All posts for the month August, 2013

What if i met Jesus Christ?!

Published August 26, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

If i lived 1995 years ago, somewhere between what’s known now to be the river of Jordan and the Mediterranean sea, between Tyre and Sinai, I would have been an 18 year old young gay man wandering the souks of Jerusalem holding a gardenia, checking out the drunk Roman soldiers, as I’m sure I’d have the fetish for foreigners, getting inspired by their beauty to write my poems, maybe invite some of them over to pose for me while drawing them naked.

Me and Mary Magdalene would definitely be besties, fabulously competing on who to get the hottest man. My sense of fashion would be minimalistic, the less of clothes the better, my robe would be the shortest possible, the tightest possible, of course with the best fabric available,  I’d be a regular traveler to Rome, checking out the latest designs and importing silk, lots of it.

I would look good all the time, smell like Jasmine all the time, make fun of straight people competing for a woman all the time.

I’d probably be by Mary Magdalene’s side when she did her dramatic break down on the feet of Jesus Christ, being a shoulder for her in the aftermath, fixing her make up after all the crying. I would have most probably looked in the eyes of the man who broke her heart, he would have left a mark looking at me.

My curiosity would have probably led me to follow him accompanying my girl, I’d have had a one sided crush towards him. The intriguing sense would have made me close to him. I’d probably fall for his progressive ideas, his distinguished insight, his love to humanity, his non violence, his inner peace and calm personality.

I’d be attracted to his disciples, yet my pursue for the alpha male would always direct me to him. I’d do my tricks, he would probably confuse me with his signals. I’d fall in love with him, he’d love me differently. He’d look at me and smile, that peaceful kind smile, as if he had an insight on my past and present, and maybe future. He’d reject me tenderly, putting his hand on my cheek, with no judgement whatsoever.

I’d be close to his mother, and John the beloved. Distant from all the rest. When they go fishing I’d be tanning by the beach, checking out their bodies, some half naked butch barbaric men would always be a pleasure for the eye, especially when they have those fights for fun.

I’d be sketching a lot Jesus, him preaching, smiling, doing miracles….

I’d probably move with him all the times, I’d definitely be by his side when he visits Tyre, Tyranians are hot, and you wonder why Mary Magdalene and I retired there and spent the last days of our lives?! Yeah well, i was her gay friend, I couldn’t have left her all alone?!?!

I would have believed in Jesus, cause he represented a dream of a better world, he loved me with no judgements, and he was a better man than anyone i knew. I would have cried plenty for his sufferings. I would definitely have bitch-slapped Judas. I would have been by the women when he was crucified, definitely jealous of John for being chosen to take care of Mary, yet i would have accepted his decision and had my drops of tears when everyone has left and i stayed alone under his feet wondering till when humanity will be brutal, judgmental, carrying nonacceptance to all good things and people when they differ from us and our perception to normality.

I would definitely have wrote a Gospel, a fabulous pink one that included all my sketches, and my one sided relation to Jesus, written in the most poetic way, yet my Gospel would have definitely been banned by the church, also all the books that were wrote about it later on. I wouldn’t have been mentioned in any of the other Gospels even.

With all my certainty, i would have definitely disliked Paul.

I would have died in peace knowing that, i was loved tremendously….


A meaningless race with time…

Published August 13, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

The day we are born, marks the start of a race, a race with time.

When you are still a child, you don’t acknowledge it, everybody stop their race in order to give you attention, realize your existence, value you with the proper importance.

Then, comes a major happening that changes everything and triggers your race. A new kid in the house, someone who takes attention from you. Or if you’re a single child? It’s just adolescence…. where people around you decide all of a sudden you’re a grown up now, and should behave like it.

After that?! The electrocuted-shocks start. No one has prepared you smoothly for it. You’re left alone in a jungle of chaos, where you have to lead battles on your own.

In my case, childhood was a happy memory, it lasted long since i was the last one in the family. No other kid came and took the attention from me. My parents decided i became a grown up at the age of 8. They didn’t wait for me to reach my adolescence even. It was on my birthday, when they just decided that I’m old enough not to deserve a home made cake. That night marked the most dramatic crying my life have ever witnessed.

The second day, my race has started. I was on my own now. No toys for me anymore. Fuck that shit. Everybody around me was doing the effort to run, and run, and run, they were so quick, i couldn’t follow up with them, they had bigger legs, I lived an early adolescence. The 12 to 16 quartet of years, came for me 4 years earlier. Back then, i was not familiar with revolution. I adapted silently. I sucked it well, no loudness, no rebellion. I was not about to retaliate.

In those four years, i unconsciously developed a Zen mode, one that hid the highest rates of anger and frustration. I was a grown up as they told me, i was gonna be responsible of my acts and thoughts, no one to share my multi-headed crisis with, in those 4 years, i grew a billion muscle to excel my race, i was not planning to be late.

By the age of 12, i already finished my race on the front lines, 1st ranks, my non seeking of attention drew all the attention for me, yet no one really understood what was it that they were being attentive for.

By the age of 12, i recognized myself as a higher form of life, i started giving attention to others, i took care of them, you know those others who just started their battle, i felt their pain, i felt the obligation of consoling them, being by their side, treating their injuries, easing their suffering, calming their revolution, and backing their rebellion.

I mastered calmness, one that has rage behind it, a rage coming out of what i had to endure, what those people that i cared about had to endure 4 years after.

Seeing them struggling have tought me the hard lesson: “Life is not fair”. That is a fact. I couldn’t just accept that. I refused.

By the age of 18, i was a very grown up man, i had to change my conception of life. I refused to accept that race, i lost interest in racing, racing for others, and their conceptions, and their idiocies.

Everyone was preaching me about life, how we should live it, what are the primary goals in it. As a rational human being and a sharp observer, i was looking hard to find what joins all of those preachers, nothing. Well not quite, the only thing that joined them, was that they were all unhappy people.

The result was not an answer for my original question, It just didn’t make any logical sense, Yet i was in front of a result, some result that i couldn’t ignore. Those were all people participating in the race, And they were unhappy. For me it was clear i couldn’t live the way they lived.

That day i lowered down my weapons against them. They were just pitiful grown ups. Acting as if they knew where they were heading, and efficiently had no clue what the fuck they were doing. Once again, i felt like a higher form of life, this time in the grown ups world.

Maybe that was my triumphant race. I passed it, and discovered that it was all valueless, i was lucky i discovered it at a very young age. A discovery that a friend of mine witnessed very late, after his mother died, and he started recognizing time passing, and felt the non importance of everything he pursued through a non meaningful life.

For many, that same date marked the beginning of my revolution, while for me it was simply a withdrawal of that race, a race that led no one, nowhere.


Mashrou’ Leila and the everlasting dream

Published August 5, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

This blog is dedicated to the band that has changed the alternative scene and transcended it to the popular scene, in Lebanon and the Arab world, and now aiming to become an ambassador for Lebanon to the world, with their Indie music, both of quality and popularity.

Not only that, Mashrou’ Leila has gained a major importance for their support to gay rights through reflecting the image of creativity in the gay scene and loudly speaking out in the name of many of us.

Who could forget their debut, with the song Shim El Yasmine, written by the lead singer Hamed Sinno, who blew our emotions with lyrics addressing a guy for whom he had a crush, a one sided crush… in what is considered officially the first song to tackle a gay subject that frankly and sincerely in the Arab world.

Who could forget that glorious moment, when Hamed have risen the rainbow flag in a concert in Byblos Festivals, declaring himself gay, and becoming the 1st singer in the Arab world to become gay and proud and out himself to the whole world, where we had the prime minister watching and being forced to withdraw from the concert?

Their concert in Baalbeck Festivals, their interview with TETU (The french gay magazine), their tours in Cairo, Paris, Istanbul, Tunis, Amman and many other cities.

This band has became a representative for good music and the gay scene in Lebanon and the Arab world on a worldwide scale.

Today Mashrou’ Leila’s Challenge has grew bigger.

Seven days are left, in a trial to ‪#‎OccupyArabPop‬ , the magnificent Mashrou3 Leila are funding their album throughout a new initiative, where you play the major role and not production houses, so that the pulse of the youth prevails, reflecting the true image of Lebanon, the Arab world, and the creative community….

Find below the picture of Hamed holding the rainbow flag in Byblos, the YouTube link of the song Shim El Yasmine, and the informative link of the initiative and how you can contribute in their success and keep the love chain growing….

Please do share the link of this blog, whether on the individual level on your personal Facebook and Twitter, whether you’re an activist, or even a blogger, you never know who might be willing to be also a part of this inspirational movement,

I ❤ Mashrou’ Leila


By Anonymous: I have never lived to be Gay.

Published August 3, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

(I have never lived normally so I could be gay).

I know it’s hard to believe people when they say “I know how you feel”, but I actually know how you feel. For those who were ever in love, and I’m saying LOVE FROM ONE SIDE, I know how hard it is for you. I understand the feeling as small and insignificant as humanly possible.

I was 17, I met a guy (15 years older), musician, and he blew my mind with his music. I decided that I wanna get close to him as I was (and still) passionate about music as much as he was, and eventually I succeeded. 2 years later, after becoming best friends, I realized I fell in love with him. MADLY. I fell in love with every single detail about him, with every inch of his body. Head to TOES. For 12 years, my heart was caught in a very tight cage. So tight that it could hardly beat! For 12 years, I was in love with a straight married man. For 12 years, I was torturing myself. For 12 years, I could not think of someone else, love someone else, accept someone else. For 12 years, I fought my parents for not being around them, I lost friends for not contacting them, I lost my closest cousins who loved me deeply, I lost great job opportunities abroad the country, I lost my savings, I lost my nerves, I lost my life. I held my tears for 12 years of loneliness and sadness. I am a man walaw? I am straight! Crying seemed to me like being weak. I am a man walaw? I have never been weak, even when my closest people died, how can I allow myself to be one during those 12 years. Akhhh. 12 years. I hate this number and I hate this term.

God knows how hard I tried to get over him. But we’re in touch all the time, so that makes it impossible to forget him, which is great for him, but sucks for me.
Now, I sit back and remember. I am 31 years old. HOW. How did I let this happen to me. How did I miss all those TEEN years where I could be 22 maybe, in love with another 22, and having a bf. Some say it is not too late. I say it is. I am stuck at this phase, this dream, where I am in the early 20s, having this blond white skin smooth boy, very handsome and charismatic, as my bf, and living life as I should have, as I wanted to. But it’s too late. I turned 31 recently, and I have missed all the teenage fun. It wasn’t possible to meet gays back then as it is now. But now, it is too late. I am growing, I am unable to love. Now that I am free, that my heart is, I cannot find one single soul who can make my heart beat again.

Those 12 years killed my feelings, killed my emotions. My heart died, and I still cannot cry. My heart died.

On How I Met Your Father

Published August 1, 2013 by angrytinkerbell

You see? It was back in July 2013, I was in Beirut, managing a gay bar called Bardo, I was sipping my coffee in a boring hot afternoon when i received a notification on Facebook saying that he accepted my friend request. I didn’t remember that i added this guy before, so I opened his profile to check to whom i have the honor.

And there he was, your father, a muscled man, which was not what i liked in a guy, still i wanted to see his face, he was one handsome cute man. I somehow got instantly addicted to admiring his facial features, and I was looking and looking, couldn’t get enough. My attention was so taken into checking each picture that contained a face of his, until interrupted by a chatting message of him saying : Hey. That guy was fast, i liked it. So I replied: Hey, lovely face you have there…. I somehow insisted on complimenting his face, I didn’t say I’m taken by your face, like i truly was, simply cause that’s a No-No when getting to know a man in the gay world.

Back then he was a Lebanese in Toronto,I was in Beirut. He knew Bardo, he loved it and used to come quite often 2 years before that, I dunno how i missed realizing him, maybe cause i was already in a relation at that point.

See Son?! Your father was cute in real too. He was honest and straight forward. Very sexual i must say, and kinky! I appreciated his courage, It wasn’t easy to find someone that outspoken sexually without making a mess out of it, as well, constipated people were not to be interesting for my character, as I was a hunk!

Son: Daddyyyyyy?!?!?!…….

Me: Ok, ok, you can forget I said that, where was I ?! Oh yes, so your father was honest about what he wants, I’m gonna skip the traumatizing details for you. We chatted and chatted for hours and hours, it was interesting talking to him…. till we reached a point where we decided everything on our sexual date…

Here, i mentioned that I was thinking of moving to Canada, although i haven’t taken the decision yet.

He replied: Yeah well, when i get my citizenship, i can marry you and bring you here.

Yes kid, this is how your father proposed. Back then, It was legal for men in Canada to marry and adopt children, in Lebanon it was not the case, anyway this is not important, this is how he proposed, leaving me behind a screen shocked all alone. That happened only on the second day of talking to him. Back then, i was like i still am, a romantic that gave high value to the institution of marriage and spending a lifetime with one’s soul mate. He proposed that easily, And since then all our chatting subjects have shifted into more and more of mutual exploration.

Son: And what happened afterwards?!

Me: Leave it for another day, we have plenty of time to tell you the rest of the story. Now go to sleep.

Son: Good Night Dad!

Me: Good Night, Son!