How do I feel about Christchurch?

How do I feel about Christchurch?

Indifferent.

I’ve been asked how I feel about the Christchurch massacre. What I gather instead is that I have been asked to feel. That’s not the same. What that really means and then breaks down to is; we want you to feel, even yet again and more precisely; you are being forced to feel.

I don’t take lightly to being forced. I reject any form of it.
I won’t let people or events sway me one way or another.

Call me cold, but I digress to calling it numbness.

I believe people who are swayed so easily by media are in proper reaction mode, and when I say proper, I am not complementing them. They’re proper according to the swayings of what media wants them to feel.

What’s disturbing is people don’t realise it’s yet another sign of the hour coming nearer….

And yet we’re not scared of that.

We’re mortified by an event but aren’t mortified by our insides and what state we’re going to die in at any given moment.

Look at the first person who died.

His last words were ‘salam brother’, he’ll be resurrected in that state.

What is my state? People are asking each other about it , asking how they feel and I don’t feel a thing.

I’m intoxicated in my disgusting state and occupied in it’s disaster. I have my own massacre inside, I have my own atrocities and they’re on a perpetual replay reel. They never stop, I never get to hear the flickering of film at the end of my movie, it’s on constant replay and I am drowning in that. I can’t surface to catch a breath let alone look at the shore or the scenery.

I’m momentarily torn, mainly angry, I cry a tear for but a brief second of recognition, not because these men and women and children lost their lives, but because I’ve still got mine and I’m a walking disaster whilst they were honoured by their Lord to be taken in a worshipping state.

How will I go? Backbiting? Thinking ill thoughts? Hating, angry, lying?

I’m gathering and walking through these states and don’t know if I’ll be taken in one of them. That’s what scares me and should everyone else.

How does anyone know when they will flip the switch, have the devil take them by the hand to commit any of the above mentioned heinous crimes against ourselves? Because ultimately, that’s what the shooter did, he ignored his insides for so long until they took over.

If each of us stopped to fix five of these ugly internal vices a year, just five, then we’d not be having these conversations, feeling these misplaced feelings, have a lot more honour and respect in dealing with each other and truly love one another more.

That’s why I don’t feel, I don’t hashtag or cry for anyone.

I’m too busy, self absorbed in my own sins to hold anyone hostage for theirs.

Wesam El dahabi

i’m Arab, ten

im-arab10
i’m Arab, ten
Spray that at me with venom all you like,
Do you realise my ancestors are prophets?
Whatever lashes off your breath with vengeance,
 lands on my skin with silken embrace.
Wesam El dahabi

It utterly baffles me when white supremacists herald themselves as civilised,
as the benchmark for humans to rise to, in the name of Jesus, in the name of Moses, in the name of whatever religious figure they suppose and they forget,
Jesus, Moses, Muhammad, Abraham, Jacob, Soloman, Joseph, and every prophet that ever lived was of African to Middle Eastern decent.

Enough with your amnesia, enough with your cognitive dissonance and dissociation with reality.

I have firm conviction that people who think this way have serious cognitive abilities, bordering on mental health issues. Their spiritual states are a given, there is nothing Jesus like nor holy about them.

But to throw an insult at me like ‘hey Arab’, is the most laughable. You do realise the word Arab only exists in a negative framework in a mind that has been utterly shaped by empty media rhetoric, void of any meaningful and rightful association to negativity.  Calling me an Arab with intent to insults only affirms my conviction and love of my heritage.

Structural racism, selective amnesia, hate, prejudice and bigotry are not diseases and states that can be cured overnight, or ever, if someone is comfortable bathing in lies and misinformation.

In the words of a George Galloway in a recent debate, ‘The Iraqi’s were teaching the world Algebra when you (English) were sitting in forests painting your faces blue’.

If you’re that stupid and gullible to fall for media jargon, then it’s high time you wake up and realise the true worth of civilisations far more ancient than your infantile colonialist forefathers and their successors to present time will have you believe.

W.E.

-prejudice

prejudice

The lowest form of identity

is patriotism

-W.E.

A belief that the name of a continent of birth defaults you to to practise prejudice against someone who’s own default steers them in the same but perhaps opposing manner as you, as if to say the purpose of humankind is to wipe each other out, of course in the name of grand old patriotism.

And politicians, governments and media are well aware of this, so they strip you of your true human identity, blast you with chemicals as soon as you leave the womb, myriads of injections, make your mother believe she doesn’t have the strength to do what a woman’s body is designed to do, cut you by force from her belly, and if she is lucky to deliver you naturally, cut the umbilical cord whilst it is still pulsating the love and nurture from her, a symbolic gesture of what lays ahead.

The chemical bombardment of drugs, food laden with toxins, water rancid with disease, an education model parading as liberating, a wolf in sheep’s clothing of the ulterior dumbing down of the masses and entrenching you in a separation from your true self, until you know nothing but this masquerade of what it is to be, to know your origin.

The severing of you from you begins the minute your fathers loins thought about finding a fertile home in your mother, both of them too, carrying the blood of manipulated and numb to the core beings, mindlessly obeying, worshipping the state and the system over what is truth and what is real.

And you…. well you have your patriotism, a golden stamp on your hand of your obedience to them.

Drape your shoulders in their flag,
tattoo their anthems on your breast,
congratulations, you’re not a patriot,
you’re bereft.

W.E.

Sons under the sun – France, Saudi, same, same

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the irony of course is not the women,
not the liberation, not the oppression,
nor the men policing them either,
but it’s the sand.

the connectedness of this dry and pale backdrop,
which I don’t know if the artist meant,
but I also don’t know if people realise.

Men, dry from the moisture of comprehension,
but wet behind the ears,
still oblivious to the idea,
that they don’t own other men,
especially other women.

and despite our outward appearance,
we haven’t evolved anywhere in the world,
secularist, fundamentalist,
dogmatic or pragmatic,
oh they love the words,
both pride themselves on arbitrary definitions.

what kind of wombs bore you,
i wonder if they deplore you,
would you police your mothers too,
would you still hold the same view?

if it were your mother that was dressed,
or undressed,
would you still feel the need to oppress?

I wonder,
what the world would look like if right from the start,
women were just left alone,
how much more would we as a civilisation,
have grown?

This arid backdrop is the wasteland of what we have become,
of two images of things that can’t be undone,
both burned into our retinas,
by women’s sons, under the sun.

W.E.

Art by Khalid Albaih
https://www.facebook.com/KhalidAlbaih

It’s that simple

Thank you to @sirenbella_23 for showing me this. 

Written by @heelturnpoet 

Sums it all up quite easily.
My thoughts
Let’s see your intellectualism now you war mongers. Let’s see your nationalistic pride, your patriotic ignorance, your prejudice and white supremacy laced privileged arses defend with the empty rhetoric of political jargon, lambasted through air waves, bombed into the minds of cattle-like consumers who just soak up this idiotic rhetoric like it fucking means a single thing.
Complicating the uncomplicated. 

Admit you’re greedy motherfuckers, admit you would trade hundreds of lives for a tenth of a decimal point increase in your stock value, your gun toting, bullet, bomb making, world destroying manufacturing, war industry and all the tangent business you run alongside it. 

Your folly is so pronounced though, you fail to realise amongst all these populations you seek and destroy, that amongst them may be your geniuses, your inventors, doctors, engineers, scientists, humanitarians and so on. 

You fail to realise that if you should promise children a life of education without conditions, that is, not education according to your destructive forced agendas of social engineering, that you may enhance your bottom line, that you may increase your profits. 

Teach people to offer their service, teach them through every way possible, through love, let them have their own cultures to share with the world, let them be paid, let them live in comfort and line your pockets further, we don’t care. 

Why on earth would you slay your chances with war, medication that kills, with diseases spread around to depopulate, with agendas of pillage and theft, of dehumanising people just so you can profit your measly sums when you could profit more by involving the whole human race.
The ‘owners’  of the monetary systems are the dumbest businessmen and women on earth. Utterly dumb. What will happen when there’s but a handful of you left and your seed (because we know your impotence and infertility is growing at alarming rates) will cease? Kill each other then, you war mongers. 

W.E.
#poetry #writing #love #war #syria #refugees #aleppo #people

-numb

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Sometimes words spoken,
Hands shaken,
Deals hearkened,
By hearts hardened,
Cause the pictures to speak louder.
 
Your words spoke too loud this time,
And deafened this boy to the sound,
Of naught else but his consciousness.
 
Taught awareness of self at so young,
What will become,
What does he now have to overcome,
Your war drums,
Your missile hums,
Turning homes into slums,
How,
How will this all be undone?
 
When the rhetoric of your politics,
is the same shit,
Same song, sung,
Same outcomes,
This boy sits,
As you pit your wits,
Numb.
 
W.E.

Dear Australia

aboriginal flag

Dear Australia,

I am sorry, I am not donning the red white and blue today.
This in no way or form makes me an ingrate to the privilege I have enjoyed growing up in this country.

This makes me a human, in full working capacity, able to acknowledge truths when they stand above him, when they stare him in the face in the back alley of his soul.

I can’t take those truths on no matter how hard I try and it is not because of lack of ability to intellectualise, theorise, philosophise or fantasise, whatever one of those ‘ise’ I implore, they are misdirection, misspelling of one word, LIES.

I am big, I am strong and I am secure in my convictions. I am faithful, I am honest and I am kind to my fellow man. I have a heart and I have a soul and I certainly have a mind and they all direct me to put my fists down, to submit my mind, to squeeze my heart and to hold my breath as I dive into oceans of truths that lay secrets buried under beds of atrocities anchored to the history of what makes this country.

I am ashamed. I am not of white descendants. I am not of European colonialist background, my ancestors had nothing to do with the genocide of the original custodians of this land, but I am still ashamed and the burden of guilt grows more and more as I age.

My own people have faced persecution too. For over one hundred years, white supremacy aims to drill into the heart, to burn the fabric of our cultures too. We’ve experienced genocide in the thousands of millions, uncountable numbers for no reason than also being custodians of land that contains valuable resources, that is conveniently in the way of their money pursuits, politics being the scapegoats for the reality of pure greed, brown skin the marketing medium to justify their propaganda push to kill people, human beings, people with cultures and heritages thousands and thousands of years old.

So my Aboriginal brethren, I feel your anguish, never in the manner that can be materialised into the raw emotion that I witness on your beautiful faces, but I feel something. I can’t raise a thumbs up on this day, I can’t raise my eyes from the floor, I share your mourn. I share your sadness. I taste the bitterness that lingers without a sweetness to numb it ever. The taste becoming the familiar flavour forcing an inability to palate anything else.

Please accept my apology for not doing enough, not feeling enough, not knowing enough and being oblivious to anything but myself for all these years.

To God we belong and to God we return, collectively in front of Him will we be stripped naked of our hypocritical clothes, of our oppressor skin, of our privileged flesh and our sullied bones.

There with nothing but our souls, will the court room doors be flung open and in front Him will there be one witness to put us away, to close the trial on us. Our souls will testify against us and we will all pay for that guilt. The laws of nature are the laws of God, there can be no semantic outbursts of fanciness around this. The nomenclature of the soul will bare witness, it’s time humanity became familiar with that nomenclature, to perhaps spare itself the trial that awaits it, the perpetual torment that will haunt us when the trumpet is blown.

Forgive me

Wes

p.s.

This article is one of the best I have read. Do yourself a favour. Put down the beers, the flags and the barbecue tongs. Read something and learn.

http://islaminaustralia.com/2013/09/10/the-first-encounter-between-muslim-people-and-the-aboriginal-australians-key-note-address-by-patrick-dodson/