Sunday, September 9, 2007

Map of the journey (english)

Map of the journeys
Journey one
By: Hoda Hussein


Two horns
And a disk
A mystic pride
Of a warrior
In peace.

Crown headed still
Is the Holy Cow
And me
Holding tight
To the last wood stick
Left over
Of the burnt olive tree.

In an old high ceiling coffee shop
With six mirrored columns
My face is
All me(s) are not,
Nein mad ceiling fans turn
So all not me(s)
The waiter
Puts me into the test.

A stranger turns in
Sits at my table
Orders tea.
I change the table,
The view.
Now I am facing the south after the west
The south is facing me:
" you gave up your earth
Which is water."
The nein fans are turning
Like the nein gods
At the judgment day.

No answer:
The net is down.
Catch the fish
Before it causes an unrecoverable whole
To the network.

Deep connection
shallow connection
No connection

Answer: No.

The stranger is laughing
The stranger
Covers his eyes with his hands
Now never know if
He is laughing or crying:
The face
Needs eyes
To be seen.

"I close my eyes
So nobody sees me".
Says Me the child to the south.
South replies:
"be hidden
You be seeked
In a treasure
A mystery
Or a game".
So I showed myself
Not to be chassed;
The stranger leaves.

But my voice is not heard
At the other side.
Screen shows "On Hold"
The network is too busy
To carry my vibrations
Me is mute
In the other side's ear
The fish cuts a whole
And swims freely
Into the water.
I am back on my table.

Facing back the West
I realize:
I am in the East.

The waiter volunteers to apologize:
"sorry, about the stranger,
He is creasy:
He talks to himself."

My voice is cut in the other side
And the net still too busy
To stitch it back.
And as much as it is important
For the Oneself to be talked to,
I appear crazy
To the other side's ear.
I hide.

Seeked by my six me(s)
Multiplied in the columns mirrors
Me as seven
Is hidden
Like the soul,
I am looked forward
Like a week end
I am feared
Like the End.

I am..

My multiplied images..

The theory swims freely
Out of the mind's net.


According to the statistics
Of the human brutality organization
I am guilty
My crime is well defined:
"protecting other human's life"
If The jury declares my guilt
As of the second degree
They will hit my scull
With a heavy iron bare,
Split me in two
And leave me to become
My other.
Alone in the desert of the universe
I shall be discarded for life
With the eternal conflict
Of who between my me(s)
Can be my other..

If the jury takes my crime
As of the first degree
They will cut my through
With a not sharp knife
And take their time.

According to the human purity organization
I am already accused
Of disobeying the orders
Of self sacrifice.

I stop my heart beats
My respiration rhythm
All my body music
Silent are my nein me(s)
Are my eyes
Like two dead fish on the surface of my face
My ears record the screams above
And below


In the morning
The golden sun spreads
Fake sparkling gold
On the surface of the Nil
At night
The cotton-feel moon spreads
Fake silver on the surface
Of the Nil.
The Nil flattered
Hides the jewels.

Fake gold sparkles
Deep under, captured by minerals.
Water waves end in the fake Red color Sea.
The shells open their gates
To imprison the sun pearls.

The fake silver sparkles
Are salt
In the supposed White sea.

The nil is back proud and pure
As real.

Turning are The nein gods
Giving air to all six me(s)
That are not.

My girl friend taps on my hand
Buys me chocolate.
We lick the chocolate paper together
Dip the biscuit in coffee
And laugh

The waiter stops the nein gods turnings
For the dust man to sweep
The white marble floor.
Watching our chocolate paper
Chassed by the broom
She laughs:
" now I know the origin of croquet!"
I reply:
" Mar Guirguis is killing our demon
With a broom!"

My scull is toped up with ideas
Like a full thick wine glace.
All me(s) are drunk
And images fly freely
In the air.

Loads of minds shares
One single brain.

"she has curly hair"
What a description!
"she is colored"
Why? Is she a clown?
She is what?!
She can not BE
Any way:
In her mother tong
This verb does not exist!
If she "is"
The only possibility "to be"
As a clown
In the circus of human "being".

But she "was"
And she "will be"
In her mother tong
These grammatical structures
Are approved.

In the land where present existence
Is forbidden
She "is"
A clown.

The grey marble tiles under her feet
Are strong
Stronger than her feet.
She does not fall
She flies.
Noot and Geb
Her north and south
Shoo and Tefnoot
In her sides
Continue their eternal dispute
Dusty is the wind
Heavy is the humidity
She seeks the feather
That fits
With her little heart.

"hey! Waiter!
Give me coffee
Thicker coffee
Heavier coffee
Stronger coffee!
No. not like this,
Give me the burnt bean
No. not yet
Give me the row bean
You can not give me the tree
Can you?
Give me the ideal soil and atmosphere
To plant a row and dry coffee bean
Cause I have water
I do.

Discovering that my heart is the best place
To plant a coffee bean
I said:
" ok waiter, give me a seat. I have the rest."

I sit
I give a long lecture
About the dry row bean
To the air who surrounds
My other six me(s)
On mirrored columns.
The waiter apologizes to the ext seat customer:
" she is creasy.
She talks to herself!
Can you imagine?"
The next seat customer starts
To imagine
Talking to one's self.
I laugh
I cover my eyes not to be seen
To be hidden
To be seeked.
The next seat customer
Changes the table,
The view,
And dials a phone number.
Mission accomplished
I cut a hole in the network
And swim freely
To the other side
With my six images
My face
And me
To join my being.
The nein of us are turning now
In the sky
And all creatures
Can breath.


On my table
In the old high ceiling coffee shop
The white marble is broken
On my south
A transparent glace of water
On my north
A rusting metal ash trey
Wings are drawn now
From glace and metal
From water and ash
That form the square's angles
On top of my soul door

The four elements of my tomb
Rise then
In pain instead of peace
As I am turning my back to the East
Where an opened wide old window
Is blocked
With a hard wooden sheet.

In front of me
- in the west side-
Loads of empty tables
And few customers
Reading newspapers
+ the waiter
+ the test.

My lungs absorb fire= cigarette
And my eyes flow my thoughts
In the water glace molecules:
I drink coffee.

According to the statistics
Of the inner knowledge organization
The test is in my north
Water on my west
Ash on my east
And on my south
There is a dead tree:
I declare the original directions of the globe
Of generalization,
Then adjust my compos
To fit its orientations
To my individual directions.
My self hits its intimate journey:
My north is their west.


My six me(s)
My soul
And my other side,
All nein of us are present.
The shaman's journey chants
For the Holy ME
For the All of ME
The shaman smiles sagely
To the M + the E
" I " + the journey are present
In the two letters of ME
I = one all in one
" I " eats
" I" drinks
" I " sits in a coffee shop
" I " is the coffee shop
" I" turns madly in the space
" I " makes the space turn madly
" I " must be silent now
Otherwise " I " dies.
Before completing the journey.


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