Adonis Diaries

Archive for April 2010

Filtering knowledge: Danger; 

You have got no excuses anymore to shoulder individual responsibility and acquire knowledge: Public schools are available in most States and the internet is open to everyone for information, facts, and methods in most fields of studies and for varied hobbies.

There are calls to start filtering and controlling this mass of information on the net for untenable reasons that are meant to hide the real frightening reality that is weakening the hold of central powers and multinational institutions on the kinds of knowledge we should be learning.

There are scare tactics originating from central powers that at best 50% of information and facts are not accurate or downright misleading.

Keep in mind that before the net, even a small portion of “accurate” news and information was not available to the general public: they were hidden in locked up archives or dusty sections of public libraries.

If you believe that only China and Saudi Arabia are intent on filtering information then you are being fooled big time.

The so-called democratic States are doing the filtering and control of information camouflaged under financial difficulties: large mergers into a few multinational networks capable of efficient control in times of “national emergencies “are permitted in critical sectors of the economy.

Up until the last two decades, people everywhere were subjected to culture filtered by organizations allied to central powers, supposedly most compatible to the civilization of a particular people.

Up to the 18th century, this control and culture filtering was easily feasible:  schools were rare, illiteracy was high, and the printing of works was very expensive for common people to learn and continue their education.

Billions of students have no access to viable libraries or inexpensive updated books and their only bet is the availability of Internet for global knowledge.

I am no longer reading to acquire more knowledge or to be considered a cultured man.

I read to revisit topics and compare my outmoded knowledge with current facts and methods and then having the pleasure to synthesize the topic, dump the useless and archaic knowledge in the waste bin and keeping the refreshed updated knowledge.

The best method for this process is to write on topics and disseminate them and then re-edit what you disseminated as an ongoing process.

We are living longer but not necessarily benefiting from longevity.

Older people have to be reminded by action that they have plenty of potentials to contribute to society and to improve their capabilities.  The best catalyst to keep up the good work is to find a way to disseminate your new outlooks so that you get updated with comments and counterpoints to go the extra mile into frequent updating of your knowledge.

What’s the use of living to be a hundred if you lost hope in your potential as a valid individual when you reach retirement age?

It is not acquiring a caravan and driving around the land that is of any proof that you still got the zest for life.

Now, if you capture new trends and new cultures, then synthesize what you capture with your outdated memory stores, comparing what you know and what is changing then you are developing potentials.

I have plenty of knowledge that may not interest people or is that useful to my own survival. 

One good alternative for my knowledge to become more useful to many people and to keeping my senility at bay is to write and transmit knowledge through the process of revisiting, reworking, and synthesizing knowledge, filtering incoming information and packaging it as new knowledge so that I copy my upgraded and re-edited knowledge into other medium.

Re-editing knowledge is an intelligent overhauling and updating to newer challenges. 

The job of investing energy to synthesizing your knowledge is called culture exploration.  The best way to undertaking this job is to read all kinds of manuscripts, select what is of interest to you, select what you judge is of importance to the newer generations, and to becoming better discriminator in culture and civilization.

Within our individual responsibilities and as part of quality of life I suggest the following:

First, if you are a graduate professional then, in addition to publishing in professional blogs, do create a popular blog and disseminate your knowledge in layman terms with explanation of the professional terminologies.   I have in mind all those empiricists and experimenters in natural, human, and social sciences.

Second, if you are an expert in any kinds of hobbies then, do create a popular blog to disseminate your excitement.  It might turn out that your hobby is your best alternative “gold mine” by unconditionally your enthusiasm.  The more you share the more demands for your skills and knowledge and the more money will ultimately generate.

Third, your best protection from early senility and atrophy of your brain is to invest time and energy in synthesizing and comparing new knowledge and challenges with your archaic memory stores.  The more you discharge your overcrowded useless information the more youthful your quality of life.

Read, assimilate, compare, synthesize and disseminate accurate updated knowledge.  This is a new hobby available to every reflecting individual. You have no excuses for failing this responsibility.

A golden opportunity is now available to developing mankind moral and emotional potentials in these challenging times of hopelessness toward the fast degradation of earth and the growing impotency of the United Nations.

Time to upgrade knowledge into useful discernment of accrued challenges.

Time says: “My story of eagle and storm”; (Apr. 28, 2010)

Waiting for the storm to hit

How could they cope with a storm?

What could they do in the desert?

Where is the storm?

It is on the horizon, hesitating?

A tramp at the hotel entrance.

Old eagle, maybe the last of his species,

Lonely, quiet, waiting for the storm,

A chauffeur waiting for his master.

Old eagle is tired of tasting occasional serene clouds,

An old chef tasting the remains of a banquet.

Queen storm is taking her time in front of the mirror.

Old eagle is ready to chase out the storm up front;

What could an eagle could do with a worn out beak,

Decrepit and turned straight from frequent shattering on rocks.

How could old eagle hurry to meet the storm

A tottering bicycle crossing river bed?

For years, old eagle’s white feathers have been dirty,

Dirtier than an old waiter’s apron.

A gentle breeze nudging old eagle from rock to rock

From plain to plain

A bored old soldier in a camp

Anxious for his last battle, confronting a fly.

A soothing breeze floated over old eagle;

He fluttered, a youth touched by the first girl,

Old eagle heaves a sigh; he is reminiscing youth

Strong wings spanning the valley, glittering with sweat.

Tiny birds, out of breath, trailing valiantly behind,

Mobs running after the King’s horse

Chants hoarse, hallelujah feeble.

Old eagle is back dozing, sun scorching, epoch stretching out.

Suddenly, the universe blackened;

The world is still, but old eagle’s tail is waving.

Old eagle is hopping in circle,

A baby lamb welcoming its mother.

The storm thundered and hastened,

An ice skater showing off.

Old eagle is whispering an old victory song;

An eagle fallen off mountain tops,

A bride with no pendants and no cries.

Old eagle opened his old beak and retreated,

In respect of his old master and teacher.

Old eagle is spinning amid his broken plumes,

His shouts clacking like rifle bullets

A mass of blood, proudly lecturing

On the art of thirsting and ripping apart enemies.

The storm danced around old eagle and sneaked away.

Old eagle is mad; he is jumping cat like,

A scared baby stumbling for the door knob,

A drunkard coming back in the bar

Kicked out a hundred times.

Old eagle is wailing like a baby.

The storm lost steam on the sea shore,

Medals and crowns scattered’

The bludgeoned face of a boxer,

A drunk washing his face.

Mighty storm is aching:

It recollects that a tiny creature fought to death.

Mighty storm is sprawled on the beach:

A monstrous tent shrinking to a headgear,

Tears dropping in eagle’s shape.

Note: A liberal translation from a poem by late Syrian poet Mohammad al Maghout

“Happiness is not my job”;

Am I a redundant citizen?

So far, I was not killed in wars,

Civil wars, earthquakes, or road kill.

What now? What am I to do with my life?

Years ahead of me undulating

Unlimited sea to the pelican;

Is my future already traced

A duck drawn on a class board?

Am I to express my dreams in whisper

And groping around

Or am I to let my dreams run down

Rubber liquid, glue seeping off equatorial trees?

I am a crackling wall, I am crumbling

Masons, builders fetch a stone

Prop me up quick

Glacier warming up, clefting;

Let virgin forest fresh air in

My chest is compressed, poisoned in filth and despair;

I wish badly motherlands

Turnover as fast as nude dancers;

Crows swooping away

A pair of wings for a kingdom

I want to visit the dying

I want to turn time around

A child carelessly putting fire to his world

Years passed by

Didn’t play with a toy

Didn’t grab a blanket

Didn’t cry for a shattered land.

Note:  A few images borrowed from the late Syrian poet Mohammad al Maghout.

“Trekking syndrome”

Note:  This is the edited version with further details of the previous post “Promised Paradise way on Nahr Ibrahim (Lebanon)”

My body is aching from yesterday horrendous adventure. In the last three weeks, my nephew has been trekking sections of Nahr Ibrahim (Abraham River, in the district of Byblos) in company of the wonderful and non complaining dog Misha.  Last Friday, my nephew blundered in my earshot that he is going trekking on Saturday.  I invited myself to be part of the trekking party.  My nephew didn’t respond: he was hoping that I am jesting most probably.  The next day I got my tiny backpack ready for the adventure; my nephew was pretty much lukewarm confronted with this readiness on my part; he might have serious reservations (you might read my post on trekking in Sad Shabrouh for preliminary reasons.)

Obviously, I am wearing my swimming trunk: It is a matter of trekking by a river bed but my nephew warned me that we will have to “wade” in sections of the river.  In my mind, wading means being submerged to the waist at best; I didn’t take into account reasonable factors such as slipping or falling into deep holes.

We left around 12:30 pm and quickly the mobiles brought news of a jammed highway which means most of the members will be late a couple of hours to the meeting place.  The Armenians in Lebanon were demonstrating/“celebrating” the holocaust they suffered by the Turks around 1915 and on.  William, Hanan, Misha, and I parked on the road of Nahr Ibrahim and ventured to the river shores. William, Hanan, and Misha decided to push forward in the jungle; I opted to dip my feet in the cool water.  Half an hour later a group of five showed up; among them Clown Me Sabine and her Mexican assistant Gabie.  I told Gabie: “Ahora, me lise Jorge Amado, el Brazilian de Bahia”:  I am currently reading the French version of “Navigation de cabotage” (navigating along the coastal ports of seas or rivers.)

The new comers promptly clowned lizards on the river rocks for 20 minutes; then, feeling degraded by lizard behavior they raised their adventurous spirit by one notch: They started to move from one rock to another very cautiously.  The mobiles brought news that the larger body of the trekking party is heading toward destination; the lonely small village of Shwan in the bottom of the river valley.  Thus, William, Hanan, Misha showed up and we got on the move.  We met two men carrying towels where we parked: they are to simply descend a few stairs, reach the river, take a swim and leave.

The party was of around 20 members in 5 cars.  We parked in the lowest valley village I know.  It was a road to damnation fit for barely one car but you had to backtrack for miles to let the opposite cars pass you by.  To my surprise, we were not to head straight to the river but along a long detour of 45 minutes walk: This is called “trekking syndrome” to first base.

We reached a section on the river to cross; it is about only ten meters; it is not a roaring Amazon by any stretch of the imagination. Big George hopped leisurely to the other side; he is wearing just a swimming trunk and a tiny backpack.  I was encouraged to be among the first strong hearted members of the trekking party, as is usually the case.  I tied my old pair of khaki sneaker around my neck and raised my jeans to the knees; that should do the trick. The first few steps got me face down; I am all wet and thus nothing mattered anymore.  I hurried my “wading” exercise and fell down several times before I reached destination.  I am bruised, physically and emotionally.

The few cigarettes I had in my shirt pocket are ruined; I decided to remove the cigarettes from the wet box to dry out the cigarettes; I gently picked one cigarette from the box; the filter part easily separated from the body of the cigarette; it was the same case for the other cigarettes one by one; I had the pleasure of a discovery: the process of manufacturing local made cigarettes is basically gluing the filter part to the finished cigarette.

I undressed completely save my swimming trunk.  A few members were aligning a tree trunk to permit female members crossing the river safely.  Someone said to wait for my nephew since usually he brings a rope for that purpose. I cursed my hastiness only to realize that my nephew wanted to make this adventure a Seal or Marine exercise: you have got to feel the pain!

George was in the middle of the river playing the school or scout guard in case of emergencies.  Suddenly, George exclaimed “I feel cold.” George remedy to warming up was to run like Tarzan to the promised paradise. It goes without saying that I was the first to follow George.  I was not running at all: my wet sneakers weighted 20 pounds.  Then, I saw George hiding behind a bush up a mount like Tarzan; I was climbing to rejoin him when he pre-empted me: “Don’t climb. I lost my way” Now George climbed a high rock in the river watching for any arriving company.  I ended “wading” my way by the river side to paradise land.. I am glad to report that “bodily navigation of cabotage” by river side made much sense to me.  A few members of the party advanced me using a secret path to a meeting location.  I said: “Better not stop. Let us move on to the Promised Land.”  Karim said: We have reached destination!”  That was a major letdown.  Apparently, the goal was to reach a puny and sickly waterfall.

George hopped behind the Nahr Ibrahim “Water fall”, climbed a rock and sat like Buddha.  I lacked the energy to remove my sneaker and Jean (weighting 50 pounds), then climb a slippery stupid rock and emulate Buddha.  I was the first to vacate Nahr Ibrahim Paradise and got lost on my way back; I got entangled by lichen and other sorts of nasty prickly branches.  I am back to “wading” by the river side. I realized that both my sneakers’ soles are floating free; held miserable by the tip of the shoes.  I was no longer fooling myself: a military helicopter should land and take me home.

I reached first “base” wetter than a disgruntled cat. One of soles had vanished in the river. I didn’t wait and immediately re-crossed the Rubicon wading using my favorite technique known around the world as “Adonis49 super efficient wading technique” to be emulated by Marines and Seals.  I reached second base and harangued the dozen members who smartly refused to cross the ridiculous ten-meter wide section to get going and follow the leader: I wanted to locate a sunny spot to dry my clothes.  A smart girl reminded me that the sun is no longer in vigor and barely could warm an ant.  Nothing could assassinate my plan: I have got to be first back to the parked car. On second base there was a dying bonfire left by two dozens of foreign youths we met previously.  A plastic bottle was still sending fumes; someone said: “You are burning toxic materials”.  Oh, I forgot to mention that most members of the party are lovers of ecology and of the strictest kinds; many are by far more vegetarians than cows.

I lost my way again and waited for a member to show me the correct secret path. My nephew picked up the second sole and volunteered to relieve me of my weightless backpack: any pound less is a great boost to my morale. The last 100 yards to destination was the most voluptuous and rewarding trip stretch ever.

When we arrived home my nephew placed my sole-less sneakers on my room threshold along with one sole.  I asked him: “Why did you do that?”  I thought that I left my useless sneakers where we were parked as a warning to trekkers in the village of Shwan to cancel their project.  Devilish William refused to leave any material evidences that might discourage trekkers in those damned vicinities.  I made the last effort to visit my sister just to tell her “I think it is a miracle that I am back”.  My sleeping sister could not but chuckle and interject: “You are supposed to know better than anyone what a trekking project means to William.”  This trekking was a well planned project to inflict most pains and humiliation but I turned out to be a leader on my way back; and second to leaders most of the adventure.

Gold mine hobbies: Turn your life around; (Apr. 27, 2010)

You have a job, you have a hobby, you share your hobby unconditionally, your hobby turns out to be a gold mine, and you earn a life achievement award or you leave your stamp on civilization.

History demonstrated that glorious periods in civilization around the world are usually focused in a country, a city, a university, or a center.

Glorious periods are also focused on a hobby (a lifetime love affair) such as in architecture, painting, sculpting, music, literature, sciences, math, philosophy, singing, dancing, acting, movie, and so on.

You have a talented individual with a hobby (an idea, a discipline, a program, a method, a skill) who unconditionally shared this love affair and you witness talented people converging to the location of this guru.  They meet, talk, discuss, share ideas, skills, techniques, methods, fraternize, and form a nucleus.

Most members of this nucleus end up sharing the limelight and the glory.  The failed members are frauds: they never intended to share unconditionally their love affair with the particular hobby; whatever success they generate is fleeting, and their names never stick to posterity.

Very few are born with a silver spoon, and not many discover a hobby to sustain a life time of contentment.

Very few enjoy their earning jobs; most of them try hard to fool themselves claiming that they love their job.

The best criterion (which may be too late) is “what I am doing after retirement?

You have got to earn a living but you have got to have a hobby.  If you consider time invested on your hobby as just relaxation period in seclusion, away from society then, most probably, you have been wasting your time and your life as well.

Life is a blink.

Learn to share your hobby and let the sharing group guides you in turning your hobby a mine of gold.

Demand is not an idea; demand is not an object; demand is not discovering people’s wants and satisfying these wants.

Demand is shared hobby, disseminating ideas and skills, sharing your excitements, zeal, and expertise. The more you communicate your hobby, the more you generate demand to what you are doing, can offer, and teach.

Talent and skill practice are necessary, but never sufficient to leave a mark on mankind development.

Only when you learn to share, and apply the golden rule of sharing unconditionally your talent with others talented individuals, that you may have a good chance of earning a life achievement award.

Life is a blink.

If you have a hobby then drop stupid jobs that will swallow you life; start sharing your hobby and turn your affair into a gold mine.  You will be radiating happiness, confidence, and infecting everyone around you with positive vibes.

You don’t have a hobby? Get on with it and create one.

You cannot create a hobby?  I’d rather not comment: I am not the one to kill your grain of hope.

Love is sharing unconditionally what you can do best.

Occasionally, you may not be rewarded during your lifetime, but the next generations will.

One thing is sure: you had a life and you had a purpose.

Promised Paradise way on Nahr Ibrahim (Lebanon); (Apr. 26, 2010)

My body is aching from yesterday horrendous adventure.

In the last three weeks, my nephew has been trekking sections of Nahr Ibrahim (Abraham River, in the district of Byblos,) in company of the wonderful and non complaining dog Misha.

Last Friday, my nephew blundered in my earshot that he is going trekking on Saturday.  I invited myself to be part of the trekking party.  My nephew didn’t respond, hoping that I am most probably jesting.

The next day, I got my tiny backpack ready for the adventure.

My nephew was pretty much lukewarm when confronted with this readiness on my part: he might have serious reservations (you might read my post on trekking in Sad Shabrouh for preliminary causes)

Obviously, I am wearing my swimming trunk: It is a matter of trekking by a river bed, but my nephew warned me that we will have to “wade” in sections of the river.  In my mind, wading means being submerged to the waist at best; I didn’t take into account reasonable factors such as slipping or falling into deep holes.

The party was of around 20 membersand in 5 cars.

We parked in the lowest valley village I know; the village is called Showan (I might edit this post for further details later on).

We reached a section of the river to cross of about only ten meters. It is not a roaring Amazon by any stretch of the imagination.

Big George hopped leisurely to the other side; he is wearing just a swimming trunk and a tiny backpack; he looked like Tarzan.

I was encouraged to be among the first strong hearted member of the trekking party, as is usually the case.  I tied my old pair of khaki sneaker around my neck and raised my jeans to the knee. And that should do the trick.

The first few steps got me face down; I am all wet and thus, nothing mattered anymore.  I hurried my “wading” exercise and fell down several times before I reached destination.  I am bruised, physically and emotionally.

The few cigarettes I had in my shirt pocket are ruined; I decided to remove the cigarettes from the wet box to dry out the cigarettes. I gently picked one cigarette from the box by the filter part and the filter easily separated. And it was the case for the other cigarettes one by one.  I had the pleasure of a discovery: the process of manufacturing local made cigarettes is basically gluing the filter part to the finished cigarette.

I undressed completely, save my swimming trunk: Health dictated that the swimming trunk should go too.  A few members were aligning a tree trunk to permit female members to cross the river safely.

Someone said to wait for my nephew since usually he brings a rope for that purpose. I cursed my hastiness, only to realize that my nephew wanted to make this adventure a Seal or Marine exercise: you have got to feel the pain!

George was in the middle of the river playing the school or scout guard in case of emergencies.  Suddenly, George exclaimed “I feel cold.” George remedy to warming up was to run like Tarzan to the promised paradise.

It goes without saying that I was the first to follow George.  I was not running at all: my wet sneakers weighted 20 pounds.  Then, I saw George hiding behind a bush, up a mount like Tarzan; I was climbing to rejoin him when he preempted me: “Don’t climb. I lost my way.”

Now George climbed a high rock in the river watching for any arriving company.  I ended “wading” my way by the river side to paradise land..

I am glad to report that “bodily navigation of cabotage” by river side made much sense to me.  A few members of the party were advancing ahead of me, using a secret path to a location.  I said: “Better not stop. Let us move on to the Promised Land.”

Karim said: We have reached destination!”  That was a major letdown.  Apparently, the goal was to reach a puny and sickly waterfall.

George hopped behind the Nahr Ibrahim “Water fall”, climbed a rock and sat like Buddha.  I lacked the energy to remove my sneaker and Jeans (weighting 50 pounds), climb a slippery stupid rock and emulate Buddha.

I was the first to vacate Nahr Ibrahim Paradise and got lost on my way back.

I got entangled by lichen and other sorts of nasty prickly branches.  I am back to “wading” by the river side. I realized that the soles of my sneakers are floating free; held miserably by the tip of the shoes.  I was no longer fooling myself: a military helicopter should land and take me home.

I reached first “base” wetter than a disgruntled cat.

One of soles had vanished in the river. I didn’t wait and immediately re-crossed the Rubicon wading in my favorite technique, world known as “Adonis49 super efficient wading technique” to be emulated by Marines and Seals.

I reached second base and harangued the dozen members who smartly refused to cross to get going and follow me: I wanted to urgently locate a sunny spot to dry.   A smart girl reminded me that the sun is no longer vigorous and barely could warm an ant.

Nothing could assassinate my plan: I have got to be first back to the parked car.  I lost my way again and waited for a member to show me the correct secret path. My nephew picked up the second sole and volunteered to relieve me of my weightier backpack: any pound less is a great boost to my morale.

The last 100 yards to destination was the most voluptuous and rewarding trip stretch ever.

When we arrived home, my nephew placed my “sole-freed” sneakers on my room threshold, along with one wet sole.  I asked him: “Why did you do that?  I thought that I left my useless sneakers where we were parked” (as a warning to trekkers in the village of Shwan to cancel their prospective projects).

Devilish William refused to leave any material evidences that might discourage trekkers in those damned vicinities.  I made the last effort to visit my sister just to tell her “I think it is a miracle that I am back”.

My sleeping sister could not but chuckle and interject: “You are supposed to know better than anyone what a trekking project means to William.”

This trekking was a well planned project to inflict most pains and humiliation, but I turned out to be a leader on my way back; and second to leaders most of the adventure.

Odd news; stupid and funny news; (Apr. 24, 2010)

            Town council of Soubey in Switzerland is dismantling its unique mobile phone antenna. Ecologist, electromagnetic sensitive individuals, and the wrecked of high technology are flocking to this primitive paradise.  Apparently, electromagnetic waves damage the hemato-encephalic brain barrier and affect brain healthy activities.

            New Moore Island relieved India and Bangladesh of a stupid contention: it was submerged by the ocean.

            Male in red shorts and female Ourang Outang (chimps) in blue shorts are boxing away in Thailand rings.  Thos champion chimps protect their faces involuntarily: their trainers box their heads relentlessly.

            Bolivia has no sense of time.  The government is inciting civil servants with bonuses to show up on time to work.  Professors at universities may come half an hour late to lectures: it is far better than the habit of frequent days off.  Evo Morales showed up two hours late to a press conference at the presidential palace: reporters had long gone.

            US Marines in Afghanistan love to disturb Taliban lovers: They turn on the loud speakers volume max on heavy metal songs such as Metallica, Thin Lizzy, and Offsrings. Heavy metal songs can be heard two miles away. Health care providers are not covering deafness syndromes of Afghani marines.

            Mafias in Italy could not function if not completely supported by wives and mothers.  Apparently, villages that are bases for mafia activities 90% of the residents are members of the mafia because mothers and wives incite men to belong to the community and reap the advantages of economic boom.  The new born is made to select a key or a knife: the key symbolizes police force and jails; the knife is the honor of the mafia members.  Mothers adjust the location of the knife to increase the odd of the baby touching the knife.

            Switzerland counts 30,000 “mailbox” companies that have no location or secretaries. 85% of these “mailbox” companies are created by foreign companies with the sole purpose of avoiding paying taxes in their country of origins. Officially, these companies host about 100 billions dollars but obviously, the real figure is far higher.

            Good news for luxury maniacs: there is over production of cultured pearls.  Prices have depreciated drastically: Time to bargain hard.  A few of these companies are throwing away the pearls to the pork and swine.

I wore down the postman; (Apr. 23, 2010)

Political prisoners mail me: They are scared, bored, and helpless.

Small fishermen mail me: Their nests are empty and the sea dying.

Peasants and rice growers mail me:

Their stomachs are blotted and nails plugged out.

I receive mails from the disheartened

From every corner on Earth, even from wealthy and prosperous nations

They all know my address

They got wind of my top secret project:

I am gathering a damning monstrous file

On mankind sufferings, pains, and humiliation;

I am mailing this file to their merciful God.

The hungry and trampled mankind has signed up

With their cracked lips and dirty fingerprints.

I did wear down the postman and the postmaster.

The downtrodden of mankind is poor but no dumb:

He still refuses to put all his eggs in one basket.

God may turn out to be illiterate after all;

We obeyed his message anyway: Learn to read and write he warned us.

The greedy own the scaffold; we own the neck.

They wear pearls; we wear warts.

They have the day and the night; we have the bones and the skin.

They eat in the shadow; we saw and harvest at noon.

Their teeth are whiter than rice; ours are smoke stained.

Their chests are silky clean; ours dusty as execution court yards.

Their pockets are stuffed with lists of traitors and disturbers of the peace:

Ours bulge with pamphlets and remonstrance.

The greedy have windows; we are the wind and thunder.

They own ships; we are the waves and tides.

They wear fur and medals; we throw dirt and mud.

They built walls; we are the rope and ladders.

The God of the downtrodden may turn out to be illiterate.

We were highly suspicious of His qualifications:

His cultivated messages never coincided with his actions and practices.

Postmen are worn out distributing complaints

Of literate subjects out of jobs, out of subject matter;

I am hearing the ground growling.

Note: Borrowed many images from the Syrian poet and author Mohammad al Maghout.

History revisited: Decline or loss of hope? (Part 2, Apr. 21, 2010)

In the previous article I wrote: “History is a collection of stories that need to be revisited frequently; stories to be revised with new eyes and new knowledge, since human behavior did not change perceptibly.  If any, human cruelty to mankind and nature increased by several notches.”

In general, history stories are recounted Hollywood-style, packed with actions, heroes, traitors, smart generals, and far-sighted leaders and monarchs.  Empires decline due to steady decrease in demography.

The Moslem Ibn Khaldoun, in 15th century North Africa and considered to be the first sociologist and ethnographer, wrote that when a people lose hope for a better future to their descendants they decrease the procreation rate; in periods of high hope population increases.”

If you revise history stories, you can link, with high positive correlation, between periods of luxury and fast and increase in procreation. It is basically a mass perception of predicting the short-term evolution for survival.

For example, France was the most populous nation in Europe in the 18th century until people started reducing procreation, which affected the process of holding on to colonies.  The Napoleonic wars exacerbated this perception of instability and insecurity. It was useless giving birth so that children are sent to wars for no return in profit or hope of a better future.

You might offer a counterpoint: “How come after 70 years of slow and steady holocaust process, inflicted by the Zionist movement (Israel State) on the Palestinian people, this strategy did not slow the increased procreation of the Palestinians?”

My conjecture is that most Palestinians live in camps: Camp life would be too depressing if devoid of kids playing, laughing, and cheering up the camp.  The more kids are playing around the more hope is sustained.

Camp life creates community supports and discrepancies among classes are not noticeable to prevent sharing the little that families have, and to caring for kids of neighboring families.

Another example relates to demography in South Lebanon.  Even during the French mandate to Lebanon (1919-1943) the Zionist movement planned and schemed to extend the northern borders of the future States of Israel (recognized in 1948) to the Litany River.  The successive Lebanese governments, since Lebanon Independence in 1943, ruled as if South Lebanon was of no concern to them: no funds and no budgets were allocated to infrastructures, schools, hospitals or any kinds of development.

Then, in 1969, the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) and headed by Yasser Arafat, and with the support of Egypt Gamal Abdel Nasser forced Lebanon to allocate a portion of South Lebanon (Al Arkoub) an autonomous status to the PLO.

Israel was pleased with this new situation and bombed the villages in the south on pretense of reacting to the presence of the PLO.

The “inhabitants” in south Lebanon started to vacate their villages and flocked to the suburbs of Beirut (Al Dahiah).

As the civil war started in 1975, the PLO was ruling as the de facto State in South Lebanon. Regular mass immigrations of Lebanese Shiaa to Africa and elsewhere set in. South Lebanon was in the steady process of being depleted of its inhabitants, which should have satisfied Israel’s great dream.

Israel decided on the worst strategic blunder ever: Israel of Begin and Sharon invaded Lebanon in 1982, the Israeli army entered Beirut, and the military wings of the PLO were chased out to Tunis, and thus freeing south Lebanon from the hold of the PLO.  Israel resumed its blunder and decided to occupy south Lebanon for 25 years.

That is how purely Lebanese Resistance to occupation from many political parties started in full fledged. The Islamic regime of Khomeini in Iran extended new religious zeal, an ideology, organization, training and arming a Shiia splintered faction of AMAL named Hezbollah.

The tide had turned.  Israel was forced to vacate south Lebanon unilaterally in 2000.  The Lebanese returned to their villages with greater hope in the future.

Israel tried another attempt in 2006 to chase out Lebanese from the south during an intensive and savage 33 days preemptive war.  Israel covered the land with over 3 millions cluster bombs imported from Tony Blair of England.  The purpose was to scare people off from returning to the south.

The day the UN declared cease-fire people returned the same day to the south and not waiting from the government declaring the trip safe.

Makeshift bridges were erected (Israel had bombed out all bridges and highways) and where cars and trucks could not cross then walking was as good a means of transport.

Currently, the border villages in Lebanon are witnessing boom in tourism and tourist facilities, yards away from Israeli tanks and border patrols.  The tide has turned.

Israel may launch another savage and devastating preemptive war in Lebanon but the game is over: hope in south Lebanon is high for a better future while Israel is experiencing the worst period in lost hope for a stable Israeli State.

Israeli is reverting to its ghetto mentality and holding on to biblical archaic myths and laws. And had built the Wall of Shame along all its borders: No see, no fear, no aches…

Note: The Shiaa population in Lebanon is over 50%, and increasing at a higher rate than the other 17 other religious sects.

In the beginning…Or the beginning of the end? (Apr. 22, 2010)

            Current theory of science is telling the story of creation.  Actually, science is telling the processes of creation assuming that in the beginning, 13.7 billions years ago, the Universe was very hot and very dense. Then, after a monster Big Bang, the Universe started to expand and to cool down. First, matter overpowered anti-matters and then the most elemental particles of Quarks and Guons formed neutrons and protons. 

            The real story begins when atoms of hydrogen are formed, created monster stars, and sustained nuclear fusion combustion and lighted the universe. As the “stock” of hydrogen depleted in a star then the star shrank a notch due to “gravity” and the heavier helium was created. The process follows the same boring trend: helium depletes, star shrinks some more, gravity create a heavier chemical element such as carbon, then neon, then oxygen, silica, phosphorous until the stable chemical iron is created.  The star at this phase has not enough energy to burn and raise temperature to make iron burn in chain reaction.  

Thus, if the star is over six times the mass of our sun then the star literally disintegrates; temperature reaches the billion degrees and heavier elements than iron are created and are spewed in the atmosphere. If the star is less than six times the mass of the sun then one of two alternatives may occur: either the gazes are attracted by nearby stars or it will be projected toward other stars.

            Now all the chemical elements are created and many unstable elements can be created in laboratories.  The universe is thus explained by its processes and its dynamic mechanism of evolution.  Rational minds demand answer to basic questions; first, “If nothing can come from nothing then how quarks and gluon were first created?” Second, how the universe was made to be so hot and so dense? Third, if collisions among basic elements create heat then how these elements were made to move? Fourth, if heavy elements are created after the disintegration of heavy stars then how come they are found on earth? Have the chemical elements been deposited on earth? How they clustered in distinct areas to be mined by mankind? How long did it take these elements to reach earth from far away dead stars and then be deposited?  How come the myriads of other stars and bigger planets failed to attract the coming elements?

            My lucubration is not meant to bring up metaphysical or religious assumptions or myths. It is a call for the scientific community to focus on upgrading their first assumptions that the universe was initially too hot and too dense to prior assumptions as to how basic particles were created and how they were made to get moving.

            What we know is that universe is expanding at a hallucinating speed you cannot believe it.  Toward what is this crazy universe expanding to? Is it toward the universe of anti-matter? Is it sort of Genkis Khan leading his hordes of Moguls to his anti-matter enemy? The most tangible alternative to figuring out the beginning of the universe is to extrapolate how this universe will end.  The Big Bang theory was not the beginning of the universe: it was the story of the beginning of the end.

Note:  The giant galaxy Andromeda will inexorably swallows our galaxy.  Thus, why explore our Milky Way? Let us explore Andromeda for curiosity sake since we tend to love siding with the winner! 


adonis49

adonis49

adonis49

April 2010
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