will set you on fire in your love of learning, knowledge and wisdom.
A great scholar said, ‘The more I learned, the more ignorant I became’. Think about the context of this magnificent quote. Think about who said it and it’s weight.
He wasn’t ignorant by any means but this is an expression of humility and defeat. Admittance he’s a speck of nothing despite of who the public thought he was, in the vast ocean of knowledge that existed and opened up to him the more he learned.

Scholars and Warriors

scholars and warriors

“The society that separates its scholars
from its warriors will have its thinking
done by cowards and its fighting by fools.”
– Thucydides,
History of the Peloponnesian War (ca 410 BCE)

And what has become of todays society?

Brainless soldiers

Heartless scholars

Fashionable philosophers

Rapist politicians

Dishonest doctors

Manipulative media

Sheep common man

Women who tear their wombs out

Men who sever their genitals

Suck shit, reap what you sew!


Know, my sons.

code for my boys

Know my sons, men have codes.

Bravery is calling fear a liar.

Courage is proving fear a liar.

Chivalry, is knowing when to use courage or bravery.

Nobility is having the fortitude to follow through your conviction in both.

Honour is not straying from the code.

Honesty is the light that the code is illumed by

Truth is the gnawing at the soul that flat lines your ego.

Love is the energy that fuels all.

I hope that whatever I teach you or whatever I leave behind become firm foundations for you to build mountains upon and your progeny to build mountains on but no matter how mountainous you all may become, you remain grounded in the valleys of humility,

with people,

serving them,

being exemplar with the codes of being men,

of being human.

Do not forget that to be harsh when it is needed even in the face of relentless scrutiny is far nobler than laxity to please the lazy folk,

the unmotivated,

the detached,

the deprived of soul.

Know that kindness and gentleness in the face of a storm of violence and ridicule is more praiseworthy than siding with the masses.

Do not slip boys,

Hold to each other,

Hold to the above codes.



Not my allegory, story or anecdote but a brilliant read.

A boat was docked in a tiny Mexican fishing village.

A tourist complimented the local fishermen on the quality of their fish and… asked how long it took to catch them.

“Not very long” they answered in unison.

“Why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?”

The fishermen explained that their small catches were sufficient to meet their needs and those of their families.

“But what do you do with the rest of your time?”

“We sleep late, fish a little, play with our children, and take siestas with our wives. In the evenings, we go into the village to see our friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs.
We have a full life.”

The tourist interrupted, “I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat.”

“And after that?”

“With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. 
Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can then negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City!!! From there you can direct your huge new enterprise.”

“How long would that take?”

“Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years.” replied the tourist.

“And after that?”

“Afterwards? Well my friend, that’s when it gets really interesting,” answered the tourist, laughing. “When your business gets really big, you can start buying and selling stocks and make millions!”

“Millions? Really? And after that?” asked the fishermen.

“After that you’ll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends.”

“With all due respect sir, but that’s exactly what we are doing now. So what’s the point wasting twenty-five years?” asked the Mexicans.

And the moral of this story is:

Know where you’re going in life, you may already be there! Many times in life, money is not everything.

“Live your life before life becomes lifeless”

Some people get it. Great talk

My sister from another Mr.

Elucidation on point! No need to fancy it up, this girl gets it!

Language, presentation and model example, perfect.

If you’re honest, she’ll make you peel your skin.

from here:

Ode to father carries on



Continued from: Here


Now that I’m drained, now that he’s drained, bare, naked and stripped of our attributes. Attributes that kept us upright, but here we find ourselves fallen, ironically towards each other, two towers leaning on each other and yet holding each other up. That’s what it took. A baring of our sacredness, a stripping of our egos, no fight left in us both, guards down, ready to cop it on the chin and embrace it, embrace each other, even so, chins exposed, none have the power to knock the other out, none have the power to even throw a one, two. The array of combinations we’d let loose before, and now, nothing, both satisfied not to hurt the other.

I can see his humanity, always have, I couldn’t admit it. He never saw mine, so how could he admit to something he knew not about? I had to write the first ode, I had to let him know I saw him. I had to let him know I saw that he thought that no one saw him. How many fathers are like him, toil away and none of what they do gets noticed, gets written about, gets exalted. Oh the station mothers have enjoyed, and the deprivation the fathers have endured, this is not fairness, this is short sightedness, this is human shortcoming.

The tears that don’t stream down their cheeks burn pathways in their hearts as they hold themselves together as forts. Sixty six years is enough, eventually it burned down into his bowel. The pain of not being seen. Not only by me, my family, but his direct family.

Now illness manifest, reality cannot lay dormant and like the lion that it is, it roars and wakens the jungle of ignorance up. His family can hear, can see, can feel. They all flock to him, his illness an expiation for all. We know man is expiated for his sins even if a thorn to afflict him. My fathers illness expiated everyone as they all flocked to him, eyes in hands, catching their tears as they acknowledged him.
His illness returned their sight, his illness broadened mine.

I made sure my mother read and translated the first ode to him. When I came home that day, he had tears in his eyes, he begged and asked me how I knew, how I saw. I later found out that he and my mother wept together as they read it.

Maybe my job as a son was to document some of his accomplishments. So many men are remembered with their life’s work when they pass. Artists, writers, gnostics and so. Superficially he is none of these. Hidden and un-manifest, he is all. His craftsmanship, his prose and his art, was sacrifice. It wasn’t relegated to a material thing, something bought and sold, marvelled at on the walls of the mundanely inspired, no his life work was – passing on life. Chiselling away at himself to give to me, to my brother, to my sister and now to our children, he continues a new generation. Bits and pieces falling from him, and into our bellies. We are fortunate to see it, we are fortunate to be aware.

So here I stand, attempting to put into words but failing, how do I write about being a human? I cannot, the only way is to do as he did, sacrifice, pass on the bits of myself, chisel away, chipping until someone grabs a remnant and keeps it alive.

I have a lineal record of all my ancestry. We’re of noble blood, but noble blood means nothing without action. It cannot save me, only sacrifice will save me. Letting go of all the unsightly traits, the soil that is not presentable before God. Perhaps that is why my father preferred the company of the earth rather than of men. A reminder of what soil is beneficial and what soils us.The life giving soil and the soil that is ugly and not fit to present in front of His Majesty.

His health improved, for a week. I couldn’t believe it. Slowly but surely he digressed back and other ailments took over. My fear of exposing him to the myriad of unnecessary tests and prodding, of poking around and enticing. I know what happens to the body when you push and push. I’ve been there, self inflicted I push until something goes pop. Something always goes pop. So a few weeks later he’s back in hospital, his body drained. God’s work, God’s way of reminding us all who we are. Pray dad, pray. Nothing else matters except your devotion. Stay devoted. Stay true. It’s hard though with your body and carnal self calling the opposite way. ‘Don’t worry’, they say, ‘God is forgiving, just indulge’. Oh the oft demanding self. It clings on to every opportunity of weakness to keep you abased. Our masters have taught us to talk to it, to demand of it, to command it, to whip it into submission and servitude to us so that as a whole we can remain in servitude to our Lord.

The next saga begins, trying to make sense of it all as a scientist sifts through real data and pseudo data, as an investigator skirmishes through every last bit of observable evidence and delves deeper into his gut. There’s that line. That line I have to cross where I tap into a different unobservable realm to make a decision for him, for me, for us all. I can feel the weight on my shoulders. This is not going to be easy.



photo credit:

How ignorant is the man who stands atop the mountain,

Bathing in his glory of accomplishment

Forgetting the sacrifice of the rubble beneath him