Intolerable- Book Review by Kamal Al-Solaylee

This book was shortlisted for the 2015 Canada Reads Prize.

This book is part memoir, part history of the Arab world and part coming out story. But it never feels dull. He explains so much about the Middle East, but the whole time I was learning I was yearning to know more.

I just finished reading this book and I can’t stop thinking about it. He is an excellent writer with a really unique and soft, real voice. We don’t blame him, we just feel for him and he identifies with the struggles of being a gay man, who immigrated to Canada, but at the same time, not really know how he got there, and not be too sure how to feel about the family that he left behind. I really enjoyed it, so much so that I wanted to go to Toronto and ask Kamal to hang out, perhaps walk our dogs together.
We come from two very different worlds, but somehow he has managed to feel like a kindred spirit. 5words-intolerable-social-thumb-620x447-397102

Her name is Veronica

I want to be like Veronica,
flirty,
pacing,
craving, needing, loving the attention of the boys.

Crawling for it,
desperate,
but knows it is coming her way.

Confident, as a vixen who just caught her rabbit.

She gleams off the love of others, she dreams of it, the way they look at her skirts,
flirt,
flip,
flapping in the wind.

And then at the end,
when she is no longer thirsty,
when she has had her full of compliments and emptiness.

She can go back to Archie.

Happy Poetry Month

Join my on my journey and I attempt to write a bit of poetry everyday,

I do apologize for not being on the ball yesterday, but I had a migraine and I just could not do it.

I also will be reading as much poetry as possible. I took two books out yesterday from the library.

why can’t you just love me

why can’t you just love me,

asked Winter to me, as I stomped down my feet, hard as I could while cursing at the sky.

shaking my fist at each turn I made,

crossing over frozen dog shit and dead worms, buried ten feet down.

I will never love you,

you take away my hope and the way the sun feels on my face,

the idea that things live and not everything dies.

Your bring death

and you have won;

this round.

I give up.

Ice (and the dark street)

At night
with the dog-
I like the way the ice
crushes,
ringing out through the empty,
dark, deserted street.

I tell my mind; no,
I command it to be mindful,
and look at the dog’s fur, the way her back muscles creak as she moves,
striding,
determined through the slush.

I listen to the ice,
crunch, crunch, crunch
underneath my practical boots.
And count my clouded breaths.

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