Staff ID:
Brand: DAR AL AIN
MODEL: 9774903846
Fi Ghourfat Al Ankaboot | Mohammed Abdul-Nabi
AED
40
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Then the clown returns to his mirror at the end of the day, I go back to my room locked on my bare unit, I may be touched by a slight electricity for a fleeting moment, while I take off my clothes, and get ready for bed near dawn, and I feel as if I have become Mama herself, and she is removing the accessory of one of her characters. I wasn't really Hatushka, that was the right role for me, just a role, nothing more, nothing less. Maybe I got too involved in it, until I no longer know who the real Hani Mahfouz is, and how to get back to him when I want. I have many copies of it. True; They are all replicas, but they are not the original, not me, they are all masks and behind them there is nothing, empty space, and has pleasure.
After a few months in prison, Hani Mahfouz emerges with emergency deafness, to find his new voice among his notebooks, where he writes every day, imposing voluntary isolation in a hotel room, shared with only a small spider, writing, following his old photos, in the hope of finding one picture. He writes his little tales with his family, his special inclinations, the lost joys in the streets of the night, and also his humiliating experience during his months of imprisonment, searching for a hidden meaning, behind all that rubble, on a journey that does not follow a straight line, as much as it takes him in many directions, as if it were a network A spider spins it with one thread that is his lost voice, a thread that extends from himself to others, from present to his past, and from childish illusions of love to the nightmare of loneliness and mischief.
After a few months in prison, Hani Mahfouz emerges with emergency deafness, to find his new voice among his notebooks, where he writes every day, imposing voluntary isolation in a hotel room, shared with only a small spider, writing, following his old photos, in the hope of finding one picture. He writes his little tales with his family, his special inclinations, the lost joys in the streets of the night, and also his humiliating experience during his months of imprisonment, searching for a hidden meaning, behind all that rubble, on a journey that does not follow a straight line, as much as it takes him in many directions, as if it were a network A spider spins it with one thread that is his lost voice, a thread that extends from himself to others, from present to his past, and from childish illusions of love to the nightmare of loneliness and mischief.
AED
40
Easy Payment Plans
i
Then the clown returns to his mirror at the end of the day, I go back to my room locked on my bare unit, I may be touched by a slight electricity for a fleeting moment, while I take off my clothes, and get ready for bed near dawn, and I feel as if I have become Mama herself, and she is removing the accessory of one of her characters. I wasn't really Hatushka, that was the right role for me, just a role, nothing more, nothing less. Maybe I got too involved in it, until I no longer know who the real Hani Mahfouz is, and how to get back to him when I want. I have many copies of it. True; They are all replicas, but they are not the original, not me, they are all masks and behind them there is nothing, empty space, and has pleasure.
After a few months in prison, Hani Mahfouz emerges with emergency deafness, to find his new voice among his notebooks, where he writes every day, imposing voluntary isolation in a hotel room, shared with only a small spider, writing, following his old photos, in the hope of finding one picture. He writes his little tales with his family, his special inclinations, the lost joys in the streets of the night, and also his humiliating experience during his months of imprisonment, searching for a hidden meaning, behind all that rubble, on a journey that does not follow a straight line, as much as it takes him in many directions, as if it were a network A spider spins it with one thread that is his lost voice, a thread that extends from himself to others, from present to his past, and from childish illusions of love to the nightmare of loneliness and mischief.
After a few months in prison, Hani Mahfouz emerges with emergency deafness, to find his new voice among his notebooks, where he writes every day, imposing voluntary isolation in a hotel room, shared with only a small spider, writing, following his old photos, in the hope of finding one picture. He writes his little tales with his family, his special inclinations, the lost joys in the streets of the night, and also his humiliating experience during his months of imprisonment, searching for a hidden meaning, behind all that rubble, on a journey that does not follow a straight line, as much as it takes him in many directions, as if it were a network A spider spins it with one thread that is his lost voice, a thread that extends from himself to others, from present to his past, and from childish illusions of love to the nightmare of loneliness and mischief.
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