Yosr El Sherbiny

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Ever since I was old enough to express my imagination (and was introduced to the life-changing author Neil Gaiman), I have been writing stories. In addition to writing crap, I have been working in the architecture industry since 2013. My architecture professor always says, “a true architect knows a little bit about everything”, and I have made this my life’s mission.. to explore and learn a little bit about each creative industry.

I recently founded Wrichitects, a platform aimed at helping architects, designers, and everyday people to write about their projects from a creative storytelling point of view.

Feel free to contact me to learn more about Wrichitects, or to just say hi (and indulge in deep critical conversations on architecture). 

Email: yosr.elsherbiny@gmail.com
Phone: +971 (50) 739 8602

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Wri.chi.tects:

Edition XIX

Coney Island - by Yosr El Sherbiny (photo by Tarek Roumie)Photo credit: Tarek Roumie

Coney Island

By Yosr El Sherbiny (Founder of Wrichitects)

Everyone knows Coney Island.

But do you really know Coney Island?

The distracting,
heat-emitting,
neon multicolored lights.

The endless lines for everything
starting with that damn corn dog queue
ending with the toilet and everything in between –

The repetitive tingling polytonal sounds
forced onto you from each ride
blending in the air like pollution
plaguing your ears;

Toxic and confusing.

You’re scared.
You’re terrified of people.
You’re petrified of loud. 

Everything about carnivals
makes you want to run and hide under your bed.
Your friends tease you every single time
but you can’t tell them the truth.

The truth is, you’re scared of rides.


Edition XX

Nebraska - by Yosr El Sherbiny (photo by Hakim El Haj)Photo credit: Hakim El Haj

Nebraska
“Inspired by the Starkweather Murder Case”

By Yosr El Sherbiny (Founder of Wrichitects)

Picture this.

A vein in your body
carrying red blood cells
vital for your survival.

Now,
imagine this vein expanding,
growing longer and longer,
from the state of New York on the East coast, where the sun rises,
snaking its way past towards California, where it sets in the West.
The blood in the vein is so strong,
vibrating at a healthy heart rate.

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

Now,
picture a focal point on this vein
acting as a perspective point
creating two rows of perfectly painted plaster buildings.

Sprinkle some elegant clouds of people;
Women with top hats and black dresses.
Men with suits, thick moustaches and cigars.
Carriages pulled by horses fill the sides of the street.

You can even imagine a jet plane dragging the red, white and blue starred cloth across the clear blue sky.

It is a beautiful Starkweather day, America.

I step on the vein
making a tiny cut,
a cut so small but irreversible.
Blood leaks from my veins and spreads over the canvas
oozing its way over the streets.
Tiny splatters of blood fill the sky with red clouds.
Some of the blood even mixes with the dirt on the ground
creating an ugly brownish paste, staining the canvas forever.

Nebraska was never the same again.


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