God only knows how hard I have tried to brush away the scarce fanatical dust particles I had on my shoulders when I was growing up within my non-political, non-fanatical family. When the war broke out in the seventies I always refused to surrender to demarcation lines (at the expense of my own well being) and new found notions of different class systems based on religion. Admittedly I was never, what the church could label a true Christian, for I was always brought up to believe in God the benevolent and in the goodness of man. In 1984 and after a few bad experiences and mistakes; I decided to look for greener pastures. Overnight I left family and loved ones, took a plane to England (how green and damp can you get?) were I spent 16 years. I thought, upon my return that my tolerance, my acceptance of others had grown stronger; I thought that I was part of this new generation that constitutes the salvation of this holly land of ours. I started looking for those who, at a time left seeking enrichment and now are back; in order to feel a sense of belonging and possibly make a difference. I found none.
I was alone.
10 years later, I came to understand.
I came to understand that I cannot call a brother he who denies his roots. I left before the Hizbullah’s phenomenon (and I thank my lucky stars for that, for if I had I would not be writing today) showed its ugly face. Do not misunderstand me, I am not naive, for I have seen what ‘’Fath’’. Sa3ika’’, ‘’Jibhat Al rafed’’, ‘’Mourabitoun’’,’’Amal’’,’’Mortazaka’’,’’Kataeb’’...etc did during 9 nightmarish years I lived before my self inflicted exile.
I came back filled with hope and aspirations, not only for me, but for my son and my country as well. Sad to say that I regard my return from my safe heaven (England) as the biggest mistake I ever did. A mistake bigger than when I took up arms thinking (falsely) that it was my duty as a Lebanese.
I am the proud son of the south (although Christian on my Lebanese ID card, but Lebanese at heart), I still cannot (and never will) relate to the Hizb’s propaganda. For the south was always mine (as a Lebanese), for I have shared the hardships and the neglect from all governments past and present, for I have never sold out my Lebanese identity; and those who follow the Hizb have.
To those veil, sandal, beard, turban wearing sold out fucks I dedicate the following song.
To those fucks I say : ‘’Yes you are heavy, and you are no brother of mine’’
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Latino Cristiano Kheriato !
La parole est a mon fils :
"Moi, il y’a quelques jours, je me plaignais du sort de mon cousin mort a la fleur de l’âge. Derrière ca se cachait d’autres réalités beaucoup plus pénibles que la perte d’un être cher. Un enquiquineur, ou plutôt un diable masqué (Roy du cul), un prétendant qui postule le rôle du prêtre m’a démontré indirectement son autre face machiavélique a la quelle, au début j’ai cru. Guillermo sous ses airs angélique et serein a essayer de me convertir a sa secte diabolique. Entre Fifa 2008 sur PS3, son pouvoir d’hypnose, de conviction et de cette vidéos sur Youtube
Je me suis, pour un moment laisser entrainer. Ce cauchemar que j’ai vécu durant les jours passés, je partage avec vous, car si ce n’était pas pour le courage que j’ai eu d’en discuter avec mon père ; je serais peut être (si pas aujourd’hui) mais dans mon prochain future au Pérou faisant partie d’une secte qui se veut Chrétienne.
Le 5 Juillet j’ai perdu un cousin qui avait une joie de vivre plus intense que la mienne. Son frère par contre (que je connaissait beaucoup moins) n’a pas pu me délivrer le bonheur de le connaitre car il était non seulement distant mais accompagné et chaperonné par Guilermo, le faux Christ en qui il croit."
Tarek Hage
N.B: The video that disturbed Tarek the most (Metropolis Pt 2: Scenes from a Memory - Scene 7.2 - 9) has been taken out from youtube.
"Moi, il y’a quelques jours, je me plaignais du sort de mon cousin mort a la fleur de l’âge. Derrière ca se cachait d’autres réalités beaucoup plus pénibles que la perte d’un être cher. Un enquiquineur, ou plutôt un diable masqué (Roy du cul), un prétendant qui postule le rôle du prêtre m’a démontré indirectement son autre face machiavélique a la quelle, au début j’ai cru. Guillermo sous ses airs angélique et serein a essayer de me convertir a sa secte diabolique. Entre Fifa 2008 sur PS3, son pouvoir d’hypnose, de conviction et de cette vidéos sur Youtube
Je me suis, pour un moment laisser entrainer. Ce cauchemar que j’ai vécu durant les jours passés, je partage avec vous, car si ce n’était pas pour le courage que j’ai eu d’en discuter avec mon père ; je serais peut être (si pas aujourd’hui) mais dans mon prochain future au Pérou faisant partie d’une secte qui se veut Chrétienne.
Le 5 Juillet j’ai perdu un cousin qui avait une joie de vivre plus intense que la mienne. Son frère par contre (que je connaissait beaucoup moins) n’a pas pu me délivrer le bonheur de le connaitre car il était non seulement distant mais accompagné et chaperonné par Guilermo, le faux Christ en qui il croit."
Tarek Hage
N.B: The video that disturbed Tarek the most (Metropolis Pt 2: Scenes from a Memory - Scene 7.2 - 9) has been taken out from youtube.
Crossroads
"I’m standing at the crossroads
There are many roads to take
But I stand here so silently
In fear of a mistake
One road leads to paradise
One road lead to pain
One road leads to freedom
But they all look the same
I’ve traveled many roads
And not all of them were good
The foolish ones taught more to me
Than the wise one ever could
One road leads to sacrifice
One road leads to shame
One road leads to freedom
But they all look the same
They were roads
I never traveled
They were turns
I did not take
They were mysteries that I left unraveled
But leaving you was my only mistake
So I’m standing at the crossroads
Imprisoned by this doubt
As if by doing nothing
I night find my way out
One road leads to paradise
One road leads to pain
One road leads to freedom
But they all look the same"
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Shape of my heart
He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn't play for the money he wins
He doesn't play for the respect
He deals the cards to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden law of probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But thats not the shape of my heart
He may play the jack of diamonds
He may lay the queen of spades
He may conceal a king in his hand
While the memory of it fades
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But thats not the shape of my heart
Thats not the shape, the shape of my heart
And if I told you that I loved you
you'd maybe think theres something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one
Those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who smile are lost
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But thats not the shape of my heart
Thats not the shape of my heart
Monday, July 21, 2008
Jester !
The old "nick name" I used is surfacing again.
This "Jester" has chosen to lay low for over twelve years in order to survive.
This "Jester" has started his journey filled with love, heartache, deception and hope.
This "Jester" indulged into politics, and lost his purpose.
This "Jester" is now reminiscing of why he was shunned by many.
This "Jester" is now aware that the tears he once shed are no longer applicable.
This "Jester" now knows that he took the easy way out.
This "Jester" regrets having succumbed to the threats.
This "Jester" doubts his own wisdom.
This “Jester” still recalls why he called himself a jester.
This “Jester” still has the tattoo to prove it.
This “Jester” is now being resuscitated.
I will, from now on, revive the “Jester” within me only for those I love and who believed in me. For the rest of you out there I will remain Marillionlb.
For the very few, you will eventually make the correlation.
Jester.
This "Jester" has chosen to lay low for over twelve years in order to survive.
This "Jester" has started his journey filled with love, heartache, deception and hope.
This "Jester" indulged into politics, and lost his purpose.
This "Jester" is now reminiscing of why he was shunned by many.
This "Jester" is now aware that the tears he once shed are no longer applicable.
This "Jester" now knows that he took the easy way out.
This "Jester" regrets having succumbed to the threats.
This "Jester" doubts his own wisdom.
This “Jester” still recalls why he called himself a jester.
This “Jester” still has the tattoo to prove it.
This “Jester” is now being resuscitated.
I will, from now on, revive the “Jester” within me only for those I love and who believed in me. For the rest of you out there I will remain Marillionlb.
For the very few, you will eventually make the correlation.
Jester.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
A far fetched dream (or nightmare)!
Having recently been a witness to the (shameful) parade organized by the Hizb (and everybody else, icluding M14)in Nakoura, and the short "live" appearance by our"divine" leader in Dahiyeh; I failed (although I tried my hardest) to rejoice in he fact that another sad chapter came to it's conclusion.
All that I could see (in my totally twisted head) was: Yellow dressed horses crapping, Hizbullah's thugs standing tall (like the guards at Buckingham palace)waiting for Hassouna to grace us with yet another "divine speech".
Merle Haggard came to mind the minute Hassan Nasrallah spoke. I had a vision of poppy fields (no longer masked by a row of "tourne sol") and Hassouna dancing.
No I was not under the influence.
I wished then, that the lack of vision of all those who rejoiced, was less harmful than the cynicism in the following song (don't ask why, it just popped into my head).
All that I could see (in my totally twisted head) was: Yellow dressed horses crapping, Hizbullah's thugs standing tall (like the guards at Buckingham palace)waiting for Hassouna to grace us with yet another "divine speech".
Merle Haggard came to mind the minute Hassan Nasrallah spoke. I had a vision of poppy fields (no longer masked by a row of "tourne sol") and Hassouna dancing.
No I was not under the influence.
I wished then, that the lack of vision of all those who rejoiced, was less harmful than the cynicism in the following song (don't ask why, it just popped into my head).
NO, NO, NO, and then NO !
No matter how hard I claim (or even think) that I am an open minded person, I still cannot see a molecule of logic which will change my opinion with regards to Samir Al Kuntar.
Regardless of the numerous comments I’ve read (on this subject) on my blog and others, I cannot see the martyr or hero in this evil persona.
This deep (and forever engraved) feeling of disdain was today accentuated when he stood next to (yet another dick head) Wiam Wahhab, and informed us all that we should no longer fear for the “Moukawameh”s weapons and might (for they have won, according to him and many others).
Mr. Kuntar has assured all Lebanese (his own kind) that the battle is far from over. Wearing the Hizb’s military attire (with his name proudly stitched in yellow on his suit), standing next to the Syrian regime’s spokesman Wahab, confirmed our (true Lebanese) fears.
Kuntar said openly, bluntly, ARROGANTLY; that the struggle continues. In his own words Kuntar (who is now embraced and glorified by the “Moukawameh”) informed us that Israel will not rest; for according to him the battle to be waged is that of Palestine. He vowed (and those he NOW represent) to keep up the fight, providing moral, logistical and ARMS support to the Palestinians in the occupied territories. “We have your back” he said whilst being hailed by Wahab.
Can anyone still dispute the fact that this fundamentally evil FUCK (and I will not say “child killer” for a change) is nothing but a demented animal, who after 30 years in captivity, is going after his “5 minutes of fame”?
Kuntar was given (publicly) a hero’s welcome by almost all members of our newly formed government.
Doesn’t his words represent a threat to our sworn enemy?
Doesn’t his words represent an excuse for Israel to OBLITRATE Lebanon?
Samir Kuntar (regardless of whether some of you idiots still regard him as a hero) should be hanged by the balls in Lebanon, for the crimes he did, and those he will inflict upon us.
Regardless of the numerous comments I’ve read (on this subject) on my blog and others, I cannot see the martyr or hero in this evil persona.
This deep (and forever engraved) feeling of disdain was today accentuated when he stood next to (yet another dick head) Wiam Wahhab, and informed us all that we should no longer fear for the “Moukawameh”s weapons and might (for they have won, according to him and many others).
Mr. Kuntar has assured all Lebanese (his own kind) that the battle is far from over. Wearing the Hizb’s military attire (with his name proudly stitched in yellow on his suit), standing next to the Syrian regime’s spokesman Wahab, confirmed our (true Lebanese) fears.
Kuntar said openly, bluntly, ARROGANTLY; that the struggle continues. In his own words Kuntar (who is now embraced and glorified by the “Moukawameh”) informed us that Israel will not rest; for according to him the battle to be waged is that of Palestine. He vowed (and those he NOW represent) to keep up the fight, providing moral, logistical and ARMS support to the Palestinians in the occupied territories. “We have your back” he said whilst being hailed by Wahab.
Can anyone still dispute the fact that this fundamentally evil FUCK (and I will not say “child killer” for a change) is nothing but a demented animal, who after 30 years in captivity, is going after his “5 minutes of fame”?
Kuntar was given (publicly) a hero’s welcome by almost all members of our newly formed government.
Doesn’t his words represent a threat to our sworn enemy?
Doesn’t his words represent an excuse for Israel to OBLITRATE Lebanon?
Samir Kuntar (regardless of whether some of you idiots still regard him as a hero) should be hanged by the balls in Lebanon, for the crimes he did, and those he will inflict upon us.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
R.I.P Lebanon 1943-2008.
The past ten days were hell (for personal reasons). I felt so angry on so many levels; I even questioned God and his wisdom. As I was getting closure and trying to revert back to normal life; I was slapped with yet a greater evil than death; the evil of those who inflict death. “Samir Al Kuntar”.
Being incapacitated (due to a minor motorbike incident) I spent the afternoon glued to my TV set watching the shameful parade being broadcasted on many local and Arab TV stations. A child killer was given a hero’s welcome, and Lebanon (my country) has once more shown to the CIVILIZED world that it was nothing more than 10452 Km2 of scum. “al silah zinat al rijal” I heard uttered from the mouth of our “divine leader”. Emile (in all his glory) was drooling (or smiling, I could never tell the difference). Suleiman, Saniora and Berri were anxiously waiting at “Hariri’s” airport the return of their prodigal son, even Georges Adwan took part in this shameful celebration. A few hours earlier we had the privilege of seeing our newly elected government members (all dressed in white) parade at the Baabda palace for the inaugural picture. Maybe they should have waited a few hours so that Kuntar could join. After hearing his speech (in well spoken Arabic) it would not have surprised me.
Hizbollah has won, and has taken over MY country.
A battalion of “moukawimin” in full army gear was a cruel reminder that 120000 (accounted for) martyrs have died in vain.
Saad Hariri’s stupid smile (and his goatee) is another clear sign of defeat.
George Adwan’s presence at the “festivities” is a clear picture of whose (tied arse) you should lick in fear.
Walid Jumblat’s (but not Ghazi Al Aaridi, his lackey) absence (today, but not tomorrow) is an indication of whom is dictating the future of MY country.
Michel Aoun (the demented general) I don’t even need to comment !
Nasser Kandil was the epitome of days supposedly gone (but not forgotten).
Last but not least, Olmert , for having plunged Lebanon (once again) deep into the abyss.
Full honours were deployed, even the presidential “helicopter” since we cannot afford an “air force one”; only to see that the Lebanese government (with all its institutions) was over shadowed by the Hizb’s military machine (even a cavalry).
Kiss ikhtkoun killkoun (politicians that is), starting with the LF and ending with Ali Kanso in his white safari suite.
Mr. Chamoun was the only voice of reason today, for he has said what (I hope) many of us feel.
I am Lebanese with a dual nationality (second being British) , and today I feel ashamed of my citizenship of birth.
Today, I feel the pain and the disappointment of the Haran family. Moreover I cry for all those who died (Lebanese) during the 15 years of civil war for their (at times twisted) notion of a free Lebanon.
Fuck you all who rejoiced today.I am Lebanese, and you are NOT !
Bite me!
Being incapacitated (due to a minor motorbike incident) I spent the afternoon glued to my TV set watching the shameful parade being broadcasted on many local and Arab TV stations. A child killer was given a hero’s welcome, and Lebanon (my country) has once more shown to the CIVILIZED world that it was nothing more than 10452 Km2 of scum. “al silah zinat al rijal” I heard uttered from the mouth of our “divine leader”. Emile (in all his glory) was drooling (or smiling, I could never tell the difference). Suleiman, Saniora and Berri were anxiously waiting at “Hariri’s” airport the return of their prodigal son, even Georges Adwan took part in this shameful celebration. A few hours earlier we had the privilege of seeing our newly elected government members (all dressed in white) parade at the Baabda palace for the inaugural picture. Maybe they should have waited a few hours so that Kuntar could join. After hearing his speech (in well spoken Arabic) it would not have surprised me.
Hizbollah has won, and has taken over MY country.
A battalion of “moukawimin” in full army gear was a cruel reminder that 120000 (accounted for) martyrs have died in vain.
Saad Hariri’s stupid smile (and his goatee) is another clear sign of defeat.
George Adwan’s presence at the “festivities” is a clear picture of whose (tied arse) you should lick in fear.
Walid Jumblat’s (but not Ghazi Al Aaridi, his lackey) absence (today, but not tomorrow) is an indication of whom is dictating the future of MY country.
Michel Aoun (the demented general) I don’t even need to comment !
Nasser Kandil was the epitome of days supposedly gone (but not forgotten).
Last but not least, Olmert , for having plunged Lebanon (once again) deep into the abyss.
Full honours were deployed, even the presidential “helicopter” since we cannot afford an “air force one”; only to see that the Lebanese government (with all its institutions) was over shadowed by the Hizb’s military machine (even a cavalry).
Kiss ikhtkoun killkoun (politicians that is), starting with the LF and ending with Ali Kanso in his white safari suite.
Mr. Chamoun was the only voice of reason today, for he has said what (I hope) many of us feel.
I am Lebanese with a dual nationality (second being British) , and today I feel ashamed of my citizenship of birth.
Today, I feel the pain and the disappointment of the Haran family. Moreover I cry for all those who died (Lebanese) during the 15 years of civil war for their (at times twisted) notion of a free Lebanon.
Fuck you all who rejoiced today.I am Lebanese, and you are NOT !
Bite me!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Kryptonite !
On Thursday you were laid to rest.
I still cannot find the words to express my sorrow and anger. Upon Alan’s arrival we went through the laptop you left to your dad and started reading some of the articles you wrote, and sifted through the music you had left on the hard drive. On the way back home I had a small accident which delayed (but did not stop) my getting behind my PC and listening to “Jive Bunny” followed by “patience”. For a while I was at peace until I saw the sadness in Tarek’s eyes. This same sadness I witnessed in everyone I saw this past week, but it did not alleviate my pain. Family members, and your friends were present daily shedding rivers of tears, but my eyes never cried in public once. I still can picture you smiling and mumbling (after a few Vodka’s) words with your soft toned voice and me saying “come again?” . Tarek was anxiously waiting the 23rd to have the celebratory beer in honor of your 28th birthday and wake you up bright and early the next morning so he could kick your ass at Fifa 2008.
While going through pictures and memories, I came across your superman painted chest (Tarek has it know on his MSN account). Today your friend Hussein was telling the story behind it, along with other tales of your life in Dubai and Beirut. You are a Superman, and just like him I await to hear more of your adventures.
I guess you know now that your passing has somehow mended the rift you always tried to fill. There is still work to be done, granted; but leaps were achieved.
Alec, you are this cursed family’s guardian angel. In your passing you did what Jeddo Selim did in his living. I just hope that we ALL will live up to your memory.
I still cannot find the words to express my sorrow and anger. Upon Alan’s arrival we went through the laptop you left to your dad and started reading some of the articles you wrote, and sifted through the music you had left on the hard drive. On the way back home I had a small accident which delayed (but did not stop) my getting behind my PC and listening to “Jive Bunny” followed by “patience”. For a while I was at peace until I saw the sadness in Tarek’s eyes. This same sadness I witnessed in everyone I saw this past week, but it did not alleviate my pain. Family members, and your friends were present daily shedding rivers of tears, but my eyes never cried in public once. I still can picture you smiling and mumbling (after a few Vodka’s) words with your soft toned voice and me saying “come again?” . Tarek was anxiously waiting the 23rd to have the celebratory beer in honor of your 28th birthday and wake you up bright and early the next morning so he could kick your ass at Fifa 2008.
While going through pictures and memories, I came across your superman painted chest (Tarek has it know on his MSN account). Today your friend Hussein was telling the story behind it, along with other tales of your life in Dubai and Beirut. You are a Superman, and just like him I await to hear more of your adventures.
I guess you know now that your passing has somehow mended the rift you always tried to fill. There is still work to be done, granted; but leaps were achieved.
Alec, you are this cursed family’s guardian angel. In your passing you did what Jeddo Selim did in his living. I just hope that we ALL will live up to your memory.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
A beautiful soul is no longer with us !
Today I have lost a cousin (more like a brother) in his prime. A kid filled with happiness regardless of the bad cards life had dealt him. Alec was always filled with joy and laughter (half blind, mind you)and played rugby from his 1.(short)m in height. Today Alec has departed, for greener pastures I am sure of that. I am at a loss of words, therefore I will leave it to my 12 year old son to write on my behalf his eulogy.
[J’ai 12 ans et je me nomme Tarek Hage, mieux connu sous le nom de ‘tartiflette’.
Moi j’ai une famille adorable qui me donne tant de belles surprises, et aujourd’hui le 5 Juillet a 10.45 du soir une saloperie a eu lieu et qui va perturbé ma vie. Mon cousin, qui n’a pas atteint la trentaine meurt. Un appel donné par mon grand père à mon père a fait couler des millions de larmes à mon père et moi. ‘Alec est mort’. Cette journée pour moi est pire que le 11 septembre. Une pute nommée la mort nous a écrouler et abattue. Je suis devant ma bière sans alcool entrain de me défouler sur ce sujet qui m’intrigue. Ma petite demande à Dieu, après ma prière, est que toutes les personnes que j’aime restent en bonne santé. J’ai eu des pressentiments comme mon chien Caramel allait mourir, que l’Angleterre n’allait pas réussir à rentrer dans l’Euro.
Moi le petit Tartiflo fils de Marillionlb, je suis un obsède de motos et de voitures; mais ma passion a était la cause du mal que je ressens ce soir.
Mon message à Alec est le suivant :
Alec était un garçon Américain aimé de tous. Il reflète la sagesse, la bonté et l’amusement. Ses 2 passions étaient le rugby et la musique (surtout Axel Rose dans le groupe Gun’s & Roses). Je me rappelle de ses blagues marrantes et de ses grosses lunettes qui recouvraient sa tête. Pour moi il restera un enfant éternel, et même si je sais que lá haut il m’entend ; je tenais dans ce texte a vous dire toutes ses qualités.
‘Alec tu nous maques déjà, tout le monde veut te revoir, papa, moi ; et surtout tes parents.
Nous te rejoindrons quand se sera notre tour, car seul Dieu peut décider de notre destin’.
Alec tu nous manques déjà, et on t’aime fort.]
Tarek Hage
[J’ai 12 ans et je me nomme Tarek Hage, mieux connu sous le nom de ‘tartiflette’.
Moi j’ai une famille adorable qui me donne tant de belles surprises, et aujourd’hui le 5 Juillet a 10.45 du soir une saloperie a eu lieu et qui va perturbé ma vie. Mon cousin, qui n’a pas atteint la trentaine meurt. Un appel donné par mon grand père à mon père a fait couler des millions de larmes à mon père et moi. ‘Alec est mort’. Cette journée pour moi est pire que le 11 septembre. Une pute nommée la mort nous a écrouler et abattue. Je suis devant ma bière sans alcool entrain de me défouler sur ce sujet qui m’intrigue. Ma petite demande à Dieu, après ma prière, est que toutes les personnes que j’aime restent en bonne santé. J’ai eu des pressentiments comme mon chien Caramel allait mourir, que l’Angleterre n’allait pas réussir à rentrer dans l’Euro.
Moi le petit Tartiflo fils de Marillionlb, je suis un obsède de motos et de voitures; mais ma passion a était la cause du mal que je ressens ce soir.
Mon message à Alec est le suivant :
Alec était un garçon Américain aimé de tous. Il reflète la sagesse, la bonté et l’amusement. Ses 2 passions étaient le rugby et la musique (surtout Axel Rose dans le groupe Gun’s & Roses). Je me rappelle de ses blagues marrantes et de ses grosses lunettes qui recouvraient sa tête. Pour moi il restera un enfant éternel, et même si je sais que lá haut il m’entend ; je tenais dans ce texte a vous dire toutes ses qualités.
‘Alec tu nous maques déjà, tout le monde veut te revoir, papa, moi ; et surtout tes parents.
Nous te rejoindrons quand se sera notre tour, car seul Dieu peut décider de notre destin’.
Alec tu nous manques déjà, et on t’aime fort.]
Tarek Hage
Saturday, July 05, 2008
My musical dedication to Michel Aoun, the demanted general!
With a few words alterations (replace "MUSIC" with "SPEECHES" and "YOU'RE" with "YOU WERE"), I dedicate this song to our demented orange general (Micho le demago).
"Roll on thunder, shine on lightning
The days are long and the nights are frightenin'
Nothing matters anyway,
And that's the hell of it.
Winter comes and the winds blew colder
While some grew wiser, you just grew older
And you never listened anyway,
And that's the hell of it.
Good for nothing, bad in bed
Nobody likes you and you're better off dead
Goodbye, we've all come to say goodbye (goodbye)
Goodbye (goodbye)
Born defeated, died in vain
Super-destructive, you were hooked on pain
Though your MUSIC lingers on
All of us are glad YOU'RE gone
If I could live my life half as worthlessly as you
I'm convinced that I'd wind up burning too.
Love yourself as you loved no other
Be no man's fool and be no man's brother
We're all born to die alone, you know, that's the hell of it.
Life's a game where they're bound to beat you
And time's a trick it can turn to cheat you
And we only waste it anyway,
And that's the hell of it.
Good for nothing, bad in bed
Nobody liked you and you're better off dead
Goodbye, we've all come to say goodbye (goodbye)
Goodbye (goodbye)
Born defeated, died in vain
Super-destructive, you were hooked on pain
And though your MUSIC lingers on
"All of us are glad YOU'RE gone
"Roll on thunder, shine on lightning
The days are long and the nights are frightenin'
Nothing matters anyway,
And that's the hell of it.
Winter comes and the winds blew colder
While some grew wiser, you just grew older
And you never listened anyway,
And that's the hell of it.
Good for nothing, bad in bed
Nobody likes you and you're better off dead
Goodbye, we've all come to say goodbye (goodbye)
Goodbye (goodbye)
Born defeated, died in vain
Super-destructive, you were hooked on pain
Though your MUSIC lingers on
All of us are glad YOU'RE gone
If I could live my life half as worthlessly as you
I'm convinced that I'd wind up burning too.
Love yourself as you loved no other
Be no man's fool and be no man's brother
We're all born to die alone, you know, that's the hell of it.
Life's a game where they're bound to beat you
And time's a trick it can turn to cheat you
And we only waste it anyway,
And that's the hell of it.
Good for nothing, bad in bed
Nobody liked you and you're better off dead
Goodbye, we've all come to say goodbye (goodbye)
Goodbye (goodbye)
Born defeated, died in vain
Super-destructive, you were hooked on pain
And though your MUSIC lingers on
"All of us are glad YOU'RE gone
Say it with music !
Long, very long days I have been having lately.
Long but very agreeable. Nevertheless I haven’t been able to get back home and go strait to bed. After having spent about eight hours a day (after my regular working schedule) talking to strangers and exchanging views and opinions (in a very diplomatic manner I might add) my body and soul is begging for a reprieve once I finally get home. So I indulge myself with a drink (or two), music, and the blogs I use to frequent daily. A few days ago, my friend Kheir posted some video clips on his page that took me back to a happier place; so today I follow his example and what trails is my contribution.
Away from politics, the current stalemate and the unforeseen future (being Lebanese), I thought I would share the following songs that were part of my teenage years:
1) My first heart flutter (when I was eleven) at the sight of beautiful Maya (whom until today doesn’t know that I had the biggest crush on her)
2) The song that I use to request at parties when I wanted to slow dance while whispering the lyrics into my girlfriend’s ear.
3) My first heartbreak at the age of fifteen.
4) The call to local radio stations (magic 102 and radio one) dedicating this song to the one who dumped me (and boy I was dumped many times!).
5) And finally the same song that was taped on a Maxwell 90 minute tape, that kept on playing in my room.
Different styles of music, depicting different moods. This was the way my generation used to express itself, before the time of guns, grenades and rockets!
I am forever thankful to those who came into my life, absent and present; and especially to those who are in it now.
Tonight I am filled with love, for I have spent the past 3 days away from news and politics, and in very good company.
A bon entendeur SALUT !
Long but very agreeable. Nevertheless I haven’t been able to get back home and go strait to bed. After having spent about eight hours a day (after my regular working schedule) talking to strangers and exchanging views and opinions (in a very diplomatic manner I might add) my body and soul is begging for a reprieve once I finally get home. So I indulge myself with a drink (or two), music, and the blogs I use to frequent daily. A few days ago, my friend Kheir posted some video clips on his page that took me back to a happier place; so today I follow his example and what trails is my contribution.
Away from politics, the current stalemate and the unforeseen future (being Lebanese), I thought I would share the following songs that were part of my teenage years:
1) My first heart flutter (when I was eleven) at the sight of beautiful Maya (whom until today doesn’t know that I had the biggest crush on her)
2) The song that I use to request at parties when I wanted to slow dance while whispering the lyrics into my girlfriend’s ear.
3) My first heartbreak at the age of fifteen.
4) The call to local radio stations (magic 102 and radio one) dedicating this song to the one who dumped me (and boy I was dumped many times!).
5) And finally the same song that was taped on a Maxwell 90 minute tape, that kept on playing in my room.
Different styles of music, depicting different moods. This was the way my generation used to express itself, before the time of guns, grenades and rockets!
I am forever thankful to those who came into my life, absent and present; and especially to those who are in it now.
Tonight I am filled with love, for I have spent the past 3 days away from news and politics, and in very good company.
A bon entendeur SALUT !
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Those were the days my friend !
Another hot summer evening at home killing time, helping a friend with the final touches for tomorrow’s Biel exhibition.
As usual background music is playing (randomly) while sipping on an ice cold glass of Vodka when Gilbert Becaud’s singing “Je reviens te chercher” struck a chord.
All serious work stopped and reminiscing began.
The first memory recalled was that of “café Al 3er3ar” (Shalimar), the swing, the jukebox playing Becaud, Aznavour, Greco, Anka, Humperdink, Sinatra…etc; and my grand mother swinging my sister and me for hours.
The scandal when “Emmanuelle” first aired on local TV, or when Gainsbourg released his song “Je t’aime moi non plus”.
The trips early Sunday morning (during the summer) to Deir Mar Cha3ya, to buy fresh organic vegetables.
The “autos tamponneuses” at the Cocodi and their “scalestric” car racing circuit.
The evening turned into a contest of whom can remember the most.
Amongst the places mentioned were the old Spinneys by the airport road, the turf club, Saint Simon, Accapulco, Gooddies, Salem ice cream in Tripoli, Chocomax, 555 biscuit boxes, Bompani ovens, Clip hand cream, Tatleh and Biafra cigarettes, Velamos and chopper bicycles…etc.
Not a word about politics was uttered, not a single mention with regards to the civil war and our lost childhood was recalled. All three of us present spent hours listening to old songs and remembering places, happy experiences lived, old TV advertisements, shows and programs.
Now that my friends have gone home in order to surrender into Morpheus’s arms, I am left with a huge grin on my face and an uplifting sense of well being. For a few hours I had relived my youth (in Zoukak Al Blat) when my friends answered to names such as: Denis, Nabhan, Rawia, Khamis, Marc, Hiba, Michelle, Ahmad, Steve…etc; days when I could roam the streets of MY country with no fear of not making it back home alive.
This feeling (unfortunately) quickly collapsed when reality quickly sat in; and for that I can only thank my fellow Lebanese (graced by God with a selective memory) and our SOLD OUT political class.
THANK YOU !
As usual background music is playing (randomly) while sipping on an ice cold glass of Vodka when Gilbert Becaud’s singing “Je reviens te chercher” struck a chord.
All serious work stopped and reminiscing began.
The first memory recalled was that of “café Al 3er3ar” (Shalimar), the swing, the jukebox playing Becaud, Aznavour, Greco, Anka, Humperdink, Sinatra…etc; and my grand mother swinging my sister and me for hours.
The scandal when “Emmanuelle” first aired on local TV, or when Gainsbourg released his song “Je t’aime moi non plus”.
The trips early Sunday morning (during the summer) to Deir Mar Cha3ya, to buy fresh organic vegetables.
The “autos tamponneuses” at the Cocodi and their “scalestric” car racing circuit.
The evening turned into a contest of whom can remember the most.
Amongst the places mentioned were the old Spinneys by the airport road, the turf club, Saint Simon, Accapulco, Gooddies, Salem ice cream in Tripoli, Chocomax, 555 biscuit boxes, Bompani ovens, Clip hand cream, Tatleh and Biafra cigarettes, Velamos and chopper bicycles…etc.
Not a word about politics was uttered, not a single mention with regards to the civil war and our lost childhood was recalled. All three of us present spent hours listening to old songs and remembering places, happy experiences lived, old TV advertisements, shows and programs.
Now that my friends have gone home in order to surrender into Morpheus’s arms, I am left with a huge grin on my face and an uplifting sense of well being. For a few hours I had relived my youth (in Zoukak Al Blat) when my friends answered to names such as: Denis, Nabhan, Rawia, Khamis, Marc, Hiba, Michelle, Ahmad, Steve…etc; days when I could roam the streets of MY country with no fear of not making it back home alive.
This feeling (unfortunately) quickly collapsed when reality quickly sat in; and for that I can only thank my fellow Lebanese (graced by God with a selective memory) and our SOLD OUT political class.
THANK YOU !
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
An open invitation!
To those of you who appreciate art and have an inquisitive mind, I invite you to come to “Deco Follies” at the Biel from the 3rd until the 6th of July and visit Zeina Lteif’s stand where you will find a small percentage of her work on display. This emerging artist (who won the “prix signature” in France in 2006 when she first started painting) has a collection of works depicting different facets of her life. Each painting tells a story, from her struggle for freedom, motherhood, Love and anger, to the ailment of her mother land.
I invite all my readers to take the time to visit her stand and shake the hand, in recognition, of a true Lebanese mother who never gave up; and never will.
To all my readers, I thank you in advance.
I invite all my readers to take the time to visit her stand and shake the hand, in recognition, of a true Lebanese mother who never gave up; and never will.
To all my readers, I thank you in advance.
And then they were three
In that year (1978) Israel crossed into southern Lebanon on March 15 and struck at PLO terrorist bases and staging areas south of the Litani River, up to ten kilometers deep inside the country. Twenty-one IDF soldiers were killed before the operation ended on March 21, 1978. In this year Genesis released their album entitled “And then there were three” (with Mike Rutherford). Tonight as I was pondering about the imminent release of Lebanese prisoners (live ones that is) within Israeli jails, “ballad of big” was playing in the background on vinyl (Call me old fashioned, I do not care), while sifting through different news agencies. Irony struck. I took a pause and listened to the music, and EUREKA! There are only three (Samir Kuntar, Yehia Skaff, and Ali Faratan). What a coincidence. Call it telepathy, a sign, an omen, a premonition, or even a nightmare; for me it was a wake up call.
Signs and posters are being made and erected in preparation for the release of the NEWLY FOUND resistance hero throughout the south (even though he belonged to a Palestinian faction). Another promise “fulfilled” will be shoved down our throats. Yes with this exchange of prisoners the Hizb will finally justify the July war (“free Samir Kuntar operation), and then what?
1200 dead, billions of dollars in damages is the price us Lebanese had to pay for the freedom of three thugs.
I used to be a proud southerner; I used to be a proud Lebanese; but no longer. I am part of a silent majority with hands shackled and voice muffled; waiting to get shafted up the ass once more.
Those about to be released soon can rot in hell as far as I am concerned, for they were never Lebanese; I long for the day when TRUE Lebanese, held and tortured north of our country (alive or dead, the thousands of them) will receive the welcome those FUCKS are getting, if ever they will return.
Tfeh!
Signs and posters are being made and erected in preparation for the release of the NEWLY FOUND resistance hero throughout the south (even though he belonged to a Palestinian faction). Another promise “fulfilled” will be shoved down our throats. Yes with this exchange of prisoners the Hizb will finally justify the July war (“free Samir Kuntar operation), and then what?
1200 dead, billions of dollars in damages is the price us Lebanese had to pay for the freedom of three thugs.
I used to be a proud southerner; I used to be a proud Lebanese; but no longer. I am part of a silent majority with hands shackled and voice muffled; waiting to get shafted up the ass once more.
Those about to be released soon can rot in hell as far as I am concerned, for they were never Lebanese; I long for the day when TRUE Lebanese, held and tortured north of our country (alive or dead, the thousands of them) will receive the welcome those FUCKS are getting, if ever they will return.
Tfeh!
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