But what is the difference between literature and journalism?…Journalism is unreadable and literature is not read. That is all.

-Oscar Wilde

Mutters under her breath �This is so not my thing.�

-�The newest member of our group is Ms.Delila Idris. Hello Delila, care to share something with the group about yourself?�
-�Yeah, sure. I�m 23 years old, and I dance for a living�
-�Really now? That sounds lovely. What sort of dance? Ballet?�
-�Nah. I belly dance�

Pause. The guys stare at her.

-�Hmm, interesting. What else would you like to let the others here know about you?�
-� I don�t do drugs, don�t do spirits, and don�t do after-the-show-gigs. Could you please tell those two guys over there to stop staring at me?�

Pause.

-�OK. Why did you join this group, Delila?�
-� I figured I could get to talk to other people about my problem. Maybe learn something, makes life easier.�
-�That�s right Delila, we�re all here to learn.�

Note: Handed in with a certain Creative Writing portfolio, an assignment to force a character into a situation where talking is a must. Conversation is revealing of many personality traits; this was the moral of the homework.

People selling eggs,fruits and vegetables, as well as other items on the roadside in Gour Al Kafreen, close to the Dead Sea. The children were running barefoot after a rooster, the women were making a living with what produce they offered, and the men were engaged. The spectacle was bustling with life; crude, unpolluted, remote, horrific, and moving.

Clippings from the original three pictures are put forward to give heed to the specifics, followed by the unclipped authentic shots. Kindly pardon ill-proportioned or blurry visuals. To reflect on the explicit poverty in those clips is, by sharing them, the purpose of this entry. There is nothing fake in this announced status, it is out there for everyone to “evaluate”. The rough, dry feet, the layers upon layers of white textiles over women’s heads, the curious eyes of the men; all are raw faces of survival.

Since serious, long posts seem to be reader-repellent, a frank question would be related to the “why” behind my posting them. I was nibbling at this notion yesterday with a fellow blogger, and he failed to get through to me. My own experience with blogging has been largely exclusive and personal. To say this is an obvious No No, but I did not actually seek to enter a blogging community of any sort. I blog because A- It is (another) nasty habit I am hooked on to, B- It sharpens my writing skills, C- There are a number of topics about which I have something to say,and, D- Reason X. Attracting an audience is pleasant, don’t get me wrong, it boosts one’s self-esteem and all the other egocentric emotions one may entertain, but it is not the core of my attention.

Another old-new point my fellow blogger mentioned was related to my language. Other readers have approached me, presenting the same issue for debate, and asking me to utilize an easier type of language in my blog. Some have it that the genre of language with which I express my points and opinions is somewhat “distant” from that used in most blogs, some claim it is “difficult” to grasp a passage of mine because I find complex sentences appealing, and others support other opinions.

Something was also said about my “choice of topics”, which, possibly, some people find extremely uninteresting and others (I hope) find entertaining, educational, and/or of some other undeniable value. So there, the three blog-killers all in one place: Long entries, difficult language, and odd topics (using the word “odd” loosely).

While I respect all opinions regarding any given topic, I beg to make my own crystal clear. As I stated above, I blog for my own pleasure. Now this may strike people as being a selfish act of hunting some delightful sin, and it absolutely is. When I find, or think of, a topic that intrigues me, I blog about it. When I am playful enough to share my mood without being indecent (relatively speaking), I do exactly that. My language is a tool to reach out to people, it is not designed to appeal to everyone’s taste, as is the case with many a thing in life. Language should not be a cage, and it should enable one to get through to people. It ought to be fun, too. To prove this point, I do not always post in this dubbed-rigid manner, I often free myself from it and come clean and simple, particularly in T Play Box. Do not mix my saying such things with a smart, even arrogant, retaliation. I wish to make things clear for the confused, no more, no less.

Having established such pillars, it goes without saying that some of my posts receive more attention than others. That is almost like wearing something “fashionable” in everyone’s eyes, and getting praised and flirted with because of it, and wearing something less fashionable and receiving less “noise”. But here’s the catch: when you wear something trendy, you will probably find a bunch of other people wearing similar things because they are exactly that: trendy. That is what I pray does not happen to my blog, quite an analogy, don’t you say?

To dramatize matters, this is a living conflict between what the public wants, and what the blogger/writer is interested in. I opt for the latter freedom. To put it bluntly, I still post long entries, I still use retro language, I still write about what appeals to me. I will, in all probability (should I retain my patience and some extra time), continue to commit all three sins because I am passionate about what I do, and quite a sinner, too!

This terminates this longish, “I” filled entry.

Outrageously delightful! Someone from Bangladesh has just dropped me an e-mail saying she would like to use my Analysis: The Female in the Orestia I, at her school. Well, what do you know? My analysis goes international. My family members are proud of me now, I assure you.

On another note, could Vincent please send me that song he promised? Vincent, if you can read this, and feel them vibes, make haste!

This is, partially, why I have problems understanding reality.

Sister: How was your first day?
Tololy: I didn’t enjoy it that much.
Sister: Why not?
Tololy: I dunno. I guess I’m not cut out for this kinda thing. I don’t like being confined, and I would rather sit and read somewhere else instead, you know.
Sister: But you won’t get paid for sitting and reading.
Tololy: But that’s what I wanna do. I want to get paid for reading or writing, or maybe studying.
Sister: So you didn’t enjoy the job today?
Tololy: It’s just that I remain seated in the same place, n people talk about other people, n I finish work n just pretend I’m working for what’s left of the day, n I dunno… It’s pointless!
Sister: Welcome to the real world!

Ahleen FM � una stazione radio che trasmitta su 97.15 FM, e, una cosa che ho scoperto recentemente � che questa stazione trasmetta canzoni Italiane! Che bella sorpresa! Che gioia!

Ahleen � stata la mia stazione preferita (scegliendo tra quasi otto or nove stazioni in Amman), ma dopo che ho ascoltato musica Italiana suonata dal DJ Ahleen, mi � piaciuta di pi�! � da tanto tempo che abbiamo bisogno, noi che parliamo l’italiano nella Giordania, di una stazione di questo tipo. Viva Ahleen!

Playful, as usual, but now the joy shall spread across the net. Ever reflected on the horrific meanings of casual nursery rhymes? If not, then be forewarned ye Mother Goose fans. I bring you my Tilly Putty Thought for today, Thursday January 19th. Enjoy.

It is absurd to think that one of the most popular rhymes out there, “Ring around the rosie” probably traces its roots to the 1300’s Black Plague that killed millions of people. Ashes, Ashes.

Ring around the rosie
A pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down

Not to forget the three blind, bleeding mice, who run around the kitchen. That’s entertainment for the young and innocent, oh yeah, the kids love this one. My personal favourite is line four, that’s right, the one with the carving knife.

Three blind mice, Three blind mice.
See how they run!See how they run!
They all ran after the farmer’s wife,
She cut off their tails with a carving knife.
Did you ever see such a sight in your life?
As three blind mice!

Then there was the poor egg, Humpty Dumpty, who fell and shattered his head and was beyond repair.

Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall;
Threescore men and threescore more
Cannot place Humpty-Dumpty as he was before.

In Arabic, the nursey rhyme about slaughtering the pigeons is most delightful. It is used to put children to sleep, and made part of one of Fairouz’s songs.

??? ???? ??? ????
? ?????? ??? ??????
??? ?? ???? ?? ????
???? ?? (?????) ?????

Rough Translation:
Sleep, sleep
And I will slaughter the pigeons for you
Go away, you pigeons,
I was bluffing to put (name of child) to sleep

The pigeons are not slaughtered after all, that has to be a good thing, no?

Accurate, ladies and gentlemen. This is what you teach your children, those are the images you plant in their heads, and then, what’s the easiest way out? Blame it on Manson, Satanists, the government, the media, or a black sheep of your own choice. This was my Tilly Putty Thought, now let’s all fall down.