Fever

I
A glass of water:No:Grandizer:Sedrieh:Wish:Heat:Sweat:Glass of Water:No:A pause, and We've changed. What will happen next, we really don’t know: Ballpens:I'm A Golden Medalist, you see:Titanic:Come back:No:Who?:No:Agagok:No:Flags:Flags:Flags:South Africa:A Glass of Water:No:You:No:Nestle:Aleppo:Beirut:No:A little Kid with his grandpa:A little kid lost by the sea:A little kid having his first kiss:Get Up:I:Get Up:God:Shu?......Blank…..1985.

What?
I've been in bed for 3 days now, extreme fever and flu. Yesterday, sometime before dawn. I know I started to hallucinate, or at least was half unconscious. Sweating, with piles of sheets on me. I was talking to myself, or thinking to myself, I really don’t know, there was this whole different vivid part of me that was pushing me to get up, to wake up, or get the cam, or the computer, or shake my head, but I was totally paralyzed. And I was almost crying cuz I couldn’t lift a finger.

A very surreal night, the total helplessness was Scary.
Very, very, very, few pulses that ran through my brain that night are those that I still remember. These are them in total disorder.

I'm Home

I donno when this might be posted.
I'm in a plane, Aeroflot, Russian Airlines. Or let's say Fucked-up Airlines. But that’s a whole different issue.
I'm in a plane, I donno what time it is exactly in this part of the world we're flying over, it's almost 3pm or something in Moscow, we still have 3:30h of flying, adding up to 10h in air, and 1h delay on ground. I Hate Russian Airlines, the stewardess actually yells at u here. And theres a guy eyeing m because I'm apparently annoying him with my typing on the computer. There's no power plug so the pc will go dead on me in 30mins.
We're flying over Siberia apparently.
Was reading Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. Pretty interesting start. I have lots of things to read. I have to read the Life of Pi, The Great Gatsby [Again, since I don’t think I grasped it the first time], Body Language, finish Dogs and Demons… etc.
So I'm here, god known how many kilometers above earth, what am I thinking of? What could I be thinking of?
I miss her.

Listening to Radiohead telling me to sail to the moon… I'm in this ultra-high state of sensitivity, to any word, look, touch… I'm afraid to type here things that I don’t want out, because I promised myself to post everything I type here.

Looking back on Tokyo, now that my days there are coming to close. Is it really Tokyo's fault? Does it have to be someone, or something's fault that I'm fucked up?

The last 2 months was one long ongoing moment of bitterness. Don’t get me wrong. I was not crucified. Even, dare I say? I don’t even think I've learnt anything from these months, which is very sad. Very sad.

Why?
Is there a goddamn meaning. Why, is it that all the people I look up to, all the people that I care about, all the people that intrigue on the intellectual level, have this mysterious belief in the absolute purpose of life. And why is it that I don’t. at least not yet. It's amazing. How un-true such an argument sounds to me… maybe it's just the way they try to prove it. Maybe I'm too stupid to realize it, or even – and this one is actually very try – Maybe, I'm just less divine to actually feel it.

The brainstorming, of Whys, and Hows, and I don’t Care(s) that I went through these last 2 months, was overwhelming. That I had to just let go of all my unfinished speculations, analysis, theories, novels, and realities at the very first chance I had. I just let go, went blank, drunk myself until I passed out, danced until I passed out.

Dancing. Anthony Quinn said something so real, and so painful – for me, at least - in Zorba the Greek, he said that Dance is the way a free spirit speaks for itself, he who can not dance has a locked down spirit, probably it explains what I wrote earlier. I can never seem to be able to comfortably dance my soul out until after the 4rth beer or shot. And sometimes I drink just to be able to, just to feel what he's talking about. But it cuts through, when I do.

I'm listening to this beautiful piece of music now, I got to meet old reggae through Dan, a Canadian friend in my dorm. Hugh Mundell, singing "Africa Must Be Free By The Year 1983"… beautiful dubs. Beautiful…

And there's this girl infront of me that looks exactly like Anna, my cousin. She's so Russian… and she only speaks Russian and Japanese. We tried communicating, but it was painful for both of our poor Japanese vocabulary, so we just gave up with a very friendly handshake.

Again, I have not been fair to Tokyo, but I'm not in the mood to anyway. I will have to mention though, that I had one of the most beautiful moments over there alone above the world in Tokyo Tower, looking down, looking up looking inside of me… It was a much needed moment of peace, that I will be very grateful for it for a long time… Thank you, Tokyo.

I'm so much at peace with my flaws at this particular moment, it's amazing, u can not believe how much I love me, and consequently everyone around in this lousy Aeroflot Boeing flight from Tokyo to Moscow. I love them… I love me, I'm writing with such a joy, with a sense of liberation… maybe the fact that I'm gonna be in Latakia within hours, but I donno… it's much more complicated than that.

The fact that I admitted to myself that I had lost a battle, but not given up. The fact that I'm going back there, to kick and scream and fight again, fight against Me, fight against whatever I feel fighting… and live. The fact that I'm gonna be happy again, regardless of when and how, or what… is just making me so peaceful.

I love this planet, I love this species, I love us, I believe in us. I love that God that might never exist. I just genuinely have a flood of emotions right now that I can not transmit through this 16% charged notebook.

Cheers everyone, breakfast's up. And battery's down.

I love May. And that's genuine love. Real genuine love.
She's my Venice Queen. She's my Achilles' heel.


It's only been 30 minutes since i stepped foot back in this house, and the first thing i did was posting this...

2+2=5

I'm going home in 5 days... I'll be back in this room in another 30 days. Let's hope a miracle comes along.

I need a familiar skin against my head,

I've lost my first battle with life. I dont even wanna think what that means.

I need to regroup. I need to relate, to dream, again.

u see, 2 and 2 always makes a Five.


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Pity The Nation

Pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty of religion.

Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave, eats a bread it does not harvest, and drinks a wine that flows not from its own wine-press.

Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero, and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.

Pity a nation that despises a passion in its dream, yet submits in its awakening.

Pity the nation that raises not its voice save when it walks in a funeral, boasts not except among its ruins, and will rebel not save when its neck is laid between the sword and the block.

Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking.

Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpeting, and farewells him with hooting, only to welcome another with trumpeting again.

Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years and whose strong men are yet in the cradle.

Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.

Pity us, Pity Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Egypt, Palestine... The Middle East. The World.

Lebanon, A real disappointment...

Rime Allaf, again, saying my exact thoughts. I think, the exact thoughts of all syrians who had sympathy for Lebanon. Who had sympathy for the Lebanese, and who truly believed in real freedom and democracy for both countries.

What if we go into mass hysteria when one of our leaders is killed, forgetting all our past criticism of him, living in denial about the state of our economy and foreign debt, and only remembering his multi-billionaire's vision of our capital's downtown? What if we lose sight of the values we fought for all these years when the unjust rulers ruled? What if our intellectuals, writers and activists all suddenly decide to ignore those who for years defended their cause and wrote about it at great risk to their personal freedom? What if we ignore a joint declaration they have taken great risks to publish in support of our cause, and look the other way when they are punished for it?

What if we begin to mix between people and rulers, and what if we start taking it out on poor workers, beating them, killing them, burning their tents? What if we start speaking of the rulers' compatriots, or co-religionists, as if they were to blame for our years of hardship? What if we start treating them all in one way (a bad way), forgetting that they suffered as much as we did from these rulers, even if they came from the same background?

What if we start doing what they are doing? I've always thought Syrians had learned from their neighbors (in Lebanon and now in Iraq) never to fall into the temptation to take revenge or to fight on sectarian or other God-forsaken terms. I'm not so sure, however, that the temptation to bicker stupidly and endlessly has gone; in fact, if there's anything our sycophants know how to do, it's waxing poetic about leaders and repeating useless slogans ad nauseam while the important issues are ignored. Imagine if they start using these "skills" to reinvent today's "responsibles" as tomorrow's visionaries, and if they start to fight one another and paralyze the nation ... now that really would be the end of us yet.

The full article, Here.

This was my comment there...

I was such a passionate supporter of the "cedar" revolution, [the people that is, never the warlords], and i argued so fiercely that they will chose a new lebanon when they get a chance, that they've been through civil war 3 times, that they've learned how to be lebanese, as opposed to sunnis, shiites and maronites. that democracy in beirut, that a real lebanese state will only push "reforms" forward in syria, whether the royal family liked it or not. that the racism we've witnessed the first months, is just an instantaneous thing, it's just a reaction. I even wrote how syrians turned "racist" against lebanese also. which i still feel, but that's way beside the point now..

The sights on TV, of people swearing to be lebanese and only lebanese, of this girl kissing the security guard who's supposed to be holding her off, so she couldnt get to downtown. brought so many emotions, I honestly believed, like so many others, that it would actually be the start of the end for the regime, at least as "regime".

but then there was the elections. were, all the criminals were "elected" now. to be politicians. that was the first blow...
and then, and then, and then... and not the least, the continuous disgusting racism against syrians, as a people, as a culture, as a country, and as an identity.

ur article just cried my heart out.

thank you, thank you. thank you.