Just for fun .

Satan's foot soldier (according to some).

Following is an excerpt from a religious program featuring Saudi Cleric Muhammad Al-Munajid, which aired on TV on August 27, 2008:

Muhammad Al-Munajid: What is the position of Islamic law with regard to mice? The Shari'a refers to the mouse as "little corrupter," and says it is permissible to kill it in all cases. It says that mice set fire to the house, and are steered by Satan. The mouse is one of Satan's soldiers and is steered by him. If a mouse falls into a pot of food – if the food is solid, you should chuck out the mouse and the food touching it, and if it is liquid – you should chuck out the whole thing. Because the mouse is i-m-p-u-r-e!
According to Islamic law, the mouse is a repulsive, corrupting creature. How do you think children view mice today – after Tom and Jerry? Even creatures that are repulsive by nature, by logic, and according to Islamic law have become wonderful and are loved by children. Even mice. Mickey Mouse has become an awesome character, even though according to Islamic law, Mickey Mouse should be killed in all cases.




Could Peter Pan be next ??????

To our leaders, with NO thanks !

The day of reckoning is at hand!

A self inflicted slumber caused by great disgust and desperation, I had to seek shelter in music in order to appease my anger. I have become one with those I have long criticized and labeled LEBANESE (the silent majority); for I became silent for a while.
Granted the booby trapped cars have stopped (for now), we have a president (who turned out to be a jet setter), Geagea made his peace with those he inflicted pain upon and redeemed himself (as a new found Christian), the demented general visited Iran as an ambassador of true Christian tolerance (so his followers truly believe), goatee Saad met with the incarnation of evil and shook hands (forgetting about May 7th), our government rejoiced to the idea of the long awaited opening of the Syrian embassy on our SOVEREIGN land (still no word as to those rotting in Syrian jails), Riad Salame telling us that all is well in Lebanon (with regards to the world economical crisis, and many believed), ...etc.
Mea culpa, for once again I have indulged in self pity and the notion that “one hand alone cannot clap”.
Never too late they say, and I agree; for one hand alone can clap when slapped against one’s cheek. And this is my rude awakening.
To this silent majority I adhered to I say: “wake up from your coma; once again you have picked the short straw”. If ever you believed in the Cedar Revolution now is the time to rebel against those who are selling you and your country for electoral gains. Hold all 14th of March representatives accountable for their failed promises and the concessions they willingly gave to those whose vision is in contradiction of a free Lebanon (March 8).
Tattle tales you have been fed in the local news of reconciliations and better days to come; do you still believe in those false promises? Did any of you ask why :
*Sarko’s head is shoved up so far up Bashar’s arse?
*Syria is so keen on establishing its embassy before the local elections?
*Aoun visited Iran?
*Iran offered to help re-arm the Lebanese army?
*14th of March leaders haven’t met for a while a came up with a common press release?
*The electoral law fell short of ALL expectations?
*Belmar is taking his time?
*Syria is suddenly anxious to have a grip on border security?
*...etc
I am a simple man with simple aspirations, but I cannot help but fear the worst; for I have lived deceit and paid dearly.
Fucked we are, and always will be; for as long as we sit idle and watch. We are not deserving people; this holy land of ours was entrusted into our care, and we have failed. The day of reckoning is at hand!
TFEH !

Pour la fin du monde

I still have nothing to say, so I leave you with more music from my past.




Pour la fin du monde
Prends ta valise
Et va là-haut sur la montagne
On t'attend
Mets dans ta valise
Une simple chemise
Pour la fin du monde
Pas de vêtements

- Et mes photographies ?
- Laisse-les là
- Et ma boîte à outils ?
- Laisse-la aussi
Mon vieux mais tant pis

Mais pour la fin du monde
Prends ta valise
Et va là-haut sur la montagne
On t'attend
Laisse tes bijoux
Tes machines à sous
Pour la fin du monde
Pas besoin d'argent

- Mon avion, mon képi ?
- Laisse-les là
- Ma canne et mon fusil ?
- Laisse-les aussi
Mon vieux, mais tant pis

Mais pour la fin du monde
Prends ta valise
Et va là-haut sur la montagne
On t'attend
N'aie plus plus peur de rien
Tout ira très bien

Pour la fin du monde
Viens tout simplement
Viens donc il est temps
Viens voir enfin l'autre côté
De la montagne
Viens voir enfin l'autre côté
On va repartir à zéro

Pour la fin du monde
Prends ta valise
Et va là-haut sur la montagne
On t'attend
Mets dans ta valise
Une simple chemise
Pour la fin du monde
Pas de vêtements

- Et mes photographies ?
- Laisse-les là
- Et ma boîte à outils ?
- Laisse-la aussi
Mon vieux, tant pis

Mais pour la fin du monde
Prends ta valise
Et va là-haut sur la montagne
On t'attend
N'aie plus plus peur de rien
Tout ira très bien

Pour la fin du monde
Viens tout simplement
Viens donc il est temps
Viens voir enfin l'autre côté
De la montagne
Viens voir enfin l'autre côté
On va repartir à zéro !

A state of mind

Quand j'aurai du vent dans mon crâne
Quand j'aurai du vert sur mes osses
P'tet qu'on croira que je ricane
Mais ça sera une impression fosse
Car il me manquera
Mon élément plastique
Plastique tique tique
Qu'auront bouffé les rats
Ma paire de bidules
Mes mollets mes rotules
Mes cuisses et mon cule
Sur quoi je m'asseyois
Mes cheveux mes fistules
Mes jolis yeux cérules
Mes couvre-mandibules
Dont je vous pourléchois
Mon nez considérable
Mon coeur mon foie mon râble
Tous ces riens admirables
Qui m'ont fait apprécier
Des ducs et des duchesses
Des papes des papesses
Des abbés des ânesses
Et des gens du métier
Et puis je n'aurai plus
Ce phosphore un peu mou
Cerveau qui me servit
A me prévoir sans vie
Les osses tout verts, le crâne venteux
Ah comme j'ai mal de devenir vieux.

6 pieds sous terre !

In view of some recent and personal events many ideas were going through my head. So before I put them down on “paper” in a semi organized manner I decided to share the following which might no mean a lot to some of you, but is a source of relief and closure for me.
Too bad I can't seem to find the song anywhere.

D'où venez-vous si crotté,
Monsieur le Curé ? (bis)
De la foire, du marché,
Simone, ma Simone.
De la foire, du marché,
Ma petite mignonne.

Que m'avez-vous apporté,
Monsieur le Curé ? (bis)
Des souliers blancs pour danser,
Simone, ma Simone,
Des souliers blancs pour danser,
Ma petite mignonne.

Quand est-c' que vous m'les donn'rez
Monsieur le Curé ? (bis)
Quand tu sauras travailler Simone ma Simone
Quand tu sauras travailler ma petite mignonne














Je voudrais me confesser,
Monsieur le Curé. (bis)
Quel est ton plus gros péché ? Simone ma Simone
Quel est ton plus gros péché ma petite mignonne

C'est d'un peu trop vous aimer.
Monsieur le Curé. (bis)
Il faudra nous séparer Simone ma Simone
Il faudra nous séparer ma petite mignonne

Oh ! oh ! alors j'en mourrai,
Monsieur le Curé. (bis)
Eh bien ! je t'enterrerai Simone ma Simone
Eh bien ! je t’enterrerai ma petite mignonne

Est-c' que vous me pleurerez,
Monsieur le Curé ? (bis)
Non, puisqu'il faudra chanter,
Simone, ma Simone :
« Requiescat in pace »
Ma petite mignonne.

Avec la tete, avec le coeur

A tribute to my grand mother.



Un dimanche soir d'hiver
Il pleure le petit garçon
Car il retourne à la pension
Dans l'auto qui le reconduit
Il sanglote sans dire un mot
Les yeux baissés le cœur gros
Sa mère le rassure tout bas
Tu vas bien t'amuser là-bas

{Refrain:}
Il a dit oui avec la tête
Il a dit non avec le cœur
Il a sourit avec la tête
Il a pleuré avec le cœur

Le petit garçon est grand
Il vient juste d'avoir seize ans
C'est presque un homme maintenant
Voilà qu'il est amoureux
Et ce soir il court la chercher
Mais elle a une voix changée
Tu m'en veux pas mais tu sais nous deux
Tu sais ce n'était pas sérieux

{au Refrain}

Maintenant il a réussi
Il a une femme et deux garçons
Une voiture et une belle maison
Il travaille comme un damné
Couché très tard, levé très tôt
Il passe tout son temps au bureau
Mais hier quelqu'un lui a dit : mon vieux
Vous devez être un homme heureux

{au Refrain}

Il a dit oui avec la tête
Il a dit non avec le cœur
Il a sourit avec la tête
Mais il a pleuré avec le cœur...

Did we gain wisdom from our bloody past?

“He who is without a sin among you, let him cast the first stone”: John 8:1-11
Many were the slogans painted on concrete walls during the civil war, reminding Lebanese of their “patriotic” duties. And way too many were the speeches by all leaders which claimed to hold the interest of Lebanon at heart (in an attempt to rally more “foot soldiers”). Party flags redrawing the cedar tree fluttered everywhere with so called words of wisdom on them. And people followed blindly, like they are still doing today. All of the militias that I personally hold responsible for the death of all the Lebanese martyrs are still in power today and their leaders revered by many. Although throughout 15 years of unashamed, unpunished murder and ever changing allegiances; my people still follow blindly.
Never ever was a question raised (by a simple citizen, could this be because Lebanese are simple?) as to why none of the goals in their various doctrines was achieved. At one time (in the early days of the war) I thought that some dogmas were true and worth fighting for. I am today thankful that this state of euphoria did not last long.
My country is in turmoil once again, and like many I fear the worst. Most of the analysis and blogs I read (and yes I am biased) lead me to believe that the worst is yet to come. So if war erupts once again, who would the Lebanese follow this time? The Syrians are out (supposedly), the Iranians are in, the US and the West have once again changed their foreign policies (or have they)…etc.
Eureka! I came across the following, and not that I agree with it; I could not help but wonder in what percentage is this similar to what everybody I read is thinking of. So here it goes.
N.B: Before you burn me to the stake, remember that I do not agree with all the points in the following GOC (Guardian Of The Cedar) statement, nor am I a member; I just would like your feedback on some or all of the points stated below.
A. The Liberation of Lebanon from Foreign Forces:
1. The Syrian occupation, which is the foundation of all other occupations. Syria has a historic greed to make Lebanon the western province of greater Syria.
2. The occupation of the unfaithful Palestinians that destroyed Lebanon.
3. The uncivilized Iranian occupation that seeks the destruction of Lebanon's cultural identity and push it backward to the old ages.
4. Cutting down the number of foreigners in Lebanon after they have exceeded 50% of the total sum of Lebanon's population (internationally the average is 5%). Visas of entry must not be given without thorough checking and taking into consideration Lebanon's security and supreme interests.
5. Confiscating the Palestinian properties, companies and stock shares in Lebanon as a compensation for the Lebanese losses during the Palestinian wars on them.
B. Building A Modern State - Internal Affairs:
1. Declaring that Lebanon is Lebanese without any other quality whether it is Arabic or non-Arabic.
2. Declare Lebanon a secular country, eliminate sectarianism and open the door for all the qualified Lebanese to be part of government regardless of religion and sect.
3. Exclude all the traditional politicians from government and form a special juridical panel to try them with the charge of destroying the country.
4. A massive discharge of all the government employees who lived on bribery and corruption and open the door for new and specialized personnel.
5. Ban all political parties that imported their ideologies and political programs from outside Lebanon.
6. Abolish the law that entitles foreigners to buy and own land or property in Lebanon and produce a new decree that allows the government to retake the properties that were previously sold to foreigners.
7. Abolish the normalization law. The honor of the Lebanese nationality must only be given to the distinct and those who served Lebanon well.
8. Solve the case of the Lebanese newspaper's submission to foreign financing (almost all the papers were pro-Palestinian during the war).
9. Purify the juridical body and make it a truly independent authority. All Lebanese must be equal in front of the law.
10. Release a new electoral law that reflects the ambitions of the Lebanese and that opens the door for a wide participation in the electoral process.
11. Declare the Lebanese language as the official language of Lebanon.
12. Substitute the Arabic alphabet with the alphabet devised by the Lebanese philosopher Said Akl, who restored the letter to its Phoenician origins after liberating it from the defacement that was caused by the Arabic language. The Arabic language became very old and it does not respond to the rapid development in our age because it is abnormal to think in one language and write in another one. It is worthy to note that we have a superior command of the Arabic language and our decision to abandon it does not stem from an ignorance complex.
13. Finance the establishment of research centers in Lebanon to attract Lebanese intellectual brains both inside and outside Lebanon.
14. Organize and link the 12 million Lebanese expatriates to their homeland.
C. Social:
1. Demolish all shanty towns that surrounds the capital Beirut or the other big cities and ensure descent housing for those who receive minimum wages.
2. Ensure free education for all Lebanese and place all state hospitals under the supervision of the medical school at the Lebanese University.
3. Education should be free of charge for all the Lebanese from the elementary school up till the university and the Lebanese University must have branches in directorates.
4. Education must also be compulsory up till high school and those who fail must be fined.
5. Start an intensive program to eradicate illiteracy.
6. Replace the old educational curriculum (schools and universities) with new and developed ones.
D. Economic
1. Develop a new agricultural policy in the countryside.
2. Lighten the taxes on newly built factories provided that these factories are in rural areas as a procedure to decrease pollution in the cities and resolve the problem of population density in them.
3. Encourage the light industries at the level of the individuals and the families in order to raise the per capita income of the Lebanese individuals.
4. Plan a new tourist policy that would promote the cultural value of Lebanon through the ages.
5. Fight unemployment through cutting down the number of foreign hand in Lebanon.
E. Security
1. Build a strong army with a firm Lebanese national doctrine.
F. Foreign Affairs
1. Build normal relations with the international community and with neighboring countries that are firmly established on mutual respect and based on the Lebanese supreme interests. Reject any distinctive relationship under the slogans of fraternity or else that were used by the traditional politicians as a cover-up for their cowardice.
2. Sign a comprehensive peace treaty with the state of Israel. Lebanon has no interest in the hostilities with Israel, on the contrary, the relationship between the two was based on friendship and cooperation.
3. Withdraw Lebanon from the Arab League to eliminate the quality that designates Lebanon as an Arab country.
4. The party calls for an alliance between all the people of the Mediterranean sea (MPA, Mediterranean People Alliance).
5. It is normal for the Lebanese to look to the sea when seeking alliances because historically speaking, the sea was the playground of the Phoenicians and on its beaches they spread their culture.

!

Lost, lost as a child's first thought. I must have arms to hold me.
Lost without lovin' care. I must have my fair share.
Fair, fair is a changing word. Fair is an honored promise.
Justice if you're still there. I will have my fair share.
Justice is a lady. Lay me down with justice in a long white gown.
With a breath of love, we can share.
Share, sleep with me if you dare. Celebrate my fair share.

Fair, fair is a changing word. Fair is an honored promise.
Justice if you're still there. I will have my fair share.
Justice is a lady. Lay me down with justice in a long white gown.
With a breath of love, we can share.
Share, sleep with me if you dare. Celebrate my fair share.

Forced resurrection

The old "nick name" I used is surfacing again.


This "Jester" had chosen to lay low for over twelve years in order to survive.
This "Jester" had started his journey filled with love, heartache, deception and hope.
This "Jester" indulged into politics, and lost his purpose.
This "Jester" is now remembering 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" is in doubt with regards to 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.

Senses

A crowded place filled with strangers, a soul half asleep numbed by recent events beyond comprehension. Bodies intertwined packed like sheep perfectly groomed within the confines of yet another nameless watering hole.
It has been a while since I ventured within the dark alleys of local debauchery.
‘En connaissance de cause’ I agreed to go down for what was supposed to be nothing more than yet another night out. Half asleep (from lack of interest and not from sleep deprivation), with an inquisitive eye wondering across a two leveled room; my senses were awakened.
It all started with the vision of a bad episode of Dr. 90210, when a clean swoop across the room made me realize that the common denominator amongst the female crowd was that of: nose, lips, tits, and tummy tucks. Little attention was paid, for I was happy just to watch from afar. As the night went ahead, and alcohol was consumed (by me and all the crowed), the vision became clearer; and the “filter” on the “eye camera” was removed. From so called friendly gestures to drooling smiles on perverted faces, the evening progressed , on an even happier tone. Who is with whom, and moreover, who’s returning with whom?



The microphone is being passed from one punter to another, in an attempt to impress; not the one you came along with; but those YOU can pick up and add to YOUR black book of conquests. The song ends (thankfully in most cases) and everyone applauds out of politeness. Your table of four quickly becomes of six, eight, five, nine…for those sharing your euphoria, are sharing it with others as well.
A non intended brush of a skin, a masked smile, a whiff of a smell; transport you for a split second into a not so imaginary world. You try to recollect and auto analyze what was the reason that brought you here.
A sense of guilt which you refute; for you haven’t done anything wrong YET; allows you to enjoy it even further. It is just another boost for the ego you say. But in the back of your head the bitter truth sets in. A voice inside your mind keeps on telling you that although this chapter of your life has come to its painful conclusion, you won’t regain your youth.
So you go back home and scribble your thoughts on paper.

The fourth part of this enclosed song says it all:



"It's getting late, for scribbling and scratching on the paper
Something's gonna give under this pressure
And the cracks are already beginning to show
It's too late
The weekend career girl never boarded the plane
They said this could never happen again
So wrong, so wrong

This time it seems to be another misplaced rendezvous
This time, it's looking like another misplaced rendezvous
With you
The parallel of you, you ."

On a personal note

Not a day goes by without frustration in this nation of ours. Fanaticism and hatred (although sometimes masked) is predominant. Turning a blind eye is no longer a feasible cure, nor is it a solution. For those fortunate enough to have had the chance to leave for a while and encounter a hint of civilization; reality is bitter. Bitter in a sense, that upon our come back, we believed that we could actually make a difference. Little did we know that such a difference meant that we were to be looked upon as “new born hippies”, “traitors”, “high on illegal substances”, “dreamers”,…etc; even “mentally challenged”. Nevertheless some stuck to their grounds and beliefs, and tried their hardest to live up to their new found morals and ideas. In order to do that, they professed what they deeply believed in; mainly tolerance and understanding.
On a more personal note:
When the shit hits the fan (and it did), having come back to the motherland in all good intentions; reality hits you hard on the head. One deception after another on all levels, you find yourself slowly drained from all that is human within you. The “animal” takes over, and just like a “Dhamer, Bundy, Manson,…etc”, you apply your own personal frustration to your geographical context and long for “blood”. Some even will go as far as to wish for yet another war in order to justify their own perverted way (the only way they know) to vent their frustration, and feel empowered again. For in your (Lebanese that is) darkest hour, the trend has always been to grab your weapon and use it, regardless.
For a split second lately I belonged to that category, I was aching for blood, death and destruction, as a stage that would alleviate my own shortcomings (but then again, I am Lebanese); and for that I ask forgiveness.




Armalite, street lights, night sights
Searching the roofs for a sniper, a viper, a fighter
Death in the shadows hell maim you, hell wound you, hell kill you
For a long forgotten cause
On not so foreign shores
Boys baptized in war
Boys baptized in war

Morphine, chill scream, bad dream
Serving as numbers on dog tags, flak rags, sandbags
Your girl has married your best friend, loves end, poison pen
Your flesh will always creep, tossing turning sleep
The wounds that burn so deep, burn so deep

Your mother sits on the edge of the world when the cameras start to roll
Panoramic viewpoint resurrect the killing fold
Your father drains another beer, he’s one of the few that cares
Crawling behind a Saracens hull from the safety of his living room chair
Forgotten sons
Forgotten sons
Forgotten sons

And so as I patrol in the valley of the shadow of the tricolor I must fear evil
For I am but mortal and mortals can only die
Asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless faceless watchers
That parade the carpeted corridors of Whitehall
Who orders desecration, mutilation, verbal masturbation in the guarded bureaucratic wombs
Minister, minister care for your children
Order them not into damnation
To eliminate those who would trespass against you
For whose is the kingdom, the power, the glory for ever and ever
Amen
Amen
Amen
Amen
Amen
Amen
Amen

Halt who goes there! - death!!
Approach ... friend
You’re just another coffin on its way down the emerald aisle
When your children’s stony glances mourn
Your death in a terrorists smile
The bombers arm placing fiery gifts on the supermarket shelves
Alley sings with shrapnel detonate a temporary hell
Forgotten sons
Forgotten sons

From the dole queue to the regiment a profession in a flash
But remember Monday signings when from door to door you dash
On the news a nation mourns you unknown soldier count the cost
For a second you’ll be famous but labeled posthumous


Forgotten son
Forgotten son
Forgotten son
They’re still forgotten, they’re still still forgotten
Peace on earth and mercy mild, mother brown has lost her child
Just another forgotten son

Musical interlude

Et pour faire plaisir a MC,

Died in vain part "II"

The year is 1976, and the death counter is still rolling over fast. What follows is a mention of a few series of events (and not only death toll) which had in impact on Lebanon.

7th January : Battle of Tal Al Zaatar and Jisr Al Basha, numerous dead on both sides (over 2000).

16th January : Lebanese aviation (yes we did have one) raid over Khaldeh and Aramoun, 30 dead.

20th January : Damour massacre, 350 dead.

30th January : Ahmad El Khatib declares the creation of "The Army Of Arab Lebanon"

11th March : Failed coup attempt by Ahmed El Khatib.

21st March : Mourabitoun enter down town and take over the Holiday Inn hotel, 365 dead.

1st June : Syria intervenes in Akkar and brake the siege in Kobeyyate from the Army Of Arab Lebanon.

16th June : kidnapping followed by the murder of US Embassador Francois Meloy, US economic adviser Rober Waring and their driver.

21st June : The Arab Peace Keeping Force enters Lebanon.

27th June : The battle of the Palestinian camps started.

12th August : Death toll in Tal Al Zaatar reaches 2000.

17th August : PSP & PLO Shell Ouyoune Al Simane and Faraya.

28th September : Syrian and Christian forces attack Palestinian factions in Sannine, Aintoura and Mtein.

16th Novemeber : Death toll reaches 60,000.

More GLOOMY reminder to come later !

Died in vain part "I"

Tensions are running high lately and our nation’s future never looked gloomier. Speculation, analysis and even wishful thinking are polluting the blogosphere which I frequent daily. A new breed of even more FUCKED UP Lebanese has emerged and is utilizing the technology, we (children of the 60’s) never had in order to, not only foresee the future; but to make our martyrs roll over in their graves.
Walid Jumblatt’s latest (but not last) 180 degree turn, Michel Suleiman call for all nations to extend the arm of friendship towards our sister in the north, and the latest army helicopter mishap; made my blood boil once again. That very same blood that I am more than willing to shed once again in order to ensure freedom and PRIDE for my son within the 10452 Km2 that was once this great nation of ours.
The events are too numerous to count (but if I find the time), I will remind you of them, even in small parts. Therefore I will start with the following LOCAL historical facts (with no analysis and opinions) in the hope that I will have the stamina, time and courage, to see it through the end.
Unfortunately there is no end, as we are still encountering the remaining of a war that did not end (la ghaleb wa la maghloub). So bare with me, my devoted (few readers) for this is nothing but the first part of many.
Here we go counting the dead:
1975.
13th April : Bus incident Ain Al Roummaneh, Kataeb V/S PLO (from Tal Al Zaatar) 31 dead.
20th May: Dekwaneh, Kataeb V/S PLO, 24 dead.
27th October: Morabitoun take over Murr tower, no official accounts of dead people.
1st December: Israel attacks south of Lebanon, 111 dead.
And this is only a few months within the start of the civil war.
The following posts will depict my own recollection of 15 years of USELESS MURDER, one year after the other. But be aware that the conclusion will not fall short of a call to arms and total refusal to bow down to the present power. The power of the Hizb and all that it entails. Today I am no longer a pacifist, nor am I a bystander who is willing to look upon veiled women with a smile upon his face.
Today (once again) I declare my own (Lebanese) “Jihad”.

I got a name, and it is Abou Tarek!

Like the pine trees lining the winding road
I’ve got a name, I’ve got a name
Like the singing bird and the croaking toad
I’ve got a name, I’ve got a name
And I carry it with me like my daddy did
But I’m living the dream that he kept hid
Moving me down the highway
Rollin me down the highway
Moving ahead so life won’t pass me by

Like the north wind whistling down the sky
I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song
Like the whippoorwill and the baby’s cry
I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song
And I carry it with me and I sing it loud
If it gets me nowhere, Ill go there proud
Moving me down the highway
Rollin me down the highway
Moving ahead so life won’t pass me by









And I’m gonna go there free
Like the fool I am and Ill always be
I’ve got a dream, I’ve got a dream
They can change their minds but they can’t change me
I’ve got a dream, I’ve got a dream
Oh, I know I could share it if you want me to
If you’re going my way, I’ll go with you
Moving me down the highway
Rollin me down the highway
Moving ahead so life won’t pass me by.

"Through the (Lebanese) barricades"

"Mother doesn’t know where love has gone
She says it must be youth
That keeps us feeling strong
See it in her face, that’s turned to ice
And when she smiles she shows
The lines of sacrifice
And now I know what they’re saying
When the sun begins to fade
And we made our love on wasteland
And through the barricades
Father made my history
He fought for what he thought
Would set us somehow free
He taught me what to say in school
I learned off by heart
But now that’s torn in two
And now I know what they’re saying
In the music of the parade
We made our love on wasteland
And through the barricades
Born on different sides of life
We feel the same
And feel all of this strife
So come to me when I’m asleep
Well cross the line
And dance upon the street
And now I know what they’re saying
When the drums begin to fade
We made our love on wasteland
And through the barricades
Oh, turn around and Ill be there
There’s a scar through my heart
But Ill bare it again
I thought? we were the human race
But we were just another border-line-case
And the stars reach down and tell us
That there’s always one escape
I don’t know where love has gone
And in this trouble land
Desperation keep us strong
Fridays child is full of soul
With nothing left to lose
There’s everything to go
And now I know what they’re are saying
Its a terrible beauty we’ve made
So we make our love on? Wasteland
And through the barricades
Now I know what they’re are saying
As hearts go to their graves
We made our love on? Wasteland
And through the barricades."

Hard to listen to, but poignant !

A word of caution. Some of you might need to have ear plugs handy; but still I find it less annoying than listening to our hatred filled politicians.

A simple dedication.

This one is for you "Jester the court fool".

My favorite part starts with "the fool escaped from paradise". Many of Marillion's songs remind me of the Jester in me, until the lead singer ( Fish ) left the band I think in 1984.
If you ever have the chance do check their music and their lyrics.

Can't stand it anymore

Almost everyday I check Blacksmiths of Lebanon 's page (amongst others), which has been idle for a while ( the hosts are on vacation). And from there I pick up links to news feeds (yes I am lazy). For a while now as soon as open their page and scroll down (just a few clicks on the mouse), I get the picture of a smiling Walid Mouallem.
Please Blacksmiths enough already! Cut your holidays short and update your page, this has become torture.

The Future

Not in the best of moods once again; so I gave the jester in me the night off and replaced him with the prophet of doom. I guess that frequenting almost daily blogs dealing with Lebanese politics is hazardous to one’s mental health.
Living in Lebanon can be hazardous as a friend of mine, David, discovered lately.
No matter how hard I try to hold on to optimism and sanity, the forces of LOCAL evil always find a way of dragging me down. I had decided lately not to watch the local news in order to bring back a false sense of well being, but found myself drawn back into this cesspool of hatred that is the main ingredient in Lebanese daily life. I thought I was over David’s encounter with “Divine” Lebanese terror when I saw him with Nat and the kids all healthy; until by mistake, I watched an array of more bearded men giving me a clear view of what the future might hold. As if the understanding between Yellow and Orange was not troubling enough, a bunch of Salafists (if the terminology is correct) extremists joined in the club of those narrow sighted bigots.
So I switched off the TV and decided to listen to some music. How appropriate it was that the first song on I heard was the Future by Leonard Cohen (An artist that is banned in Lebanon for being Jewish).
At the risk of being labeled once again a “3amil” I will share with the few readers I have the lyrics and the song, which I dedicate to all the peace loving people who are as disillusioned as I am.

“ Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it's lonely here,
there's no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that's an order!
Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that's left
and stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I've seen the future, brother:
it is murder.
Things are going to slide, slide in all directions
Won't be nothing
Nothing you can measure anymore
The blizzard, the blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant.
You don't know me from the wind
you never will, you never did
I'm the little jew
who wrote the Bible
I've seen the nations rise and fall
I've heard their stories, heard them all
but love's the only engine of survival
Your servant here, he has been told
to say it clear, to say it cold:
It's over, it ain't going
any further
And now the wheels of heaven stop
you feel the devil's riding crop
Get ready for the future:
it is murder.
Things are going to slide ...
There'll be the breaking of the ancient
western code
Your private life will suddenly explode
There'll be phantoms
There'll be fires on the road
and the white man dancing
You'll see a woman
hanging upside down
her features covered by her fallen gown
and all the lousy little poets
coming round
tryin' to sound like Charlie Manson
and the white man dancin'.
Give me back the Berlin wall
Give me Stalin and St Paul
Give me Christ
or give me Hiroshima
Destroy another fetus now
We don't like children anyhow
I've seen the future, baby:
it is murder.
Things are going to slide ...
When they said REPENT REPENT .”



If only this song was not written and sung by Leonard Cohen, maybe then my fellow Lebanese would get the true meaning !
TFEH!

Ă bon entendeur salut !

Je ne vais pas mâcher mes mots, à bon entendeur salut !
Regardless of politics and the latest bilateral talks with our sisterly neighbour; I would like tonight to rant about MY own perception of Lebanon. Lebanon my country of origin, the Lebanon I once vowed to protect, the Lebanon I believed in.
In the mid seventies, hell broke loose and many Lebanese took up arms. Each and everyone fought for what they thought was the Lebanese cause by “excellence”. Allegiances were made, broken, replaced; while Lebanese shed their blood (in vain). Hundreds of ceasefires were agreed upon, but never respected; hatred grew stronger. The Palestinians turned from refugees to main instigators of death and destruction in their vain attempt to create a state within a state (the Kissinger plan), the Syrian army switched from a member of an Arab Peace Keeping force into an invader. Even Somalia (via its mercenaries, thanks to the Iztaz and Amal) became a source death. Our neighbour in the south, one moonless night decided to join in the bloodiest show of force. Some (Lebanese) did see in the southerly incursion a way towards salvation and the establishment of their own vision of Lebanon.
But this is war, one might say; all is allowed.
All is allowed. Even snipers on roof tops being paid by the kill. People being tied to car bumpers (alive) and being dragged down the street until dead. People having their throats cut with a Boucher knife from ear to ear for belonging to a different sect. Entire villages and towns massacred...etc.
Remember those days my fellow Lebanese; but also remember those who sponsored such terror (both local and foreign). Those are the same people whom today claim to have your best interest at heart.
Guns, canons, mortars, ammunitions, shells, tanks, and hefty banker’s checks were given to us graciously by those who today claim to have our best interest at heart, and yes I am repeating myself.
10 years within our civil war, all conflicting parties knew that an absolute win was nothing else than a pipe dream. This fact did not stop them from further pushing Lebanon into the abyss.
Our neighbor from the north waved its magical wand and the war stopped (invasion of Kuwait, Desert Storm, American foreign policy, Syria being the last Arab country to give its OK, Michel Aoun in the French embassy in pajamas...etc) and we became a satellite state for an oppressive neighborly regime. Meanwhile the biggest threat to Lebanon was growing stronger; Hizbullah was enjoying a free reign.
From endless months of camping paralyzing down town Beirut and causing many business to close, to yet another divine victory when a child killer was freed; this cancer was further injected into the few remaining healthy limbs of our country.
Wake up people of this once great nation, for M14’ers have sold out and Hizbollah has officially taken over. Do not expect much from the upcoming elections, Syria’s influence is once again predominant.

Legalized robbery !

I live in the mountains in an apartment comprising of two bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, Bath and a garden.
The electricity I use goes mainly towards the following:
TV
PC always on
Washing machine 3to 4 times a week
2 fridges
A water heater on a timer from 5 to 7 AM and PM
VAP mosquito killer at night
Extractor fan over the oven when I cook
Ironing
And other NORMAL activities.

NO A/C

Today when I came home after a hard day's work the attached was on my door.



424,000 LBP (About 283 US Dollars) electrical bill. Last time such a gift was presented to me I called upon an electrician who checked the entire house and even changed the "resistance" on the water heater just to be safe. I was also told that there was no use in complaining as the electrical meter was properly read and accounted for. My bills did go down after that but, were always above the average of ALL my neighbors (even those with A/C). EDL checked the meter and claims that all is working fine
I think that every month subscribers are drawn like lotto, and EDL adds to their bills a few of those belonging to our "Divine Protectors" who until today refuse to pay their dues.

So do not be surprised if next time you come over, we will be drinking on candle light and playing guitar and singing in lieu of music.

Shame on a nation !

What to say and how to say it without further aggravating the situation to those who were forcibly silenced.
Shame on a nation that doesn’t protect its citizens from a blatant attack on their freedom!
Shame on a nation that sits idle while its citizens are prohibited to do their jobs!
Shame on a nation that doesn’t provide its citizens with legal recourse against barbarism!
Shame on a nation that openly allow thugs access to its citizens private data!
Shame on a nation that claims democracy and freedom to its citizens, but does nothing to uphold it!
Shame on a nation that has a policy of turning a blind eye under the excuse of “avoiding conflict”!
Although unaware of the details of this sordid affair, today I am once again ashamed of my Lebanese identity.
To my friends at CB I apologize for my country.

A blast from MY past !

The glow
Around your face
When you see
The lightning race
I know
I'm very near
And I can hear
The thunder

A woman
Of perplexity
A woman
For eternity
A woman
Of the land
A woman
For a man
I'm down
On my knees
And I'm saying
Please believe me

It's hard
To fall out
Of love
Completely
It's harder
To find a way
To come back
Discreetly
To speak
Of things anew
To weep
In quiet blue

Brocade upon your bed
Memories should fade
At least of you
A scepter
Of ice and fire
A specter
Of my desire
A girl-child
Of such loveliness
The woman
Of my emptiness

A woman
Of famed
Renown
A woman
Who kicks the clown
A woman
Of the land
A woman
For a man

Bob Dylan and me.

The times they are a changing, or are they?
Mama took the gun away from me, for I wasn’t supposed to shoot it. But little did Mama know that guns could be borrowed, owned or hidden. Many were the roads taken for a man to be free, all drenched in blood and hatred; and the answer is still blowing in the wind. Mr Tambourine man and puff the magic dragon were daily visitors offering their services for free. The chimes of freedom rang loudly with the promise of a victorious dawn whilst in the rare moments of reprieve or sanity, lay lady lay and I want you brought some twisted humanity. We are, and will remain forever young for God has blessed us; and our wishes will come true. How many times did I say farewell to my darling just to see that another day was dawning. Death is not the end, is what kept me going along with my refusal to surrender to King Crimson’s Epitaph.
Years later, and the blessed arrival of Tarek, to my dismay; a hard rain is gonna fall.
Although my son Tarek is a fan of Dylan, I wish for him not to have to relate to the following song.

“Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest dark forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and speak it and think it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.”

The turn of a not so friendly card!

There is no reprieve from the stress of daily (Lebanese) life and from family ties which I thought I had severed a while back. The past month has been nothing but what I could easily compare to scenes from a B movie. Just when I thought “it was safe to get back into the water”, and having laid the dead to rest, Beelzebub raised it’s ugly (but familiar) head once more.
I started to let go of my family years ago, after many failed attempts to hold a middle ground. My separation was finally successful (or so I thought) when I was neck high in shit and was left alone to my own demise. To the dismay of many I am still here today alive and kicking and living my life free of them all.
But am I ?
Painful circumstances have brought me back to my grandfather’s house in our little village in the south, where I still have vivid memories of a very happy and innocent childhood away from family feuds. My son of twelve, until this past Sunday, never knew that he had so many, uncles, aunts, cousins, great uncles...etc, if it was not for the anticipation of yet another loss.
This past Sunday, most of my close relatives gathered in Selim’s (my grandfather) house in an attempt to bring joy to my uncle’s heavy heart (having lost a young son 3 weeks earlier).
Tarek (and all the other kids in my family) were nothing but a bundle of joy who brought back life into what once was a vibrant home at the very end of quiet and quaint piece of Lebanon we claimed our home.
There I also got reacquainted with my Godson, whom I haven’t seen for more than 9 years. When he first saw me and called me (Jokingly) Godfather, my heart crumbled. I remember how we rushed his mother to hospital his father and I when his was due to be born. I remember the look on his father’s face when his birth was announced. This joy I felt inside was somehow short lived when he told me that he couldn’t recollect much of the time we spent together in England (when I left he was not even 4 years of age); but my heart rejoiced when he made me feel that the bond we had is still stronger than ever.
My son last Sunday had the chance the experience a part of what I lived every summer when I was growing up. My son last Sunday witnessed firsthand that he is part of an extended family. My son last Sunday had the time of his life.
I wish for my son to nurture this new feeling of belonging, to uphold true family values; and not to fall victim to elderly misconstrued pride and vanity.
No matter whom holds the deed to my Grandfather’s house now, this house has always been, and will always remain a meeting place for all our kids, and their kids to come.
Jeddo Selim, your legacy will always live on, in my heart, and I know of others as well!

Hallelujah !

Oh happy day, for those murderous crooks we call politicians took turn late tonight, reassuring us (retarded inhabitants of a country called Lebanon) that they have finally reached an agreement as to the long awaited ministerial statement.
Hallelujah !
The long awaited couple of pages filled with dribble and crap is about to be made public, for all of us (stupid idiots) to analyze and argue over.
What will follow is and endless stream of opinions and ill founded studies as to what this statement (when adopted by the cabinet, or shall I say” kabbineh”) actually means.
All parties are victorious. All parties have registered their own reservations in order to save face and not admit that they have been outsmarted by the greatest evil this land of ours (and of many others for what it seems) , has encountered throughout its long history. Nitpicking over a few words written in the language of imagery and vagueness by excellence, will never dispute the fact that EVIL has won yet another battle. And by evil I specifically point my finger (and the middle one)towards Hizbullah.
As I am writing this text, the “ministerial statement” is not out yet; but I wouldn’t hold my breath, for I know for sure (and I am willing to bet my life) that it will fall short of every single iota of what we once called the Cedar Revolution.
Most of, if not the majority of those morons we call Lebanese will actually believe that “national unity” is now at hand.
Wake up you deranged, amnesiac, selfish, cowardly bastards and realize that the mere mention of the “MOUKAWAMEH” is a capitulation.
An advertisement should be placed in the “al wassit”, reading :
“A country is seeking patriots from all ages. Applicants should have a sense of pride and dignity, firm belief in the history of the motherland, willing to work long and hard hours for the benefits in the long term are well worth it. Syrians and Iranians need not apply.”

He is heavy, he is not my brother !

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’’

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.

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"

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

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.

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).

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.

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!

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.

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

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

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 !

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 !

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.

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!