Erik Rittenberry wrote a piece on Jack Kerouac birthday. Today, dance like a demented shaman around the bonfires of the world. Go mad for the day. Go on an impromptu road trip. Go moan for man. Do it. Be whimsical and out of the ordinary. Do what may stirs your blood.

Skid Row Wine

By Jack Kerouac

I coulda done a lot worse than sit
in Skid Row drinkin wine

To know that nothing matters after all
To know there's no real difference
between the rich and the poor.

To know that eternity is neither drunk
nor sober, to know it young
and be a poet

Coulda gone into business and ranted
And believed that God was concerned

Instead I squatted in lonesome alleys
And no one saw me, just my bottle
and what they saw of it was empty 

And I did it in the cornfields & graveyards

To know that the dead don't make noise
To know that the cornstalks talk (among
one another with raspy old arms)

Sittin in alleys diggin the neons
And watching cathedral custodians
Wring out their rags neath the church steps 

Sittin and drinkin wine
And in railyards being divine

To be a millionaire & yet to prefer
Curling up with a poor boy of tokay
In a warehouse door, facing long sunsets
On railroad fields of grass

To know that the sleepers in the river
are dreaming vain dreams, to squat
in the night and know it well

To be dark solitary eye-nerve watcher
of the world's whirling diamond

I slept the sleep of the caves tonight.

Inconsequential and soft dreams were forgotten by the morning.

It was a “dreamless night”.

The morning news were anything but quiet:

Fighter jets and drones bombed villages

Rockets buried entire families.

Many blew themselves in crowded marketplaces, kids’ schools, restaurants.

It was a “dreamless night”

Yet, last night was pretty loud:

Thunder claps, wind rattling doors and windows,

Sleet rocked roofs, millions of tin roofs

Millions of shacks and refugee tents.

It was a dreamless night

Dogs, wolves, jackals barked and howled

Rats squealed

Millions of insects and animals were devoured

A million procreated to cover up the loss

In the struggle of survival among the livings.

It was a dreamless night

A few feet from ear shot

Hundreds of prisoners were tortured

Kicked, slapped, boxed, drowned, burned

Suffocated, drenched in freezing water

Screams we opted to shut off

From our hard ears, minds and hearts.

The horror of silent nights:

In waiting, the silence of the coming horror

Persistent and violent knocks on your door:

Your house is burning

Your neighbour was shot dead

The enemy invested your town

Dozens are being rounded up

Don’t take anything. Run for your life.

No, last night was not that calm:

New-borns were crying their heart out

Babies freezing to death

Kids dying of famine

Sick people kept moaning

Hundreds died in car accidents, handicapped

Airplanes disintegrated in the sky

Passenger ferries and ship sank.

And how come tonight is calm?

I was in bed and could Not sleep.

The bed “shook” softly and slowly for 5 seconds.

The morning news were Not that calm:

Two huge earthquakes devastated a vast region northward.

Thousands of homes and buildings crumbled to the ground.

Thousands upon thousands were buried under the rubbles

The injured and handicapped were Not accounted for in public.

Thousands of children are in a state of shock.:

Unable to speak or eat.

Millions fled and were transferred to makeshift tents

Living in terrible cold nights and days

And waiting for rescue to arrive:

Little “Rescue” took an eternity to show up.

Tomorrow night and the nights after

Will be louder and leaden with nightmarish dreams.

Tomorrow is another day.

Violent and brutal horror stories for survival

Among the livings.

Good night all.

Mother, late pretty mama, good evening.

I get furious when people just recall you as a chic woman

A great eye for fashion and designer fingers.

Mother, the cornerstone and guiding rod to father.

In all his risky adventures, and later hopeless states of physical diminution.

Mother, you gave me birth twice:

I was doomed and will Not get your milk

And the physician would Not believe you when you assured him that I did “eat”.

The next time when I was a couple hours aways from sure death at the age of 5.

I was transferred by airplane to a French hospital in Africa to treat me from typhoid.

A month in the “cold chamber” and had to learn how to walk again.

I know better,

You were afraid for me of people, of this harsh world

A world of no mercy.

Where to go and flee?

Mother, you freed me twice as I decided to immigrate.

You insisted on father to let me Go.

Thank you.

I had far more hard days in foreign lands than relaxing ones.

I was frequently one day away from joining the homeless, and feeling the cramps of hunger.

How I survived is the miracle.

The miracle of hundreds of people who felt pity on my conditions.

Free me once again mother.

I am Not complaining: I decided to liberate myself by my own volition.

An immigrant who fled the civil war,

And bewildered how to erect a State in his country.

Twenty years out of his home country

In a welcoming country that refuses to be my second home.

A country that decided to liberate Kuwait and restitute it to its tribal Sheikhs.

Children born and Not recognized as citizens

So that oil money remains for its tribal Sheikhs and their descendent,

Their women and their colonial Masters.

Father, the good-hearted husband

Who could never refuse to lend, even when he didn’t have any in his older years.

At the instigations of mother when they were in a well-to-do condition relative to the extended families.

But it is father who is remembered as the good Samaritan.

A father who helped generations of physicians, engineers, teachers

Whom appreciated him for as long as their feathers grew into powerful wings.

Yes, father passed away, destitute and barely visited.

The same with mother who cried for being left isolated and ignored.

You will Not be ignored anymore.

Rest in peace.

Sabine Choucair posted on Fb

Day 4

I’ve never had someone tying my shoes for me except my parents or teachers maybe, have you?

During one of the shows today, in this camp with Turks and Syrians, run by 14 amazing young independent Turks, volunteering their time to help and doing an amazing job, I (Sabouny) asks the audience to wait a sec so she could tie her shoes.

A beautiful Turkish man in his 50s comes on stage, asks me to keep going, kneels down and ties my shoes.

Silence.

I couldn’t believe it.

How gracious and generous his act was.

We were just starting the show, and my marriage scene usually comes towards the end, but I couldn’t care less of course. I married him on the spot.

Who would not want to have a partner like that in life.

Today was really full of these magical, beautiful encounters. On the way out, everyone wanted to take pictures and to hug us so tightly and almost around 6.45pm, the sun was going down, we started driving, everyone followed us, and the bus was showered with water.

Apparently, it’s a Turkish tradition to say thank you, to hope to see you again and to wish you a smooth ride as smooth as the water falling on the windows.

Silence again.

In another camp, a 15 year old girl and a 5 year old boy were watching from far. The girl was crying non stop while watching, the boy didn’t react at all.

While leaving, Guray (our clown chief organising the tour) tells me about them. Riwa, Ramy and Jonas go on a round 2 of entertaining the crowd while I go to their tent.

I approach them gently, the boy accepts to give me his hand for a magic trick. He is in a state of shock. Doesn’t speak or react to anything. I do it, he doesn’t react. I ask him if he’d like me to do it one more time and shyly/ briefly he says yeah.

Second time he kind of smiles without wanting to show me. I ask him if he wants one more time, he says yeah. Third time he has a slightly bigger reaction and it went on and on. His big sister then gives me her hand, her eyes are watering. She was crying and laughing at the same time and for a long time.

Her mom tells me later, they came from Syria 8 years ago and this is the second time this girl sees their house literally falling. She’s been crying non stop since then.

On the way out, the little witty kids didn’t want us to leave. They ran screaming “Sabouny Sabouny ( Sabouny means soap)… wait”.

They held me tight and started improvising “don’t leave please. I want to wash my hands, I want to wash my hair, I want to take a shower…”

Funny little monsters giving me hope in life.

#diariesofaclown

Güray DinçolJonas Pour MozaffarRiwa HoussamiRamy Abi KhalilClown Me InClowner utan Gränser

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198Cynthia Choucair, Ashley Phebe Choukeir and 196 others

Note: USA waged WW2 war on two fronts.: it can no longer be the case with nuclear bombs delivered by long-range missiles. USA should Not tempt its luck again as in the Midway maritime battle against mighty Japan navy.

China has no need to occupy Taiwan militarily as its gets everything it wants from Taiwan, whether USA is happy with it or Not.

Nabih El Bourgi posted on Fb

الصين العارية بين أميركا وروسيا

نبيه البرجي

ها هو التنين يقف عارياً (في العراء) بين الكرملين والبيت الأبيض . الأول ضاق ذرعاً بمواقف الصين الباهتة , وربما المذعورة . اقصى ما قامت به مبادرة ديبلوماسية وصفتها وكالة بلومبرغ بـ “هذيان الذباب” . بالحرف الواحد , “الذباب حين يحوم حول طبق فارغ” …

الثاني يرصد أي قنبلة يبعث بها شي جين بينغ الى فلادمير بوتين لـ”تفجير الاقتصاد الصيني” بالعقوبات التي تشير المعلومات الصحافية الى أنها جاهزة على طاولة جانيت يلين (وزيرة الخزينة) , كماعلى طاولة جو بايدن .

ماذا يعني أن تقفل الأسواق الأميركية , والأوروبية , كذلك اسواق كثيرة في العالم , أمام المنتجات الصينية ؟ بفظاظة كتبت “أتلانتيك” “هكذا يستعيد التنين قدميه الصغيرتين” . العنوان “حذاء ضيق للتنين” !

بكين تلوّح بورقة تايوان , بدءاً بالغارات الجوية (ماذا لو دمرت مصانع الرقائق الالكترونية ؟) . ولكي تعرفوا في أي مغارة يعيشها اللبنانيون الذين يتوقعون حرباً اسرائيلية في أي لحظة (غالباً ما تقوم على تدمير المباني الآهلة بالسكان) ,

أنشأت الحكومة التايوانية 105,000 ملجأ للحماية من الغارات (مع اسواق كاملة تحت الأرض) . وهذه الملاجئ تستوعب 86 مليون شخص , أي ما يوازي ثلاثة أضعاف سكان البلاد , مع تطبيق على الهاتف يقود الشخص الى أقرب ملجأ من مكان وجوده …

هذا يبقى مجرد اجراء وقائي . لكنها الصين , بالتسونامي البشري والعسكري , دون أت تتوقع تساي اينغ ـ ون أن يبعث بايدن بأي جندي لصد الغزو . على الأقل لأن ادارته لا تستطيع أن تخوض حربين , على ذلك المستوى , احداهما في الشرق الأوروبي ضد روسيا , والأخرى في الشرق الآسيوي ضد الصين .

بانوراما معقدة وخطرة . كبير المستشرقين الروس فيتالي تاعومكين يعتقد أن الحل في أوكرانيا لم يعد ممكناً بالطرق الديبلوماسية . لا بد لجين بينغ أن يقف , فعلاً , الى جانب بوتين , وهذا ما يحمل الأميركيين على “وقف رهانهم الجنوني على كسر روسيا” ً.

أي خطوة في الاتجاه الخطأ يمكن أن تفضي الى “الانفجار الكبير” (Big Bang ) . باحثون في “مجلس العلاقات الخارجية” يتوجسون من أن “تقفل القيادة الصينية المحيط الهادئ في وجهنا” . المسألة لا تتعلق بوضع اليابان , وكوريا الجنوبية , والفيلبين , بل بوضع لوس انجلس , وسان فرنسيسكو , وسان دييغو .

الصينيون مربكون بالرغم من ادراكهم أن الأرمادا الأميركية في الطريق اليهم . هم يتهمون أميركا بتصنيع الصراعات التي من يضمن ألا تفضي الى نهاية العالم ؟

صحيفة “غلوبال تايمز”, التي تصدر في بكين , نشرت مقالة لزو فينغ (Zhu Feng ) , مدير معهد العلاقات الدولية في جامعة نانكين , استعاد فيها تصريحات مسؤولين أميركيين , لدى زيارة رئيس وزراء اليابان فوميو كوشيدا لواشنطن في 11 كانون الثاني , وحيث يبدو جلياً أن أركان الدولة العميقة ـ الأمبراطورية العميقة ـ لا يخططون فقط للمواجهة مع الصين , وانما مع العالم .

في نظر كاتب المقال أن التشكيل السيكولوجي للقادة الأميركيين يفرض عليهم البقاء في حال من الصراع الأبدي مع الآخرين . “هكئا يتنقلون بين الخنادق” . (مرة أخرى تماماً مثل التشكيل السيكولوجي , والايديولوجي , للقادة الاسرائيليين ) .

خلاف ذلك تغدو الأمبراطورية في خطر وجودي . لا مكان لثقافة الاسترخاء في اللاوعي الأميركي . لا بد من صناعة الزلازل , أو الحرائق , على امتداد الكرة الأرضية . هذا المسار لم يتغير يوماً منذ اندلاع الحرب الباردة .

فينغ كتب المقالة بلغة كونفوشيوس , لا بلغة ماوتسي تونغ , داعياً الى استخلاص الأمثولة “مما فعلنه بنا جميعاً جائحة كوفيد ـ 19 حيث كان للتنسيق , بل وللتعاون الأوركسترالي , وبالرغم من المواقف الفوضوية , وحتى المواقف العبثية , لدونالد ترامب , دوراً فاعلاً في احتواء كل اثر لذلك الوحش الأسطوري الذي كما لو أنه أفلت للتو من احدى الميتولوجيات القديمة” !

هذه لغة لا تدخل الى الآذان الأميركية التي لا تستسيغ , عادة , سوى قرع الطبول , حتى وان كان قرع الطبول على أبواب المقبرة …

Sabine Choucair posted on Fb

Day 3:

When driving through collapsed towns today, I realised that they no longer have the same effect on me.

They’re part of my normal scenery now. I freaked out. I felt terrible for the many people who will be forgotten soon and stuck in their miserable new world.

Then of course we got to the first camp and I was instantly faced by reality.

Thousands of people eating dry food, sleeping on the ground, they lost family members, lost their homes and trying to figure out how to deal with this new reality.

Heard of hundreds of cases of kids fainting, vomiting and wetting their beds.

Adults having panic attacks and elderly people wondering why they’re even still alive.

Minorities in the region that vanished. They told me that in one town all the Jews died except 6 people.

Half of the Christians are under the rubble and the other half left the country. Armenians sent their kids to a school in Istanbul and the elderly stayed in tents next to what’s left of their houses.

But people are resilient. I hate this word. But I’m glad they are.

When we arrive to the camps, everyone joins in to celebrate life. Women start dancing, men get their phones out to film (a few also join in and dance) and kids run behind us jumping and singing. Everyone laughs, including volunteers, army and police.

“You’re crazier than this world, and you speak Arabic too. I needed this, please come everyday” said one woman to me while we were dancing on Arabic / Turkish tunes.

#diariesofaclownGüray DinçolJonas Pour Mozaffar@ramy.abi.khalil@riwahoussami97@clownmein@clownerutangranser photos by @evelinaronnback

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1414

By: Bob Dylan.

He wrote it in the summer of 1964. Dylan raises the mirror to the face of post-war America. He throws light on the rampant consumerism that was under way and the superficiality and viciousness that comes with it.

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying

Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover that you’d just be one more
Person crying

So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked

An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it

Advertising signs they con
You into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit
To satisfy, insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something they invest in

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him

Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed
Graveyards, false gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
what else can you show me?

And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only

Sabine Choucair posted on Fb

Day 2:

Our day goes like this. In costume, we are constantly driving amid the destruction. We see small camps and big camps.

We stop, we get out, we turn the camps upside down with our music, bubbles and positive silly energy. We have hundreds of small encounters that stick with us and them forever. We say goodbye. We leave. And start all over again.

We did 6 shows and parades today. We focused on smaller camps where a lot of Syrians are gathered, piling up trauma after trauma. It’s absurd. You run away from war thinking now you’re safe. Then you get hit by an earthquake.

Many kids are not speaking anymore. It’s horrifying. And many lost parts of their bodies.

Today I did a lot of one on one interactions while the other clowns were entertaining the crowds.

I did a small magic trick to a kid who lost speech and a leg and was watching some videos on his phone alone in the tent. I managed to get his attention for few seconds and he agreed to watch the show with everyone else.

A show in a space surrounded by crushed buildings and how many dead people under that rubble.

It was so intense and humbling to be there. To hear laughter of kids and adults.

When we were leaving, all kids ran behind the clowns to the bus. I stayed behind interacting with adults and when leaving a woman’s voice echoed in that empty space … محلاااااااااااااااكم “how beautiful you are”.

her voice will stay with me forever.

#diariesofaclown@clownmein @@clownerutangranser@ramy.abi.khalil@riwahoussami97 @jopomozaffar Güray DinçolJonas Pour Mozaffar@evelinaronnbackArwa Damon fline @inaraorg@iamarwadamon photos by @mattiaflip

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171Ashley Phebe Choukeir and 170 others

By: Antonin Artaud

The Cry

The little celestial poet
Opens the shutters of his heart.
The heavens clash. Oblivion
Uproots the symphony.

Stableman the wild house
That has you guard wolves
Does not suspect the wraths
Smoldering beneath the big alcove
Of the vaults that hang above us.

Hence silence and darkness
Muzzle all impurity
The sky strides forward
At the crossroad of sounds.

The star is eating. The oblique sky
Is opening its flight toward the heights
Night sweeps away the scraps
Of the meal that contented us.

On earth walks a slug
Which is greeted by ten thousand white hands
A slug is crawling
There, where the earth vanished.

Angels whom no obscenity summons
Were homeward bound in peace
When rose the real voice
Of the spirit that called them.

The sun lower than the daylight
Volatilized all the sea
A strange but clear dream
Was born on the clean earth.

The lost little poet
Leaves his heavenly post
With an unearthly idea
Pressed upon his hairy heart. (From fright? the heart grew hair?)

Two traditions met.
But our padlocked thoughts
Lacked the place required,
Experiment to be tried again. (Running out of places where colonial powers did Not leave at peace for alternative experiments?)

نصف وحشيّ، نصف مختلّ *

•  محمد الشركي Mohamad Shriki
•  السبت 4 آذار 2023

في سنة 1964، كانت قد توطّدت صداقة عميقة بين الفنان ألبرتو جياكوميتي والكاتب الأميركيّ جيمس لورد.

وحين زار هذا الأخير فرنسا في نفس السنة، وكان على وشك المغادرة، اقترح عليه ألبرتو أن يرسم له بورتريهاً، مؤكداً له أنّ ذلك لن يستغرق سوى ساعتين أو ثلاث ساعات، علماً أن الكاتب كان قد حجز تذكرة العودة إلى بلاده على رحلة جوية مبرمجة في اليوم التالي.

لكنّ الساعات الثلاث المفترضة لرسم البورتريه تحولت، بسبب عمليات المحو والتعديل اللانهائية، إلى أيام ثم إلى أسابيع اضطر الكاتب خلالها إلى الاتصال مراراً ب النق الجوي لتأجيل رحلته.

كل تفاصيل وتعثرات هذا العمل البدائيّ على بورتريه منفلت موثّقة ببراعة في الفيلم الباذخ Final Portrait. ولا أدل على فرادة الرؤية الجوانية لجياكوميتي من الحوار التالي الذي دار بينه وبين جيمس لورد عندما جلس هذا الأخير وتموضع أمامه لأول مرة بكامل أناقته:

— جياكوميتي: لوجهك شكل وحشيّ.
—لورد: يا للعجب.
— جياكوميتي: تبدو فعلاً مثل سفاح.

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ملصق فيلم «البورتريه الأخير» (2017)

— لورد: أوه…
— جياكوميتي: في حال رسمتك كما أتصوّرك الآن، ورأى شرطيٌّ هذه اللوحة، سيتم وضعك في السجن فوراً.
— لورد (ظل صامتاً ومشدوهاً)…
— جياكوميتي: من الأمام تبدو وحشيّاً، ومن الجهة الجانبية تبدو مثل مختلّ.
— لورد: يا للعجب!
— جياكوميتي: من ناحية، ستدخل السجن، ومن الناحية الأخرى سيُوْدِعُونك مشفى الأمراض العقلية حيث سألحق بك على الأرجح…