If You Do Something With Your Whole Heart And It’s A Mistake, You Can Live With That.

Josh Ritter - The Curse

and under miles of stone, the dried fig of his heart under scarab and bone starts back to its beating

Your fingers grazed not only my hand, but my heart, that day in the spring. The bliss you brought soon after will be not forgotten, dear.

Pacific Northwest Gothic

- Trees crack the sidewalk, roots gasping for air, trying to break free from the concrete prison. If you look at the trees from the corner of your eyes you can almost see them trying to escape.

- Graveyards full of crumbling head stones with names long forgotten. They say if you sit among the tombs and read the faded words you will be forgiven for your sins. The ghosts of the forgotten will smile upon you for trying to remember.

- There are whispers that deep in the desert lay the bodies of the dead; skeletal hands pointing west, towards water. The crows live here finding homes in broken rib cages. The sand littered with the broken jewels of bottles and old wilted leather boots. If you find the place you will become nothing more than bones.

- You can always trust the sea to do what she wants. The sea is her own master she finds pleasure in pain and peace. But if you giver her your trust she will let you live. If you wade out into her waters and give her your body letting the rough waves cut against your calves going farther up to your chest above your head letting her have you she will let you live. She will let you live safely for she knows that you belong to her.

- The fog creeps and claws at the horizon it reaches for your soul. You’ve seen it take others. You know loved ones who have disappeared into the fog. You run afraid of what might happen if it catches you.

- Deep within the forest where the ferns and the fur trees are so thick you can barley see the sun. The earth swallowed by moss and lichen here is where the fairies live. Their sharp claws click and their teeth bare craving human flesh. But if you stand still they won’t take you away quiet yet they will leave you to the trees. For they are hungry too.

- If you drive and drive heading east. You will find them town after empty town. Not a living soul for miles and miles, only bare earth. Perhaps you’ll stop to take a picture of an old dilapidated building, a cow skull, wagon ruts. This small town existing only on a small patch of road. So small you don’t expect to see a person. So small you know there are no people. So small you pray no one is watching. When a hand grabs your shoulder you know you were mistaken.

- Here the earth swallows buildings the mud and dirt devouring brick and metal. The trees seem to walk, they look closer then you remember. The rain never stops falling. It falls forever upon endless streets, the worms drowning upon the pavement; you cannot save them any more then you can save yourself. The crows fly in remorseful circles even the buzzards are afraid of them. The only building left standing is the old town hall its brick and marble pillars lopsided but its foundation will be the last to crumble.

- The sea eats away at the earth making it crumble to dust. Back and forth the waves go until there is nothing left. Cliffs and people fall to the sea, but never did you imagine that the world would as well.

- Do not trust the mountains, their picturesque peaks blanketed in snow. Do not trust the mountains, they have taken so many.

- The fishermen are the only ones you can trust, their sea weathered faces stained by sun and sand. Their wrinkles so deep as if cut with knives, their skin as rough as leather. Trust the fishermen their hands calloused and bleeding full of knowledge, every knot still caught on their tongues. Trust the fishermen their eyes dark from too many worlds seen, their hearts heavy with lost. Trust the fishermen for they are the only ones who know what is at the edge of the world.

- The trees creak with secrets. The wind ruffling their dead leaves creating devils that swirl with ghostly fingers pointing accusingly towards the sinners. The trees have secrets engraved in their puzzle like bark. If you want you can feel the wood like brail beneath calloused fingertips. Few can understand the words stuck like amber upon the flesh of the tree but even fewer have tried.

- At night the lake swallows the moon creating moonbeams that dance across its surface. They say if you dare to drink the water you will be able to live amongst the stars.

- They say the trees bring salvation. Whispers of the children born amongst the trees live in every one’s hearts. It is thought that these children grow strong their bones made of powerful oak and their blood pumps with sap from maples. They say their hair is dappled with lichen. They say, they say. If you watch quietly you might catch them as they dance amongst the forest, the trees showering them in secrets of worlds that crumbled, devoured by flora and fauna. When you leave the forest returning home to the city full of weak children, their lungs full of smog and minds programed with rusted mechanics, you will dream of the forest your head full of pine and spruce. These dreams call to you begging you to come back to the trees, to return. To leave behind these men of steal, to come live in the forest, to come home. Do not listen to these dreams. The trees are not your salvation, they will call for you then swallow you whole slowly decomposing your bones.

Arabic dark academia

Having tea first thing in the morning, the afternoon, evening, night and whenever you have nothing to do and whenever you have everything to do

Practicing calligraphy, hoarding calligraphy pens and quills like a dragon hoards its jewels

Youre now a calligragon btw

Pretentious hand written letters

Fragments of poetry and prose on the wall

In Egypt you can buy a vintage gramophone (as far as I remember)

Wrinkling your nose at orientalists who have clearly never been anywhere near the culture they're trying to portray.

Appreciating the orientalists who have in fact been there and paint like it. (Sorry to disappoint but there were never sexy slave babes roaming the streets)

Mourning for the scholars of Al Andaluas and times when Arabic was the language of science

Arguing over e'arab (the value of a word with regard to others in the sentence) and balagha (it translates to "eloquence" but is more like a complex version of figures of speech) of words

Arabic being such a complex language you get carried away sometimes

Passing the allotted wordcount so you start going over your paper and compressing a whole sentence, consisting of a conjunction, a subject, a verb and two objects into a word in desperation

Words like فأسقيناكموه (faa'skainakumooh) meaning "and so we have let you drink it" being an example.

Tea over burning coal. Over logs (hatab) tea over bokhour/oud hits different and you know it.

Brewing coffee over low heat and humming to Layali Al Ouns

"No offense but I like real coffee" when someone mentions starbucks

Um Kulthoum and Asmahan are superior you cant change my mind.

NO I DID NOT FORGET ABDUL HALIM HAFEZ I WANTED HIM A BULLET OF HIS OWN.

Fareed al atrash concerts at 3 am.

Nothing you ever cook will be under seasoned.

Reciting poetry to yourself in the mirror

Big chunks of jewelry (usually gold) engraved or woven through with intricate patterns and swirls. Wearing four bracelets in one hand is absolutely fine and under dressing is a myth

Owning swords is not out of fashion (ancient arabs were well known for their swordsmanship) but using them is, unfortunately <3

Wondering how they won wars with these swords. I couldn't even lift it enough to stab myself if I wanted

Extra names. People called شهد honey (shahd), جمال beauty (jamal), زهرة flower (zahra), ليلى night (laila), سماء sky (samaa), مهند/سيف sword (mohanad/saif) and صفاء purity (safaa) like it's the most normal thing in the world (which it should be, along with names of ancient gods)

Poetry from the abbasid era describing palaces and fountains and music so eloquently your heart skips several beats and you wonder how it is still beating at all and if, after all, you have been born in the wrong era.

Classic poetry from the school of Apollo brimming with romance and yearning you have never seen matched.

Poems that tear at your heart and stitch it whole with every bayt (verse? The equivalent for it) and you keep coming back for more.

Stories so well told that you swear you can see the princes and charmers and musicians and dancers all flicker to life in the flames before you

Historical masjids and churches.

Going to the palaces and shrines and towers from the ancient days of yore

Not exclusively (as neither is anything on this list) arabic but BRAIDS and braid jewellery that clinks when you shake your head

The unwavering belief that poetry is meant to be sung.

Singing poetry because it is meant to be sung

Thick eyebrows

Lining already lash lined eyes with kohl.

Beautiful brown eyes. Honey eyes. Chocolate eyes. Freshly turned earth eyes. Eyes that hold all the ethereal beauty of the world.

Hair styled in dark, thick curls or braids

Savouring the way the words move around from your throat to your chest to the tip of your tongue, like liquid gold,

The sweet music from the strings of a qitharah (string instrument)

Scented candles are cute, but have you ever heard of oud (perfume infused wood)? Anyhow one of my Sudanese friends make it AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL.

Wanting to study with the scholars of baghdad and azhar so bad

Recognizing that for all your culture, some of it is inspired by others and that's okay.

Please add what you can to this list. It is far from complete.

Sometimes, and only sometimes, she drips with melancholy.

Dreaming of a time when all that existed were two curled bodies, intertwined in thought and mind.

But more often than not she smiles with false teeth.

Interlaced fingers, a soft note of contentment, kisses, sweet nothings and bittersweet smiles.

love is friendship set on fire

our flame has been growing since day one yet we are still just friends

"We both worked at Orchard but at separate times. He was there for a year, me a year later, then again the year after that. He went shopping there a lot and we talked some, then one day he asked me on a date and you know how things go. We had both gone to the same high school and didn't even realize it; never once had we seen or heard of each other. Funny how things like that happen."

My lover asks me: "What is the difference between me and the sky?" The difference, my love, Is that when you laugh, I forget about the sky.