Samaya11/blogs

All hail the queen of prose and poetry. If words could be eaten literally, her pen would be like my crack cocaine. Of course that doesnt' make sense. I'm not a writer silly! but SHE is, and will make you fall in love with words and stuff and sometimes make you want to stab things with a pen (hey,everything has a side effect if you consume it too immodestly.)

From the page: "Heather Bell has been writing for a long time.

She eats mountain lions and kills baby seals.

She has been previously published, numerous times, under her maiden name of "Schimel" so you also might find some good stuff there. But don't judge her based upon the incriminating photographs with genocidal dictators. We all start somewhere."

From the page:

"I was standing a foot away from him and he had no idea that he was talking about killing me. Unlike the guy from my then-office who had to quickly explain he was Cuban to group of punks looking to beat an Arab on his way home from work a few days before, I am fair skinned, green eyed: invisible. Listening to him laugh about murdering me, I wasnâ€t sure what was going to happen. I had no confidence that anyone would lift a finger if half the people on this train decided to beat me to death. I was sick with anger and fear, shaking from adrenaline pumping into my body. I stared at him until he noticed me. His eyebrows shot up. He looked away and looked back. His face was beery and pink. My face was blank. â€oeYou want something?â€� he said. I said nothing. I just waited. â€oeYou got a problem?â€� I shook my head. I wanted him to see me and know who I am.

I thought to myself, Look at me, you son of a bitch. Look at me and see me. I thought, My people invented higher mathematics. The concept of time. We invented the concept of Zero. The color purple. The letters in the alphabet that make up the words you are using to talk about exterminating us. My father ran away to fight the Nazis in World War ll and was sent home because he was just a skinny kid. He fought in Korea as a young man and when he died decades later, he was buried with an American flag in his casket.

And I. Am. Standing. Right. Here.

I could feel all of the things about me that made his eyes just slide over me in the first placeâ€"my skin, my eyes, my perfectly assimilated western bearingâ€"fall away and for the first time he could see that I am an Arab. "