Adonis Diaries

Archive for June 6th, 2010

Worker: I want some bread

You don’t live by mere bread.

Youth:  I want some freedom

The only freedom we have is reserved for import-export activities.

Consumer:  I want the song record “Green is my country” and “Lebanon beautiful Green”

Not available.

How about the book “Red Freedom has one door to knock at”

Listen; the only green or red colors that could be seen were on stop lights: they are currently out of function.

Patient:  I want corrective glasses.

What for?  Palestine, you are not to see; your hometown, you are not to return to; Liberty is out of reach; Spring is far away; the Future is unheard of.  Why would you hurt your nose wearing redundant glasses?

Divorced lady:  I want the movie “I need a resolution” by Fatiha Hamama

All solutions are in the hands of the USA; just target the proper provider.

A martyr of a husband died during a patriotic demonstration.  His soul is calling the wife who forgot him.

Martyr:  How are you wife? Are you happy?

Wife: Sure, I am

Husband:  Are the kids doing fine at school?

Wife: They are fantastic

Husband: What is the status of freedom of speech and opinions in the Arab World?

Wife:  All kinds of freedom and liberty kiss your hands.

Husband:  What is the status of prisons?

Wife:  There are no prisoners.  We need no prisons to keeping kidnapped traitors.

Husband:  Are land reforms, educational reforms, election reforms, development programs being executed they way I died for?

Wife: All reforms rolling on skates and more than you dreamed of.

Husband:  I learned that the Arabs are rich from oil production.

Wife:  We are so rich that we are supporting the faltering US economy.  Sleep tight and stop worrying.

Husband: We, the Arabs are known to be generous and welcoming strangers in our home as if home is theirs.  How about Palestine? Have we recaptured it yet?

Wife:  What? I hear interferences.  I told you everything is going smoothly. I have to tend to my kitchen now: I have a casserole cooking.

Husband:  You know, we Arabs are known to be equitable during occupation.  Don’t throw the Jews into the sea like the barbarians.  Ship them back ito their country of origins or whatever States they wish to go to.

Neighbor:  Would you shut up?  Woman, how could you suffer this stupid husband?

A Moslem extremist salafist boasting his strategic program: “We are going to kill millions in the bordering Arab States to Israel until the total population with Israel is equal.  Then, the foreign infidels will have no cause to boast that the war is unbalanced between us and the Zionist enemies. We will show the foreigners what is our metal!”

Arab regime is Seven Up:  You love it, it loves you back.

For so long,

The main culprits were greedy governments,

Over supply of weapons, a few of mass destruction,

Desire to dominate, horde wealth, enslave mankind

To subjugate differences in color, race, gender, and belief systems.

The culprits were many;

We added problems of world dimensions:

Pollution, lack of potable water, dwindling of clean air…

Newer culprits were invented:

Lack of democracy, of steady emotions, and rational thinking…

For so long

The only communication between citizens and authorities

Was kicking asses, smashing faces, pulling hairs

Hording political “misfits” to prisons…

For so long

Young men filled with testosteron,

Clutching clubs, roamed earth

To tasting fresh breeds of cows.

For so long

We forgot to sniff a wild flower

Chase a butterfly

Hearken to the coughing of a bird at dawn

For so long

We failed to look up the moon and stars

Drank clear water of a stream cupping our palms

Heard an unrecorded bold laughter.

Is there a childhood to tending to?

Are there fresh lips to be kissed?

Are there serene pair of eyes to drown in?

Are there steady fingers to hold on?

Are there slender wastes not wrapped with bombs?

Have we been missing the main cures?

Son of Man

We are told that heredity defines to great extent our individuality.  Every one of us is the product of long lines of successive unions; and yet, the probability of identical persons is nil among the billions upon billions of human kinds that roamed earth. Actually, even a century ago, most of us were the product of “family inbreeding”.  We are told that every person that dies is never replaced and his unique set of characteristics is gone for ever.  Maybe our margin for developing certain characteristics is limited; even then, what could be modified just a little by nature, environment, and social conditions will have an impact in defining future generations.

We have always attributed our reality to act of God, His will, our Destiny; we have been sons of God until recently.  Research and technology is altering many genomes for a healthier man, even before he is born, even when he is a fetus, even by sorting out and selecting one among the many embryos to re-insert in the mother’s uterus.  Man has started to affect genetically future generations.  God is no longer the sole and exclusive breeder of man.

Man is becoming part owner, though with a tiny share so far.  As long as man is not able to tamper with the brain on a large scale, then God will still have the bigger share in man.  When you partially own a person then you are responsible for the whole entity. We tended to let God off the hook for too long.  If man has to be taken to court for wrong doing or designing and manufacturing defective products, then it is about time that God be taken to court after each war, each genocide, each apartheid systems resulting in suffering, indignity, and humiliation.

We have always attributed to God all the good values, even the immoral values in our daily realities; we have tried hard to interpret values and morality in a lenient manner.  If God exists, and he should exist, then God has to be taken to the International Tribunal for crimes against humanity.

We have acquired a slight margin of liberty that we still own: to study, read, reflect, have our own opinions, take hold of our personal responsibilities, and act accordingly.  When a person denies his own share of responsibility and stop reflecting and studying then all he does is but wind or blown in the wind.  I have published many “poems” and I selected two that might be representative for this article.

I Say

I say, every one must have his identity:

Death has forced on us the I.

I say, what exists must be discovered:

Death impressed on us to know.

I say, every feeling must be experienced:

Death created stages for us to grow.

I say, there must be a meaning to life:

Death did not leave us a choice in that.

A Gentle Touch*

Prettier than white dust

You shall never be.

Uglier than a skeleton

You can never be.

Toward the scared souls, scared of death,

Scared in living,

Let your stretched hand

Be gentler, your voice softer.

Quiz: What are the other three titles to this post?

I did finally create my Island;

Circumstances forced me in that direction.

You are no longer free to have your island;

You have got to wriggle among the living men;

Trying to move, not necessarily forward.

You are wearing a cheap wrist watch with compass,

Always pointing north

Where prosperity is waiting for fresh hungry slaves.

There are no longer fields of wheat to plough and saw;

There is no solitude in the clear and clean wide space of dirt and sun;

There are no majestic trees to find shelter under their soothing shadows;

To listen to birds and the rush of insects and reptiles.

Only rice growers are still working in the fields;

Splashing about knee deep, in damp and humid climate.

You are no longer free to raise livestock

In the open air, buffeted by the wind and the drizzling rain.

I did create my island;

A room, my study room, barely any space left for any more books and papers.

Constantly battling to safeguard my study room from rental prospectors;

Lucky me they never liked it enough;

But it didn’t matter for the relatives:

They have always excuses to asking me to vacate my little corner.

They dangled in front of me non interesting incentives and baits to vacate my nest:

Imaginations mostly is lacking about and around me.

I did create my island.

There was this window of opportunity to re-accumulate cards;

Credit, debit, driving license, ID,

Insurance (health, life, car accident, fire risks);

Cards required by government, municipality, local officials,

Syndicates, associations, and universities vying for the little you saved.

For too long, every slave after money wanted to tame me, frustrate me, vilify me,

Trample my dignity, harass me, and mock me.

I did create my island.

Every slave, claiming to toil for self-sufficiency and independence,

Wanted me to slave like the rest for stipends;

To own a TV, a car, an audio-visual system, like all the others;

To buy toys, gifts, flowers, concert tickets to socialize as regular guys do.

They want me to re-live the delusions of youth,

Purchasing more highly performing gizmos;

To increase profit in expensive audio-visual design businesses;

Equipments quickly becoming obsolete before recouping the investment.

Select clients of vegetarians

And environmentally friendly clients.

They want me to emulate the prematurely aged married couples,

The decrepit single people huffing after faked dreams.

They want me to work in fast changing jobs;

Jobs no longer performing and contracted out overseas;

Workaholics clutching on steady boring jobs.

Engineers for vacuuming carpets, dusting off chairs and sofas;

Engineers for waxing floors, for cleaning rooms, for sanitation tasks.

Engineers for maintaining water coolers, air conditioners,

For re-arranging furniture, re-designing cubicles for the fresh recruits,

The newly promoted with a view

To a smog city, dirty rivers, and cloudy sun.

I don’t like driving no more:

Accidents occur close to destinations.

I don’t mind dying no more.

I refuse to die in a car, a train, a ship, or an airplane.

I refuse to die in a mining tunnel or an elevator.

I would very much love to end buried under the rubles of an earthquake,

Incinerated in the lava of volcanoes,

Swallowed whole by tidal waves.

Mass burials are far more solemn and less costly;

A mass burial is an equalizer, a reminder of the power of nature

And its equity; a fitting end;

Earth to earth; where are you man? Who are you man?

Mass wedding is also so far more solemn and less costly;

At least you got a proof that your wife has sense of humor.

I do need to sell my old car but there are no takers;

In a snobbish society were high school graduates expect new upscale cars;

Elevated 4-wheel for the girls and two-seater for boys,

To compensate their hard sloppy study years,

To corroborate the unlimited ego of sleazy parents;

Parents mourning their young kid, a week later,

For a lethal car accident of no fault of their “gorgeous” slightly tipsy kids.

Middle aged women patronizing every “charity” eating fiesta;

For breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The same old faces, same photographers, same magazines

Exhibiting our national pride.

Ladies complaining of the hard task of changing dresses three times a day

To honor their husbands as the most elegant and expensive ladies around.

One of those ladies was honest enough:

She claimed that the economy turns over

On account of their beauty business demands.

I did create my island.

It doesn’t cost much;

A few borrowed books, recycled papers,

A functional word processing computer,

Long time out of function

Too costly to repair;

A USB that I called UBS for so long.:

Recalling acronyms was never my forte.

How could I memorize acronyms:

I never joined an army or its strategic branches;

I never worked for a multinational or its strategic arms and legs.

It doesn’t cost much to be free;

A free internet access in a private library,

Walks in nature, working the garden, and growing salad ingredients.

Creating your island is not an easy process;

It does not cost much money to be free;

Unless you discount how much you could have earned.

The only exhausting expense is not financial;

I have none to create anxiety attacks and start worrying about my future.

The exhaustion is fielding the neighbors’ innuendoes, sarcasms, mumblings, and calumnies;

I avoid like the plague to meeting one.

Mostly, every working person flee his homes on the good excuse of going to work

They are busy bodies going nowhere.

Neighbors who flee homes early to read leisurely the dailies;

In their comfortable offices; drinking countless cups of Turkish coffee;

Sweating for nothing; returning home disheveled,

Emerging out of a battle in the survival of the fittest.

I created my island;

It does take much effort to build a nest.

A life time of effort, frustration, and ignominy.

I did it;

It feels good to me.

For how long?

There is this widespread belief that sugarless substitutes are great for dieting.  No, it cannot.  Sugar substitutes may fool your taste buds, and occasionally the taste buds in your digestif system, but not your brain that requires sugar and demands it.  Suppose sugar is arbitrarily given index 100 then, the natural glucose is 70 and fructose 130.  Industrial aspartame is indexed 2,000 and sucralose 6,000 and thaumatine 30,000.  There are indications that heavy consumption of “sugarless” sodas may develop diabetes type 2.

The sense of taste is highly developed in our digestive system such as stomach, intestin, pancreas, and colon. The digestive system is lined with millions of taste bud cells that detect the molecules of sugar; thus, they trigger the processes for metabolic programs that transform nutrients into appropriate nutritive ingredients in the blood.  For example, the taste buds in the digestive system slow down absorbtion of toxic (bitter substances) and in many cases provoke vomiting what we ingurgitated.  For sugary tastes, an order is dispatched to the brain to release greater quantities of insuline in the blood to prepare the organism for the arrival of nourishment.  Otherwise, without this due preparation the body cannot recognize what is coming; for example, it was observed that when glucose is injected intravenous the body does not release enough insuline as if detected by the digestive system.

The sense of taste in the mouth is basically a quick and dirty judgement of what is swallowed in the digestive system.

Glucose or sugar is transformed into molecules of adenosine triphosphate (ATP) used in almost all functions by cells.  While taste receptors in the intestin constitute barely 1% of all types of receptors in the intestin they liberate most of the hormones in the organism. The Japanese culture has the term “umami taste” to describe the taste of glutamic acid in food rich in proteines; glutamic acid is released by the stomach.

In a sense, the “stomach” is in command; the brain follows orders.

Trust your gut. Don’t try to cheat it lest you bare the consequences.

You are snoozing on my arm darling,

A kid dozing over her schoolbook.

My arm is no longer mine darling:

It is an extension of your flesh, nerves, and warm heart;

It is part of your sorrows, wet eyelids, and soft breath.

Do you remember how often you threw snowballs at me

Then come rushing to cuddle in my arms for warmth?

You are no longer an extension of my arm darling

Your love is deeply sculpted by knife in my nerves.

You came close and asked for my autograph;

You almost begged for a single line of poetry.

“A poem I could hide in my black long hair”, you said;

And let it rest a baby over my soft pillow.

I know, my lovely warm and shiny springtime,

That the poems of my youth

Painted beauty in every beautiful girl

My poems did blossom inanimate bosoms.

I know, the poems of my youth set afire stars,

Ruined kingdoms and marriages.

It is my hot heart that was behind my hands, ink, and papers.

This heart has retreated behind cigarette smokes.

Tis no time to be fooled my shiny springtime.

What you see is an empty temple

In front of you stands a cold, icy crumbling column.

The poems that set your heart on fire are yours.

Melt them in your heart

Get wild, go wild and set fires

Burn, burn this drying world.

A new fresh dawn must arise with every generation.

Note: two abridged poems combined in one from the late Syrian poet Nizar Kabbani




June 2010

Blog Stats

  • 1,522,219 hits

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

Join 770 other subscribers
%d bloggers like this: