The Function of the Eye

There can be tons said about the significance of the eye in Literature. Surrealism for one explored the function of the eye in art by distorting it, for what it saw was distorted anyways. George Bataille in the Story of the Eye had intercourse with a loose un-body-bound eye. Disgusting, noted, genius, just a little. The function of the eye was to play on the idea of the gaze, who is this other person you are engaging with, and what is it about them that determines you, why does their gaze inflict such excitement, what does that excitement represent, how does it constitute you? The list of questions goes on and on......and in having intercourse with the gaze you are actually submitting it to your whim, controlling the onlooker. Its a power play, because the EYE-I-OTHER Dynamic is all about power and reference and maybe representation (here I mix in a little Edward Said).


Frankly, Story of the Eye is vulgar for any uninterested reader, but again where do you draw the line between what is artful and what is plan lude:

• Check out the link below to read the story:

http://supervert.com/elibrary/georges_bataille

ABOVE is "Un Chien Andalou" by Salvador Dali and Luis Banuel. Its some what graphic so be warned.

    BELOW is an experimental rendition of word play in reference to the above ideas.

TODAY'S EYE CATCHING STORY IS THAT MY MOTHER JUST HAD EYE SURGERY TO REMOVE HER CATARACT! I WENT TO THE HOSPITAL WHERE SHE PROCEEDED TO EXPLAIN HOW IMPORTANT MY FEMININITY WAS TO MY iDENTITY. I PLAYED ALONG, INSERT WINKING EYE, BECAUSE I KNEW WHAT SHE KNEW, WHICH WAS THAT SHE WAS SCARED. I'M PROBABLY NOT SUPPOSE TO SAY THAT, BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO SAY ABOUT EYES IF NOT WHAT IS SEEN. IT'S OBVIOUS THAT TO HER MY iDENTITY IS LINKED DIRECTLY TO MY OUTLOOK ON LIFE WHICH IN RETURN DIRECTLY LINKS TO MY WEIGHT AS A FEMALE, BUT I CAN'T SEEM TO SEE EYE-TO-EYE WITH HER ON WHAT OUTLOOK IS AND WHY MY OUTLOOK DETERMINES WHAT THE ONLOOKER SEES. iRONICALLY I AM HER PHOTOCOPY. WHEN ONE LOOKS AT A MIRROR THEY SEE THEMSELVES AND IN AN HONEST MIRROR THEY SEE THEIR EYES, I SEE MY MOM. HER EYES ARE GREEN LIKE THE GRASS, MINE JUST A FADE DARKER ARE LOOKING AT HERS IN HOPES THAT HER FEAR WILL FADE IN SEEING THAT MY EYES TURNED JUST A SHADE GREENER FOR HER. SO THAT SHE KNOWS THAT WITH MY EYES SHE WILL SEE. 

Addiction

I use to not smoke!

If  I could count the once upon a times that make my life the intricate web of messiness it has always sorta been, well then I'd be counting my life away.

I have an addictive nature, I tend to obsess and count the millions of ways an event may take place except for the way it really has taken place.

I have an addictive nature.

Thus when once upon a time was about fairy tales, I would tell my little sister the story of Mary, an angel we believed protected us from bad dreams, and we would sleep sound. Years later I was told off for spreading religious gospel that is not true. My sister still sleeps sound.

Once upon a time, I use to sleep sound. Tell myself stories of being captured by bad guys and saved by my own wit and strength from the bad guys who in the end are really not bad, just confused. There is no end to my once upon a time tales.

But you see I have an addictive nature, thus I ate my weights weight towards destructive gain, and smoked shisha/argilia till my lungs grew tired and my bladder grew weak.

I am not friends with my body, but once upon a time, we played basketball with strangers, my body and I, till joyous childish exhaustion gave way to watery sweetness. Whatever happened to those once upon a times that we forget, or make up in our need to remember a once upon a time that's not destructive.

My addictive nature was discrete, once upon a time it was manageable. The more the stress piles building high the more I realize that being Lebanese but speaking English only amounts to more stress- New York buildings high. So I live the contradictions of my life as if they were the only truths one could muster:

I smoke Argiliah instead of cigarettes
Dress down instead of up
Eat Yakhnia (or rather traditional Arabic meals) instead of the more common steak and peas
Drive a Jeep instead of a sports car
Use Tripoli Soap consisting of oil instead of Dove
Prefer speaking in English to Arabic
Write poetry that flows as if it were Arab

I am addictive by nature and once upon a time it was an ongoing joke "OH Dania!" "You just pulled a Dania"
"Stop being so Daniaesque", now I fear the comedy has turned a little sour, I taste my name as if it were rotten meat, my very body eating itself without interest or without a drive to cease the abuse. I dream of once upon a time that is unremembered.

Beirut as a city space acts upon me in such a way as to further convolute my once upon a time obsessions turned addictions.

AH! Once upon a time things made sense.