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waking up to news of a loss just now.. 2am Jul 15 2020

In response to a message about Glenn’s departing this life. RIP Glenn boy, I am truly sorry for the loss my friend is experiencing (read below his msg to me, anonymously added with his approval)
What a world we live in? Huh?
Fascinating characters all around
I visualised Glenn RIP dear Glenn boy…

I woke up to a message from a friend about getting the news that young Glenn has departed this life … In his message to me, something gripped me… “living” (even if, for as long as a sentence or a paragraph) living those memories of a friend about his friend.. like a movie one wish to have attended!, characters one wish to have met, experiences one wish to have gained!

This all confirms again and again that… All what we leave behind here… is only… such stories and vibes of “love”
Thanks for sharing and keeping such vibes here and now.
Peace upon Glenn, Peace upon You, Peace upon us.

From a friend on young Glenn departing life:

…”As I have assimilated the news about 38 year old J’s death I have found myself happy for him… I am enough of a believer that this material world is far from our complete reality…in his case I think his spirit is freed from the horrid sense of Shame about his childhood abuse especially and also his constant letting others down when he chose drugs instead of family ties…so now I picture him enormously liberated and actually hope he can perform some guardian angel duty for me…💤🛌🌷❤️….

Experiencing blog above won’t be complete without reading this article that brought Glenn to life (in a sense): My friend actually wrote a published article about Glenn” here in this article titled:
A Cookie from God!” Here:

A Cookie from God
by Philip E. Myers
At first glance, you would think that he was Marilyn Monroe’s love child with Robert Redford. The sparkle in his eyes actually outshine the blonde good looks. Thirty year old Glenn was the sort of fellow movie studios dream of find- ing and turning into the next screen heartthrob. Nevertheless, I met him in the meanest, nastiest jail in the country, the Los Angeles County Jail.
The only filming going on there is by the surveillance cameras in the cor- ridors. Endless complaints of beatings of inmates by deputies led the Federal courts to appoint the ACLU as moni- tor of conditions in the jail and to the installation of cameras.
I was the welcome committee and dorm greeter in a unit housing 90 in- mates. Twice Glenn’s age, it was my first time in jail. Figuring out how to make the best of a bad situation took all my corporate CEO skills. It was an odd, new world for me; but I decided to try to raise the tone in the dorm a bit by formalizing an orientation process for new arrivals.
As it turned out, Glenn didn’t need much orientation. It was his sixth visit in a decade. Dorm 5100 is a cement block, windowless room 75’ x 90’. For two and a half hours on Saturday evenings, people got to go to the roof for fresh air. Otherwise, one determines day and night simply by which fluorescent ceiling lights the deputies choose to turn on. There are
no tanning beds, no fashion stylists, no gift bags. The Hollywood aspect of the dorm is the Hollywood of drug addiction, street prostitution, and abandoned dreams.
When Glenn first flashed that Hollywood smile, it was instantly ap- parent that his problem with the law was not shoving a member of the pa- parazzi. He was missing half his teeth and those that remained were a mosaic of rot, chipping and discoloration. Glenn’s smile was a quick announce- ment of prolonged drug addiction. Despite the first impression that the gods had blessed him, it was appar- ent that there was a different reality. Something had gone terribly wrong.
However, Glenn was engaging and intriguing. I felt an odd kinship, partly because my own theoretically charmed gifts had led me to the same cement block room. I wanted to know his story. We struck up a friendship in the 10 days he was there.
Out tumbled the basics – the alco- holism of both parents and the horror of the death of his father, killed in a police shootout in the family drive- way, when Glenn was 10. Through his teens, his mother and her new husband had routinely beaten him and gotten him high. He was working at age 14 to support the family. He always associated maternal closeness to being hurt and drugged. By the time he was 18, he had found a girl he loved and eventually asked her to marry him. On the day that he was to give her an engagement ring, she dumped him and ran off with his best friend.
He left New York to find his way in the Golden State, with Hollywood his new home. His looks opened many doors. However, there were al- ways drugs behind each one, especially crystal meth. He ended up homeless on the streets much of the time when not in sickly relationships that always included drugs by the ton.
Glenn went out the door of the Los Angeles County Jail to a rehab facility for a six-month stay. How- ever, it was in Hollywood. Two weeks later, he walked out and started his drug use again. Two months later, he was back in Los Angeles County Jail, coming down from an especially nasty drug run of six weeks. As he put it, he was emotionally exhausted. While he slowly righted himself, we talked more and more. It was clear that he realized he could not go on living the same way. He responded well to our talks and to the friendship of a non- addict, paternal figure.
Still, I was very worried. He expe- rienced great anxiety, depression and
a host of physical ailments. Recurring lung, liver and kidney pains were genuinely alarming. He needed proper medical care, but the jail clinic was grossly inadequate to the task. The attitude of the deputies towards the urgency of the situation was nicely summed up by one who asked coldly, “Is he dead yet?”
After he filed two written com- plaints and was a squeaky wheel about his need for a doctor, the meanest, nastiest deputy simply announced that Glenn was being disruptive and had to go to “the hole.” “The hole” was a “death row” type dungeon area for disciplinary problems.
Off went Glenn for three hellish nights, a retaliation for his simply requesting appropriate medical care. I was incensed and managed to arrange for a County Ombudsman to review the case. The last thing Glenn needed was yet another gross injustice that would simply reinforce his need to cover his pain with drugs.
A couple days after Glenn’s return to the dorm from “the hole,” it was time for the weekly delivery of items from the jail store. For the first time, Glenn had no money to buy anything except a candy treat for $1.15. He felt abandoned by everyone on the outside, including the parents who had supplied him drugs as a way to involve him in their degeneracy. To add insult to injury, the store did not deliver his candy treat.
He sat on my bunk, dejected, watching many others carry off sacks of chips, candy bars, soups, and end-
less goodies to supplement the miser- able jail diet. I mixed up a little cocoa with water to give him at least a small taste of chocolate.
It was disheartening to see him suffer another indignity, no matter how small. I had watched him actually making real progress in recovering his life. In the previous month, he started to talk about going to college and finding a wife, escaping the cesspool of Hollywood and the despair of the homelessness. He concluded that his Mom and Dad, freed of their earthly afflictions, were now his guardian angels. I saw him drawn towards healthy people, becoming aware of the negative patterns of his life. It looked as if he was ready to succeed in a drug treatment program once released from jail.
To see his distress as life tossed him a reminder of his lowly circumstances was heart breaking. Glenn started to voice his annoyance and anger at be- ing in jail and at the awful people who hoarded their treats and cared nothing for others around them. I heard him effectively commenting on his entire history as the small candy deprivation became emblematic of everything that had ever gone wrong.
Literally, in midsentence of his complaint, an inmate who had also received nothing from the store ap- peared and popped a chocolate chip cookie into Glenn’s mouth. It was left over from lunch and was one of Glenn’s favorite treats.
Exactly what Glen was complain- ing “never happened” had just hap-
pened. We were both dumbfounded and burst out laughing.
“Well, that certainly shut me up!” he said. “I feel like my Mom and Dad just made a point.”
His guardian angels had come through with perfect timing. Glenn’s old knee jerk negative assumptions were clearly wrong. Life sometimes supplies a chocolate chip cookie at exactly the right instant.
He dipped it in his bit of chocolate, beamed with joy and said,” OK, I get it! My needs can be met.”
I watched his emotional exhaus- tion turn to exhilaration.
God provided just the right les- son at just the right moment, and in the simplest way. We agreed that for the rest of his life, any time he was inclined to whine or lament his bad fortune, he would draw on this moment and recall how God made a point.
For the first time since I met Glenn four and a half months earlier I was sure he would be fine. A very simple gift from someone who had nothing but a cookie to give had said it all. God provides, and even the smallest kindness can be of enormous effect. I watched the 23rd Psalm in action before my eyes. He truly does restore my soul!
Philip, a former attorney, has spent time while incarcerated in California helping fellow inmates spiritually and emotionally. He has written six novellas while in prison, and is deeply committed to advocating for prison reform.

April 10 2019 .. ترامب و علم مصر و تحية … و انا و انت

I wrote a new article, another Oped, I write (or co-write) few a year, usually my Op Eds are about important current affairs for CNN, NYT etc (Khaled Abol Naga’s Op Eds), this time it was for, but for some odd reason, this round, they never got back to me about publishing it!, and I kept getting strange erratic feedback from crew I dealt with for my last article, so I decided to dig more, investigating why some opinions renders some platforms unresponsive?

In the process, I learned and formed much more interesting opinions… about THAT “POLITICAL THEATER”

My article is about THE DC POLITICAL THEATER!.. بالفعل مسرح اكثر منه سياسة

Try Hanging Sane, it’s a delicate, almost impossible balance, to hang in there!?

Isn’t it?

Thanks to Michael Markowitz.. He helped me open a whole new realm of expression :

“Hanging in there” by Kal Naga April 2019
Revisited June 2020

This is my strategy responding to the “Hate” sprouting every now and then…

“it polishes and strengthens my own views, deepens my faith on the WHY”

Tolerating Hate is not Ignoring it, but repeatedly & Tirelessly proving it Wrong


We keep fighting, fighting, fighting…
“What does not kill us makes us stronger” we say..
but if the world keeps ignoring the fighting, the sadness, the darkness without cracks for the light to pass through..
Then I ask you .. What Happens To The Heart
What Happened to Sarah Hegazy’s Heart?
It ain’t pretty, It ain’t subtle… What Happens To The Heart.

Leonard Cohen, passed away in Nov. 2016, leaving us an incredible heritage of his art. several years after his demise. new songs of his are still being released. Cohen’s camp released this posthumous video for “What Happens to the Heart”

Light made of a rainbow of diverse colours, still needs cracks to pass through.. as eloquently said once by the “Hallelujah” maestro himself in 2008, Leonard Cohen: ANTHEM :

“What Happens to the Heart”

I was always working steady
But I never called it art
I got my shit together
Meeting Christ reading Marx
Sure it failed my little fire
But it’s bright the dying spark
Go tell the young messiah
What happens to the heart

There’s a mist of summer kisses
Where I tried to double-park
The rivalry was vicious
And the women were in charge
It was nothing, it was business
But it left an ugly mark
So I’ve come here to revisit
What happens to the heart

I was selling holy trinkets
I was dressing kind of sharp
Had a pussy in the kitchen
And a panther in the yard
In the prison of the gifted
I was friendly with the guard
So I never had to witness
What happens to the heart

I should have seen it coming
You could say I wrote the chart
Just to look at her was trouble
It was trouble from the start
Sure we played a stunning couple
But I never liked the part
It ain’t pretty, it ain’t subtle
What happens to the heart

Now the angel’s got a fiddle
And the devil’s got a harp
Every soul is like a minnow
Every mind is like a shark
I’ve opened every window
But the house, the house is dark
Just say Uncle, then it’s simple
What happens to the heart

I was always working steady
But I never called it art
The slaves were there already
The singers chained and charred
Now the arc of justice bending
And the injured soon to march
I lost my job defending
What happens to the heart

I studied with this beggar
He was filthy he was scarred
By the claws of many women
He had failed to disregard
No fable here no lesson
No singing meadowlark
Just a filthy beggar blessing
What happens to the heart

I was always working steady
But I never called it art
I could lift, but nothing heavy
Almost lost my union card
I was handy with a rifle
My father’s .303
We fought for something final
Not the right to disagree

Sure it failed my little fire
But it’s bright the dying spark
Go tell the young messiah
What happens to the heart

June 24, 2016

Just watched Netflix documentary
It resonated a lot with me!
Shook me!

And made me finally start responding to the horrible news of Sarah Hegazy’s suicide… TBC

I just watched this documentary about Natalie Wood, and it instantly made me have an avalanche of feelings!, missing her somehow like I knew her as a friend or a family member. To me, she is the epitome of an era, of such generation of stars that changed something in our perception of stardom, a generation of artists who was able to shift our attention from the bling bling to what really counts; the art, the human, the craft and above all how we are all the same, and that all what remains behind, in this world from our lives… is simply “the love” we invested here and left behind on earth.

البقاء للحب

What Remains Behind….

Information about the documentary : The greatest roles of her life were behind the scenes. Natalie Wood: What Remains Behind is an intimate portrait of actor Natalie Wood’s life and career, told through the eyes of her daughter Natasha Gregson Wagner and others who knew her best. The film celebrates the woman behind the iconic imagery and explores the compelling details of Wood’s personal life and illustrious career that are often overshadowed by her tragic death. The documentary premieres May 5th at 9pm on HBO. #HBO#HBODocs#NatalieWoodHBO Subscribe to HBO on YouTube: Watch Now HBO NOW: HBO GO: Get More HBO Official Site: Twitter: Instagram: Facebook: Natalie Wood: What Remains Behind (2020) | Official Trailer | HBO

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