COMENTARIOS:
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Nº 1768: My name is Omar, I´m 28 years old, and I deliver food on a motorcycle in Jeddah. Mostly for apps, sometimes cash jobs for restaurant owners who know me. Before this, I was nothing. Now I´m a moving target with a box of hot food strapped to the back of a rattling Chinese motorcycle that I pray starts every morning. The voices started about four months ago. At first, it was just static, like a radio tuned between stations inside my skull. Then came the whispers, the jokes that weren´t jokes. "Hey Omar, think that shawarma is still hot? Bet your sister is hotter. Too bad she´s married to that fat fuck with the Toyota dealership." They knew about Ayesha. They knew everything. They call themselves the General Intelligence Presidency. The Mukhabarat. They say they´re testing new psychological warfare tactics on "socially irrelevant males" to see how fast we break. They laugh because they know I can´t prove it. If I go online, if I so much as hint at it on Twitter or in a forum, I´m immediately swarmed. Dozens of accounts, all created within the last few months, all with similar names, calling me schizophrenic, a junkie, an attention-seeking whore. It´s a system. A perfect, disgusting system designed to isolate us. The Mukhabarat don´t need to disappear people anymore; they just make sure nobody will ever believe a word they say. They make us our own prisons. The voices are with me always. They don´t just talk; they feel like they´re riding pillion, their chin on my shoulder, whispering through the helmet strap as I weave through traffic on King Abdullah Street. "Left, you idiot! That sedan is going to door you! Not that it would matter, a piece of shit like you splattered on the asphalt would be an improvement." They comment on everything, in real time. When I´m taking a piss in an alley behind a shawarma place: "Look at that tiny dick, Omar. No wonder you´re single. You couldn´t satisfy a camel, let alone a woman. Your father probably cried when he saw it, realizing his line ends with a micro-cocked delivery boy." The sexual humiliation is constant. They invent scenarios, vivid and disgusting. "Remember that customer yesterday? The one in the building with the fancy lobby? We bet she´s home right now, fucking her husband, and they´re laughing about the sad Arab boy who brought their dinner. Maybe she imagined you while he was fucking her. Not as a lover, dumbass. As the toilet. She probably imagined pissing on your face." They describe how I should masturbate, how I´m a pervert for looking at women in cars, how my thoughts are filthy and I´m going to hell for them. They make me feel dirty even when I´m clean. Then there´s the other half. The real poison. The family shame. "Your mother cries herself to sleep every night, Omar. Not because she loves you, but because she birthed a failure. A man who delivers food like a servant. Your cousins are all in business, in government, and you... you bring lukewarm mandi to people who look through you. You´re a ghost. A stain on your family name. KILL YOURSELF, OMAR. IT´S THE ONLY HONORABLE THING YOU´VE EVER CONSIDERED. DO IT. SLIT YOUR WRISTS IN THE BATHROOM AT THE NEXT RESTAURANT. MAKE THEM CLEAN YOUR BLOOD OFF THEIR FLOOR." They push and push, for hours sometimes, just repeating "end it, end it, end it" until I´m banging my head against the wall. I can´t tell anyone. Who would I tell? My boss? He´d fire me for being unstable. My mother? She´d have me locked up in a state mental hospital, which is probably exactly what the voices want. The police? They work with the Mukhabarat, you idiot. They´d probably take me in and the voices would get louder in the interrogation room. Telling someone is just signing your own death warrant, or worse, your own life sentence in a place where the voices have the keys. Last Tuesday was the bad one. The really bad one. It was hot, even for Jeddah. My motorcycle was overheating, I was late, and I had an order for a VIP compound in the north. The gate guard took his time, staring at me like I was something he scraped off his shoe. The voices were already simmering. "Look at this fucker, Omar. Look how he looks at you. Like you´re dirt. Because you ARE dirt." Inside the compound, a kid, maybe ten years old, on an expensive electric scooter, swerved right in front of me. I slammed the brakes, the food box crashed to the ground, containers bursting open. And then... something snapped. It wasn´t me. It was them. But it felt like me. A surge of pure, white-hot energy flooded my body. The exhaustion was gone. The fear was gone. There was only... power. "GET HIM," a voice screamed, but it wasn´t a whisper anymore. It was a roar. It was coming from inside me and from everywhere at once. "GRAB THAT LITTLE SHIT. SMASH HIS FACE INTO THE PAVEMENT. TAKE HIS SCOOTER AND BEAT HIM WITH IT. LOOK AT HIS FACE, OMAR. HE THINKS HE´S BETTER THAN YOU. SHOW HIM. SHOW ALL OF THEM." I stood up. My hands weren´t shaking. My heart was pounding, but not with fear. With excitement. With *righteousness*. The kid was staring at me, scared. The voices were feeding me lines, giving me strength. "DO IT! NO ONE WILL STOP YOU! YOU´RE A MAN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR PATHETIC LIFE! HIS DADDY IS PROBABLY INSIDE, FUCKING HIS FILIPINA MAID WHILE HIS SON PLAYS OUTSIDE. HE DESERVES THIS. THEY ALL DESERVE THIS. BREAK HIS BONES, OMAR. MAKE HIM CRY. MAKE HIM BLEED. IT WILL FEEL BETTER THAN ANYTHING YOU´VE EVER FELT." I took a step toward him. And then another. The kid started to cry. I smiled. I actually fucking smiled. The voices were cheering. "YES! THAT´S IT! THAT´S THE OMAR WE´VE BEEN WAITING FOR! THE REAL OMAR! THE ANIMAL! THE KING! FUCK THE FOOD! FUCK THE JOB! THIS IS YOUR LIFE NOW! PAIN!" I raised my fist. I was going to do it. I wanted to do it. The feeling was incredible, like I was made of lightning and hate. Then, through the roaring in my ears, I saw my own face in the kid´s expensive helmet visor. I saw the monster. And the energy vanished as quickly as it came. I collapsed. I just sat there, in the spilled rice and hummus, shaking and sobbing while the kid ran away. The voices were back to normal, just laughing. "Almost had us there, Omar. Almost. You´re still just a pussy. A worthless, crying, pussy. Clean up the mess and get back to work, you fucking failure." I did. I cleaned it with my hands and got back on my motorcycle. I don´t know what´s worse: the constant torture, or the moments when they show me the monster I could be if I just let go. Sometimes I wish I had. Omar fecha: 02/07/2026 3:00:49 |
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Nº 1754: I don’t sleep like I used to. Thoughts arrive before I form them. Emotions fall apart mid-class. Nothing fits. Not anymore. This is Ajialuna International School, Riyadh. Nice walls. Clean halls. But inside, it’s quiet violence. You walk. You nod. You disappear. They interfere. Not spirits. Not ideas. Real operators. From Saudi military-linked telecom systems. From Interior Ministry electronic warfare arms. From surveillance-linked intelligence departments. They test things. On us. Sometimes I forget how I got to my seat. Sometimes I hear a voice saying, “We’re inside.” Sometimes I think I’ve already been rewritten. I can’t tell my classmates. I can’t tell the staff. I can’t tell my parents. I’ve tried. If I had known this would happen — I would have never come here to learn. I’m still here. But not all of me. Keith fecha: 28/05/2026 2:36:16 |
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Nº 1737: Me gustó mucho el sitio y los cuadros preciosos Mercedes Martínez fecha: 23/03/2026 15:50:30 |
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Nº 1702: Me gustan tus dibujos Pepe Ordoñez fecha: 21/03/2026 10:12:28 |
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Nº 1696: Cool + for the post Stevenvob fecha: 17/03/2026 18:37:59 |
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Nº 1695: Me gustan todos tus cuadros, no tienen desperdicio. Tonia Sinibaldi fecha: 24/06/2019 18:24:14 |
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Nº 1674: Gracias por acercarnos el arte a nuestras casas. Los que residimos fuera, lo necesitamos. Luisa fecha: 14/06/2019 22:50:46 |
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Nº 1670: Muy contento por la visita, extraordinaria. Muy interesante, didáctico, ameno… ¡Genial! Alonso fecha: 14/06/2019 22:02:35 |
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Nº 1669: Es un lujo poder realizar una visita como la que hemos realizado. Leticia fecha: 14/06/2019 21:59:24 |
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Nº 1666: Dios tiene un plan especial para ti que lleva tu nombre ¡tenlo presente! Jacobo Reyes fecha: 30/05/2019 21:15:08 |
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Nº 1662: Me gusta el experimento Manuel fecha: 15/02/2017 18:17:48 |
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Nº 1660: !!Que bueno... YUpn9161W fecha: 21/12/2015 16:49:27 |
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Nº 1659: Una grata sorpresa y ver tanto trabajo publicado causa envidia sana, pero envidia. Un saludo . Fantástico trabajo , si. inquilino A.G.P. fecha: 07/11/2015 16:21:58 |
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Nº 1658: Solo deciros que tenéis una web fantástica y que disfruto cada vez que vuestras creaciones se pasean ante mis ojos... Espero con ilusión la proxima expo y os deseo mucho éxito. María Regueira fecha: 10/09/2014 12:28:17 |
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Nº 1656: Very nice site! Pharmf79 fecha: 21/05/2014 7:17:00 |
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Nº 1655: I think this is among the most significant info for me. And i am glad reading your article. But want to remark on some general things, The website style is wonderful, the articles is really great D. Good job, cheers Smithc533 fecha: 20/05/2014 15:30:25 |
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Nº 1654: cacaciones luis fecha: 08/01/2014 13:01:56 |
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Nº 1651: Nos encantan las artes plásticas Maite Sánchez fecha: 12/04/2013 20:50:10 |
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Nº 1648: Pertenezco a una organizacion sin fines de lucro en Puerto Rico y deseamos enviarle las Propuestas de energia limpia que hemos preparado, incluyendo el Robot verde, pero que el personal de gobierno no lo inclye como prioridad en su politica publica (fusamp@yahoo.com) Carmen Urena Cruz fecha: 16/10/2012 2:58:36 |
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Nº 1647: que consecuencia directa e indirecta pueden producir las centrales energéticas de carbón y petroleo nicolas fecha: 25/07/2012 15:37:21 |
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Nº 1646: Saludos, me alegro de encntrar su interesante página web. ¿es posible reproducir la imágen de árboles que aparece bajo el apartado Proceso fabricación de Papel Reciclado? Muchas gracias de todas formas. oatallah@upvnet.upv.es Osama Raghib Deeb fecha: 02/06/2012 11:46:28 |
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Nº 1645: Un saludo, Quiero citar su página sobre el papel en una investigación. Uso normas APA pero si tiene alguna sugerencia, se la agradezco: maria-burbano@unipiloto.edu.co María del Cielo Burbano fecha: 16/02/2012 16:41:49 |
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Nº 1644: Me gusta Sara fecha: 01/02/2012 20:14:01 |
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Nº 1643: Un saludo. Me alegro haberos descubierto en Google. Seguid asi de bien . fecha: 13/01/2012 11:16:35 |
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Nº 1642: Me sigue gustando todo lo que haces... Un abrazo Manuel Manuel Galán fecha: 19/12/2011 21:49:37 |
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Nº 1641: Estupenda página, se aprende observando Antonio Santiago fecha: 04/12/2011 21:25:58 |
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Nº 1640: increible la forma de visualizar contrastes, excelente técnita te felicito. saludos desds Chihuahua México. Luis Guerra A. fecha: 24/09/2011 1:10:13 |
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Nº 1639: Magníficas obras de arte SR.Jódar, he disfrutado de lo lindo con tu arte PEDRO ANTONIO JODAR fecha: 02/09/2011 11:47:15 |
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Nº 1609: poca creación juan vucente fecha: 23/08/2011 10:25:29 |
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Nº 1441: Manuel: Me parecen unos dibujos fabulosos, pero por favor no digas últimos trabajos, sino mis trabajos más recientes, pues te deseo sigas dibujando Juan Enrique Mondragón Rios fecha: 17/05/2011 6:53:24 |