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جلباب فلسفي

بقلم رامز عوض

ـــــ تقول: أنا أفكّر، إذا أنا موجود

ـــــ صحيح

ـــــ وإذا كنت لا أفكّر كما تفكّر، فهل أبقى موجودًا؟

:فكّر قليلًا و وجد الجواب

ــــ مادمت تفكّر، فأنت موجود بغضّ النّظر عمّا تفكّر به

ـــــ يعني أفهم من كلامك أنّه دعوة إلى الجميع بأن يفكّروا؟

(تابع القراءة من هنا)


There is no I in Poet

By Jamil Adas

… You would never write your own elegy and likewise you should never call yourself a poet. Stick to the journey because …    {READ MORE}


Concepts

By Daniele Farah

… I was raised on technicalities, I had to eat with my elbows in proportion to the table, I had to choke on my cough during class, I had to hold in a squeal every time my favorite artist was on the radio… so really, I just had to be an adult about things. No one sees through an adult…    {READ MORE}


Whimp

By Yosr El Sherbiny

“Whimp.” You hear the sound for the third time that afternoon. “Whimp.”

It’s nothing, you think. You get back to the task given to you by the manager: Create a bunch of X’s and check them against a list of Y’s. You have been asked to do this task every day for the past month, for different projects. You stretch your legs and reach for the packet of chips, eating not because you are hungry, but because your body desperately needs a distraction. You check your phone after an eternity of work.  ….  “Whimp,” returns the sound.    {READ MORE}


صوتي

The Untitled Revolution

By Salma HQ

#NotAnymore
I started singing when I was almost a year old.

I sang to my mother while she sat on the floor addressing a mural of notes from medical school lectures, I sang to my uncle on the bench of a hockey rink as he jumped head first into a box of tissues hoping for a temporary fix for his broken nose, I sang to my father tripping over my words as I sat mesmerized by the movement of his fingers over the keys of our piano, I sang harmonies to the swaying of the needle on my grandmother’s sewing machine, and I sang to my first crush at lollipop summer camp when he lost a race to me, a girl.

In first grade…    {READ MORE}


Poetic Tantrum?

By Farah Chamma

When one is to deeply think about language, one is to, most probably, find it very perplexing. I have recently been thinking about language A LOT! The thought of it actually gives me a headache more than it gives me anything else.   {READ MORE}


5 Ways to Live a More Creative Lifestyle

By Nadia Tabbara

Creativity has become some kind of buzzword lately. Along with “innovative” or “cutting edge,” it’s just something people say and nobody really understands.

Defining creativity is futile. But it doesn’t stop me from trying. I’ve come to the conclusion that creativity is more of a lifestyle, somewhat aligned with spirituality.    {READ MORE}


F*ck yes, you’re a writer

By Jessica Semaan

While in a Lyft yesterday, a passenger, let’s call her Alarm, asked me what I do for a living. I hesitated. The voice in my brain for the millionth time doubted: “You’re not a real writer, you can’t even write this book.” I responded:    {READ MORE}


How To Become A Poet 2.0

By Mike Essig

I am not a Poetry God, just an aspiring poet. My thoughts on poetry are personal, based on decades of reading, writing and experience. BUT THEY ARE NOT LAWS. I can’t tell you how to write, I can only point out what I have learned that seems important to me. You can disagree at will….    {READ MORE}


Expression

By Samir Georges

Truth be told, I never meant to write. I always hoped to be complete, without the need for meaning outside of myself, for the approval of my peers. Such that I often wondered what is it that so compelled my hand to the pen, what brought my pen to the paper, what cast my soul into the ink….    {READ MORE}


Excerpt: Introduction of “The Poetry Toolkit”

By Rhian Williams

It’s tempting to look for certainties in reading, even more so in studying. What is this? How will I recognize it again? Will it help me pass the exam? Such questions are often prompted by poetry when it appears as a subject for study. In an education system that values ‘usefulness’, the poem – writing that takes up a strange place on the page, uses odd language, and seems to hide rather than display meaning – is a disruption, perhaps a distraction: what is its point? Yet poetry is also something that escapes the classroom – it appears in cards, on billboards, on the Underground. It’s echoed in songs and recited at weddings and funerals; it appears in dusty leather-bound books in libraries, in colored paperbacks in gift shops, in manuscripts kept under lock and key. We hear it sung and spoken to us as children and recite it again when we become parents. It’s heard in assembly halls and read on toilet walls. It infuses our language – ‘poetry in motion’ describes a car, or an athlete. We might turn to poetry when we know what we feel but we don’t know how to say it; when we read it we find more emotions, ones we didn’t even know we felt. How can poetry be all of these things at once? How can poetry be something we study, but also something that makes us cry?….    {READ MORE}