No more


We had some great times. Great moments. Hell, I even believed we were actually going somewhere.

Something changed.

You began to treat me like a thing you owned. A thing you showed off. You smothered me.

Made me both the object of your possession and the subject of your insecurities.

No matter how much you disbelieve me, those could never be grounds for any kind of friendship.

That’s what I saw and felt in my heart to be true of you.

My (personal) opinion was that it wasn’t a friendship. Because no two friends ever treated each other this way, and if they did, they didn’t last very long.

And no, by no means does this single me out as the saint in the sky. I hate that.

But I came out to tell you enough was enough. That I couldn’t be in whatever it was we were trying to have. I took that step. Me. Handled poorly? Sure. But it was the truth. You say you’re mature and grown up and whatever. Well, grown ups handle truth. There was no other way to say “Well sorry I’m out.”

It was as clear as day.

All you had to do was accept it; you could’ve moved on with your life in search of a better me or even a better you.

But you didn’t.

As if I could be tailored in some weird new way to suit you. Or stranger yet, you tailored to suit me.

You clinched your fists and held on to me like something out of a movie.

But the happy ending you wanted just wasn’t there. You insisted and tried so hard, it became nothing short of utter malcontent.

You’ve won all the points for being the soldiering soldier in the one sided battle.

And was THAT ever the problem. There just wasn’t enough violence for you. The spying, the deceiving, the slandering, the threatening, the blackmailing. Just wow. I have no words to describe just how much of a neurotic person lived inside someone I thought I knew.

I put up with it because I felt sorry for you.

It was like each day made it more clear to me just why I pushed myself into leaving you behind. Because I didn’t feel right around you. You’ve justified that quite brilliantly for me.

But it’s okay. Somehow you’re still the victim, and I’m the villain that walked away from you. I’m glad that that’s the worst thing I’ve ever done to you.

I broke a promise to you that I would break a million times over. I accept that.

But tell me, friend, what can you accept?

What can you possibly own up to?

Not much I presume.

Tell me. What kind of friend apologizes and then lashes out in rage and anger when the apology is accepted, forgiveness is dispensed, but the outcome isn’t entirely what he expects?

Tell me. What kind of a liar am I really, when you falsely claim to be someone you’re not and try to poison people against me with horrible stories stripped of any and all fact?

Tell me, friend. What back have I stabbed when everything I’ve ever had to say, was said to you and directly to your face?

Tell me. What kind of person emails another person with disturbing phrases describing violent acts to one’s family?

Tell me, friend. What kind of person goes on the all-out offensive to publish written literature about a ‘friend that was never’ in a desperate attempt to come out on top of the mess you’ve caused?

You didn’t just mess up. You messed up after you messed up. You’re still messing up.

And here, I specifically remember this one time where you got me to unfollow someone because they were writing things that hurt my feelings.

What has happened to you? Really?

All this for a lousy friendship that didn’t work?

All this?

Are you like this with all the things and people in your life? 
I’m not unkind. I’m not unforgiving. You know this.

With strong conviction, I say please don’t test me beyond what you’ve already done. Just because I’m mostly quiet doesn’t mean I will not use every fiber in my being to defend myself one day when the occasion arises.

That being said, I don’t want to be in that position nor do I wish you any harm.

I do in fact want you to have a happy life and I do in fact wish you all the best.

Actually I would love to see you do positive things; I would love to see you live life to the fullest. Without hate. I know that you know deep down in your heart that I’m sincere.

I cannot apologize to you because by principle I have wronged you in no way but an abrupt end. And in my opinion, it had to happen that way.

I will go as far as saying here and now, that if I have truly wronged you then who better than Allah to redeem you your rights? And I pray that he does if I am at fault.

But in the spirit of truth, I also feel I am owed an apology, as are other people whom have been wrongfully effected by the madness.

I will not ask you for it because even in the case that I won’t ever receive one, I forgive you the wrongs you have done me. I cannot forgive you on behalf of others. That is in their hands.

I sincerely wish you the best of luck and prosperity. This is my final message to you should you ever choose to read it.




The most beautiful part of this world, you ask?

The mathematical derivative, I answer.


The weekday sees that you wake up every morning, bathe, groom, leave your home, head to work or school, do whatever it is the social model has everyone else doing. And it would be beautiful, if the purpose was known to us.

But it isn’t.

It never was.

The mother of questions defeats us, unfailingly and quite consistently.


It is a question and also a constant.

The rational mind cannot form a question if it has not the means to examine the answer.

In other words, if you can ask it, you can answer it.

What is an answer?

I believe an answer to be the complementary variable born of human reasoning in an effort to satisfy a posed question. It is a variable because human reasoning gets better and better provided an increase in knowledge and experience, both of which are exponential to time. And time is always moving forward.

I’d have more trouble answering the question “What is a question?”

And by this, I conclude that a question can never be truly satisfied.

The derivative?

Ah, yes. I apologize for getting off track. The derivative is quite beautiful. It is the part of the whole that makes less sense from the creator’s perspective and more sense to the simple mind of the created.

It is the infinitesimal choice.

It is the isolated event…

The silence in the noise, the tension in the poise; the flutter in the storm, the differentiation in form; the breath on the wind, the sins we have sinned; the cloud in the sky, the distance in the nigh; the light in the dark, laughter in the lark; the hollow in the solid, the liberality in the invalid; the rain on the ocean, the movement in the motion; the solace in the sorrow, the strain in the swallow; the separation from the whole, the number on the toll; the swim in the stream, the glisten in the gleam; the reach in the stretch, the smile on the wretch; the break in the fold, the young in the old; the words in the screams, the center of extremes; the lift in the hoist, the warmth in the moist; the systematic of the shatter, the anti of the matter; the split in the division, the sight within the vision; the joining in the unity, the person in the community.

It is the outspokenness of voice, and the conscious decisiveness of choice.

My dear friend, you are the derivative.

The small accumulation of earthly things.

Why be the derivative?

Because the derivative, when having realized its own derived state, is a complete whole, and the complete whole is an isolated entity from the next complete whole and so forth…

I’m sure you’re wondering what the point of all this is. And fear not, I do not intend to confuse you any longer.

On contributing to your community, by waking up every weekday and going out to your post and being poked and prodded, pushed and shoved, tailored and suited to your government’s desire…

Forget not to be your own community. Be not created, but rather, the creator. And create.

Create art, music, poetry, and literature. Create mediums in which people can understand, see, hear and feel. And watch the people surround your work in appreciation.

It will teach you something very, very important. It is something that I, myself, cannot convey to you in simple words for the experience is far too real.

It is that governments do not like your creations, when they speak against their own.


Artwork: Michael Polomik

The only unbalanced act, is the act of…

Creation by Hamad


Click the play button above.


For there is no opposing concept. Not yet.

It’s a legato for strings. Made on Logic using my Kawai CN33 Piano.

You’ll notice a couple of glitches, regrettably. I think it’s due to the audio buffer getting too big and reseting. Still trying to figure out how to fix it.



Strain your eyes, if but for a moment, and ask yourself, what is it that you see?

Perhaps the truth of the matter? Or simply what needs be?


I have spent but a moment or two, listening to people for days and months. And I never thought that there will come a time in my life, where I look back onto such a moment and feel it too long a time, and wonder how a moment can last a day, or even a month.

But I see them run around their circumferential endeavors, and I understand that it is nice to be enclosed within norms. Because once upon a little Hamad, mum used to tuck me into bed. Oddly enough, she never kissed me. She didn’t want her boys to be ‘mushy.’ And it never bothered me. A pleased mother makes for a happy little boy.

In many ways, I think she was the key to all of this. Certain emotional things she refused to give me, I feel, have left me wondering. If you were my sibling, reader, you’d laugh at this, and argue that our mother attended to me the most. And I wouldn’t deny it.

I wore her out the most, complained the most, interrupted her sleep the most, wanted the most, talked back to her the most, argued the most, whined and whinged the most, feared things the most, fished for compliments the most, and I cried the most. A bloody difficult child now that I think back. I wonder how she manages to look at me with a smiling heart and consider me the favorite of her children. She confuses me.

I find it troubling.

Why? Well it’s simple, isn’t it?

You grow up to form a mentality that lives well outside the commonplace. And mine often flies in the face of both my parents’.

And I see it…

The disappointed look they get is… well… outcasting. It hurts.

So I’ll keep silent.

They’re old.

Why should I make their lives difficult at this point?

There is a beautiful hanging lamp here, above my head. I wonder if anyone took a few moments of time to appreciate its modest existence.


Artwork: Nuvem



“There is very little left to say,”

says the heart empty of malice and dismay.


Click the play button above.


I know now that things are beautiful, as is the nature of all things we know very little of.

Of you, I know very little.

You cry when I am missing, and you cry when I am found. What is there to understand when you are different all around?

I have had moments.

Moments where all motion in me is riddled with halt, and my senses engaged, I choose the ones I need not and force them away until I am rid of all my god given abilities, save for one. And it is just so, that this one, is unlike its fellow senses. For I have not the power to wish it away, nor hinder its beautiful continuity.

I must hear…

I must hear the sounds around me, those of which I understand and those of which I do not. But alas, hear I must…

To my better judgement, I have sought choice, and in choice, I choose to hear what I may love, thus what I understand not or very little of.

I do not understand why you cry… and why you cry so beautifully.

I must ask you to forgive my mind for it is in my heart. And I ask that you forgive my heart for it is in you. I love the music of this world and therefore…

therefore I love you.

And here I often wonder… have I chosen at all, or has choice left me asunder?

The loudest voice in my world was the very voice of thunder,

and in my orchestra of strings, people’s voices always drowned far, far under…

thus again…

I often wonder…

It is sound that moves us, divides us, cures us, scares us, livens us, drives us, directs us, and guides us.

It defines us by a measure. It connects us by a tether.

It draws us closer, and farther, together or apart.

It is the very sound of you that holds my heart.

You must understand, that by loving me you have awakened me to love my world, in consequence, me, in consequence, you.

I thank you, for giving me what I could not have given myself.

I know that it is you, and I know that I am sure of it.


Artwork: Jelefi

Music: Awaken by Dario Marianelli



There is much to be heard in the quiet of the mind…

the mind that speaks in words quite unlike yours and mine.


Hide, fall, disperse, and scatter,

there are many things that do, and do not matter.

To ask a question that dances to the former and angers the latter,

Mercury shall reveal to you the calm of the mind, and the mad of the hatter.


My head hasn’t been quiet for quite some time. I miss it to be fairly honest.

When I was a teenager, I belittled myself, and I often heard a little voice in my head that would say “It’s okay, Hamad, you won’t understand this, and you really don’t need to. Just ignore it, it isn’t for you.” And I listened to it quite obediently. And then, somewhere along the course of time, my world went down the drain, so I came here.

I came here to vent. To think. To channel, to ask, to answer, to understand. I had conversations with myself. I became who I needed to become so that I would save the weaker part of myself, and perhaps, strengthen it with the terrible of truth, and the structure of solidarity.

I felt safe here in the dark of my corner. The text is white, and I’m never wrong, only right. There is no accusation to be directed, no fear to be had, no laughter to be heard, and no inadequacies to be corrected.

Only words.

My words.

These words.

And if all of this, was a string of maths, then it most certainly was subject to the mortifying, maddening multiplication of time. And time, was the one thing I was never in control of.

The old poets warned me of time. I did not listen.

I am listening.


I’m 25 years of age now. I feel old.


Whatever happened to weak Hamad? I wonder.

Have I succeeded in fortifying him? Might I have overdone it?

He no longer seems to care much for the ramblings of others.

He no longer seems to care for much at all.

In fact, he no longer seems to be around, to be honest.

He’s not around at all, actually.

Where is he?

Gah… what have I done?


And yet, that’s just it, isn’t it? I feel like I’m losing parts of myself that used to be here and now they’re just not. I hate changing. But I know there’s not much I can do about it. My environment changes and like all earthly beings, the adaptation is adamant and inevitable.

Strangely, my hate for change was initially associated with the changing of my parents. I hated it when people changed.

Then I stopped caring about people.

Then my hate was scaled down to the changing of my home. I hated it when we moved into new apartments/houses.

Then I stopped caring about places.

Now, life is all about me.

And I hate me.

No wait, that’s not right.

I hate it when I change.

But isn’t this quite the dilemma.

I hate it when my environment changes me.

So I hate my environment.

I hate it when people change my environment.

So I hate people.

I hate it when square ones bring me back.

So I hate squares. And ones.

Gah… where am I going?


I’m going to stop writing now before this gets out of hand.


Artwork: AndreeWallin

Things unturned, and things…

Unreturned by Hamad.

Click the play button above.


Yes, there are quite a few mistakes. My guitar days are over, however, and this is where I live now.



What an interesting turn of events…

How life loves to confuse us in what it presents.


So after my long lived mindful isolation, I’ve been sent out into the world to be amongst the most problematic of dancing variables. People. They elude my formula ever so well, and as such, my constants are anything but. My safe haven no longer exists, and yet, it is ever strange that I have not lost it at all. It has found me, elsewhere of its former place.

But it, too, was different somehow. It speaks, expresses, smiles, laughs… she laughs wonderfully. She understands me.

She’s beautiful, and she has saved the most beautiful parts of my being.

I wish I could tell you more about her, but I can’t. The truth of it fails me in every way, and for just that…

I’m thankful.

It is a force I do not understand and I wish ever not to.

She is my chemical happiness and that is all I know of it.


I come back here now and then to see how much I’ve changed, and how much this has been an important mess of theories and psychobabble. The ramblings born of observation, and hesitation.

I can help many people. I cannot help myself.


I’ve gone on to meet that maker of keys. He has fashioned eighty eight of them and placed them in two visually opposite sets of fifty two and thirty six.

Either numerological sum is a seven,

and seven is a beautifully haunting number.


I’ve met a young photographer. He is like me, but he works with his eyes and not his ears. In contrast to my problem, he has a love for faces, whereas I do not.

They tell him their beautiful stories, they tell me their ugly choices.

But if everyone was like me, this would be a somewhat darker, quieter world.


My days grow shorter. The sun longs to meet the moon and moon longs to meet the sun. I’ve stood under them for the few moments that they do and I have yelled at them to stop this madness. Their love for each other tortures me, but they hear not my small words and my small voice. Time is unkind and I feel it laughing away its decay upon the people around me with its every pass. It revolves around me in joyous mockery.

Who knew that love between two circles in the sky could cause so much damage?


I wonder where I’ll go from here…


Artwork: Shawn



Perhaps we’re not yet quite ready to finish. Our days, move not to pass nor diminish. The morning radio talks, instead. Another yesterday, quite simply dormant and dead. But can it really be fought? What is paid for in minutes and bought? When a catch is caught and naught is ought? Give me but whatever sense, and I shall return not the favor hence. Pence… a penny? Hand it here, ’tis but a coin I fear…

You’ve been cheated. Your own coin to which you’re conceited. But you shall not have it back. I’m afraid, there’s a corner for such things on my ceiling rack. Know this, for, the justice lies in what I take, you mustn’t assume, confuse or mistake. For I am simply a coin richer in burden, and yourself poorer so. Oh, dear, that last one did not rhyme. Alas, I have committed the appalling crime. But to this I shall remain committed, and then to see my defeat, I am quite outwitted.

I wonder… should my radio come apart and break. Who else will speak to me of the damage and stake? Hold it here, to save and keep. Look away, it shall not be for a radio that I tear and weep. Go now, alongside the value paid. A good enough coin my hands could not have made.

Artwork: DerPavlo



I’ve heard it once… that beautiful sound…

I want to hear it again…


Many words will simply not explain this. The very entity of words seem to want me to try nonetheless.

I’ve been asked the question: “So, Hamad, what are your flaws?” in a number of contexts. My answer, back then was a simple smile and the shrugging of my shoulders. Quite often, I see that the person asking me ends up thinking that my answer pertains to being elusive, and quite contrarily, it is far from that. As simple as it may seem, I believe that the simplest questions are often the most profound, and they are often the hardest for me to answer.

Today, I have a smile on my face, minus the shrugging of my shoulders. I can try to explain it much more than is needed, but Occam would be proud of me when I say that the simple question, now has a simple answer. And it is quite interesting, yet strangely misleading, that my simple answer is quite a paradoxical one… and something tells me that Occam wouldn’t mind it this time… not even in the slightest.

Truth: I sometimes feel that the reason I’m here, in this universe, is a humorous one… like I’m being watched, and smiled upon… and I love it.

Truth: I don’t matter… and I love it.

Truth: I feel that I am accounted for, not just by people… and I love it.

Truth: My purpose may change the world, or just myself… and I love it.

Truth: I am myself… and I love it… so very much.


I came into this world, was given a set of parameters (rules) for a given formula (society), and was told that this is how things worked. I grew up. Spent a good amount of time defying this formula and proved it (to myself) wrong on an incredible number of levels, by simply proving (again, to myself) that the base level is mathematically invalid, thus, logically, the chain reaction of invalidity followed very nicely.

And where has that left me?

Lost in my thoughts. The only place I know where things make sense.

I compare myself, my thoughts, against the choices and mathematical equations (mentalities) of other people to see just how sane I am, not how insane they are (I’ve done enough of that, believe me).


Does the formula work? Yes. It really does.

You build a bridge from one cliff to another, and you get across. It works.

How do you build a bridge? Metallic resources and framework, applied using a base of beautifully and harmoniously orchestrated static physics principles.

Or, in our societies’ cases, people.

And when seven billion people in the world choose to cross bridges made entirely of people, it’s hard to see the moral lining. This, however, does not excuse any of us.


I cannot make this anymore clear:

No energy in this universe is lost. (The first law of Thermodynamics)

So for those of us who do not believe in god, your choices are accounted for, one way or another. For those of us who do believe in god, your choices are accounted for… one way or another.

Thus, I welcome you, to Earth. Where you shall be tested.

Should you decide to cheat, you will gain the position you cheated yourself into having. And your choice will fail you, simply because you chose to take something that does not belong to you. Your very self, will not want to have it… and It shall be the responsibility that you cheated yourself to bear, one that you were never meant to be held accountable for. But alas, accountable you shall be held. The world was fair to you, and you chose to be unfair to yourself.

Become a person that makes life hard on everyone around you, and you will have chosen to surround yourself with hardships and misery. Become an absolute blessing and joy to everyone around you, respectful and good in every sense, and you will have chosen to surround yourself with joy, respect and that which is good. Your choices matter. They have more of a meaning than you’ll ever realize. But there’s only so much I can say to you, you have to wake up and see for yourself.

I am not your enemy, friend.

The price of the solution? “Gratitude will suffice,” he says to me.

Thus, gratitude will suffice, I say to you.


Make every little or big thing that you say or do to anyone or anything, count, not in substance, but only in yourself. Know that if it is all energy, and energy is the one thing that can never be lost, then only that very same energy is of real value, and all else… is simply and inevitably lost, as all else was created by us, and shall undoubtedly die with us.

Be true to others, by being true to yourself.


Drained was a personal project I started a little over a year ago. I needed it as much as it needed me.

The purpose of it was to drain my mind of all the clutter… all the noise… all of what I’ve been programmed and taught to say and do. (Depicted nicely in my clever banner.)

This was of course, in order to see more clearly how I could live a better life, and more importantly, be a better person.

I don’t think I’ve ever had anything in my life change me this much…

The purpose has been served, and like all things that have served their purpose, it must now end.

I’ll never forget what this blog has done for me. I’ll never forget the people that have helped me through it.

I thank you, every one of you.


“The great thing in the world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.” -Oliver Wendell Holmes 1809-1894


Music: Hoppípolla by Sigur Rós