Where The Magic Happens…

work placeThis is where the magic happens. This is where I decide who lives and who dies, who gets the girl and who gets a broken heart. This is where I experiment, where I create villains and heroes…. hell, this is what prevents me from becoming a criminal master mind, the place where I lock up all my bright, dark, romantic, and funny ideas.
This is where I inspire, this is where I live in body and spirit.
Never underestimate the power of art, for it is a way to give form to your spirit.
Have a creative year everyone.
A. H. Amin
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The Last Weeks…

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So this is me trying to go back in time, in order to prevent myself from ever getting this hairdo. The time machine is in Guantamo bay, which explains why I’m wearing this orange disguise. As you can see from the second picture… Mission accomplished.

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Alright then, here’s the truth. I have been diagnosed with some sort of severe lung infection and it didn’t seem to stop from spreading until two weeks ago, and thanks to my brother in law, Doctor Khalid (his name means immortal by the way) blessed me with some elixir of life of a medicine. He was the one who saved me… I bought him a nice shirt for that… I guess we’re even, right? 😀

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Here’s my doctor with his son… God bless them both

Everyone at a certain point in their lives encounter bumps in their journey, some bumps are higher or wider than others, variable in their impacts and effects, and some makes us stumble and fall, but that is fine… as long as we trip while walking in the right direction, eventually we’ll get to our destination. After all, a smooth sea doesn’t create an expert sailor.
I have been occupying myself with new ideas, one of them will be shockingly a new path for the river of my creative juices to flow through, and it’s heading toward an ocean under cerulean sky.
So… Let’s leave this blog today with something fun.
Here is my past weeks in Instagram.

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By The Heart…

Once there was a man, child at heart, but old geezer was his ways. Playful at the quad, teaser to the young ones around. He was Liked by many, but loved by few. And one night led to a morning, wide awake now, he cried at a reflection that was not in his image. Not able to bear the ugliness of what he sees, he runs and runs, in hopes that he will magically disappears. Wasted wishes won’t do, so a change of site may bring him some peace through the day’s dew. With war at his mind, he decides to alter his structure, hoping that in the end, he may alter that picture. Fearsome at view, but most importantly, quieter will get the viewers.

Building his rage as he tries to pickup his pace, he found himself running towards a child that leaks. Eyes red as flame, watery as the toddler speaks.

“Lost from my father and brother, cannot find one another”. shaky his words were, he explained to the man his dilemma. abandoning his quest to change his might, he opened his heart, for the kid in white. Cheering him up as they reduced the distance’s space, challenging him every couple of yards for a race. Laughing now, he spots his father and brother, smiling as they see us laugh with each other.

The man realized as he left them, that it is by the heart and not the might you can change one another.

 

So… that’s pretty much what had happened. I have experienced sadness from what I see on TV. I lived abroad but I still have roots from where I was originated from. And every time I look at the news, I feel those roots are being severed. With talks of ISIS expanding, I sought to build up stamina, ending up facing a child who helped me see things better. As the great Gandhi said, ” Be the change you want to see in the world.”

I am still writing and my upcoming works are my ways to change the world… well, at least change a single child, so he or she might remember that there is still goodness in this world when they grow old.

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Why I’m Off, you ask?

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It is rather true, a Bobcat like me always has his head itching with mice running around inside, searching for a fattening cheese of an idea. As any author who believes in what he/she writes, I… we… live in two dimensions. If it gets quieter, let me assure you, that’s when an author really becomes crazy, because we can now hear the mice, and they look so delicious to us Bobcat-writers. But the real struggle for any author is grasping the ideas, and placing them in the right context, which explains the maddening state we try our best to conceal. My rat trap is my pen and notebook and I always keep them around; in my pocket, on my table, and even on my bed when I have to go to sleep, just in case some scratchy noises wake me up at night and I needed to set a trap very quickly.

I have reviewed my recent life and found out how different I’ve become since I started writing, behavioral and habitual divergence from my former self influenced by the lifestyle changes to keep up with the mice in my head. I am crazy, but it is the good kind, the kind that you know you are mad, and you wish you can fall deeper if it meant you would get your artistic soul nourished.

But do you know what’s more illogical? Having ideas that you really believe in, and not share them with the world… now that would drive you to real madness.

Be creative, be happy, be with purpose.

 

~ A. H. Amin

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