WHAT IS A 'COUCH MOMENT'? // ASHYAA

what is a ‘couch moment’ ? 

many moons ago in the city of Haifa the couch moment was born when two washed out girls found themselves trapped in shitty conversation with a third party till the early hours of the morning. a couch moment is basically a moment when a person has no idea when it’s the appropriate time to leave a situation: whether it be a party or one-on-one hangout. you are stuck in conversation with this person. typically this character excessively talks at you, not picking up on social cues that it’s time to shut the fuck up, while you mutter things like “nice” or “interesting” or “damn.” the person creating a couch moment tends to become inappropriately deep in his conversation, oversharing, and never tiring. common side effects of experiencing a couch moment include: entering a black hole, fake yawning, feelings of utter disgust and hatred. this doesn’t necessarily have to happen on a couch (although it frequently does).

how is a ‘couch moment’ created ? 

it’s created by a person who is too fucked up and thinks everyone else is on their level and having a really good time. to be the person trapped in conversation with the person committing a couch moment is truly a trauma-inducing experience.

how do you get out of a ‘couch moment’ experience ? 

you can choose to fall asleep (fake it or really sleep). you can make sure you aren’t the last person stuck sitting with them. pressure your friend to do something to make the person shut the fuck up - stare at them while the ‘couch moment creator’ is too fucked up to notice, say ‘couch moment’ out loud, or send your suffering friend(s) secret messages. unfortunately you usually just have to suffer.

A MEMORY OF SORTS // JOHARA ALMOGBEL & REEM ALMUTAIRI

It's a derelict space; a land of bygone wealth and broken stones. You meander along the laid path, letting the rain pelt you as the clouds pass by.

It's peaceful. Even magical, maybe. Just a little bit. And as the pitter patter of the waterdrops speed up on your umbrella, you close your eyes and see it as it once was, bustling with people and furs and nobility, with children and coal and bales of hay. With injustice and slavery and prejudice. You see a prince pass by, and a maid sweap the hearth. You watch as a mother quietly nurses her babe. You breathe in the wonderfully cold air, and add a fairy or two to the scene in front of you. Goblins underneath the grate. Ghouls in the highest tower. Gryphons descending from the skies to feast on the grazing sheep below.

And you smile. Because you can still see that world, the past one and the magical one. It's still in your brain, in the deep recesses of your mind. Age has not taken it away from you. Yet. 

You sidestep a sprite that's sticking its tongue out at you. Step carefully over a toadstool house. And then your brother calls you from the bottom of the hill and you accidentally leave the place you were just in. But he's calling you to a perch on the cliff with a view that takes your breath away.

And as you stand there, with your brother, with your family, in a fog that the worlds would envy, you remember, again, that sometimes the real world is even better. 

Sometimes.

(Quick! Look! That dragon is waving hello!)

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text // johara almogbel
art // reem almutairi

THE OCCULT ORIENT // MAGDA MAGDY & REEM ALMUTAIRI

I’ll make a dream catcher made out of bamboo and straw,
And hang it on the star-lit sky
and cover my hair with rose petal incense
To wash off the the dust of the Evil Eye
in a witchcraft voodoo ritual in the mist of dawn.

***
text // magda magdy
art // reem almutairi

ABAYA // CHNDY

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website // tumblr // instagram 

POSTCARD #6

Namaskaram,

We’re at my aunt Malika’s house today. Her kids are here, we’re gonna dance all day. So much feelings that I wish to share with you, colours can only help you understand. My brain is melting from all the unknown delicacy we had and a nostalgia from a land, a home, I’ve only visited once. 

Anything is possible, ente snehitne. 

I miss your aura, I miss you, njan ninne prmikkunnu.

How are you?

I run out of words to write, so goodbye for now

ABANDONED MEMORIES #3

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Editor's Note: If you'd like to participate in Reema's project, please contact us jaffatelaqlam@gmail.com for details. Reema is looking for old photographs. Abandoned or personal photographs are very much welcomed. 

LIFE'S LITTLE WONDERS #2: IF MY HEART HAD EYES

I asked Ketut, the driver who accompanied me on my sightseeing tours, why the Balinese cover the lower parts of statues. He answered (in an acquired Australian accent):

Because they have a spirit. I have a spirit, I cover my body. They have a spirit too, why shouldn't they be covered like me?

There is a god in everything. There is a god in this statue. There is a god in this ant. There is a god in me. There is a god in you.

When I take a flower from this tree, for my offering, I take it and thank the tree for the flower. When I take a banana from a tree, I thank the tree for the banana.

FILM JOURNAL #3

SPILLED QAHWA #2: FLORA

I swear you’re made of flowers.
I swear if I cut you open,
inside you’d be chrysanthemums.
I swear you’ve got roses on your tongue.
I swear you’ve got daisies for ribs
and tulips instead of lips.
You have orchids where ears were.

And you’ve got me made of flowers too.
Yesterday, I found carnations in my collarbones
and baby’s breath between my fingers.
Took a look at my thighs
and to my surprise, found
lavender.

You make me feel like Mother Nature herself,
like you awoke her inside of me
and now I’m raging with lust for the Earth.
I’ve got grass instead of hair, and
hibiscus for hips.
There are
morning glories in my morning coffee
and daffodils in my daydreams.

I was always one for florals,
but you’ve got me gazing at gardens now,
because there's something there that I recognize.
Because there’s something there that looks like my insides:
gardenias instead of gums,
lilac in my lungs,
stomach filled with butterflies.

I know we'll thrive together.
Our vines’ve already intertwined
and you say the thorns in my mind
don’t bother you.
I know we’ll grow like weeds do.

And when the precipitation comes, don’t worry about it, love.
We can always make a desert flower or two
and cacti always seemed to me like pretty growth.
And when the sun comes up,
we’ll bask in its glow.
Let the sunflowers in our chests
open wide with electric yellow.
We’ll bloom like roses after winter.
Shy in the light, a shade of red so bright
passerby’s eyes would go fuzzy
if they looked at us too long.
And the rain and snow will all seem like a fever dream
'cause we grew a love that’s evergreen.

***
text // rawa majdi
art // norah aljassar