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ME, ME, YOU, THE NILE AND THE MOON

“Not a shred of evidence exists in favour of the idea that life is serious.”

—Brendan Gill

This book is not for the disorderd by obssessive compulsion, for it is obssesively compulsively disordered.

This is the unstraightest thing on planet straight.

SIDE EFFECTS OF BEING OFF OF YOUR MEDICATION (OR YOUR ROCKER).

This is a Persian person.

I swear.

There are many Persian artists in the UAE art scene.

Probably because there are many Persians in the UAE. These things called percentages, it’s absolutely fascinating how they work.

But don’t call them Arab or they get pissed off. Which is offensive, what’s arong with being Arab? Besides everything? Calm down, its ok to be racist against your own as well as and others.

This is also a persian person. There are almost 5 persian people in this car.

Arabs. Makes you think of belly dancers. Thinking of belly dancers yet? Sorry to break it to you but we do not break it down, unless by “It” you mean buildings. We do not dance. We war. Only dancing we do is hopping and dodging gunfire, like samba dancing baby chickens, also known as chicks, on hot Egyptian trays. C’mon everybody do the moon walk, now do the mine avoidance maneuver!

If you’re gonna do tacky bellydancer.

Be an artist, do it right.

Make it tacky times 3.

Just tacky?

Not interested.

Tacky times three?

Yes please.

Now we have something. You need to crop your sarcasm right.

FYI, they don’t take high fives. only singles.

Now pack on the the tack.

They said that they appreciate the challenge. The further you get into this book, the more challenging it gets.

What artists say isn’t worth a damn sometimes anyway. And sometimes, explaining something defeats the purpose of the supposed poetry of the piece. The poetic ambiguity.

Like explaining your jokes. It breaks your heart when no one laughs. But you don’t cry. You act like a man.

Keyword: act. You cry alone. In the bathroom. You know, like a man…

Which is the post card and which is the art piece? If you ask a professor a question, they always philosophize. Well, philosophize this motherfuckers.

No man is an island. But can an island be a man? If it looks like a face I guess. This one is called Jimmy.

Racist. Yes, you.

I almost don’t want to know what you have to say.

I thought it was another shitty postcard.

Well that one is. This one is a Pretty in Pink Political Proclamation.

I almost don’t want to know what you have to say.

What if women ruled the world?

Would the guns be pink? Do the bullets come out with glitter?

Is peace even a possibility? When there were only four of you on this earth, one of you commited murder.

Yes i’m talking about you Cain.

But I mean with name like Cain...

Cmon, what did you guys expect?

So a quarter of you, 25%, children of Adam, are murderers. Actually no wait. If Abel died, then Cain fathered us all. Oh snap. We are all murderers.

Welcome.

Welcome. Enjoy your stay.

C’mon in, make youself at home. I said, come in. Close the door behind you and hold today’s newspaper.

Now smile for the camera. The less noise you make, the less dead I will kill you.

Ok. Maybe not so much.

STREET CORNER ART RANT WITH AN ANGRY FACE

No you don’t. You’re Arab. They’re all probably just about war.

“Record, I am Arab�

Mabrook.

Is that it? Because I can find millions of you. Unless they were all killed...

You are more than that.

No Arabian artistry, just political commentary.

So what makes something art?

People can cash in on the content, the idea of something. But does that make them artists or documenters?

Like crime scene photographers.

But they don’t really cash in on that. If I were one, I’d make copies for myself. The dark room would be a pun. The red light would be unsettling.

Calligraphy? Oh. How original.

I’m sure you can tell me one story no one else can. Something yours, and yours alone.

Please tell me more about your retinas. Do they hurt?

This is a Persian woman.

She goes by the name Sunset.

Being on the outside looking in. or being on the inside looking out. what is this place we’re looking in and out from? Sounds like a recipe to get arrested. Or are we already in jail? Why don’t they think of us?

Those inside? Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I want to be. And just because I’m here doesn’t mean I agree.

Well, this is definitely one view of Egypt. Like what you see? Pay extra for more. Extra time and go see the exhibition. Don’t you wish you were a patron of the arts.

Thank the Lord I see no pyramid.

It would be strange to circle her on the back of a camel. Staring‌ It is my turn yet? Public restroom secks is for free.

Come for our personality.

Yeah, i’m sure the booze and the long legs had nothing to do with it.

There. It’s straight. Are you happy now?

Nothing to see here. I just broke Italy.

What do you write in a post card sent from execution square?

“Wish you were here!”

Golly gee willikers! These death threats sure are friendly!

Oh, Charlie Manson! You’re so thoughtful!

Some saw polyester atrocities, while others saw hot, sweaty love. Hot and sweaty due to the stifling quality of polyester of course.

You look very beautiful tonight baby. Your beauty is inversely proportional to that ugly-ass dress.

That’s how he says I love you.

Did I mention he’s an artist?

That explains a lot.

He writes “How i love you” on a mirror.

Then dramatically exits the room.

Fucking weirdo.

No, please continue describing the works verbally.

You are not wasting my time like, at all.

These “artists”. Don’t they know people don’t like to read?

Ask Mark Pilkington aka Pilky, Milky, Milkington and Marky Mark.

Why do you think there is hardly any text in this book?

Besides the fact that i have never the will patience and energy to actually type something out? And that I did this over night.

My book is a nut house (I want to name it moonface, or face of the moon or me, me, you, the Nile and the moon or something). Ok back to my story. So you open the door, and someone is shouting at you (in all caps). BUT they’re warning you (the disclaimer, it makes sense). Then you walk in and meet Hannibal Lecter. He’s the serif type, calm, collected and delicate, but he’s spewing absolute shit.

SAMAR IDRIS