Adonis Diaries

Archive for July 27th, 2009

A common sense project taking a life of its own, (July 26, 2009)

 Hands off Lebanon.

“Lebanon is not a Nation: it is a message” (Pope Jean-Paul II).  Nice try Pope for your optimism! What message again? We never believed in any message in the first place, for us to transfer and disseminate our messengers.

“Lebanon is not a Nation: it is a Carrefour (cross-road) of civilizations” (Maurice Gemayel).  Nice try Maurice. What Carrefour again?  I see; a state of art infrastructure with a Space Center; a human potential incubator for foreign investors to select from, use, abuse, and milk dry.

 “Lebanon is not a Nation: it is a project of communication facilitator, an audio-visual platform” (Joanna Choukeir). More likely a project that could fly. Sort of a guinea pig laboratory of dysfunctional people, living in a dysfunctional barely “recognized” State to study the feasibility of a futuristic dysfunctional “Global Village”.

Lebanon is not a Nation, period.   The  “leaders” of Lebanon never believed this State as such; they tailored made their concept of a State recognized by the UN.  Lebanon’s sectarian leaders lived the good life of organized chaos within their castes; they forced Lebanon’s citizens out of its borders, in disgust; “citizens” with barely a passport seeking the bare minimum of dignity and potentials for survival among stable societies with sustainable institutions. 

Lebanon is a comprador Carrefour; governments systematically taxing the poor with modern high-tech taxing facilities, to aid the comparator noble caste to fructify their businesses out of Lebanon. We are fleeing for individual professional recognition; we may receive recognition for anything but the dignity of a worthy society that could generate worthy citizens.

 The cup of dignity always overflows of the spirit within. We have proven to be meant as plain catalysts for potentials of change, which could never materialize in a sustainable spiritual survival of any kind. Our thin and porous shell never protected; what was inside never germinated to full bloom; it disintegrated prematurely.

The only spiritual dignity left is growing in south Lebanon; the region least attended to by our successive governments, because they gave up on that land since independence in 1943.  The disinherited neglected “citizens” of the frequently bombed and displaced land are returning, holding on in observation posts, monitoring the pre-emptive war plans of the enemy of occupation (Israel), resisting in the name of the entire State in their trenches; never relinquishing their faith in a sovereign Nation, commensurate to their worthy dignity.

Lebanon’s national resistance is setting the right tone and basis to satisfying a meaning of “why Lebanon should exist among nations”.  Lebanon the message, the Carrefour of civilization, of communication among cultures, and of human potentials could still be feasible if our internal enemies plainly desist of continuously maligning our resistance of liberation, land, and spirit. 

Hands off Lebanon: comprador, religious caste clerics, feudal lords… Your foreign interests parties never had good intentions for Lebanon; save us your traveling officials. 

We are to suffer another injury: the head of our Parliament wants to save the Lebanese of the ignominy and the intricacies of forming a national unity government claiming that “total blackout on news” is the solution; as if our leaders are the one’s suffering from insomnia, misery, and a bleak future.

400.  I need Him a witness (July 14, 2009)


401.  “Thus Spoken J.C” (July 15, 2009)


402.  Sugar for my brain (July 16, 2009)


403.  At will, all Fire (July 17, 2009)


404.  Hating is good for me (July 19, 2009)


405.  I have this urge: Perpetual dawn (July 19, 2009)


406.  Nonsense: it is better being normal (July 20, 2009)


407.  “Beyond, beyong Obama”: Bi-weekly report (#27); (July 21, 2009)


408.  Virgin wilderness, Pablo Neruda, blood, wind, libertad, Americana; (July 23, 2009)


409.  Venomous quotes (July 24, 2009)


410.  You have a complaint? No problem; (July 25, 2009)


411.  Jane or love innuendos (July 25, 2009)


412.  A common sense project taking a life of its own (July 26, 2009)

Hating is good for me; (July 19, 2009)

Only in the last couple of days I realized that hating is good for me.  I suspected that I am a hating (not hateful) person since adolescence, and I tried hard to shovel down this natural tendency in so many layers and varieties of indifference to emotions.

This conscious travail of circumventing my natural tendency was aided by stupid religious teaching of faked synonyms of love, such as loving the neighbors and acting charitable to the ones who diligently made it a point of honor to belittle you and sap your energy and imaginations.

I realized that hating is good for me when I noticed younger generations promising elder relatives, raising their expectations for care, and then reneging on their words.  The worst evil is when the younger generations forget completely what they promised to elder people simply because there are “urgent businesses” to satisfy, and youth cannot cater for these disposable semi-individuals who are heavy burden on time and energy.

A promise is a promise, but when it is no longer applicable because promise is done to elderly, it is within the realm of absolute evil behavior.

Hating is good for me when a mother gets busy preparing a sumptuous dinner as a welcome home party to a grown up kid who has been away for months and never cared to call.  My hating goes to both mother and children. This mother makes me puke because she failed to teach the kids that retirement means time-off those bastards; that they can fix a sandwich or bring home dishes; that they should be able to wash their cloths; that they managed to take time to think of relieving their mother from further indignities.

Hating is good for me when married children think that they have the right to dump their burdens on the shoulders of their folks of over 80 of age, knowing full well that the parents are totally impotent to be of help and only exacerbate the parents’ anxieties and insomnia.

I realized that hating is good for me in my twilight; I didn’t invest on my natural behavior or prosecute my natural capabilities when it was worth applying them; I ended up a total failure: the natural consequence of all those who fought off what were in their nature.

Loving, hating, caring, despising, and all those values are good so long that we know who we are early on, are aware of the consequences, and just control the nasty extremes.  Feeling good is a prerequisite to appreciating feeling bad, and not the reverse; and we are indoctrinated since childhood on just feeling bad for our natural tendencies, instead of toning them down one notch at a time.

Hating is not acquired; it is developed by the force of circumstances. Hating does not mean getting even indiscriminately, on the basis of perception but in responding to unjustified and uncalled for actions. If you need to exercise your hating tendencies don’t fine tune it scientifically; elevate moral outrage to a state of art, you sob.

I realized that hating is good for me, but what should I do with my late conscious discovery? I lost most of my leverages to applying it efficiently. I cannot express it verbally because it would no longer be hating but just a fleeting state of anger and the confirmation that I am good in nature.  I have to keep my hate a secret, at least wrap it in silence and in a state of total indifference.

With the requisite of emotional faked indifference, the cycle is complete: I have reached “closure” but I am not yet satisfied.  Closure would happen when I manage to exercise my hating at least once; we always think that once is enough: that is the real problem with human.

Jane or love innuendos (July 25, 2009)


            I was signing my latest book at “Barnes & something” somewhere in New York City.  I had decided to transform these utterly boring sessions into enjoyable events for me; fuck the planners and organizers: they were created for wrecking my nerves out of jealousy.  I had decided to invest an average of one minute chatting with every fan who came to visit me at the library.  Gorgeous women were submitted to over three minutes of investigations; women flooded with perfume not to my liking were thanked with a polite smile: it is good business to learn to smiling.

            I recognized a tall figure in the line but I failed to localize the circumstances: time is a vicious enemy and it does affect beauty of the body; I reckon time affects the spirit far worse but people do not comunicate long enough to find out. As her turn came she hesitated for two seconds before giving her name; I sensed that she was hoping that I’ll recall her name too.  She simply said “Jane?”.  It dawned on me like a thunderbolt.

            I roomed at her 90 years old mother while studying at the university. Jane mother was by then a tall, svelt, beautiful, and kind senile woman.  It was not Jane who hired me to stay with her mother, just having someone there close by for emergencies; heck, I was not even paid; I paid rent for a room in a smelly house.  I even had to take so many crap from two of the seven or eight grown up “children” gone for lovelier and greener pastures.  I could have been older than gorgeous Jane but she looked and behaved far more mature: she was no longer a student no matter how high was the degree I was shooting for. 

            I signed “Jane H” and looked up. Jane was surprised and had a slight semi-victorious smile.  She said “Jane H will do”.  I resumed my dedication “It feels stronger when love is shyly declared; no need to insert direct love for expressing friendly felt inclinations.”

            I vividly recall sending Jane a feedback letter on her mother’s conditions; one of the paragraphs was a bare innuendo of love declaration smartly injected within how a mother is missing her girl.  I am devoid of sensibility and lack imagination; with Jane I somehow felt that my mysterious and tumultuous love couched sentence will drive Jane home.  Jane replied a week later reminding me of that paragraph. The next week Jane visited her mother from Santa something, maybe Santa Maria, in Northern California. I would love to get a copy of that paragraph: I must have been a good sneaky writer even then.

            Jane went out on her evening jogging and returned to rub her feet with lotion.  I am crazy with strong large women feet; with athletic galbe. Jane demanded that I join her for a walk.  I dreaded that moment: I knew Jane needed direct and definit answers.  Writing is so much easier than face to face verbal challenges; especially in love matters; especially for me who lacks verbal intelligence.

            In the first few steps Jane rushed right to her point; I valiantly avoided the question; I played it dumb which was not far from reality. I went on to state how confused I was; how I had no idea why I decided to resume my higher education and oh, how miserable I feel.

            After I finished the dedication sentence I looked up at Jane who was beaming with relief from the inside; confirmation of a doubt and revenge are always welcomed emotions. I invited Jane to stay for the dinner party. Jane needed five interminable seconds to nod: closure was overpowering for her: I could live without.  You think that behavior changes with time; I was no longer kiding myself; I knew that my verbal intelligence was deteriorating at a fast pace.  I decided to learn mingling the hard way; I will obey my editor’s representative immidiately. 

            Lilie, the editor’s representative, was a striking beauty and her frequent gazes at me convinced me that definitely we had a date after the official dinner. I told Lilie “I don’t know much of New York by night. I am terribly lazy for planning.  Would you arrange for a night out the two of us? You decide for the location of your predilection”  What else could I say? I forgot the American slang; as so many other formal words.

            Dinner was served in an almost empty restaurant with plenty of space; drinks were reflecting individual moods.  Lilie was greedy with her body heat: she kept her distance from me.  A man with haphasard hair sat by me and was highly interested in the Near East problems. He wanted confirmation that Palestine is the Jewish Homeland.  I replied: “You mean that before Palestine the Jews were living in a no man’s land? That after they were transferred hundreds of years ago they still were living no where?”  The man with crazy hair got heated and blubbered something of a God given or assigned nation for the Jews.  I replied that the concept of nation is a new concept fabricated by the colonial powers to dividing the spoil and fictitiously increasing the number of their citizens by expanding their borders until determined confrontations stabilized the limits. The colonial powers inforced that concept by all kinds of coercive means.  The Zionists ideplogy was an idea of the time and found its expression in Palestine against all odds and by using the colonial ruthless means and with their blessings.

            Jane joined us and grabbed my arm and offered an excuse for an important private matter.  I was glad for the first second and then terribly worried the next second.  Jane claimed that I read minds. I retorted: “I don’t read mind. You speak so loudly to yourself; I can almost hear you.  You speak a “fleur de peau”, kind of at best skin deep”.  Jane said: “Well, were you in love with me?”  I guess I was in the driving seat this evening and in a chatting mood. I replied: “You looked beautiful, healthy, dedicated, and determined. I was relatively ugly, short, confused, miserable, and I needed you.  If I was somehow handsome and tall then I am certain that you would have commanded me to follow you. The handsome guy might not have obeyed but I would have at that time; at least to have the opportunity to travel to California and rediscover the milder weather”.

            Lilie decided to make her move as our body gestures worried her that the conversation might drag on.  Lilie approached with her taquila sunrise glass; I like taquila if you skip the sunrise but my acute thirst asked for a sip.  I had this enginius quick idea (they are many but way delayed after the real time) of selecting the location of Lilie’s purple lipstick stain and had a sip and gently gurgled.  Jane said: “How romantic” I said “I like to spread Lilie’s beneficial germs”.  I made a surreptitious exit with Lilie standing tall; I felt tall that night.


Note: this is mostly a fictitious story.




July 2009

Blog Stats

  • 1,516,358 hits

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by

Join 822 other subscribers
%d bloggers like this: