If you’re looking for me …

I’m still tweeting @DannySeesIt.

I’m also on my new website http://www.dannyramadan.com

I’m also appearing as myself in the documentary The Amina Profile. I filmed that ages ago, back then I still was called Daniel Nassar.

 

Good times,

miss you all. 🙂

The Last Two Souls

I named both of his eyes: “Forever” and “Please Don’t Go” ’cause I know this kind of love; I’ve been here before. It’s good for a while, ’til he walks out the door. 

But I can’t change, even if I tried; even if I wanted to. My love, my love, my love, my love.

He keeps me warm, he keeps me warm.

Same Love – Mary Lambert

In the wilderness, we travel, you and I. We don’t know each other, we never met. We are the opposite sides of a magnet, we’re on the other sides of the globe. You’re my ice, and I’m your flame. We walk, unknowingly heading towards each other, yet pushing away from one another; and our roads stretch ahead so darkening, so puzzling, but we keep moving. 

I climb the towers of Babylon, and I call your name. I didn’t know at the time that that was your name; deep within, I just screamed it; and it became your name. 

You came through oceans; as if you’re a mystical creature; you heard my calling and you came, the last two souls on planet earth were about to collide, you didn’t know your own name, but I named you, and you answered. 

As we reach each others; and on arms length; we reach to each others with a kiss, lip on lip, hand on hand, and you drawn in my arms; and I melt in yours. We smash into each others like two shadows that merge to become one. We fall deeper into the cursed kiss; and we, so hungry for love, so thirsty for belonging, tight our arms around each others, in a deep cold corner in this world. Around us, circles of green grass is growing, trees are scratching the face of the earth again. The ruins are rebuilding; a stone jumps on top of a stone, the stones rubs each other, as our bodies rubs each others. My hand, firmly grabbing your back, squeeze water from within the mountains and it explodes like a heaven of sparkles; from within the womb of the mountains, fish jump alive and beautiful. Koi fish, just like that one tattooed on my left arm, every kiss you print on my tattoo, another Koi fish comes back to life. 

.. I hold you between my arms, and I look long and hard into your eyes: you’re my unknown lover, my one and only, my deepest secret and my only hope; you’re the dream that I didn’t dare to dream, and the balance to all my fears; you’re my partner, my brother, my father and my son. I rest my head on your shoulder, and it becomes a garden of fresh grass and gentle sun, overlooking a beach of wavy sea; from the sea, a fish is brave enough to step out, and try, and from the heart of the ocean; life comes out once again. evolution has all the letters of love in it; and our revolution over our damned bodies and souls is love read backwards. 

You keep me warm. You keep me warm. You keep me warm. you keep me warm.

My love, my love, my love, my love.

… and we create life.

As the drams calm down, and the world is becoming heavenly again, we fall into the normal, we face the routine, we fall, we die within a little; then we start our journey once again, and I find you.

… or you find me. 

Walking in [Insert City Name]

Walking in Memphis! But do I really feel the way I feel?! They got catfish on the table, They got gospel in the air. Reverend Green!! be glad to see you when you haven’t got a prayer. Boy, you’ve got a prayer in Memphis.

Cher – Walking in Memphis 

“Everything is different in Damascus, that city has its lights that dazzle you, you’re standing in the middle of the street, and you see the shinning lights glowing on the background of darkness; as you walk, they mesmerize you, and they start creating hallows of gold around them, that shines all the way across the dark blue skies. There is nothing like the skies of Damascus, they are so clear, so clean, so dark at night and so bright in the mornings. They are dusted away by angels in those wee hours when only wolves are awake. Just so you would wake up in the early minutes of sunrise; see the drop of dew sliding, like in an amusement park, on the windows and on the cold iron bars of the stairs; right next to the small plants my grandmother cherish and protect with her own life. 

Damascus is a dream that doesn’t come true but for the deserving. It’s a city of hopes and love, hiding deep within the corners of Bab Sharqi, on the rooftops of Al-Hamidieh, and in the jars of spices of Mehdat Basha. Damascus is a song only the true listeners can hear.”

— The way my boyfriend, originally from Damascus, would describe his mother city.     

“Aleppo is driving in the middle of night, with your music loud enough to wake the dead, and enjoying a breathe of freedom. Aleppo is the guy singing for 16 hours, nonstop, those hard, untouchable, Qoudoud Halabieh, while people enjoy their Arjileh, mimicked across the world, but never the same taste. Aleppo is the city where children play peacefully and safely until late hours of nights. Aleppo is checking out the cute girl in the corner, and she checked you back. Aleppo is the bizarre taste of a first kiss, the electrifying feel of a first touch, the deep inhale as you fall in love for the first time. 

Aleppo is a lady standing on top of a tower, and her hair is long. She let it down only for the worthy, and only the worthy can climb it all the way up to the top. Aleppo is a magician that doesn’t reveal his secrets. Aleppo is a goddess standing in the middle of the desert, and surviving for the past million years.

Aleppo is the deep laughter of a child who is playing, tirelessly, pika-poo with his parents for the very first time. Aleppo is the musical noise of cars honking at me; yet, I’m lost with Aleppo, and cannot be found.”

— My friend Jay, the way she would describe her love for Aleppo. 

“Alexandria is a mermaid, with blue hair, spreading her magic over the waves, and calling you to come, as you might never come back.”

” Istanbul is my sister, waiting at home, with a sweet smile, takes care of me when I’m down, hugs me when needed. We might picker, but our love is eternal.”

“I might hate Beirut, I surely cannot afford Beirut, I sometimes feel cheated by Beirut, but Beirut is my city. It’s where I’m from, it’s where I belong.” 

— Some friends I crossed paths with before. 

As I prepare myself to the next chapter in my life, getting myself ready to explore yet another city around the world, trying to see how will I fit in the big puzzle such cities provide. I hear people speak about their mother cities; and I fall in love of their versions of the cities that carried them while they were young. Mostly, I find myself joking inside of my head about the misleading concepts they have for a city they usually idolize based on childhood memories that are most probably twisted and added upon with layers of time and changes that they might actually never been real after all. Yet, like Frida Kahlo, in one of her most important paintings, I cannot help but wonder about the roots of me. Where do I see myself? Which city do I foolishly idolize. I find my answer to be void all the time. 

 

The dream Frida is trying to produce here is of her, rootless, only belonging to herself, while her ideas, her relationships, her life, is growing out of her simple and shallow body; leaving scares unhealed by the time, and streams of blood that cannot be ended. 

Is it me? Am I the problem? Touring the world might have given me much, but it also took away from me the ability to delusion-alize oneself into believing in a concept of a city, where cities are merely locations on a map that are bordered according to the political and historical twists of fate. Cities are rocks, dust, water and fire gathering to create yet another meaningless corner of the world. Why does it mean so much to others, while it means nothing to me? Why do I lack the need to belong to an entity; a city, a nationality, even? I cannot figure that out. 

Cities are landmarks to the primitive notions of human needs to gather for protecting, food and shelter. Knowing that, however, do not help me understand why, this notion of belonging, is haunting me, yet again, as I’m preparing my next move away from yet another city. 

She Lost Her

Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got nerve, treatin’ my love like just another word. Tired of giving love to you that you don’t deserve, so, this is one way of saying it’s over.

‘Cause I got nothing left! I got nothing left! I gave you my best! And you treated it worthless, so I got nothing left!

Celine Dion – I Got Nothing Left 

As if a sword is stuck deep in your waist, you feel the pain. I know it, my love, I do. I understand the pain, the agony, the torture. Your last conversations is playing over and over in your head like a broken record. You are feeling blinded, as if she managed to destroy the core of your self-confidence; as if you were gone with the wind, not like a cliche in a movie, but literally, picked up like a helpless piece of paper, and forced to travel through storms and tornadoes for 49 days. 

The problem is: The hurricane is still on its way.

She will try to get your attention; she will try to play the same tricks on you once more, and when she fails, and she will fail, she will try new ones, she will try to be sorry, she will try to get your empathy, and when that fails too, she will try to pull your strings; she will try to ruin your life. That won’t stop. It will never stop. She is mentally sick that way, the only way for you to live up your life is to stop her from reaching you. 

Take Ahmed, that ex-boyfriend I had in Damascus over two years ago, our relationship lasted for what? four months? He is still trying to ruin my mood with phone calls to my friends. He remembers how good I was to him, and he wants to ruin me, to make me a bad person, just like him, so he can go on in his life without feeling guilt about his past mistakes; and if he has a button that, if pushed, will ruin everything in my life; he won’t think twice before pushing it. 

She is, also, like that, but kinda much worse, she knows that good pure souls like you are hard to find; and if she can’t have you, no one can. If she can’t keep you in her spiderweb, where your very soul will be rotten, then she will try to poison you, in each and every way possible. 

Save yourself, my love, wake up to the reality of things; don’t let her. I’m worried about you. I love you. I can’t stand looking over the turn of events without warning you. 

I know it hurts. God knows it hurts. But it will hurt more when you will lose your righteous chance to be who you’re suppose to be, because of an insane person trying to ruin you. 

She was in a hospital? Oh, I can’t tell you how many times I witnessed this very trick, my love. So many crazy people tried it on me, and even tried it on my friends. I assure you, my baby, that this whole fake act, which is really disgusting for me, is to get the attention her twisted, crazy head is asking for. 

Baby girl, you’re beautiful the way you’re: so end her. End her very existence inside of your head; deal with it as if she does not live anymore; as if it never actually happened. Because, honestly, it didn’t. She was a projection of what you really wanted from love; and now she is turning into this monster that will eat your very soul. End her in your head, and that shallow, unworthy, unimportant, insignificant, sick, unappreciative woman who was mistaken you for an easy target to fulfill her fantasies, will disappear. She won’t have the power to challenge your emotions anymore; she won’t have the power to hurt you anymore. 

Our emotions are ours to protect, and for other people to deserve.

I love you, Jay.

—— 

Dedicated to Jay, the woman of my dreams.

The Ghosts in Your city

I’m on top of the world, ‘ay! Waiting on this for a while now, paying my dues to the dirt.
I’ve been waiting to smile, ‘ay! Been holding it in for a while, ‘ay! Take you with me if I can, been dreaming of this since a child. I’m on top of the world!

Top of the World – Imagine Dragons

The beat would start appearing in your unconscious mind way before it would be heard by your ears, suddenly you might realize that it has been there for a while, growing around you, gathering momentum, while you’re unaware of its presence. Suddenly, it would take note in your head, and you would start to wonder: How long have I been hearing this beat, yet, I wasn’t “registering” it?

Then, the wind would follow, some call it the usual cliche: the wind of change, but this is a different wind: it’s the wind of balance, coming from the far East, gathering tree leafs and blowing whistles in the long pipes of the bamboo, producing a uplifting giggle.

And you’ll laugh, we will all laugh, the whole world would laugh.

That’s how it would feel, as the happiness of equality would wash upon us, the LGBTIQ people around the world, when this balance is restored to the world.

This magical feeling will take over 100s of millions of people across the world, as they celebrate yet another milestone for humanity to be closer to Gods, and less like demons.

For now, however, we will continue our fight, we will continue our struggle, we will continue to be the ghosts in your city, until your city welcomes us with open arms, and we become part of you all.

Join the Equalathon: The marathon to Equality here      

Don’t let The Gays into my country!

Reblogged by my dear friend Hasan, on this link: Don’t let The Gays into my country!.

This will be my profile photo on Twitter and Facebook because:

 

I believe that all citizens should be treated equally regardless of their sexual orientation, gender, gender identity or expression.

 

I am outraged by the arbitrary arrests in Dekwaneh on Apr 21st 2013 where a transwoman and 3 men were detained, and subjected to verbal, physical and sexual abuse, their nude photos were taken by cell phones and sent to the media. The Mayor was present through all that and he then confesses to his crimes on national TV. All this is documented. No investigations or disciplinary measures were taken against the mayor by authorities.

 

I am disturbed by what our Minister of Defence has just announced: “Lebanon is against perversion (his chosen term for homosexuality), which is considered a crime according to Lebanese law. I wonder, now that France allowed same-sex marriage would we allow them to enter our country”. How could I be more knowledgeable about our laws than our Defence Minister. Article 534 of the Lebanese Penal Code penalize any sexual act “against nature” by up to one year in prison and has been historically used to criminalize homosexuality. In 2009, a Lebanese judge in Batroun ruled against the use of article 534 to prosecute homosexuals. He clearly flaunts his ignorance when he questions whether Lebanon should allow The Gays to enter our holy nation, as if the door has been closed and the recent achievements in France on the human rights front will open that door!!! I stand speechless.

 

I am encouraged to speak out because I know how many want to and how little support they have to do so.

 

This is an adaptation of the Lebanese flag. The red says “7okouk” Arabic for “Rights”. I also like how the two red bars form an Equal sign. I wish they could have added to the flag what would represent the rights of womyn, foreign workers and refugees, all of whom are also at risk to suffer similar brutality in our rotten system.

 

I will keep this photo till May 17 2013: The International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia (IDAHO)

Equalathon: The Marathon for Equality in Lebanon

Here is the basic information: 

– In Dekwaneh, a small area off the outskirts of Beirut, there used to be a gay-friendly bar called Ghost. 

– In this bar, there were gay people partying. (I mean, duh!)

– There was a guy who doesn’t like partying, doesn’t love the fabulousness of gay people, doesn’t enjoy glitter, finds Britney Speaks to be a sad excuse for music, questions the gender of Cher, and was never touched by Madonna. 

– This guy got couple of men, and went to that bar, using an authority that he doesn’t have, closed the bar, and arrested four gay people, and one transgender woman.

– The gay people just all happened to be Syrians, given that in that area, it seems, there is a law against foreigners to go out at night. However, only not-so-special foreigners should obey the law, so, Italians, French and Americans are welcome to walk as they please, Syrians; Not so much. 

– The guy took his victims to a deserted area, known as the city council, and he had his way with them: He stripped them naked, too photos of them, and post it on social media, not to mention that he sat there making jokes about their gender and insulting them physically and emotionally. 

All of these stuff are now known on social media as the #DekAbuse. 

Now, there are a group of people, who are bloggers, online activists, and LGBT people in Lebanon. these people decided they had enough, and started to do something about it. 

These people are now known online as the #LebLGBT bloggers: and I’m proudly one of them. 

To join our efforts, you can: 

– Come with us to the sit in in front of the ministry of Justice, trying to remind the minister of the name of his own ministry, and calling for justice. Tonight at 6PM, come with, be part of the change you want to see in the world.  

– You can join in and write your opinion on our online campaign, titled: Online Marathon for Equality. 

1. Write your own thoughts about #LebLGBT and #DekAbuse.

2. Publish it on your own blog and email us the link, or email what you write/create to raynbow.org@gmail.com for us to publish.

Between the 3rd and the 15th of May, write your thoughts about homophobia, the Dekwaneh abuse, and the LGBT community in Lebanon, and be part of the marathon to equality in the country.

All the blogs are going to be published on LebIDAHO.com and shared on Lebanese LGBT Media Monitor.

The three submissions that earn the highest “Likes” will each win a dinner for two at Bardo. Results will be announced by The Monitor on the International Day Against Homophobia & Transphobia (IDAHO) on May 17th.

Write in whichever language you like [Arabic, English, French, etc.] and in whatever form [Writing, Photography, poem, etc.]

– You can share our poster: 

What are you waiting for? WRITE. SHARE. SHOW LOVE. ❤

 

Because we have the right …

You took away my right to have a family with your traditions, with your religions, with your lies and your ordinary lives, you took away my right to be a member of a family that loves me no matter who I am, and no matter who I was born to be. 

You took away my right to enjoy telling my best friends about my love for my boyfriend, you took away the right to be out as a man who has love for a man; the right to join in the conversation without having to turn ever “he” into a “she”. The right to ask my mother for advise in my love life, to fall in her lap crying when my heart is broken. 

You took away my right to work without people looking at me from underneath their glasses, trying to figure out my sexual orientation. You took away my right to take a phone call from my boyfriend in the middle of the office, without having to run to the bathroom and whisper my “I love you” to him. 

You took away my right to walk the streets proudly holding hands with my significant other, to print a kiss on his face as we part ways heading to our work. You took away my right to introduce him to people as my boyfriend, instead of “my cousin”, “my best friend”. 

You took away my right to have a wedding that I dream of, you took away my right to mourn a breakup, you took away my right to be a human, just like you. 

That’s why we fight now, that’s why we have the right to fight you, and your homophobia, and your ignorance, and your ugliness, that’s why we have the right to respond.

You started it, by taking away our right, we’ll demand it back, we’ll get it back, just wait and see.

Join in, blog, tweet, write statuses on Facebook, fight for your right, use the official hashtags: #LebLGBT, #DekAbuse. 

If you don’t know about the Dekwaneh incident, read more about it here: 

Lebanese official arrests and harasses gay and transgender people

 

Ashamed of my Body

All so convinced that you’re following your heart, cause your mind don’t control what it does sometimes. We all have our nights though, don’t be so ashamed, I’ve had mine, you’ve had yours, we both know, we know.

You hate being alone, you ain’t the only one. you hate the fact that you bought the dream, and they sold you one. 

Darake Ft. Rihanna – Take Care 

His body is the body of an underwear model, his teeth are bright like the guy on TV trying to convince you that buying this tooth paste or that teeth brush will get you laid, his face is structured like the statues of Greek gods. He is a perfection in every physical aspect. His tattoos are designed perfectly to showcase his physic, his heart is shrinking under the pressure of all these muscles he is building layers above layers on his chest. 

And he added me on Facebook. 

It was puzzling for me, honestly, as I sat there trying to understand the reason why someone like him add me to Facebook: I wasn’t going to accept his friend’s request, as I never add people I don’t know to Facebook, but I was puzzled with the reason of why someone like this guy would add me to Facebook: It wasn’t the smart comments I made on a mutual friend’s post which made him add me, as his comments assured me that he has the brains of a woodpecker, so, it wasn’t for the pleasure of deep and intelligent chats that would explore the universe and its mysteries. It wasn’t for my good looks either, I’m, at most, cute, and I have been abusing my own body with fatty food and stressful smoking for years now. If it wasn’t for my eyes, which everyone claims to be pretty, and my well studied demeanor, I don’t think I’d ever get laid in the first place. 

I deleted his friend’s request, finally, after I came to a conclusion that I was satisfied with: I noticed that every single picture of him, posing in a way that always shows his humanly impossible biceps or his perfect six abs, got 100s of likes from his friends; he has 100s of friends who are all sexual charged, just like him, and he has been collecting more gay men to left his low self-esteem up high with every like they click under his topless photos. 

I tried to put this story behind me, but I was still puzzled with it for another hour or two, I wasn’t puzzled by the reasoning (if any) behind this guy’s friend’s request. I was puzzled now with the reason why I was extremely surprised for getting the friend’s request in the first place. 

I am ashamed of my own body, that’s for sure. I hate the gym, I just can’t stand the gym, and I’d rather be online surfing Wikipedia for some historical event that no one else in the world cares about other than me and the guy who wrote the Wikipedia page, than to go to the gym, work out for hours, and be happy my biceps are bigger by an inch, which will disappear anyways if I did not work out tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that, and the day after that. 

I should be satisfied with my body, I mean, I’m slim in a healthy way, I have a belly, but it’s more of a pump on the road rather than a gigantic tummy that people we’d think I’m hosting an alien baby in there. I’m tall, but not too tall, and my body hair is strategically located in the right areas to make me look fabulous. 

Yet, I feel horrible whenever I get naked, alone in the shower, in bed with my boyfriend, as I’m changing my clothes to go out in the morning and walk the dog. I feel horrible when I’m walking in a gay bar here in Beirut to find that everyone has a body that, in my head, looks better than mine, that every t-shirt they wear would fit right around their biceps, and hug their six abs perfectly, while my t-shirts are loose around my body. I blame myself for not working out, not spending a lot of money on a gym that I’d force myself to go to, and I’d still have the same anxieties regardless of how many cardio classes I attend or how much weight I can carry with one arm. 

In my head, I blame the media, every single aspect of the media is imprinting expectations on the images of male and female bodies. Magazines, TV shows, advertisements, porn movies, even waiters in high class cafes, even the people who are indirectly pressuring me to conform to this image when they conform to it themselves, making me the odd one out. 

I know, logically, that I’m fine, I’m a good looking man in his late 20s who still has the world ahead of him, but in my heart, I feel bad, horrible even, every time I see a man who conformed to these expectations and managed to “get there”. Why is it too hard to accept all kinds of people, of all colors and shapes and sexual preference? 

Everyone is selling and I’m buying it regardless of how my brains are trying to force me not to: Underwear models are perfect, porn stars are perfect, guys in the street are perfect, I don’t look at them anymore to enjoy a glance of the male body beauty, but rather to feel bad about my own body. I am ashamed of my body, and I want to change it, but I don’t want to spend my money on a gym I’ll feel forced to attended, I want to look like that guy on Facebook, but I don’t want to be him. I don’t know what to do, I honestly don’t. 

I don’t want religion in my life, But …

I get email notifications of blogs I follows, yes, I’m that lame, I still use email notifications once in a while, and honestly, I find it cute to wake up to a new post by someone you care about, despite the fact that you never met them before. The Pink Agenda author, who is an interesting person, usually, with posts that are sometimes too personal for me to understand, wrote an hour ago this post: Is Islam Evil & Why Does Muhammad Look Mongolian?.

I read the post on my email, then gave it another read on his site, before I wrote him a comment. As a person who comes from a Muslim background, I felt like he sees Muslim people like this:

While, honestly speaking, Muslim people are more like this:

Yes. Muslims are a nation of family guys, with lots of misconceptions about the world, falling from the skies without parachutes and trying to enjoy it. Honestly speaking, they’re not all the bearded men you see on your TV waving guns and promising destruction on the safe families back in the States, and to steal your child’s lollipop while they are at it; those men exist, yet, they are a very small percentage of the Muslim community. I kid you not, I did not think that I’d ever write a post defending Islam, that religion basically was curl to my mother (and every woman I know), it was the reason why my father and I don’t see eye-to-eye on anything, especially that fact that I’m gay, and also the reason why I hated Fridays when I was young. You imagine to wear a dress-like thing called Abbayya and put a stupid hat on that mess up your hair and go to the mosque for two hours while some clerk is speaking in a sleepy voice. Yet, what religion is not exactly that, anyway? Isn’t Christianity all about Sunday Church and being anti-gay? Isn’t Judaism all about funny hats, hating on women and messed up hair?

Anyway, here is my comment on that article; I hope that it would open up a conversation here.

I was born to a Muslim father, and I know Quran by heart, and while I consider myself to have my own relation with whatever-higher-power-out-there, I still do not see Islam as a religion that calls for violence. The parts of Quran that you speak of, calling for Jihad, also comes with lots of undoubtable phrases that such Jihad should be done while not harming a woman, a child, an old man or even a tree. That Jihad should be done by the order of a reasoning leader, and done for the reason of spreading the word of Islam in other nations (which can be done by a TV channel nowadays, if someone is interested in such a matter) or to protect other Muslims around the world.
I don’t think that we should paint any violence done by any individual according to what religion they believe in. I know this will sound silly, but it’s like blaming McDonald’s for every fat man dying of a heart attack!
That said! I do not justify the Boston attack at all, and I consider it an act of terrorism: yet, the religion of the criminals who are behind it should not be an issue to discuss at all; they took their own sickness out on people, the religion was their justification. If they weren’t aware of Islam, they would be serial killers, or murderers, yet, they used Islam as a way to justify their hideous acts to themselves; and we should not encourage other people to use the fact that they were Muslims to also justify an attack on a certain religion; that’s sectarianism.

Finally, I don’t consider myself a Muslim, and I do believe that Islam has its faults and has its good sides, and I do believe that it’s faults are more than its good deeds, yet still, it’s a religion that is still developing itself, maybe in 600 years we would see an Islam that is closer to the current understandings of liberal Christians.

I, personally, do not need religion in my life, yet some people might need it; and there is no religion that is better than the other; there are religions that passed by the timeframe needed for it to be civilized, while others are still in the process.

Also, I leave you with this video, in part because it’s super funny, and also, because it somehow speaks about this kind of discrimination when the guy pretending to be Princess Jasmine speaks about her lost Aladdin, saying things like:

Hey, I’m OK, but I’m slightly scared. My husband’s a mark for the War on Terror. Aladdin was taken by the CIA. We’re not Taliban, you’ve got the wrong man in Guantanamo Bay. Prince Ali, where could he be, drowning in wawa! Interrogation from the nation of the “free”! Bin Laden’s taken the fall, We’re not trained pilots at all, Jafar went crazy and no one put up a fuss. We’re for freedom, Genie can vouch for us.
Bush was crazy, Obama’s lazy, al-Qaeda’s not in this country!! Set free my Prince Ali!!!