Saturn’s Symphony

SATURN’S SYMPHONY

She doesn’t alarm me

Lady Harmony
When she rests her hand
Between you and me-
Blue and green
Sand and marine
Swimming in a wave
Of reality
Drowning in
Amarna’s distant dream.
An ancient Queen
And her
King supreme
Two immortal souls
Of the 5th beam –
Flowing in the 7th stream.
Slipping in each other’s sweat
And bathing in
Breaths of steam.

Feet to feet
Two cats in heat
Dancing like wild savages
In a sacred desert retreat
Two souls merging,
Into

ONE
Sublime
And divine
Entity.

I can feel your heart’s beat.

Says Lady Harmony.

She then throws us
Into thunderous throes
Complete with pounding wind

And animalistic tones
She watches us moan –
In the flame of twins
Shin to shin
Skin on skin
Pouring light made of crystalline
Salt mixed in with
Musk and leather
Creating our own
Pharaonic storm –
Our own bionic
And sonic weather
Fully blown
On a horizontal throne
Full of turbulence
And aural pleasures
Her hand caresses our vessels

Like the blessings from

A falcon’s feathers

Sending us to galactic heights

Mending our lights together

Forever

Then while pulling on Passion’s lever

She reveals Isis’s lapis
Box filled with
Erotic and oral treasures
Lips crushing

The Nile ever gushing
In a moment

Blushing

And complete.
Lady Harmony –
She always charms me
Whenever we do meet
In repeat.
Her moves are fleeting
When two souls are
Greeting
In Saturn’s sensual
Symphony.

=Blue Panther=
SATURN’S SYMPHONY by Suzy Kassem
Copyright 2008. All rights reserved

Saturn’s Symphony

SATURN’S SYMPHONY

She doesn’t alarm me

Lady Harmony

When she rests her hand

Between you and me-

Blue and green

Sand and marine

Swimming in a wave

Of reality

Drowning in

Amarna’s distant dream.

An ancient Queen

And her

King supreme

Two immortal souls

Of the 5th beam –

Flowing in the 7th stream.

Slipping in each other’s sweat

And bathing in

Breaths of steam.

Feet to feet

Two cats in heat

Dancing like wild savages

In a sacred desert retreat

Two souls merging,

Into

ONE

Sublime

And divine

Entity.

I can feel your hearts beat.

Says Lady Harmony.

She then throws us

Into thunderous throes

Complete with pounding wind

And animalistic tones

She watches us moan –

In the flame of twins

Shin to shin

Skin on skin

Pouring light made of crystalline

Salt mixed in with

Musk and leather

Creating our own

Pharonic storm –

Our own bionic

And sonic weather

Fully blown

On a horizontal throne

Full of turbulence

And aural pleasures

Her hand caresses our vessels

Like the blessings from

A falcon’s feathers

Sending us to galactic heights

Mending our lights together

Forever

Then while pulling on Passion’s lever

She reveals Isis’s lapis

Box filled with

Erotic and oral treasures

Lips crushing

The Nile ever gushing

In a moment

Blushing

And complete.

Lady Harmony –

She always charms me

Whenever we do meet

In repeat.

Her moves are fleeting

When two souls are

Greeting

In Saturn’s sensual

Symphony.

=Blue Panther=

SATURN’S SYMPHONY by Suzy Kassem

Copyright 2008. All rights reserved

The 7th Legion


There is a group of influential trendsetters in their 30s, scattered across the globe, whom have taken on the identities of at least 8-17 people each.

These peace soldiers are influential, extremely multi-talented, speak in several tongues, and are very educated and beyond intelligent. Their families are considered the creme de la creme of the social stratosphere. They are the sons and daughters of clothing titans, prominent European hoteliers, prime ministers, ambassadors, Saudi royalty, film directors, the mafioso, political advisors, international actors, top-tier consultants, luxury car manufacturers, and even candy companies in South Africa.

For years they congregate in alternate cities across the world, sometimes weekly, monthly, or depending on schedules, twice a month. They are system busters and resonators all working together towards one common objective – to spread light and unite people across the world using different media vehicles or by gaining prominence in different industries. By assuming different identities, they fuck with the media and multiple systems by passing on their attitudes through different personas and voices. When they meet, they exchange their contact lists, cross-connect, and make things happen bigger than their last meeting.

For instance, X Fujiwara may be known in Japan and amongst his friends as a radio DJ at night and hustling albums for a music distributor by day. In truth, X has enough skills to assume the roles of an MC, artist, stock trader, managing editor for a teen publication, columnist for a political magazine, and host his own TV show for Rap videos on the weekends. He may pose with different names within Japan and his friends will never know about his recognition across many lands.

X takes on different names and through these mediums, he creates enough avenues to share his opinions and views amongst different target audiences. Sometimes, if a paper in the UK, or others, wants to do an interview with him for his new book on something like adapting Keyenes methodology in Asia, and he wrote it as a female Chinese writer, versus Japanese, he will hire a Chinese actress in the UK to hold the interview as him and vice-versa.

The systems of the world are being fucked with and messages of peace are being spread by genuine cool cats around the world who have infiltrated even the most corrupt circles. For those that read this, you will look at names and faces you see on the TV, in print, and on the radio way different than before. Many of them are imposters, for the real talent behind the songs, products, and issues they represent, are way dormant in the background doing other things or juggling other identities around the clock. These peace soldiers can be found working for goverments, news agencies, so many different media avenues and pop culture outlets to even want to waste time in the spotlight. They pay others to do the acting for them, while they strategize their next moves and projects for tommorow. Are they cheating Truth? No. In a poisoned world, they are playing Satan’s game with the hand of illumination.

You may know of cults that are dark and made of skulls and bones, but there is a clan growing in power that is made of light. This selfless group uses whatever profits they make to invest into the greater good, in greater causes, and to fight corruption in the courts and to stand up for the disadvantaged people around the world.

Is this all fact or fiction?

A little birdy told me about this legion a little while ago and ever since then, I started paying attention. And you know what? In time, I began seeing its influence everywhere. It’s no joke.

-Suzy Kassem aka Blue Panther

Swings of Death

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Tape that to your wall, computer monitor, mirror, or door. Tape it to your head and pass it to your friends.

Every friend of mine who had taken their own life showed no unusual signs of helplessness or hopelessness days before they committed the act. In fact, they were all beyond brilliant personalities, full of charisma, love, and humor. Some of my favorite people on this earth are no longer with me. At least, not in the physical.

When you go against the flow of nature and betray the spiritual laws existing within, there is, and will always be, a negative reaction. Those who try escaping life before fate shakes their hand, will forever be stuck on earth, chained to the place they so badly wanted to leave. What a complicated misery? I guarantee you it will be torture to be invisible and ignored by those you love when you can see them but you are already dead for them to hear you utter another word. Talk about agony. More so, than remaining on this plane and continuing your spiritual cycle as it was written to be lived.

Remorse. Regret. Loneliness. Isolation. Misery.

Those are what you get when you take your life before your time is naturally up. Believe it. I have lost dozens of friends to overdoses. In desperation to communicate to them after death, I went to see mediums who could talk to the deceased. I was greeted by spirits in tears, crying about the mistakes they had made, the misery of walking alone, of not being able to communicate or say they were sorry for what they did. Each and every one of them said they never meant to really go through with it. Their actions were just cries for help or they had fallen prey to their moods of the moment.

The mood you have now will be different than the mood you have tommorow. Moods pass just like the clouds above our heads. Prescription drugs, street drugs, and alcohol alter our states of mind and throw us outside of our current realities or push us deeper into them. I may feel suicidally depressed one moment and feel my situation is hopeless, but then the next day I’m happy as if nothing ever happened. Don’t let your moods put you on the swing of death. Don’t ever give in to your moods. Problems eventually mend themselves over time, the same way the clouds always part for the sun to shine through. Have faith and the light will come.

SUICIDE IS A PERMANENT SOLUTION TO A TEMPORARY PROBLEM.

When you cheat death, it will slap you with a sentence of misery for trying to defeat it.

Remember that and pass this to all your friends.

-Suzy Kassem

WasSsup WasSsup?

One day I’m walking through a busy marketplace in Alexandria called Al-Manchaya. I’m all veiled up with no flashy jewelry or handbag, and yet I get mobbed by the poor left and right asking me for spare change. I didn’t understand why they had singled me out from the crowds of other people swimming by.

So the next day, I dress up super bummed down, showing nothing that reveals I have an inkling of money on me. I walk around in flip-flops, my hair is a mess from the wind and I look like I had just rolled out of bed, but still the same thing happened. Made no sense. There were other women walking by me dripping in gold from head to toe with fancy accessories and what looked like expensive shoes but I didn’t see anybody bothering them!

I tell my friend Hamada about what keeps happening to me. No matter what I dress like or how I present myself, the homeless, distraught and the penniless keep flocking to me like flies. What the hell am I doing wrong? Or right?

He thinks for a moment then asks me, “Did you have money on you? And if so, how much?” I tell him I had just withdrawn a few hundred from the bank for a rug; hence, making it about four thousand Egyptian pounds in conversion. He tells me, “That’s a lot of money for here! They can smell it! To them that’s $4,000!”

How could that be? Money has no smell to it and it’s not like I whip it all out at once or pull more than 10 pounds from my pocket. There’s nothing about me that reveals I have enough to pay for even a bottle of Coca-Cola on the street. Yet I keep getting stopped by women carrying sickly babies, men with burned arms or no arms at all. Why me?

So to make a point, Hamada tells me to hand him my money as we jumped into a cab taking us to the downtown area. When I got out and walked around ahead of him, nobody came up to me for several blocks. I mean NOBODY. So when I made note of the discovery then turn around to look for him, I find him a couple of blocks backward. I stroll up to him and find a man in his 70’s reciting Quranic verses to him with one hand forward followed by another woman telling him she needed medicine and couldn’t afford it. We exchange glances and he smiles, pointing out to me that he had made his case.

The smell of money. It’s no joke. People need to check and see what the hell they press into the inks of bills. Better yet, why not roll down to Mexico and pull the test yourself? I assure you all that it was a real eye opener for me and has got me thinking. I’m sure they don’t weave the scent of jasmine petals into money. Or steak. Or buttered popcorn. So what else could it be?

Beats me. Go ask the eye on the pyramid. It will tell you. After all, it sees and knows everything.

WasSsup WasSsup?

My Mirror

Re: Truth Reflected, Truth Rejected

Hi Suz, I took interest in this….you know, this was something I always admired in you, your truthfulness, I thought it was great the way you’d tell people like it is including your father, who at times could be intimidating and domineering, he tried to hold the iron fist over you but all it did was make your rebel more. I remember one time when I came over to your house, your dad answered the door and told me you were not home. I was like what the fuck, I just talked to her?! But you came running down the stairs yelling and screaming at him, he looked slightly humiliated. lol so many times I would watch in amazement you calling people out, your mom, your sisters, brother, friends, strangers. It was and is freaking great. I enjoyed this story, it brought back many good memories from when we were kids, running around like little punks. Good times my friend, good times.

miss ya sista.
Angie

Messages From Beyond

 

 

 

Know that:

1) When you are sitting alone at your desk, in front of the TV, lying on a couch, comfortable in your own space and suddenly smell the sweetest fragrance as that from the heavenliest garden…know that you have just been visited by a departed loved one. The scent usually lasts only seconds and you may think you imagined it. Know it was very real.

2) When you are alone in your own space and suddenly feel something wrap around you like it came in with the soft wind from an open window, and you sense this indescribable feeling of warmth encompass you that brings unexplainable tears to your eyes. Know that a deceased loved one had just come to tell you they love you. It is very real. You have just been visited.

3) When you notice a bird outside your window, on your front door step, somewhere in front of you, observing your every move, watching intensely, studying you, making you very aware of their presence and once you acknowledge them, they fly away towards the sky. Know that a loved one was checking up on you. It is very real and no coincidence. Send a verbal or telepathic message to the bird to deliver to a loved one for I promise you they will. Throughout history, birds have acted as messengers between the living and the living and deceased. If a bird should make its way into your living space, let them know you are alright and send it peacefully on its way. You have just been visited.

4) When you are in bed , in a chair, or resting comfortably in your own zone and feel the soft weight of a hand resting on your cheek, shoulder, knee, arm, back, or elbow, or even just a faint prickle of energy caressing your skin, pillow, or even feel a sense of weight resting on your bed, know that a departed loved one is reaching out to you. You are not imagining things. You have just been visited.**

5) When you are alone and the TV or radio flips on by itself, or your computer flickers intermittently, or mouse moves across the screen on the automatic (and it’s not a Dell PC or hacker), know that it is only through energy a departed loved one can signal they are with you. If you find yourself questioning the situation, know it was very real. You have just been visited.

6) When you are filtering through photos and one falls out and it happens to be one of a deceased, know that they are telling you that they are around you and still with you. It is very real. Take the photo and frame it. The dead want to be remembered. If the photo is on a computer screen and the mouse locks up, have the photo printed and framed. You have just been visited.

 

I share these 6 points from personal re-occurring experiences and know, without a doubt in my mind, that they were all actual visits from the departed. Now imagine yourself dead and now exposed to the spiritual realm ruled by cosmic law which forbids the deceased from verbally communicating or materializing before the living. Ask yourself, how would you communicate to your loved ones? Without words? Without scaring them? Without making them paranoid? I’ll admit that the fluttering vibrations I feel sometimes on my pillow at night do scare the living shit out of me. I sometimes mistake them for something dark. How would you distinguish your presence from the jinn or others whom have also passed? Think about it.

Even though I tell my family and friends to come and visit me if they should die first, differentiating their true presence from the noise is a tough task. The only way you would specifically recognize someone is through articles of clothing or possessions they owned that cross your path, sounds they liked, scents, symbols and the repetition of certain behaviors they once employed while living. The rest is intuition. Fact, the dead do want you to talk to them. Fact, they do like it when you play their favorite music. Fact, they do come around us from time to time and some are around us every day living amongst us and our families as though they had never died.

**There are times when a living person can think about you so hard: hugging you, kissing you, or even touching you that you can feel the vibes they are transmitting from afar. Sometimes I feel a tornado of passion coming at me and I don’t know from which direction, but I feel it. Most of the time, you don’t know where the energy is coming from at all. However, sometimes if someone is thinking about you, images of them will flash through your head and you will start thinking about them. That person over there, somewhere, won’t know that they transported their thoughts to you and you won’t know how they even popped into your mind to begin with. That’s the mystery behind human nature. It’s no coincidence when you think of someone you haven’t talked to in a long time, then suddenly they call you or you run into them the next day.

Conclusion:
The truth, we were all born with telepathic minds. The majority of us use less than 20% of our mind’s true potential. If we used 40%, all of humanity could communicate telepathically in unison. We would no longer need cell phones. If we used 60%, we could all live to be 200. Believe it. If we used our minds to their fullest capacity, there would be peace amongst brothers. An elevated world would reside on a protected earth. With all the static thrown at us on the daily, twisted realities, false perceptions on TV, and so many distractions building upon the mental traffic already in our brains trying to survive, you can’t blame the common man for not being able to see the simplicity in Truth. Our hearts give us life, but it is our minds that drive our bodies, translate messages from the soul, and are capable of pushing us to do the unthinkable. Your mind can cure or kill you. Your mind is capable of creating peace in the world and within yourself. Your mind can transport you to go anywhere you want to go and can drive you to achieve anything your soul desires. Sadly, fear is instilled in us everyday. Our schools limit the levels we were created to achieve and our world needs scientific validations to find reason rather than spiritual truth. We limit ourselves because we allow it. Our systems limit us because they know they can control and manipulate our minds. Mind control -– welcome to the New World Order.

Your heart, soul, and mind are all interlinked and a healthy body cannot function with one missing from the mix. Evil is the only body of mass that can function on mind alone. Preserve your mind. Preserve your soul. Preserve your heart. If you lose your mind, your soul will guide you. Preserve your soul, if it is weak, then keep your mind sound for it can still illuminate your heart. Preserve your heart, for without it you would have no pulse to charge your mind and your soul will be forced to escape your body. Your ultimate reason for existence is to expand the limit put on your mind. Feed it and nurture it and never think of aging unless you really want to get older. For whenever you do, you will. Your soul listens to your mind and if you hide age from your soul, you will never get old. Turn off the poisons that surround you and venture into the world of self-healing and infinite knowledge.

First, know that nothing is impossible and to always listen to your own heart, mind, and soul.
By Suzy Kassem

Them Croatian Cats

THE RISE OF MULTI-CREATIVES

Talk about inspiration. My friend Slaven aka Lunar of the YCP crew in Croatia just landed the front cover of Forbes Magazine in his country. While just a couple weeks ago, he sent me flicks of the latest wall he painted with his brothers.

Now, how could a bunch of graffiti writers land on the cover of a serious money magazine? How could that BE?

Photobucket
Photobucket

Slaven’s response (as is):

“You know how I see it, gotta pay da cost to be free in creating what I love. Paying the cost in my case is 9-5 at the agency. Try to get the best of it and after it, second shift is only for my own sake. This made me enjoy what I’m doing even more. and for forbes, I’m very glad for them recognizing love and dedication, not only greedy and businessmen who step over people’s heads to get to the next level who are usually on their covers…

They had a theme for this issue, called ‘croatian dream’ (hrvatski san). Croatian dream is a bit different than American one, in first place we do care about family and close friends and enjoyment in life, not only running after the money like most western world. they thought my career was the good example so they requested the interview and illustration for the cover. also a recommendation for several people from last exhibition (10 years anniversary of first official group graffiti exhibition organized now by croatian ambassador in morocco) who i thought had sucessfully transferred from graffiti to business. I guess it’s a cool step forward…”

Whatevs.
Talk about the infiltration of Cool.

From my brothers in Croatia: Chez (slavonski brod), Mosk (rijeka), Smack, Lunar, Dock, Skor (rijeka), Thorn, and Metakzagreb.

What Kind of Music Do You Listen To?

I would ask guys that question throughout my teens and into my twenties. It was my way of sorting them out. If a guy told me he liked hardcore gabber, I knew he was a candy flipper and too cheezy for me. If he told me he liked ICP, then most likely he was a lush, liked drinking Faygo, and listened to Kid Rock, Hesham, and Too Short too. If a guy told me he was into the Grateful Dead and Phish, I knew he probably carried a hacky sack in his pocket, was out of a job or working at a bagel joint, and that I could swing with him for a wee bit only because I knew that he would always have weed on him. Stereotypes were fueled by music only because people allowed themselves to be labeled that way. Crossovers were too far and in-between.

I like a little bit of everything so I never fit in one class like those who like to label themselves by their dress style and music. Some people listen to things only because friends within their group listen to the same stuff. So I could quickly pull out the cats that don’t have an opinion about anything. At the same time, when a guy throws at me a diverse list of bands and singers, DJ and MCs, listing the best in jazz, the best producers in deep house all around the world, knows the good in dance music inside out, his record labels, the best in hip-hop, punk rock, lounge, eclectic shit, reggae, ska, UK groups that kicked it in the 80s to early 90s, and everything in-between, that guy gets my attention fast because those kind of guys were rare. His selection told he was open-minded, had an ear for good music, was well-rounded and so must be his personality and outlook on life.

Same with girls. If I met a girl who told me she was into Ani Defranco, Sarah Macglauglin, Portishead, AND Siouxie and the Banshees, then I knew right away that the girl would be hitting me up with relationship issues — or hitting on me. Either she had a sexual identity crisis or was insecure. I was always right. If a guy told me he liked Tori Amos, Mcglauglin and Ani Defranco, and shit, throw in some Celine, I knew he was gay. Soory, but it’s true. If a straight guy likes those acts, then it’s probably because he had a girlfriend who had him leashed in a push me-pull me relationship and that’s what she dug or he suffered bad times in love.

You also knew who the real hip-hop heads were because they not only listed Wu-Tang, but also could name Ali Shaheed Muhammed, GZA, and Pioneer as the best producers, and they knew their MCs in the game too, AND they’d throw at you the fundamental musicians from the 60s and 70s, blues and jazz legends that prompted their initial interest in music in general and the whole hip-hop movement. Those same cats are still listening to the same good music today even if the groups have dissolved and new sounds and voices in hip-hop have emerged. That’s what old school is about. Hip-hop of yesterday is nothing compared to what it is today.

Then things changed. When I lived in DC in my early 20s for a short stint, I discovered a cultural shift from the aural perspective. I was at a house party at a friend’s and this little scrawny kid, who looked no older than 12, with nerdy glasses and a striped polo shirt rolled in the door with a crate full of records. I did not expect his fella to drop the illest shit. He was dropping hip-hop, broken beats, mixed with funk and house. He did it all with long tricky fingers. I would have never given that kid a second of my time back then, until I heard the music he slammed. Then I noticed that the house kids in DC listened to the cheesiest house on the planet, unlike the kids in Europe and the Midwest, and that I preferred hanging out with the punks because they knew what was seriously good in the land of Fugazi. Every city had a specialty when it came to music. Every city had a specific music scene that dominated over the others. In DC, I realized that as we moved on to the mid-90s, classification by music was suddenly becoming a blurry assumption. While before, it was clear as glass.

It wasn’t until my mid to late 20’s that I finally stopped asking people what they listened to. And instead, I’d ask, “What’s good in the player these days?” I had gone across continents by then and trying to find the cool cats in every city was starting to get harder and harder. Something was changing in the air. Scenes were dying and new ones that defied genres were starting to emerge. People were also crossing dress styles and embracing all kinds of stuff, unlike before, where everything was more genre specific and based on stereotypes.

Anything you like, I can list the good songs, without saying I necessarily like the whole band. Not everything a band kicks on their label is intended to be gold, as they do have contracts to fulfill and those albums all need songs to meet deadlines. So even today, I don’t like someone naming a band, I’d rather they kick me a song. Commerici-Cana (Commercialized America) has killed most scenes when they went popular, and with popularity comes a slew of acts that jump in whether they are good or just fillers. Wherever there is hype, there are always trendy followers. The distortion kills it for the true heads that once enjoyed the exclusivity, so they move on to other stuff. That’s how house music died as well as many other music crazes. You can’t say you like one branch of music anymore. Music is evolving. The internet had a lot to do with it because it gave people a means of discovering and exploring different music. Now it’s hard for me to tell what the fuck, when a 16 year old tell me she listens to The Germs, Lil’ Wayne and Deathcab for Cutie. The lines are all distorted.

Before you cast judgment, know that music fits certain moods for a listener, appeals to a thought or feeling indescribable in their own words, or matches a stage in their life. And that sometimes, some music is devoted to appeal to a specific lifestyle only because it was created by a scenester who was known in a specific scene from which his/her music now thrives. Instead of punk rockers, we have punk rockers who like hip-hop and new wave. And instead of just alterna-queens, they also like new wave and sappy songs thrown over tight beats. The world has gone eclectic so get with the new times. Don’t judge someone by their music, ever. I’ve found that the guys that like classical stuff mixed with a super buffet of assorted junk, are actually pretty interesting, sensitive, and very intelligent. You simply can’t really judge nowadays. If you do, you’ll miss out.

-Suzy Kassem

Child of Aten


FOR THE LOVE OF THE SUN

Where oh where is my Akhenaten?

For 33 years, I’ve been searching around the world,

Year after year,

Face after face,

Probing through the eyes of every stranger,

Every acquaintance

And every man I have ever known.


I will never settle or

Ever know true happiness

Until I have found

The Yang to my Yin

-= My Sun King =-


We once were one

In a vision of white

And rays of sunlight

Poured from our minds,

-= Souls =-

Eyes and hearts.

But then fate took you away from me

Back on the silver boat

Returning you to the brightest

Of all the stars.


Meet me and complete me.

My one and only

-= True =-

And eternal love.

Feel the heat in me

In the solar

Flame of synergy.

My pure

And tender

Radiant

-= Dove =-

=Blue Panther=

“FOR THE LOVE OF THE SUN”

by Suzy Kassem, Copyright 2008

Omry Maak – Angham

East Coast Bound

Will be in NY on the 27th for three days then I bounce off to Bora Bora for a special retreat. Will return back to Egypt on the 11th of Dec and then be off to Turkey and Iraq around Christmas for the remainder of the month and more. I don’t have a cell anymore so hit me up via email to make contact if we haven’t planned anything already.
Should be back in the States sometime at the end of January if all goes well. I have two storage spaces on either coast and don’t know yet where I want to live or even if I want to be there anymore. I can’t handle the cold either. I kind of like Egypt as command central, but I also miss my friends back home.

Either way, you will always know where to find me.

peace

Camera Eye Warriors

camera eye warriors

 

 

Sometimes words are not enough to speak for your eyes, let alone your emotions. The English language is so powerfully rich in words of expression, yet so weak and limited for those which describe how we really feel. Nowadays, there seems to be a cliché to describe every situation, a phrase to sum up every trauma, and a line already designed to manipulate every action. There are many ways to describe the feelings we experience when we fall in love; however, the adjectives are so limited to describe the way we feel when we lose a loved one. Language is such a powerful means to express what can’t be told by our eyes and our hearts and only through language can we share what cannot be seen by the outer shells of our being. Our world is not supposed to be so predictable and boring. Yet it only seems that way because society likes to move away from the dark clouds and grayness that sometimes fills up our skies and lives, and tends to drift more towards the sun to keep the masses interested and entertained. What our society does so well is orchestrate its own productions to hide Truth, for it comes in a multitude of colors that would only distort us from the reality our systems try so hard to hide from us.

What is really ignored these days is the truth that lies behind a passerby’s eyes, the library of experience that amasses with age, a soul with their own unique story –- protected by a shield of emotions hardened over a lifetime. How can one mix colors that can paint a tableau of their being without words? If so can be done, then how many people walking by you on the streets have paintings made of pure yellow, compared to those of pitched blackness? What color are you and do the plethora of colors that make up your persona even generate a shade other than gray, brown, black? Or white? White is strictly reserved for infants with clean slates, empty canvases yet to be drabbed by color. And yellow? Yellow is only for the souls who disguise their true feelings the same way America reads like a greeting card. When you mix your world of feelings using colors, you are bound to come up with a murky color in the end. So in an essence, we do live in a black and white world and the colors that make up our experiences, that label our personal tales, and reveal the emotions behind each of our chapters is only for you to write about and share, to paint about and reveal the being behind your dark essence that is covered in layer upon layer of paint — masking your history. Nobody will ever know who you are or what you are really about, until YOU and only you reveal the truth behind your painting. Truth will never be visible to the world until enough of us share the majestic compositions that play quietly in our soul.

Can you honestly say you can read a man by his eyes? Can you predict the happiness of a woman’s marriage by the creases around her eyes or lips? Only a fool will believe they can for every crease comes with a story only to be revealed by characters within the script. From the outside perspective, we are quick to assume the cause of scars and lines without hearing truth circling from the lips of those who contain it. We are so trained to look at everything as entertainment that assumptions feed the fire of bored gossiping fools. What about you? Yes, YOU with the eyes that reveal whirlpools of splendor, wisdom, suffering, and pain. You with the history, his story, of experiences filled with happiness, sadness and madness? When will you share the story of your life or use your experiences to teach others the knowledge amassed by the experiences of your journey? Only the blind stay within the safe boundaries of the black and white world where they find safety hiding behind empty pages revealing nothing. Why allow people to assume what it is you stand for – if anything at all? Why allow others to tell stories about you, or speak on your behalf, and assume the shapes and shades that define who you are without telling them yourself? What a sin that is to prevent sharing your true colors with the world. What a sin it is to trap colors within your being and prevent them from reflecting in unison with your multidimensional equals who don’t know where you are because your prism is reflecting nothing to them from afar.

I ask people of the world and children of light to start reflecting the stories of their souls to vibrate wisdom around the earth. Pick up a paintbrush or microphone. Press the inks of your pens to paper, tap words onto your screens and start sharing what you know and have learned with the masses. Turn your personal painting into a piece of the earth’s puzzle so that our unified assemblage of thoughts, stories and lessons reveal Truth. What if the world suddenly spoke real loud, the unconventionality of the words were strong enough to melt paper? Imagine what Truth could do to neutralize the clutches of evil once this black and white world suddenly became embraced by a strong rainbow of loud powerful voices. What if words started becoming so bold and deep that they defied the conventionality of our current world and standards set within it? Flip the script even in your daily interactions. Instead of saying, I love you, you would hear phrases like…I can’t believe you picked me. We are all born poets. We are all born storytellers and our minds were created to be boundless and never to be limited. Defy the norm and exploit all mediums to share your stories. All of you, and especially YOU. To die with a best-selling story trapped within your being is a sad gift to your maker who set experiences on your path so that your evolution could be shared in synergy with others.

If my eyes could talk, film would be pouring down my cheeks; however, they stay trapped behind shutters with tinted lenses. Surely, if I kept the cinema in my mind trapped for too long, eventually the film would turn into tears that would choke the well in my throat right down to my very soul. And in the end, I would die with records of knowledge never to be shared and my camera eyes would remain forever capped as soon as the hands of death slide past my lids for once and forever. What a shame to silence my soul or to hear your soul silenced without ever knowing you, my love, my brother, my sister, my father? I call the elevated of the world to start sharing. To start putting words into action in front of all to bear witness; to Life’s animated airport where we sit on benches witnessing sadness in motion, laughter in rewind, and time in fast-forward. To the ones that choose to stay compressed, repressed, and blank — stay put, and do please feel free to trade lenses if need be. It gets rather boring to keep the same perspective. So rotate them as much as you like as I welcome you all to the great awakening where everyone has a story to share, words to pour, and wisdom to elevate the masses. Choose your own personal theater to roll your tape as mediums nowadays are plenty.

Camera rolling, take seven.
Suzy Kassem aka Blue Panther
November 21, 2008

* Write and people will come to read. Write and people will heed to your words and share them with others. Not all may relate, but wait, and those that were meant to see it eventually will find it, for truth waits to be found. It searches for no one.

 

Truth Rejected, Truth Reflected

At 9-years old, my mother tried to have a discussion with me that I will remember with crystal clearness until the end of my days. She told me, “Suzy, sometimes your truthfulness hurts other people and you have to learn to bite your tongue to prevent people from feeling bad about themselves. Even if it is not the truth, you always want to say things that will make people happy without stinging them with words that will bring them pain”.

I did not fully understand what she was telling me and for a long time afterwards, I thought my mom was the devil and preferred other people over me, her own daughter. How could she tell me to lie to people or “bite my tongue” from telling people the truth? What was so wrong with being truthful and why would the truth hurt other people?

By that time and in all my years leading up to it, I had caused so much grief in my family because I always bluntly told people what I thought of them or was thinking at any given moment. In social situations, in front of my mom’s friends, if I thought a lady looked like a dog, I would point to her and say, “dog”. If I thought a man had the evil characteristics of a snake, I would point my little finger at him and call him “devil” or “snake”. If people asked me how I was doing, I would tell them I was bored, cold, hated being around them or was scared of my dad or hungry. If I heard my mom or dad bending the truth about anything, I would point out they were lying. If a woman called asking for my mom or dad, I would tell her they were fighting and to call back later. If someone knocked at the door and my mom told me to tell them she was not there, I would tell the person she was either watching TV upstairs, in the bathroom, or putting on nail polish in the kitchen and to come back later. I was so uncontrollable and the cause of so many disputes and gossip, that my mom would lock me in my room whenever guests came and alerted my siblings to never allow me to answer the phone.

Over time, I felt my parents preferred their shady friends over me, their own daughter. I watched them all sit and lie, brag, and act fake in front of me. I could see through everything. If my parents attended a dinner function and brought along a present or a dessert cake, once we got back home and my mom came by my room to turn off the lights, she would discover the flattened cake placed beside me as I slept next to it protecting it. She would panic and take it back to the home we visited apologizing for her daughter’s innocence. Was I selfish? No. If I sensed the guests were not worthy of it, I always took my parent’s gifts back home with me, sometimes unnoticed and sometimes discovered. I did not understand why people were rewarded for being liars. How come I never got a cake for telling the truth? Why was I always punished?

Times don’t change as time has proved. Over 20 years later, I find that I am still punished for always telling the truth. Regardless of my mother’s early advice, I always tell the truth regardless of how bold, blunt, aggressive, or hurtful it may be. I never hide my feelings about anything and there are many who can contest to that. I always felt alien in a bullshit world, until the day I watched the movie Splash where Daryl Hannah plays a mermaid. She is walking the streets with Tom Hanks and someone asks him how he is doing. He says fine or well or something positive like that. And that is where Daryl Hannah says something like, “Why do you humans lie like that when it is evident you are not doing fine”. I jumped up from my seat in the movie theater and started clapping and screaming, “She is RIGHT! Good for you! Woohoooo!” I was booed at and told to sit back down and shut up. I didn’t care because for once in my life, FOR ONCE, I felt Truth reflected back at me. And ever since then, I wanted to be a mermaid because only mermaids understood truth.

-Suzy Kassem

A Question of Ethics

If you are Egyptian, as many Egyptians from my generation read these posts, then there is a high probability that you or someone in your family knows of or has been treated by the hands of an Al-Zawahri.

The Al-Zawahari family is a very reputable Egyptian family in medicine. For generations, every member of my family has visited and relied on a Zawahri family member to cure them of some particular ailment. In the 50s, my grandfather had to wait at least 1 year to be treated for a nervous condition because the original Zawahri had a super long waiting list. My mother was treated by his daughter in Abassaya as a teenager. My sister by his son. Me as a kid, by his brother in Switzerland where he attended to me as my own personal doctor. That same one who treated me back then, is now on the terrorist list for being a sidekick to Bin Laden. Look him up. That guy was my doctor and I only have fond memories of him as a kid.

The Zawahris were the best in their fields. No matter what your symptoms, there was a Zawahri out there who came with super high recommendations. Yet sadly, every family has a couple of bad apples in their bloodline. So it’s a shame when a flunky like Abdel Salam Zawahri, uses his great family name and tarnishes it with foul medical practices and exploits an honorable legacy to make quick mega bucks on the automatic. He’s been doing it for years, but this year, I nailed that bastard. Let me tell you my story.

When I was in California, I had my bed positioned next to the window, like I always did for years, so that I would wake up with the sun pouring its light on my face every morning. I never in my life wore sunscreen, and still don’t, even though I would fall asleep outside in the sun at a park, on a beach, anywhere with the sun on my face for hours. On top of that, I’ll share with you a secret. I have a severe addiction to intense light. It’s like crack for me. I used to visit sun tanning salons on the daily, not for the tan, for the intense exposure to light. Every tanning salon in Los Angeles knew me by name. When friends called me on my cell phone and my messages got backed up, that was where Suzy was. Hanging out under massive heat lamps with no sunscreen. Every day. Either that or with my headphones strapped on working on beats. I was so ashamed of my addiction that I wouldn’t tell anybody because I couldn’t explain it. I knew I would get lectures and I didn’t want to hear any of it. When I was under all those heat lamps, I was happy. It felt like I was sleeping inside the sun. As soon as the timer went off and I walked outside, I was down. Super depressed. For that reason, I only wear sunglasses with a yellow tint to make my days seem brighter. Light equals happiness for me.

To make matters worse, my skin is the most sensitive and delicate skin in the world so I can’t apply simple creams like normal people unless they came with a doctor’s blessing. So months before I left California, I went to see Dr. Obagi himself in Beverly Hills — at my mom’s repetitive insistence. I had developed uneven skin tone and it wasn’t that obvious but everybody I knew would say I looked tired all the time because it looked like there were constant shadows on my face. The doctor said it was hyper pigmentation from intense exposure to the sun. My forehead had a different shade than half my face and so on. So when I took off overseas, I knew very well what my condition was. I spent over $2000 on Obagi creams prescribed by the man himself.

At first, I refused to use them because one of the main ingredients was hydroquinone, a skin bleaching agent that is banned in Europe because of its cancerous effects. Yet my mom was on my back constantly. So I tried it out and I saw no difference. She told me creams aren’t supposed to work right away, so I extended its usage for the 6 months he advised upon. I noticed my face was getting whiter like Michael Jackson and panicked. I stopped using the routine right away. Then my mom advised me to go see Abdel Salaam Al-Zawahri who was infamous for treating skin conditions in Cairo. I remember asking her if he was infamous for his last name or infamous for being a success. She assured me both.

I called and made an appointment. When I arrived at his office, I wasn’t surprised to see hundreds of people waiting for him, with lines pouring outside the door. I left right away because I’m not one to wait in lines. After returning to my disappointed mother, she took me to see him again the next day, but this time we were the first ones there. I walked into his nicely furnished office stacked with libraries upon libraries of books, certificates, honors, and flashy advertisements announcing the days and times of his television show. He took one look at my face and said it was very minor, handed me a prescription and I was happy to be out the door within 5 minutes. I was told to get the medicine he prescribed and return the next day for crystal treatments. I was like, “Wow, he treats people with crystals? Cool!”

So I went back and sat down in a chair. He pulls out this massager thing that blows out small crystals and ran it over my face. Right away I knew he was doing microdermabrasion, and from western experience, he was doing it wrong. They have ads on late night TV that sell that same gadget he was using for $29.99! He was charging a common Egyptian man’s one month salary for ONE session. I thought it was the biggest joke. Two, the pricey creams he prescribed to me were purely cosmetic and they came without instructions or any lists of ingredients. I asked him what was in them and he smiled and told me they were his secret formulas. So just like Obagi, he was also pimping his own creams. My mom told me to be patient so I endured the number of sessions he said I would need.

He flirted a lot. He asked me to marry him each time I came in. I took his advances as distractions from the main issue, the real concern. My intuition told me he was a crook. Sometimes he would take time out, even with crowds of people outside waiting to see him, to flip through his Mercedes catalogs and ask me for advice on what car he should get. Sometimes he would sit and talk about Cleveland and Miami, the weather, or if I thought he should get botox or tighten his face like the Americans do. It was disgusting and I tried hard to be courteous and patient. After wasting time going back and forth, I saw no improvement. And at that point, I was done with bullshit doctors.

In my mind, I was thinking about all the helpless people waiting outside his office. Had he cured them? He must be doing something right to have his own TV show and lines of people coming to see him. So unannounced and before heading to my uncle’s who lived nearby, I returned to his office on a busy Thursday and sat amongst the men, woman and children. I interrogated most of them. Many were there for scarring, hyperpigmentation, breakouts, and rashes. I found out quickly that he prescribed almost everybody, regardless of ailment, the same creams he advised to me. His own!

Then I met Tarek, an 8-year old boy with a broken arm in a cast. He was bullied a lot because he had patches of white skin under his eyes. I remembered seeing him almost every time I frequented the office. Yet this was the first time for me to hear his story from his mother, Amira. She told me that she had been coming to Zawahiri’s office for 5 months now, once a week, and for hours at a time. She told me that the doctor gave Tarek the same creams and put him in a box with intense sun lamps for 2 hours each visit! She said that she was told that by putting her son in the box, his skin tone under his eyes would blend in with the rest of his face, yet she hasn’t seen a difference. Instead he always came out of the office drenched in sweat and almost every time, he would have to call his mother from his cell phone while he was under the lamps to remind the doctor that he had been in there long enough. He was forgotten about half the time!

The effects were getting her kid harassed even more because he was only getting darker and darker and the patches were standing out even more. Immediately I got so sad. It was so sad. Basically, the damage I had done to my own skin due to sun damage was being imposed on this kid for greater lengths of time, and any doctor in the universe will tell you that intensive exposure to UV rays is harmful and cancerous. I knew that but I thought I was invincible. I learned my lesson the hard way.

Turns out, the poor woman was divorced, working all day, barely making ends meet, and behind on repaying her debts to relatives whom she borrowed from to heal her son of his “curse”. Yet she was desperate and I saw my own mother in her. I understood the prices parents pay to cure their children of anything at any cost. I understood it all too well just by observing my own parents. I told Amira that it was vital for her to get receipts for all the visits the boy had. In the future, if the boy got any serious skin or cancer conditions, it could be traced back to Zawahri. She asked the doctor’s aid in front of us for them and he snickered and refused. He said they don’t give receipts. I got angry. You have to question a business that refuses to give customers records of their sales.

Then I met a woman who had the same situation as me, yet far graver, who had been coming to see him for 2 years now. She said the healing has been super slow and his creams have had no effect yet he kept advising her to be patient. She told me she thought about quitting his visits but she had already invested so much money that she would regret it later as he told kept telling her she was closer and closer to recovery. I asked them all why they kept returning, and they all said hope – he was supposed to be the best. Best by who? I asked that question and they all said he came from a reputable family. I went on to interrogate more people and more families were anxious to share their stories. I heard more sadness pour from people of all walks of life. I found trends and commonalities in all.

Then Tarek was called in. By that time, I had the entire place chatting up a storm and complaining to each other with their grievances. Some women started crying, including Tarek’s helpless mother who realized she had just sent her son in for an early death sentence. I told her to be patient and to get the numbers of the women around her to act as witnesses in case anything bad happened in the future. Then Zawahri’s personal aid came to me and said the doctor wanted to see me right away. I had no appointment so I knew what it was about and when I went in, the entire place went dead silent.

Z: Suzanne! Have a seat! Have a seat! How are you? You look good? I see an improvement! Sharaftina! Narwartina! What is the reason behind this pleasant visit?

I sat down in front of him and noticed he had 4 young doctors in training seated behind his desk taking notes. I realized it was a good day to have come. I also noticed in the corner of my eyes that Tarek was lying quietly in what looked like a casket in a dimly lit room off to the side.

Me: Doctor. I have great respect for your family and for that reason I was advised to see you. However, I am deeply disturbed by your negligent practices and the way you exploit the trust and faith of your patients. You have proved to me that you are not a doctor, but a crook in a white coat.

Z: Did you come here to create trouble for me? If you have no faith in me as a doctor, then why did you keep coming to me?

Me: It was not my choice. I came to make my mother happy for as you know parents sometimes exercise desperate measures to heal their children. Outside of this room, there are countless parents like my own that have given their trust to you based on what your relatives have been known to do. You have abused your family’s name and and without noise, I request you return everybody out there their money before I disgrace you in front of your colleagues and create a scene that will be talked about for years!

Z: You came here to threaten me? Do you think you are in America? Do insurance companies there return money back to people if their doctors can’t cure them? Where do you think you are? This is Egypt!

Me: Exactly. And for that reason I would have never expected to see the land of medicine corrupted by money hungry fools like you. It’s a shame that our ancients gave birth to the formulas that are now being used by the biggest pharmaceutical giants in this modern world, in addition to, Egyptian doctors are still the best in their fields around the world, that someone like you would give this country a bad name and rob the poor and the trustworthy of their hard earned salaries. It’s an embarrassment that you are an Egyptian and you are a disgrace to your name. Because of you, your tarnish the medical excellence your family has built strong all these years. I stand firm on my request and let it be known, doctor, that you know nothing of what I am capable of doing, and of my own professional experience, merits, and contact base. I will rip you out of your profession. Yet out of respect to your uncle who was good to me, I spare you a choice.

Z: Let me ask you something then Suzanne. If your own doctors in America failed to heal you then why did you come to see me?

Me: Because, like I mentioned before, Egyptians are the best in medicine and your family name earned you my trust.

Z: And in America, you mean to tell me, they give people their money back? A baker on the street here will not return a customer’s money for hard bread. We do not have that system here!

Me: Let me put it this way, in America, we do have multiple systems in medicine that deserve attention here. First, there is a system of ethics. Second, we have an administrative system made up of medical boards that review faulty doctors such as yourself. And third, we have a judicial system to protect the rights of patients and customers. If you had plans of going into practice in Europe or America, prepare to be jailed for you will be.

Z: Jail? I am the law and I set the laws of my practice! Here we do not have such systems! If a patient does not have respect or patience with their doctor, they can go elsewhere. That is the only system we need.

Me: Without ethics, doctor, you shouldn’t even be in business. Without a moral system, you shouldn’t be allowed to take money or give advice to anyone – period. Yet what does the patient do when the doctor has no respect for their time, money, or trust and faith they store in him? What if I was your sister, doctor? What if I was your wife or mother and I wasted my efforts and money on a magician like you and saw no results. After pouring so much fuel in soil, only a fool would walk away without seeing the fruits of their labor. In this situation, it’s money. Surely you understand that anger and frustration are natural emotions that flow through our nervous systems. That is another system you understand, don’t you?

Z: I admire your thinking Suzanne. How do you know what I tried on you is not working on others? Everybody’s case is different.

Me: That I know. However, I talked to more than enough. You know everyone’s case is different but there is evidence that you have been giving them all the same standard treatment. They are humans that need personalized attention. They do not come to you to be treated as mere statistics. If you want to treat them as cattle, go start a farm and be a farmer. You are in the wrong profession. I interrogated everybody outside your office and it’s unanimous that you are a flunky.

Z: A flunky? Do you use this language in your professional field?

Me: Let’s just say, that I could be…could be…a reporter for a reputable medical journal, newspaper, or magazine. And let’s assume that I could be…could be…investigating healthcare in the Middle East…and could be acting as a patient to write a well documented article about my experiences dealing with Egyptian hospitals and physicians in particular. Let’s say also, that I may use you as an example for negligence, misdiagnosing and abusing patients. Can you imagine what such an article would do to your family’s reputation and yours in front of the international medical community? Would you still have a TV show? A busy office with anxious patients? A Benz? NO. And if you don’t return money to the people waiting outside for their refund, I will particularly write about that poor boy who has pigmentation disorders that you have held up in a box with extensive exposure to UV rays for 2 hours each time, weekly, and for months. Even a rat would have died by now!! You get that boy out of that oven right now before he turns into a burnt sweet potato.

Z: You do not give me orders in my office! You get out of here! Get out of here!! Barah!

Me: In front of your doctors in training, let this be a grave lesson to their future careers. Take what you learned here today and report it back to your learning institutions. This man is a crook and I will not leave without seeing refunds issued to all the people out there RIGHT NOW. I even took pictures of that poor boy’s face, written accounts of all those outside, and will be in contact with them regarding their progress and treatments. I will no longer tolerate doctors like you who abuse helpless patients and I am not leaving without justice. So let it begin!

He picks up his phone and talks to some man or woman. He tells them he has a violent patient and to come help him.

Me: Don’t forget doctor that I am not like the others out there. They are my equals, yes, but I come from your sweet America. The police will arrest you first based on my account and those people outside will all stand up to be my witnesses. Do what you want, but you have yet to see the rage brew from me and see what I’m capable of doing! AGAIN, GIVE BACK THEIR MONEY!

He gets up and opens the door of his office. His aid rushes to him and they exchange words. Immediately, the aid announces that the doctor is not seeing anymore patients for the day and right away people start getting upset and many turn to leave. I tell everyone to stay put and that the doctor agreed to return all their money back and they will be reimbursed for the creams they purchased and their last 3 visits, which I thought, was fair to him, but not fair enough.

Me: Should I call all the rest of the doctors in the building and tell them all to come and see what your patients are angry about?

He gives me the ugliest evil look and signals for his aid to get moving. His aid flips open a notebook with patients’ names, visits, and dues paid to date. Ironic, that with such records, they don’t give out receipts? A long line formed before him.

I grabbed his stacks of cards on the desk and threw them in the air and left. A crowd of people came after me kissing my hands, asking for my number, to come over for dinner, or lunch, or whatever. I didn’t even care to be compensated because I felt like I had been compensated more than enough. When I left the office, I went to my uncle’s and my cousin Amr told me about a skin cream that gets rid of everything, called Dermatin. I asked for it at the pharmacy and it costed less than the equivalent of 2 bucks. Three days later, my face was restored to its youthful appearance and it was uniform in color. TWO BUCKS AND JUST THREE DAYS LATER! It’s sad that cures to conditions we consider serious are actually all cheap, easily accessible or naturally available. I glowed and the lights beamed again from my eyes from my quick recovery. Obagi and Zawahri are just two crooks in a savage world filled with others like them.

It is possible people, to stand up to corruption through the power of words alone – on any level. I have never lost an argument with superiors across professions because of my strategic tongue and training in management. Yet you do not need to know management or strategy to fight for justice on any scale, for you only need to speak the voice of reason. I’ve been in over 41 fights this year in many countries. Men will intimidate me with their guns, badges, or credentials, but know this, there is always a way to reverse any situation if you see the hole, their weakness, their fear. Every situation has a hole and every man has a weakness no matter how strong and firm they seem to be.

I am every manager’s worst nightmare and proud of it. No joke. I always get what I want. I talk many languages, in many tones, even slangs, and in many styles of speech. I am no dummy though I may sometimes act like one when I deal with dummies. The power of language is a powerful thing so arm yourselves. If you can’t find reason, you have a wasteful brain. Reason comes when you have mastered the ability to rotate perspectives. The reason for living is to feed your mind. If you can’t stand up for yourself, you don’t stand for anything and can’t stand up for anybody. And if you don’t stand for anything, your life doesn’t mean anything because your journey lacks meaning and purpose. Now is the time for everyone to stand up for what they believe in. We can’t stay dormant any longer.

Businesses around the world are acting unethical, people are too, and the demoralization of society as a whole is evident everywhere. If you don’t see everything collapsing around you and think Obama is going to save the world, you are fooling yourself. The whole world is being degraded while the people remain sedated. Start standing up for what is right and prepare to take beatings for your causes – no matter how big or small they might be. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is more important than representing the voices of reason and Truth. The journey starts now.

Fear something and the vulture will come. Fear nothing and you are the vulture.

–Suzy Kassem

One Cool Lady

I’m back in Cairo because I got a call from my mom that I was to meet an Egyptian director TODAY in the afternoon to discuss my Tut script. He found it profound and invited me to attend the Cairo International Film Festival with him and his son. I was not ready or prepared for anything today. I jumped on a train, was dressed in a hoodie when I rolled into the Four Seasons Hotel in bum wear and a folded treatment of my script stashed in my purse. Right away the head honcho says to me, “Misses Suzy? You look and act like one hell of a director already!” I had to explain to him that I had a problem with completing projects. He said it was normal and that all I needed was a dynamite producer to be on my back. Artists never finish things unless a hawk is on their backs.

The whole time I’m seated across from him, I feel him studying me with great intensity. Everything from my hands to my rings to my rugged jeans and bright sneakers. I think I impressed him. I hope so because despite my disheveled appearance and presentation, I had great respect for the guy. Such great respect that I abandoned my trip to rush back at the opportunity even though the trip was hell. I promised myself I wouldn’t abandon or neglect golden opportunities anymore. I won’t.

I then ran to the mall and rushed to find a last-minute gown. It was so great! I had a great time. I met Susan Sarandon, Kurt Russell, Goldie Hawn, Julia Ormond, tons of directors and actors from around the world. I talked politics for a long time with Sarandon and I fell in love with her mind. She is one super dope woman: strong, opinionated and very intelligent. Then they would pick my mind to see what projects I was juggling. I told them I was writing 3 scripts at the same time and informed them all that I abandoned life in L.A. to get my creative flow rolling again. Then I told them a bit about each project. They gave me direct contact info and were all interested in reading my work. Only problem is, one script is on Ancient Egypt and the death of the light civilization, the other is about a pack of cool cat hipsters, and the third is about the Arabs in Dearborn, Michigan – Sopranos but about Arabs instead of Italians. So in other words, I can’t write them in but I didn’t say anything. Who knows?

So I left the ceremony early so I could get on a computer. Send some emails out to update my reel online at a private link so it would be viewable in style by the time anybody got out of the event. Smart, egh? You betcha man.

I’ll be back in Sharm after tomm. Seriously though, Susan Sarandon knows what’s up. I love that woman to death. To death! Another thing, Omar Sharif is a fucking idiot and so is that Alicia Silverstone chick. Fucking airhead. Opportunities hit when you least expect them, so always be prepared and don’t be lazy. That is a message to all and myself. Ask my friends man, they will tell you I’ve fucked up lots of opportunities others dream of just for being so laxed and having a messed up sleep cycle. Don’t sleep on it. Go! It’s all about timing.

To My Homies



I’ll be back in Alexandria tomorrow, should get there by sunset. So don’t call the Cairo place no more. On Monday I’m taking off to Sharm El Sheikh to look for a place to rent for the remainder of the month. I love that place, man. I love windsurfing and diving. I love the nightlife. I love the mix of cultures. I love the fish.

I’m going to work on music and writing, swim all day and dive away from the sharks. Everything that I lost in creative work, will be recreated. Don’t stop. I won’t stop. BTW, I got tons of spices, oils, mad jeans for the fellas and sneakers for all. I say everyone stop paying rent where they’re at and come to Sharm. It’s where it’s at. It’s hammerhead central, but the vibes are good. I meet so many freaks there. Ferreal.

A World of Savages

We will never know peace in the world without balance. And we will never know balance without justice for all. Yet, justice exists only where there is fairness and equality — when every man and country is treated and viewed equally. My father believes that there is no such thing as justice because all his life he has witnessed the tipping of the scales. We must change this widespread mentality by making equality a reality, not just something we read and hear about on the TV and in literature.

How so?

First, no country should be given power over another. In addition, no country should be granted privileges that are denied to others. No one country has the authority to decide which country will be embargoed, denied to protect itself, and will be favored based on the weight of their resources. Eliminate the hypocrisy.

Second, no one man should be viewed as having more to offer the world than the other. We are all equals and every human being has something of value in their composition which makes them unique such as every country has their own unique resources to share with the world. Never discount somebody based on material wealth, true wealth is what cannot be seen. Never discount a country by what they can’t provide your country, while their resources may benefit other lands in need.

Third, we need to eliminate the concept of division: by class, skills, race, income, and nationality. Every human requires food and water to survive. Every man has a dream. Every man suffers and every man loves. We are all equal. Period.

Fourth, pay no attention to pop culture for it is what poisons our minds and divides our children. Without pop culture, we wouldn’t have unrealistic icons to compare ourselves to that also thwart our perceptions and standards. They are the modern day animal gods. The real role models our children, friends and families need are all around them if they look hard enough – not on TV. Materialism leads to selfishness and egotism. Eliminate all of it. It is the plague of Big Business.

Fifth, globalization is pushing our societies forward into the future before their time. Globalization also annihilates ma and pa shops, the independents, and contributes to mass waste and mass consumption. They create unfair competition in the marketplace and soon the world will only be dominated by big chains and crappy franchises. This is a severe imbalance that needs to be controlled. Stand up against Big Business. Support independents and small businesses.

Sixth, the imbalance in our ozone is poisoning the energy grid that surrounds our planet. Our environment is being forced to consume more than it can handle. The greed of man and Big Business is wiping away our forests and trees. And it is trees that we need to clean our air.

All these imbalances are going to lead the world to its ultimate destruction and once again, we will be driven into another Dark Age. Yet this time, this new dark era will be flooded by ignorant, selfish mass-consumption savages. I see it already happening all around us and it is evidently corrupting our youth. The Dark Age is approaching fast and no one man is going to stop it. Put down your remote controls and take initiative.

THINK. Spread the message. But first, eliminate the hypocrisy.

Suzy Kassem

A World of Savages

 

We will never know peace in the world without balance. And we will never know balance without justice for all. Yet, justice exists only where there is fairness and equality — when every man and country is treated and viewed equally. My father believes that there is no such thing as justice because all his life he has witnessed the tipping of the scales. We must change this widespread mentality by making equality a reality, not just something we read and hear about on the TV and in literature.

How so?

First, no country should be given power over another. In addition, no country should be granted privileges that are denied to others. No one country has the authority to decide which country will be embargoed, denied to protect itself, and will be favored based on the weight of their resources. Eliminate the hypocrisy.

Second, no one man should be viewed as having more to offer the world than the other. We are all equals and every human being has something of value in their composition which makes them unique such as every country has their own unique resources to share with the world. Never discount somebody based on material wealth, true wealth is what cannot be seen. Never discount a country by what they can’t provide your country, while their resources may benefit other lands in need.

Third, we need to eliminate the concept of division: by class, skills, race, income, and nationality. Every human requires food and water to survive. Every man has a dream. Every man suffers and every man loves. We are all equal. Period.

Fourth, pay no attention to pop culture for it is what poisons our minds and divides our children. Without pop culture, we wouldn’t have unrealistic icons to compare ourselves to that also thwart our perceptions and standards. They are the modern day animal gods. The real role models our children, friends and families need are all around them if they look hard enough – not on TV. Materialism leads to selfishness and egotism. Eliminate all of it. It is the plague of Big Business.

Fifth, globalization is pushing our societies forward into the future before their time. Globalization also annihilates ma and pa shops, the independents, and contributes to mass waste and mass consumption. They create unfair competition in the marketplace and soon the world will only be dominated by big chains and crappy franchises. This is a severe imbalance that needs to be controlled. Stand up against Big Business. Support independents and small businesses.

Sixth, the imbalance in our ozone is poisoning the energy grid that surrounds our planet. Our environment is being forced to consume more than it can handle. Follow each point wisely as they are all interrelated. The greed of man and Big Business is wiping away our forests and trees. And it is trees that we need to clean our air.

All these imbalances are going to lead the world to its ultimate destruction and once again, we will be driven into another Dark Age. Yet this time, this new dark era will be flooded by ignorant, selfish mass-consumption savages. I see it already happening all around us and it is evidently corrupting our youth. The Dark Age is approaching fast and no one man is going to stop it. Put down your remote controls and take initiative.

THINK. Spread the message. But first, eliminate the hypocrisy.

Suzy Kassem

Egyptian Hip-Hop


Imagine running into a fella that looks exactly like Mos Def and can drop the deepest rhymes in the same tone – yet 7X better in slickness. That’s my boy, Ghost. He’s Egyptian but was raised in Dubai. His dad is an ambassador so I would expect the kid to be somewhat conservative, but it’s the opposite. Ghost can name the hottest clubs around the world in less than 3 minutes. It’s all he spends his money on. He’s a hash smokin’ gangsta pourin’ rhymes non-stop with a plan to dominate the hip-hop world. Now, meet Rafiq. Egyptian too, but born and raised in Montreal. He fled the cops by returning to Egypt and can tell you all about the Russian prostitutes along the Red sea where he says he gets them hot and juicy for less than the price of a beer. During the day, he’s a financial analyst – homie at night.

Rafiq can roll rhymes in Arabic, English and French and has already made albums in France. Isn’t it weird how one day I lose all my music, and then a week later meet the fattest cats on the planet! I’ve reformatted my hard drive, upped the sound, and have been whipping out beats even better and tighter than before!! Everything does happen for a reason. The Egyptian invasion is coming soon. I’m not fucking around. I’m starting all over but I’m not leaving until I have an album ready to pimp and cameos introducing some really dope dudes. I’m not kidding. They are dope.

Hip-hop has always been popular amongst the Egyptian youth. But now, it’s our generation that are bringing it, changing it up in twisted tongues to spit out to the international arena. Man, I’m so happy I met those two. It was a confirmation for me that our slickness is for real…and again…everything happens for a reason.

BP*

Africa is Bangin’!

Coming UP! Coming UP!

The sounds of Nigeria for the world to discover! Nigeria, as well as, Mali and Cameroon, have mega talent busting out of their borders with sounds more harmonic and competitve than anything currently coming out of the west. It is no joke. If you’re working in A&R, you need to be focusing on locating the talent creating hits in Africa before your competitors do. You will never find such a wide range of catchy flavors: from reggae, hip-hop, gangsta rap, blues, tribal, and world riddims. The sounds are catchy and super harmonic. Look what Akon did in the American market and in Africa, where his resonating voice is very, very common. Believe it. Go explore. I love it all. Good, good vibes.

There is something for everybody.

Cleopatra WAS a Goddess

Last year, I was driving in my car when I heard a live report on NPR saying a coin was found depicting Cleopatra as being ugly. Not true. Not true at all. That coin they found was Roman made. And anybody that knows the true story of Cleopatra knows that she was HATED by the Romans and was known to the Italians as, The Egyptian Whore.

Let truth be told as it is widely known, that Cleopatra seduced two Roman emperors, the great Caesar AND his predecessor, Marc Anthony. So much hatred was brewing amongst the Romans because their leaders abandoned their native posts and spent most of their time in Alexandria. I’ve seen Egyptian coins and statues of what Cleopatra really looked like. She had the body and looks of a regal Goddess and she used her assets to save Egypt from the occupation of Rome. It is no secret amongst the Romans, that she was hated, hated so much that she was the cause of Caesar being assassinated, but he loved her so much that he did claim the son he had with her before he died, even if it morally killed the Romans.

I have a coin in my hand right now that shows her in a falcon headdress. When I had a debate with the old men in Alexandria about Cleopatra, they laughed at me when I told them the NPR report and showed them a picture of the coin that revealed her likeliness as depicted by the Romans. They laughed and laughed at me. First, they said the coin revealed her as being in her 40s and 50s when in truth Cleopatra died an early death in her late 20s. Even in movies, they reveal the same. She died young.

All around Egypt there are Roman tombs and columns that stand under gravel and dirt that the natives kick around and treat like trash. It was the Romans, that burned down Cleopatra’s house of records, the largest library holding books of knowledge of our universe and the history of Egypt. Today, the largest library in the world now stands two blocks from my building, in homage to the Queen who saved Egypt from the Romans. So you have to understand the local Egyptian sentiment on why they trash Roman artifacts, and in return, you have to understand why the Romans hated Cleopatra who managed to steal the hearts of two prolific leaders of a strong empire that was trying to dominate the world. They didn’t stand a chance with Egypt. Come to Egypt and see what she really looked like. She was beautiful.

Cobra Oil

I’ve dyed my hair just about every color in the rainbow spectrum this year – either accidently or intentionally. So much bleach, bleach, bleach that I’ve been suffering from hair breakage which is to be expected for someone imposing harmful chemicals to their hair. So, instead of using standard conditioners, I’ve explored alternatives to mend my hair and make it healthy again.

I was at a market 3 weeks ago, when I came across a bottle of pure cobra oil from Pakistan made to strengthen hair. I got it and tried it out. After 3 days, my hair was stronger and the oil mended my ends, and even lightened scarring from shaving on my legs. On my way back to the market to get more to distribute to friends, I came across something else, even better. Made in Egypt was cobra oil mixed with marijuana and super concentrated hashish. I tried it today. After I washed and conditioned my hair, I combed some in, took the excess oil in my palms and put it on my legs, hands, shoulders, all over.

The scent of weed was so strong that I think when it absorbed into my body, my whole body got high – just like LSD. I don’t know, but I got high. I bet if I took that oil and poured a bit over an open cigarette I’d be on Cloud 9 in seconds. I put on my headphones, pulled out my laptop and watched Baraka until I passed out. I felt like my pillow had transformed into a giant bag of hashish.

I woke up 5 hours later. My skin is so smooth and my hair is so soft. I don’t care what they said about snake oil from the days of the Wild Wild West, I am a strong believer in the regenerating effects of Cobra oil. Hash works wonders on the hair too. There may be scientific doubt, but obviously they haven’t personally tried it out or the oil they tested was fake and not pure.

If you can locate a bottle from Saudi Arabia, Egypt or Pakistan – snag it. I’m not kidding. Make sure it is 100% pure, or 50% hash oil and 50% cobra oil. My hair is so shiny it looks unreal. I bet that oil can regenerate tons of other shit too.

After all, all our cures are readily found in nature. Don’t use any conditioners, soaps or shampoos with sodium laureth sulfate. I’m serious. Over time it’s like putting a bullet to your brain. That stuff is hazardous for your hair but most companies use it for the foaming effect. Don’t use it. Trust me.

WasSsup WasSsup

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So I’m standing in front of Ramses train station eating a grilled corn cob that I had grabbed off a street vendor for less than 20 cents, when this homeless guy who blended in so well with the surroundings, steps out from some corner and says to me in Arabic, “Feed me, so you embarrass my desires”.

I hand him my corn cob and he eats it like he had never eaten anything in his entire life. So I felt bad and hand him some money. He takes it and thanks me like nobody had ever given him anything in his entire life. Then, he steps away and the unexpected happened.

His cell phone starts ringing.

He pulled out this flashy thing and talked on it like he had been on the same phone call his entire life.

WasSsup WasSsup?