The Grey Shadows

Stop dreaming, silly -me

selfie ukelele

As much as sometimes I want to get closer to family, something sweepingly sad happens that reminds me again why I stay away more and more. Silly me, I always fall to the tender notion that time can wipe out twinges but in reality, it doesn’t.

Mostly it’s because of the huge gap of ignorance some folks have about me in several realms in which I always get falsely accused of dreadful things I have never made; or said or even thought about… it’s as if to please some bewildered mind.

According to some family members, my mind and thoughts should totally be void and wait for someone to dictate what I should think and say, what I should do or be in my life.  Eventually, I would be told ‘who’ I am and what I should do and not do. I would be told what I have done in the past according to their own irrational ideas of being ‘moi’ to be accepted as part of the tribal clan’s and its cliqued rules.

Most of the time, I’m so use to it, and I don’t even notice it anymore and immediately ignore it all – until it hits physically right into my own score as it harshly stands.  But of course, being use to it I soon disregard most of it. There’s so much more going on around the world, who am I to complain like a little capricious girl about to write a lamenting song?

As a kid I was always being accused of many things, especially of daydreaming; and that was a dangerous awful thing to do in my family. I was even beaten for it. Daydreaming was taboo, and occasionally still is. Thus, in spite I took my time to daydream.

Daydreaming of peace just as John Lennon might have said in his song; “Imagine” and other songs that send out yearning messages for peace. Wake up now; silly me, there is no such thing as peace. Some preacher from the third world once told me “peace is six feet under and that’s where you’ll get it, when you do not obey my laws in respect to my creed” then he punched me right into my face and badly hurt my friend that was near me, as well. All we wanted to do is see the enamelled drawing lines that looked like turquoise emeralds in the stream of the light, designed within a word; which means “god” at a cost, because its price tag is over $10.000 to produce. My friend and I were wondering why it cost so much, so she asked me to see it for an estimation.

As an innocent opinionated child, I used to lounge on the cold marble floor and look up the ceiling, observing shadows move into a scenery with a story of my own -while I listened to music, most of the time with ambient tunes played by the great master of classic genre. Among them were excellent music such as Bach, Beethoven and even the sweet Mozart on strings or piano. It all came to exist from a French Radio station that only had these classics on a repertoire for a constant rerun all day long.

I knew the shadow scenery weren’t for real and the moves were reflections formed by the wine leaves on the wall which reflected on the ceiling too… it was such an amazing journey, because physically and technically the shadow could not have been seen directly on the ceiling. Light comes from above, thus it was actually a third light reflection formed on the floor of the veranda outside and this is what made it so soft and multilayered where historical tales sprung out..

It was a white marble Italian style veranda and on summer days the light was so bright and so scorching hot, no one could sit outside in a 30+ to 38+ degrees temperature… so I often lay on the floor to get a refreshed feeling, while I dreamed with open eyes. The cold marble floor was enjoyable as long as it lasted, and by the after noon it was all gone.

Up to this day I like the cold feeling on my back, it also keeps me a bit numb and ready to face a cold winter blow.  All numb towards many sort of things. At the time where I lived the coldest winter was about 7+ degrees, where I live now it’s approximately as much but below zero. I suppose my dreaming hazard and its show’s journey prepared me for colder temperature.

As I look back now at the ceiling in my mind and reminisce on all the grey tones, it bring me right back where I am now, just the same as it was today as it endlessly snowed outside on a grey winter day, and grey is my life as well.



When …

dew drops

When every drop of dew falls off the window pane in the morning, because the sun rose warming up every breeze, then it’s time to go out because you will enjoy your time like a child discovering the first spring flower.


When in Canada

When in Canada it was time to inform, but you did not want to listen.

(read ‘Mediterranean World’ first)


IX – Out of desert’s exotic life, I reminisce by the fact that I was and still am into nauseated state because the Bedouin culture I left behind, this is still weighing on me as an emancipated woman I cannot endure the degradation of women. I do know by experience under Mohammedanism regulation — repulsively sets every woman to belong to some man as his absolute possession and property — either as a child, a wife, or a hidden concubine – this alone must delay the final extinction of slavery until the faith of Islam will cease to be in great power among men. Individual Moslem men may show splendid qualities to the outside world, but I know the inside world because I lived among them for several decades and getting updated every day by North African Bedouin tribes that still live there. Rest assure they are proud to be named Bedouin, driving expensive cars, communicating by i-Phones checking their email, just as people do in the western world but with antique behaviour.

Thousands rooted Bedouin tribesmen become the brave and loyal soldiers like bees of the Queen: all know how to die and willing to do it with pride killing everyone around them. However the influence of the religion paralyses the social development of those who follow it and those that live near it. It’s like a contagious disease, it rubs off on everyone’s psyche and personal awareness, sometimes into frenzy that last years.

No other or stronger retrospective force exists in the world. Far from being declining, Mohammedanism is a militant and proselytizing faith. It has already spread throughout Central Africa, raising fearless warriors at every stride; and where there’s no other religion such as Judeo-Christianity sheltering strong arms of science — the science against which it had unsuccessfully struggled — the western civilization of modern Europe might soon fall, as the early civilization of ancient Rome fell.

It is known that this particular dogma, which above all others was founded and propagated by the sword — the principles and known codes of which are instinct with incentives to slaughter and which in four continents has produced fighting breeds of men — stimulating wild and merciless fanaticism. The love of ransacking everything is high, always a characteristic of sand-hill tribes, it’s fostered by the spectacle of opulence and luxury which, to their eyes, the cities and plains of the south display.

A code of honoured pride not less punctilious than that of old Spain is supported by tribal vendettas as implacable as those of Corsica. Many Books have been written about that, you may need to workout your mind and pick up a few historical reports well written in educational section.

X – In Canada; life was and still is good, and up to this date I’m busy working and contributing to society within volunteer tasks. I’m occasionally translating biographies from old manuscripts of several individuals that have actually moved to Canada out of souring Europe during WWI and WWII. They are all handwritten diaries and very difficult to read to be decoded. Sometimes I work an entire day on one page. I work with a team that speak several languages to decode it all pretty well. Many of these centuries’ old diaries have been buried at the Salvation Army and other similar basement storage. These are historical testimonies. I do it for a very small fee and sometimes I do it on pro-bono basis, just because history has to be recorded. Thus – this gives me knowledge about refugees more that anyone else. I read about it all day long. The real refugees; not the group that flock in by the thousands, because they have pledged to turn every country into an Islamic State in the name of an ancient warrior and proud paedophile some call this old man spiritual and go to the extend to kill in his name.

I’m positively sure that at one point the warmonger would have said: “Stop the killing field I’m satiated with blood just as my friend Satan” He would have called out for some digestive medicine as a remedy.  Could we from the other side of the world have not seen the dramatic scenery in advance?

XI – More will be said in the coming months; as soon as you dippy people stop accusing me of all kinds of denigration in spite that I have always tried to help everyone in distress. Once again as gratitude I get stabbed in the back.  When will you all impede the lousy smear strategy and slander on me? Why are you such a fan of my shadow, anyway? Don’t you have a gerbil wheel to run into a routinely dash? I can almost feel the dense minded such as the MAFIA clans breathing on my backbone. Have you forgotten that you invited me into this bewildered juncture?

There’s very little entertainment I like and love to get acquainted about anyone without clownish  odium, unless it’s about spontaneous surprises within Visual Art, Music and genuine political information and not the sugar coated canards out of the media such as CBC, BBC, CNN and endlessly sucking up on the gullible minds, and such.

XII – How an ancient desert warmongers that raped women and children harms us all that much? Keeping everyone under a submissive state is beyond me. But you never wanted to listen to my testimonies, every time I tried to explain I was told to shut up because it’s not appropriate, shame, shamed again into silence.

Now — I’m forced to send you all these little facts before something drastic happens to me and no one will ever know how much you shock me.  I’m not frightened by potential physical blow… but by your ill-information… no matter what I do to be gentle. You are not aware because you have never heard me talk or justify myself. The world is contagiously sick and we got to be prepared and not to let it happen. I’m not scared of the religious warmongers but I’m scared of you because when I will be gone like a dried out plant, you will most probably do the same to the innocent brood that survived me.

“Misinformation kills brain-cells,” I’m sure one day I will read such a title in some scientific journal!

XIII – I apologized many times for my brazen opinions but still you don’t know me. You don’t know what music I like, unless I post it on a virtual page, just as many having absolutely nothing to say. You don’t know what delicate food I may hate or like anyhow. You don’t know what I’ve done and seen when I hiked all over Europe with a packsack, sadly those nice days are over. I wouldn’t advice anyone to hike in Europe as I’ve done in my teens -as I was at the time. You don’t know me and how patiently fair and just I am, because you never want to hear me out or read me…. and here like a fool I’m trying to let you know who I am, and what peeves me the most, or makes me laugh or  not.

XIV – All I needed was a long boring trip on a bus and a tablet to write and let you know how miserably sad you make a wondrous mind feel. My phenomenal mind goes as far back as when I was a toddler scribbling on walls, I remember everything and nothing as changed since.

I sense a poem is about to emerge but I need to sleep first for at least a couple of hours before the arrival into the Montreal’s bus station. Good night and sweet dreams -for now, I say to myself as my eyelids fall from fatigue!



Mediterranean world

A poem is about to emerge but I need to sleep first for at least a couple of hours before arriving into the Montreal’s bus station, as I wrote this on my tablet. Good night, now!

bus_station night

This is a short draft; therefore some paragraphs are numbered, for the reason that every number has a longer scripted chapter in the making, as soon as another dawn rise, I will widen my words at a different tone in time.

Sometimes things are not better left unsaid, because the slander accumulates and spreads with more misunderstanding.  The long and boring trip on the bus is greeted with memories as I try to look out of the window, it is dark outside and all I see is the fading reflection of my weary face.

Come to the gentle night with simple words, hence I hope everyone will be able to read and finally comprehend. Take the words I have to say; once and for all these words are here to stay.  Misinformation about me is running ramped, and this is going to hurt everyone I really love, especially the young brood that have been lied to and misinformed for many years.

I – Here is the story said; in true time and formed set out. You have to know we have never been refugees, but studied migrants, mistakenly set in Canada with assets, education, and financial warranty from a peaceful culture. As soon as arrived we paid taxes on top of our devalued currency and willingly done so as soon as deposits were made at the Bank – it was considered as an income even before we pledged to the Royal Queen to become Canadian citizens, in 1982 as officially landed immigrants. At the time we paid Taxes on the money we’ve transferred from Europe to Canada, the first year it was a small percentage fee, more than double on the second year, and even more the following years.

II – When I moved out of the mad Mediterranean world it was purely because I needed a stable life with a good education for a bright toddler, well situated in my neighbouring region outside Montreal – where several bi-lingual private schools were available.

III – We moved here as immigrants not as refugees. There is a big difference. We had to wait for three years for the process to be completed, and twice. The first time when we finally got it – my husband and I – put it on ‘hold’ for later because we thought we were better off living in Europe (we had a small ‘Pied-a-Terre’ and lots of fun party friends) because my husband worked for a construction company and they proposed a transferred position, anywhere between France or any UK related countries where they had several chain studio offices. The job was a given if he was willing to later on move to Algeria for three years as a huge mega-project was about to be developed. I got testimonial pictures of that time which will only be seen by family members and people I know. As always flying my own kite might be more amusing than becoming a mockery, and there might be several falling jaws on the ground due to perplexity.

to be continued below


IV – When I found out that schools in Algeria were as bad as those in Egypt, Lebanon, Libya and Tunis (countries I have been to) with strong religious indoctrination, whether it was a private or public school – I refused to live there for more than a year… since it wasn’t possible to rewrite the contract for that short period. We went back to the Canadian Embassy right on to point one — to re-apply for immigration to Canada again, and wait for three years to get a response.

V – At the Mediterranean gulf there were no wars, but several local revolutions that lasted a day or two, which did not affect us, because we lived in a foreign BP British compound adjacent with other European Companies and foreign giant buildings in the middle of a desert, parallel to a modern civilisation. However on many occasions where I lived which was in front of a Roman Catholic Church (transgressed into an Islamic library and a girl’s orphanage held by nuns) after the revolution – local Arab youth (16 to 20 years) rebelled and have turned the city into a shocking rebel’s zone for 48 hours, not more.

As soon as caught; they were hanged in front of the building where we happened to live, at the ex-Church Square. At one time, I spontaneously narrated a poem out loud while I was filming the whole thing. I did that with a small super-8 camera right out of the living room balcony. It was Easter Friday for the Catholic Community, so in my poem I lamented about La Pieta (Michelangelo’s mother Mary in pain), as Arab mothers all dressed in black whimpered and silently crying in front of the hanging bodies on poles that looked like three crucifixes. The mothers and their children were painfully looking at their young sons being hanged for setting fire on huge truck tires. Two of them were hanged by their feet to dry out in the scorching sun and slowly die in agony for two days. The sighting was devastating and shocking to us because we have never seen this kind of torture before.

Fathers and male family members were purposely all absent. It was a traditional tribal custom that only mothers and children could attend. The city was in total silence as the scenery was as harsh to absorb as a gloomy Italian movie produced by Zeffirelli, but live at the plaza seen from our balcony. I could have approached the mothers to console them – shedding as many tears as they did.

VI – Many months later we decided to leave, life became unbearable. The hanging scenery never left our minds. We never knew what was going to happen next, but there were no wars as seen now in 2015/16. No suicide vests, no Christians being slaughtered.  (Remind me about the gendercide another day though, which is another story whereas I worked with the Italian Nuns to safe a few newborn babies.)

For my part I have always wanted to move to Canada but my husband wanted to live in Australia or France – he has a lot of family members in both countries that moved during the late 60s as wealthy Christians and Jews businesses were sequestered by the Egyptian government, leaving opulent families without income.  On many occasions he was invited to join his older relatives and move out of the crazy desert world, but, I managed to convince him for settling into the French Canadian region, and nowhere else. After having travelled far too much, I knew I would feel at home in Quebec.

VII – When we moved, the same construction company my husband was associated with, – kept in touch with him and he actually moved the same mega-project his company planed for North Africa – all developed right here in Quebec… thus the project that was set to be drafted for Algerian government’s embellishment for a new city. The project was comfortably moved and done by Quebec management and this was a huge income for a Quebec company. Without him this project would have never been made. They hired young Quebec Architects that just graduated at the McGill and Montreal University… and up to this day he gets high regards from internship Architects, since he gave them a chance to develop their skills, he did that willingly on pro-bono basis as well.

-to be continued another day


Response to Leyila’s spoof


Photo Caption: Screaming masks argument with one another during Trinidad’s Mardi Gras Carnival. These characteristic masks are part of elaborate costumes of the annual festival.

Leyila is an apostate woman that wanted a divorce, but her husband refused to give it to her and turned her life miserable everywhere, even online, until one day she disappeared from the face of the planet, no one knows where she is. Her Mother said: “I hope she burns in Hell or dies of Cancer” and hang up when my friends and I asked about her.

This poem is for her Spoof that hijacked her site.

Spoof under your nasty screaming mask, this poem is for you…

Convincingly as it may sound bright to some citizens;
your nasty words formulates absolute no common sense
Would I still endeavour to respond with equal unkindness,
if you weren’t so suddenly hit with adolescent manners?

A couple of dire deeds that may be stained to your generation,
malevolence that may be doable to remain with you forever…
A touch of hatred that becomes worse with age on occasion.
It must be sad to bear such poignant burdens in your life…

Therefore I’ll forgive your rudeness and your sad outburst
Therefore I’ll just send you a grin to your decaying mind
All the same. my life will be pleasant without your surds
Go and run foul with your beliefs and preaching minds…

There might be a grim need for hard suffering confession.
There should be an admission of guilt without any blame
There’s high value to the jolted country you harshly named
miserably some realms create wars with a lot of shame

You may hold on to your beliefs and I’ll hold on to mine
Nothing will make happier Nations if we all mind our own
We could create more Peace if we don’t bow to sham deities
God or any anthropomorphic mystic, none for me please…


2009-10-16 @ 10:39

Autumn (poem 2012)

While I was running through the pink field (as seen in the video here) I thought of these poetic lines, you may continue the poem it you like…



Even if I were to be walking through blind,
I’d feel the scrip warm touch in the air
While I run through the vast pink fields
It bares no secret of blame or shame
Autumn leaves millions of falling leafs

2012-10-12 @ 00:30:43 by Nelley


Abhorrence to Gambling


Reservedly – many stupidities among others exists,

Some are: excessive gambling, inebriation and drugs

Those that favouring it – often bury their precious time

And tawdrily waste their lives faster than ever thought.

Hence these are my main grounds I’ve debarred such thugs

I’ve mentioned it so many times, still I hear the whine