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I describe myself to you: I am the scorned to the core of my bones... the forsaken, chased, cast away until the final edges of the world... I am the mocking laughter that never fades out on the lips of thers... I am who is munched then spitted by looking eyes with the speed of a machine gun... I am he who is coerced to apologize for my looks everytime he sees a human eye...
I am the looming moon (of beauty) that has no fields to make home as its backdrop... The only star to send a shimmering light that reaches no eye... The human cyrogenized in sub-zero cold temperatures yet his heart still beats with life and my mind still sparkles and radiates... I am the lost lamb that whenever it tries to approach the flock is met with the stick... I am he who is lost and he who makes people lost in the way... I am loss incarnate.
Sometimes he felt like an ultra fragile protozea living in a shell submerged under crushing depths of water... tortured by a cruel feeling of loneliness... of longing for the other sex... for the exciting lustful touch of the female... for her sweat's stench... for her carnal naughtiness... for her sluttiness... for that mythical world she lived in and he couldn't come close to as much as he wanted despite the passing of all the exceedingly stretched-out years of his life... he finds within him no shame anymore as he crosses the bridge of 40 years -the bridge of no return between youth and old age- to yell as loud as his voice can, asking to get a woman... just one woman... his intimate needs are much stronger than his dignity... than his self-respect, but not even that one woman ever existed in his life.
God please spare my tortured soul from the torment of a reader who takes my words too lightly (flatly)... a critic devoid of conscience... a printing house that doesn't work (bankrupt/banned)... and an apathetic society like an undisturbed lake of oil.
My heart is a dehydrated lemon sucked dry by hungry humans, and even hungrier days. If you want my company in this flight, then wear feathers like mine, take with you for this journey some of my food laced with suffering, let the blazing fires scorch your skin, and ascend with me skywards to the void of space for it is our path... our domain.
The weird thing about humans is that they punish the ugly person for a crime he never committed, but was committed on him by unknown demonic powers to be that could have inflicted the same suffering on them but they miraculously survived that lottery, with a happy coincidence in their lives... all of them punish hum... all the time... until the very end of his life.
Even then they say this world is still fair and merciful, and that humans are simple-minded and tolerant... These same kind humans can perfectly justify all the savage crimes of this world... and I name in particular the crime of killing the spirits of a human who has the right to live as everyone else.
When they fail at convincing you of their logic, their passive complicit deviously evil logic, they will tell you this with an extreme and gut-wrenchingly disgusting simplicity. You shall get what you're owed in the afterlife where all the rivers of honey and milk are, and where on their warm shores lie in pleasure all the scum of the earth, those disaster struck unfortunate scum who didn't get their fair share in life.
My God Do Not Forgive Them, For They Know What They Are Doing.
I am a man with no woman... with no field to sow seeds of wheat... with no ball to play with... with no shining memories... with no path for the future.
Who sells me a heart, so that I sell them words?
Here am I, yet again, apologizing for the sins committed by others.
ー From his second book, in the errata section
Dread was copulating, multiplying within his heart, as he was walking hollowly to a fateful unavoidable end... He knew he will stumble on a wall of explosives somewhere in this road, and he'll become smithereens and all the dreams he stored within his heart will scatter.
I am but an acrobat treading on a thin precarious thread called life.
My tragedy is that I deserve the best, but always get the worst... always.
I am a beautiful gentleman masquerading inside the shell of an ugly human.
Egypt is a paradise for those who have deplorable development... the mental kind.
Women for me are a meal I can eat anytime anywhere then leave the money on the table.
Women were for me like salt water, whenever I drank for it, whenever I felt more and more thirsty.
What is manhood? It's not what you see with your eyes, but what I, great me, feels within me.
Let this novel be a cry of protest denouncing a society that reached the lowest point in the abyss.
ー Closing words of his second and final book
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