The DV (Light Return)

Author: Devil Finch Copyright © 2008

Blog: www.devilfinch.blogspot.com

Location: Kuwait

 

“The original sin is to limit the DV. Don’t“ — Based on Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach.

 

I’m so tempted to start this post with a cliché. But no I shall write as sharp as a real devil finch. In fact, I should write as red as the Devil Finch - Cut-throat. And when the DV writes, you better wear a Ga7fiya, get your Misba7 ready, play an Indian lute and rap it out like a fuckin’ Brooklyn crack head while you sip on the finest French Chateau and dance Salsa.

 

On Magritte

He puts that fuckin apple on the DV’s Face and the DV picks through it. He stuffs the sky inside the DV’s eye and the DV flies through it. He bleeds the DV as a drop of rain on sad Brussels and the DV grows as wild as Oregon’s wilderness. He keeps constructing and the DV insists on destructing – or is it the opposite? The DV loves playin’ with the dead bastard. Or is it the other way around?

 

On Fai7a

“The thin-fine-blurry-bold line between a frozen hell and a burning heaven,” the DV would say if you ask him to describe Al-Fai7a. You’d think he’s - as usual - desperately trying to push the limit to the cliff. But trust him on this one because that’s where he mingled with the brain-washed Ekhwanchy, the Pattex sniffer, the son of a millionaire, mama’s boy, and all the little finches that learned to fly around with him to perch at “Ibn Rushd” public park. That’s where he got his first black eye and broke his first bone. That’s where he touched her hair for the first time, gave her the first kiss, and dared her to show her bunny and sit on his lap.  That’s where he was made.  If you insist to question the answer, refer to the only reliable witness who ironed the hell out of Fai7awis’ white masks for 20 years without burning a single Ghitra or Dishdada. Feel free to dig Jigannat out of his Karla grave, on which the tomb stone reads: “I should’ve been buried in Faihaa.”

 

On Mi Casa

Somehow the DV has developed an addiction to airports, hallucinating siestas at Eco chairs aboard airplanes, honest chats with strangers, and the random books he has picked 10 minutes before his flights. Mi Casa, as much as the DV hated national categorization, as violent as his revolt against the myth of nationalism, as strong as his urge to burn a flag on a national day, he loved settling at your eyes. 

“Why do you leave?” Mi Casa asks the DV a strikingly simple question, and he can see the lust for a complex answer in her eyes.

 

“Mi Casa, I do because you’re a home without a boundary. Because you build a cage for a devil finch and leave the door open; because you set a trap and intentionally forget to place the bait; because you have that smile of those who know better,” he answers with a husky voice as he plays Nancy Sinatra’s “Bang Bang” on his Oud. She takes that as an answer, lets it simmer over her heart and appreciates it as much as she appreciates DV’s freedom. She promises him to always be there and DV promises to always perch on her empty rifle.  The DV is her kite and she never lets that thread go. She’s the DV’s Mi Casa and he is a wicked Devil Finch. When he arrives from a wicked adventure, she sings with him and makes him a cozy place at her bed.

 

“Argue for your limitations and sure enough, they’re yours.” — Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach.