Adonis Diaries

Archive for August 29th, 2009

11.  I learned from life

12.  Better late than never

13.  Havin’ a ball

14.  Don’t mind living

15.  My warpy world

16.  The loser

Larva Dressed in multicolor gala attire

“The larva of yesterday is dressed in multicolor gala attire”; you may have as well said the butterfly looked sensational in her dress but that would sound insipid and boring static descriptions in the world of poets. It does not mean that plain talk is not the job of poets: imaginations carry through the purpose of reminding the people of the spirit of the Land far better than logic and reasoning.

It might be useful nowadays to add butterfly in parenthesis as people have no time or patience to figure out anything unless spoon fed; that would not be a bad idea if it encourages reading splendid poems and retaining magnificent imageries.  Kids should be encouraged to memorize imageries.  Imagery in poems is the foundations of affordable imaginations: poets are down to earth and have keen eyes to see the horrors and ugliness of the “As is” and are impatient to refuting the miseries of reality, ugly behavior and customs, and transmitting the urgency for a change, always feasible changes; at least of worthy poets.

Every survivor on earth, plants, insects, or mammals, is constantly fighting the good fight to surmount the difficulty of living on earth.  Long lasting changes are not done by exhibiting fire works or victory celebrations but the daily struggle to live for another tomorrow.

Earth atmosphere and environment was initially noxious to organic living creatures.  After millions of years of evolution and catastrophes anything still surviving was incredibly lucky to exist today. Heck, oxygen was meant to be a poisonous gas to man until he adapted to a certain mixture. Earth was not created for man; he evolved against all odds, in an almost improbable continuous string of lucky hazards.  Yet, we cannot withstand a tree blocking a stupid view, birds chanting by dawn and disturbing our unnatural cycle, a flower not looking as pretty as a rose, a neighbor less fortunate or more wealthy.  Yet, we resent someone who decided to rest on a Wednesday instead of a Friday, Saturday, or a Sunday.

Poets need to be unsatisfied; they carry the message to communicate the will of reducing inhuman realities to a human order of acceptability.  Poets are frequently revolting on the world of “as is” and changing life according to affordable imaginations. The value of poetry is essentially to be present in the center of time and space.

Imagery is to agree for passionate re-conquest of nature and our standards of living.  The main ingredient for poets is the potential to creating a sustainable life by offering imageries that make changes feasible and attainable by the spirit.  Poets are infusing this hope that inhuman conditions of nature or man-made could be interacted with to accommodate humanity and its surroundings.

Man has been struggling for all kinds of emancipation that cover forms of liberations such as slavery, exploitation of the masses, women rights, oppression of minorities, domestic brutality, colonized people, and so many other forms of social domination that restrained the blooming of human spirit.

Maybe one of the major factors for the failure of successive attempts for social and individual liberation was the failure to regularly read poems to the illiterates who were shouldering the entire burden of reforms and revolts. The masses of workers and peasants respect and appreciate poems that talk to their spirit far more than the well to do.  If the people managed to be that patient and sustained misery and daily toils for too long it is because they were free to recite poems and sing love songs and songs of freedom after a hard day of labor. External political changes for reforms fail to mature and take roots simply because the internal changes in the people were forgotten or not taken seriously.

Pablo Neruda, the poet of Chili and South America recount the dignity of the hard working people and how they sheltered him and fed him during his escape to exile:

Along the grand night, throughout the enitre life,

Tears on paper, from attire to attire,

I marched in those misty days,

The fugitive to the police:

I was handed over from hand to hands.

Grave is the night but man disposed of his fraternal signs.

By blind roads and plenty of shadows

I reached the lighted tiny star that was mine.

I don’t feel alone in the night.

I am people, innumerable people.

My voice carries pure force

To cross the silence and germinate in the obscurity.

Neruda recites a poem to thousands of miners who instinctively removed their hat and head gears in respect:

I write for the people.

Many cannot read my poems with their rural eyes.

Time is soon; a line,

Air that disrupted my life;

Will reach their ears.

They will say ”He was a comarad”

That is enough; this is the crown of laurel that I desired.

 I made him a responsible official 

            A responsible official should satisfy at least four necessary requisites: 1) he should be rational, 2) has a rational position, 3) and has the will to disseminate his position, 4) and has the courage to take responsibility for his decisions, including submitting to the consequences of his failed policies and individual mistakes, and including spending jail terms without hate to the commissions or justices.

 

            A leader is a responsible official who shake off his major setbacks with an alternative rational position and resumes the struggle.  Those who appoint themselves leaders with total impunity and with Papal immunity to mistakes are the responsibility of the citizens: they allowed their “leaders” to extend their stay and learn the ropes of abuse and sleazy loopholes.

 

            A responsible citizen is the one willing to bear the burdens; to critic the responsible officials and leaders for failing to abide by the necessary criteria; to prove to the elected officials and the appointed ones that the citizen is not living in an island; that he is active within his community and intends on exercising group pressures.  

 

The normal citizen has no obligations of pre-requisite criteria safe learning to acquiring rational thinking: the normal citizen didn’t apply to be a candidate to any office and he didn’t apply for a paid state job for the state to increase his taxes.

Henry Miller’s purely porno book

I am reading a French translation of “Opus Pistorum” by Henry Miller and I still don’t know what opus pistorum means but the book is plainly porno.  (A comment reminded me that it means The Work of the Miller).

The epilogue explains how this book came to be published.

Henry Miller visited Larry Edmunds’ library in Hollywood (California) in 1940. Miller had spent many years in Paris and knew very few people in California.

Milton Luboviski was partner in the library and used to offer Miller some money and places to bunk.  By 1941 Luboviski started selling porno manuscripts for clients in the movie industry such as Joseph Mankiewicz, Julian Johnson, Daniele Amfitheatrol, Billy Wilder, Frederick Hollander, and Henry Blanke

Henry Miller proposed to write short porno stories that should sell for one dollar per page; Luboviski was to keep the rights of the stories.

After a few months the stories were gathered in a book that Miller titled “Opus Pistorum”.  Luboviski typed 5 copies in 1942 and sold four of them and he saved the original.

When in need of money and had multiple exotic personal experiences and can write with humor then writing porno manuscripts is a legitimate business.

I will offer a few excerpts and will skip the porno details. Miller calls his tail or prick John Thursday (Jean Jeudi).  The opening pages set the tones of the porno short stories.

“I have been living in Paris for so long that I’m no longer surprised of anything.  Paris is not like New York; you don’t need to deliberately seek adventures. Life flushes you out in unbelievable locations and all kinds of incredible surprises track you down. I am visiting a shop and the 13 years old girls is masturbating her dad and then sucking ravenously his tail…”

“Billie and Jean are American Lesbian living in Paris.  Billie dresses as men and act like one; she does second rate aquarelles to maintain Jean and relax her nerves.  Billie allows Jean to have sex with men because she is not purely lesbian.

Billie visits Henry (Alf in the stories) to get to an understanding with respect to Jean; she knows that Jean has been visiting Alf. Alf satisfies Billie’s worry that his intention toward Jean are not honorable; in return Billie sign an agreement by satisfying Alf’s sexual desires.

Billie refuses categorically the anus way because it is pervert.  Alf is fucking her vigorously the normal way but Billie is showing signs of boredom: Billie is drawing on the wall during the intercourse with a pencil and her rouge stick. Alf is upset and use force to enter Billie in the anus.  Alf managed this feat because Billie adopted man reactions instead of showing her claw or attempting to kick in the balls.  Billie threatens Alf with calumnies and hollering, but to no effect. Alf did not manage to get Billie to reach orgasm but at least Billie will no longer visit him without female bodyguards.”

“Her asshole agitates; it is alive; it contracts and breathes. You might not discover the secret of the universe through that path, but it is far more exciting than observing your own navel.”

“Alexandra converted into Catholicism and her priest confessor initiated her to worshiping the devil too.  Alexandra got deeply involved in mysticism and exotic cults and confessed to Miller that devils would appear in her dreams pretty alive. All the devils were gorgeous young men; a few had three sexual functioning tails; one would be inserted in the mouth, another in the cunt, and the third would enter the rectum and extends to sniff the tail in the mouth…

Miller or (Alf in the stories) participated as witness to one of the devils’ worshiping sessions. The priest entered in his normal ceremonial attire; he was also wearing a red hat with two corns.

A lady undressed and lied on the officiating table; the priests slaughtered a coq and let the blood drip and smear the naked body.  A wood statue of the devil was carried inside with a tail ejecting red wine when activated by sucking. An orgy followed and led by the priest.  It was not outrageous or out of the normal since no human sacrifices was offered.”

“Toots confessed that she was initiated by a Chinaman.  Toots is very articulate and precise in her language: I figured out that the man was an old tiny Chinese who owns a Laundromat, leg bowed, chest curved inside…I even pissed in her asshole

“You cannot take a walk with Arthur without incredible events happening.  Arthur usually tones down his stories to sound credible but the realities are far more hallucinating.

I am trolling with Arthur and he picks up a woman wallet off the street. It contains no money but a picture of a beautiful blonde lady called Charlotte.  We decided to knock at her door nearby: we needed a free drink and whatever other sexual freebies that might come along.  A kid’s voice answered.

We are facing a midget woman. She works in circus and is taking a well deserved rest.  Charlotte brings us whiskey and we serve from the bottle as we need.  Charlotte is beautiful; her thighs are “pawable“; her behind and bosoms are normal with respect to her stature; I look at Arthur and I realize that he is having the same thoughts…

One day Charlotte visited Arthur; he was not home and she left him a note.  Arthur joined me and he was very agitated. He is curious how midget woman are, but he is apprehensive of going solo.  We visited Charlotte; a monster German shepherd, big as a house attacked us; Charlotte attached the molosse in another room.

Arthur wants to know all the particularities of midgets and how different they are from normal people. It turned out that they are as different among themselves as normal people are among normal people; the hardest problem is finding tiny shoes.

The tails of the giant men were as big as the baseball bat that Charlotte uses. They had sex with Charlotte with exaggerated fever; Alf kept apprehensive that his tail might do serious damages, but Charlotte was pretty flexible and accommodating.  The monster dog got too excited and got released from his prison and chains. The dog raped Charlotte as a piston sliding at 100 miles an hour. The two men watched for a couple of minutes and then they figured out that the dog will be very famished after the exercise and they left in a hurry”.

Sam Backer is a rich American businessman trying to conquer Paris openness to sex.  Sam has already experienced with Tania, an adolescent with plenty of expertise but he doesn’t know it.  Alf present Sam to Alexandra, Tania’s mother. Sam would like to meet the mother and he hits off with Alexandra.

Now Sam is confused; he is worried about this innocent Tania and how to arrange things.  Tania is playing her big game as the totally passive inexperienced girl.  Alf had plenty of sexual parties with both mother and daughter and knows all about them but he is not going to inform Sam and exacerbate the situation.  Sam had told his wife Ann (intent on playing the tourist all the way), that he was playing poker with Alf while Alf was polishing Ann that night in his apartment.  Now Ann has rented a “garconiere” to meet people; she is falling for Billie who has been selling Ann erotic aquarelles.

Alf and his friends Sid and Ernest made Ann drunk and took nude pictures of Ann fornicating with them and with half a dozen strangers.  Tania had enticed Sam to have sexual intercourse with his own daughter Snuggle who has become a very experienced bitch by associating with Tania.  Sam got hold of Ann’s horny pictures and has lost it.  Sam is fucking simultaneously his wife and daughter and planning to invite Paris to an orgy party. After the party, Sam intends to beat up harshly Ann and Snuggle and send them packing to the good old USA.

Note: One night, I got up at 1 a.m. and could not go back to sleep because of a bout of sneezing. I read “opus pistorum” for three hours. I did not finish the book that morning. For 24 hours, I lived with a hard on and could not sleep, though I felt weak and needed to get some sleep. Miller would have described my walk as “a limping gait” throughout the day.

Last Day of an Epic War 

            This is Monday August 14, 2006 of my diary.  The war has been going on for 32 days so far; Israel has destroyed all Lebanon’s infrastructure seaports, airports, highways, and polluted our sea with mazout. At 8 a.m. Israel decided to stop the military activities.  Last night, Israel poured its last minutes of vengeance and hatred on Lebanon by dropping thousands of various bombs and rockets on southern Beirut, the Bekaa and Akkar districts.  There are many indications that Israel used bombes that spread thousands of tiny bombs against individuals (cluster bombs); a few cases of injuries happened this morning when children manipulated these tiny booby bombs.        

            Israel dropped leaflets warning that it will target Beirut if missiles are activated. Israel pronounced that it will maintain air, water, and ground blockades until the multinational forces take over. The UN and the Lebanese army have warned our citizens not to touch or approach suspicious objects.

            The Lebanese refugees are on the move back to their home towns in the south by the thousands; they are carrying their mattresses and blankets stacked high over their cars.  They did not wait for any kind of permissions from anyone; they did not wait for the army to lead the way, and certainly, they did not wait for Israel to give the green light to their return. They are the heroes after the cease fire that clenched our total victory over the despicable enemy.  The locals at the nearby destroyed bridges and roads are repairing as best they can and facilitating the convoys of the returnees.  It would take months for the Israeli citizens to return to their targeted settlements at the urge and plenty of incentive from their government.  The nation that won the war is the one whose citizens returned promptly to their lands.

            My niece Adreas, helped by 5 of the neighbors’ kids, cleaned the basement where William sleeps and rearranged the living room so that they can meet and play.  This place is supposed to become their meeting harbor before they disperse for outdoor activities. I guess they intend to bring their daily food supplies and they were dreaming of sleeping overnight too.

            The IDF (Israel “Defense” Forces) has vacated the town of Marjeyoun. The war is going on in the south; Hezbollah killed seven Israeli soldiers and wounded 17.  It looks like the agreement of April in 1996 all over again, after the first Qana massacre; this agreement stated that guerilla warfare is legitimate and the civilians should be are spared.  If the Lebanese government is steadfast behind the resistance fighters, it will not take four years for Israel to retreat to the Blue Line but merely one week.

            I took my youngest niece Chelsea of nine around 7 p.m. to Beit Chabab to celebrate the Eve of the Virgin Mary Day and meet a few of her friends.  This event had strong local flavors before the start of the civil war in 1975. It represents mid summer vacation and parents start worrying about the first instalement to private schools. This was no celebrations this year; though it would have been most appropriate because of the end of the cease fire and our victory.  Chelsea bought herself a hair band and another cheap toy and ate “mankouchi”. While visiting my aunt Montaha, Nasr Allah was delivering his powerful speech.  We returned about 9 p.m. and I watched the interview with our minister of Defense.

 

Note: This year too, Hassan Nasr Allah delivered a lengthy and powerful victory speech at the same time and date.  The Secretary General of Hezbollah said that the frequent threats of Israel for the last two months only chased away the tourists visiting northern Israel. Israel would love to wage another offensive war but it is too apprehensive to even think about it.  Hezbollah has no intention of escalating the tensions but it is not scared at all for another war. This time around the missiles of Hezbollah can reach any where in Israel and the resistance will respond in kinds.)

The Horror; the Silence of the Able! 

            I am single; had always been but I sometimes have horror dream.  A few of these horror stories in dreams is that I am married; I wake up in sweat.  Just imagine living in close intimacy with another sex for over 40 years.  I think married people created laughter; it must be; otherwise why hysteria is such a close relative to laughter?  When a couple is visiting then what do you think the subject of laughter is about?  It must be at the expense of the spouse (no difference in gender here).  When one of the spouses is murdered what do you think was the cause?  Someone was laughing hysterically but had no idea of the dangerous consequences.

 

Forty years have elapsed since I was twenty; it seems like yesterday; I reverted to how I used to be; I am as confused as ever; a full cycle; which is good.

 

Too many disturbing news of doom: Earth is vanishing in the year 2012.  One of the causes, as they say, is this mass of energy, larger than the Sun, that circle the sun once every 4,200 years and brings destruction and change in magnetic polarity; the cycle of this mass of energy is due in 2012.  After what I witnessed in Gaza I feel like it is about time to be cleansed once for all.  If the so-called civilized western States are unperturbed of the modern age genocide in Gaza then how humanity should be able to discriminate between good and evil?  The Horror; the Silence of the “Good Guys”, the Silence of the Able!


adonis49

adonis49

adonis49

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