There is this compelling fascination in being absolutely and utterly alone with myself.
Oddly alone. As odd as each of those letters looks like by itself- a combination of meaninglessness and idiosyncrasy.
Twice a weak, there is a 90 minute break in my daily routine in which I take my car and drive off to a slightly remote, wonderfully empty, and fantastically quite housing district in the hills of Daheyet il Rashid (of course all this relative to the 8 hours spent in the hustle and bustle of Jordan University that sandwich these 90 minutes). Once I’m parked, I lean my back against the door, crack the windows slightly open just to barely hear the chirping birds, and I spend the 90 minutes sinking in the fantasy lands of books and thoughts, away from all things routine and prosaic in my life.
(Although not much of a nature person, I absolutely love the sound of birds- back in Riyadh, we had a little gazebo in the middle of the house that all the rooms overlooked. My dad covered it with a mesh net, and released around 85 free-flying birds inside it! I woke up and slept to the sound of them chirping for years and years.)
There is fascination just as compelling when surrounded by people.
talking screaming running dancing crying eating walking laughing suffering living!
I have trained myself long ago to find appeal in the simplest forms of life and lack thereof, a characteristic in me that a lot of people find annoying, but that’s really what brings you this blog. Nothing is mundane. Nothing is safe from being assigned a million levels. Everything is the natural evolution of an idea- where the simplest most ordinary thing can become a philosophy (and that’s why I absolutely love Andy Warhol).
One of my favorite sounds in the entire world is the mix of dismembered chatter and the subtle drumming of metal cutlery against porcelain in a restaurant.
The pictures below are from today’s “reading” trip. They’re not much of pictures, I know, but they make me feel good.