My Fairuz

Fairuz, by Cici Tommaseo Sursock

Haifa Wehbe - I Will Survive

A lot of people criticize Haifa's singing career. I think she is entertaining, she's fun, she's light. And she brings smiles. Enough for me to be a fan.

The carpal tunnel syndrome

Did you know that the carpal tunnel syndrome

Could overwhelmingly haunt ur kingdom?

I remember his thumb trying to reach for his index

A strong hand with wide, white fingers

The disease made it difficult for him to write 

I wanted to be his ink, his paper, his knight

When thumb and index came together

They drew a circle, fun and tender

I dived right in the carpal tunnel

Looking forward for the journey with hunger

Unforgettable hand released the circle 

And i fell right through a tornado of hurdles

When the rain washes you clean... you'll know

Btezkour akhir kilmi elta

أهواك بلا أمل

أهواك أهواك أهواك بلا أمل

وعيونك وعيونك تبسم لي

وورودك تغريني بشهيات القبل

وورودك تغريني بشهيات القبل

أهواك ولي قلب بغرامك يلتهب

تضنيه فيقترب

تقصيه فيغترب

في الظلمة يكتئب

ويهدهده التعب

فيذوب وينسكب كالدمع من المقل

أهواك أهواك أهواك بلاأمل

وورودك تغريني بشهيات القبل

وورودك تغريني بشهيات القبل

في السهرة أنتظر ويطول بي السهر

فيسائلني القمر ياحلوة ما الخبر

فأجيبه والقلب

قد تيمه الحب

يابدر أنل السبب

أحببت بلا أمل

اغنية اهواك بلا امل لفيروز, كلمات: زكي ناصيف

Lovin' Korean Pop

Marina and the Tarot reader

Marina went to the Tarot reader
“Can you see my future, oh magic finder?"
The Tarot reader opened her cards
She stared at them and said with arts:
“I see a far far island and a blue blue sky
I see a big big smile and a handsome guy
Go my child, the gods are with you
Your future is bright, that is the truth”

أنا يا صديقتي متعب بعروبتي

أنا يا صديقة متعب بعروبتي 

فهل العروبة لعنة وعقاب ؟

أمشي على ورق الخريطة خائفا 

فعلى الخريطة كلنا أغراب 

أتكلم الفصحى أمام عشيرتي 

وأعيد ... لكن ما هناك جواب 

لولا العباءات التي التفوا بها 

ما كنت أحسب أنهم أعراب 

يتقاتلون على بقايا تمرة 

فخناجر مرفوعة وحراب 

قبلاتهم عربية ... من ذا رأى 

فيما رأى قبلا لها أنياب

...

والعالم العربي ....اما نعجة 

مذبوحة أو حاكم قصاب 

والعالم العربي يرهن سيفه 

فحكاية الشرف الرفيع سراب 

والعالم العربي يخزن نفطه 

في خصيتيه ... وربك الوهاب 

والناس قبل النفط أو من بعده

مستنزفون ... فسادة ودواب

...

وعزيز مصر بالفصام مصاب 

من ذا يصدق ان مصر تهودت 

فمقام سيدنا الحسين يباب

ما هذه مصر ... فان صلاتها 

عبرية ... وامامها كذاب 

ما هذه مصر ... فان سماءها

صغرت ... وان نساءها أسلاب

....

من اقوال نزار قباني

Posthumous Release of "This Is It", by Michael Jackson

Bala wala chi

Summer 2004...

Beirut, I Love You (I Love You Not)

Chico, my friend

At the Hudson Hotel

Colorful lobby. Fluorescent space. 

Fancy Bar. Attractive place. 

Handsome person, in all that mess. 

Looks away, then looks back. 

Tells a joke and shakes his head. 

Happy tribe. His effect. 

I'll be missing you

Rumination

1. Pronunciation: \ˌrü-mə-ˈnā-shən\
Function:noun
: the act or process of ruminating: a: the act or process of regurgitating and chewing again previously swallowed food b: obsessive or abnormal reflection upon an idea or deliberation over a choice

2. Definition:
Rumination is a process that involves deeply reflecting on a situation. When rumination becomes difficult to control, it can lead to negative psychological effects including depression and phobias. The inability to stop ruminating on a particular thought is a hallmark of obsession.

Pronunciation: room-in-nation

3. Rumination (recyclic negative thinking), is now recognised as important in the development, maintenance and relapse of recurrence of depression. For instance, rumination has been found to elevate, perpetuate and exacerbate depressed mood, predict future episodes of depression, and delay recovery during cognitive therapy.

4. Depressive Rumination: Nature, Theory and Treatment

A relatively new theory in psychology, depressive rumination involves the cyclic depressive state of constant rumination, or mulling over thoughts. The word "ruminate" is derived from the Latin word for "chewing cud," so to ruminate means to mull over different thoughts in a negative cycle, causing a depressive state once the rumination begins.

Since rumination is based on cyclic negative thought, rumination begins to affect a person's ability to problem-solve, adding to a depressive rut. Less able to problem-solve, individuals begin to lose confidence in their solutions and themselves, increasing the depression associated with the rumination.

1. Typically, people affected by depressive rumination have had a past trauma. They exhibit neurotic or perfectionistic personality traits, hope that they will gain some insight from the rumination and believe that there are uncontrollable and chronic stressors that trigger events. Most individuals who ruminate have lost family members to terminal illness or survived tremendously stressful events.

Is life all about timing?

... or do we really have a say in what's happening? Are encounters the result of destiny's wicked games? Are aborted relationships already written in destiny's notebook? Are they here to teach us something? or are we complete responsible for their outcome? If you could go back in time, would you change something? anything?

Getting through...

Listen to U2

Turn The Page - Metallica

The New York Architect

He wakes up in the morning in a charming boutique hotel in the Village. Puts on his delicious, yet barely known, perfume and reads his newspaper in a fancy modern chair. He walks on the streets of New York, observing the crowd and constantly challenging his impressions. He meets with his team, works with them, encourages them to give their best. He is building a fancy city, where colors are bright, people are creative, and good mood hangs out on the streets like a group of teenage dreamers. He is the New York architect. He deconstructs the past and imagines the future.

Post Election Depression

I am no tarot reader and astrology is like Chinese to me. But I do predict a wave of post election depression spreading across the Lebanese population, after June 7Th. People are so hyped up with these elections, that, in some way, they have transcended all their day-to-day worries into these elections. They have built high hopes if their party wins. They have forgotten about the responsibility they have for their own happiness. Citizens have channeled their energy into political discussions and have filled their lives with political talk shows, in overwhelming ways. People beware, Election Blues is on the way.

Partir c’est mourir un peu

Quitter une relation, c’est tuer une part de soi même. Quand tu as existé pendant des années dans la vie de quelqu’un, quand tu as habité ses pensées, quand tu as ponctué ses journées, tu as existé a travers lui. Tu as existé parce que il pensait a toi, parce que il te parlait, parce que tu faisais partie de son imaginaire. Et puis un jour vient ou tu réalises qu’il ne demande plus de tes nouvelles, qu’il ne vient plus jeter un coup d’œil a ton quotidien « webien », qu’il a effacé ton nom de son registre, que tu es au plus une mémoire lointaine, qui jaillit occasionnellement, ou pas. Que tu es devenue pour lui une image floue, aux traits de moins en moins précis. Que ta voix, ton parfum, il ne se les rappelle plus. Que tu es morte pour lui. Que tu n’existes plus. Et avec ca, c’est une partie de toi qui est morte. C’est une ère ou tu as été toi, avec tes gouts, tes humeurs, c’est cette ère la qui est morte aussi. Oui, tu n’existes qu’à travers le regard d’un autre, et ce soir, c’est de noir, que tu vas t’habiller.

RoBERT - Nickel

Tutus et Froufrous

Certains endroits sont magiques. Comme cet escalier qui mène vers une salle de danse. La petite fille mettait son tutu bien rose et attendait sur l'escalier que sa classe commence. En attendant, elle observait les plus grandes - en tutu bleu, elles - suivre les pas du professeur. Plié, tendu, plié, jeté. Elle admirait celles qui étaient en première ligne surtout. Leurs copines suivaient leurs pas. Immanquablement, elles étaient les plus blondes avec des noms comme Stéphanie, Nicole ou Justine. Elles se déplaçaient avec grâce et légèreté. La petite fille se disait qu'un jour elle serait belle comme elles, elle danserait bien comme elles. Elle ferait le saut de chat sans faute, son cambre serait parfait, son cou du pied serait en dehors, et puis surtout, elle danserait sur ses pointes. Tout était possible dans sa tête. Tiens, elle serait aussi professeur de danse et elle recevrait des cartes de vœux plein d'amour de ses étudiants. Oh, et puis elle ferait des spectacles. L'affiche aurait sa photo faisant un merveilleux grand jeté.

Ce que la petite fille ignorait c'est que Stéphanie, Nicole et Justine rêvaient, elles, de froufrous blancs. D'un jardin décoré de fleurs roses, de pétales sur le sol et d'une belle traine en organza qui balaie les pétales sur son passage. Elles rêvaient du prince en smoking noir les attendant à l'autel. Et d'un diadème en diamants sur leurs cheveux.

Stéphanie, Nicole et Justine ont réalisé leurs rêves. La petite fille, elle, attend toujours de pouvoir porter le tutu bleu.

Dead woman walking

Prosecutor: Your honor, the facts of the case seem to be as follows. Six years ago, the accused met the victim on some stairs. They fell in love. A year ago, the accused met with the victim on other stairs. Then, without a notice, she grabbed his heart, squeezed it till the last drop of blood. Taken by surprise, the victim did not defend himself. The accused then threw the heart on the floor, stepped on it and started jumping. Still no defense from the victim. The victim still had his dreams and his faith; he believed these could get his heart pumping again. The accused, insisting, reached out for his dreams. She took a bucket of black paint and poured it on the dreams. The dreams got disfigured by the black paint. The victim still had his faith; he struggled, using his faith to resuscitate his dreams. The accused, ruthless, used all of her machiavelic strength to find the victim's faith. When she did, she grabbed it with her two hands, ran with it to the nearest gaz station. Poured gazoil on it, lit it with fire. The victim, helpless, saw his faith go on fire, reduced to ashes.

An autopsy of the victim revealed a soul with no dreams and no faith in humans, relationships, or love. The heart is still pumping but aches terribly.

In previous cases seen by this court of law, when an accused took a victim's life, the accused was condemned to the death penalty. We see many similarities between this case and a murder case. What is the difference, your honor, between taking another person's life and taking away his dreams, his faith, and his heart? What is a person's life without these anyways? As such, we consider that the death penalty is well justified for the horrible crime that the accused had perpetuated on the victim.

Judge: the jury unanimously found the accused eligible for death penalty. The accused is now nothing but a dead woman walking towards her salvation.

Blogging Egypt

I have recently come across very interesting blogs by Egyptian citizens. Each blog tackles a different subject, yet, all of them radiate the same impressions: boredom and rebelliousness. Boredom from the socio-economic situation in Egypt, boredom from the tantalizing state, boredom from the lack of freedom. And a rebelliousness against the omnipresent state security service.

I have lived in Cairo for almost a year and learnt to secretly hate and despise Moubarak's regime. A regime that lets its citizens fall into an overwhelming poverty, a regime that controls the media, a regime that despises inclusion. A regime that lives in outrageous luxury while citizens are starving. Citizens are so busy gaining their livelihood that any other consideration, such as freedom, critical thinking, principles, etc, is considered a luxury, a non-essential feature of human life. I have thus frequently wondered about the state of comfortable numbness of the Egyptian people.

This is why I was pleased to discover a set of interesting Egyptian blogs, having the ambition to bypass state control of the media and self-censorship. Many are pro-reform, others coordinate demonstrations and other forms of civil action. Many have become important sources of alternative information for domestic and foreign journalists.

I so wish that the power of the blogosphere could lead to political reform, that some mechanisms will emerge whereby online discontent is translated into real political change. But, realising the influence of these blogs, the regime is increasingly controlling the cyberspace. Last summer Internet café owners were told to start collecting the identity cards of all users. In March this year the government began prosecuting bloggers for the content of their blogs.

I do believe though that blogs and Internet journalism have the potential to galvanize, inspire and organize. I hope this potential will be seized before its too late.

I *heart* Susan Boyle

Because she's got an angel's voice
Because her voice takes me back to childhood
Because she's got a dream
Because she pursued her dream
Because she triggered a debate on the importance of appearance
Because she reminded us that inner beauty is not an obsolete concept

Check her out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

Empathy

Empathy is the ability to emotionally connect with people, to understand and sympathize with other persons' emotional state of mind. It is the ability to know how another feels. This ability comes into play in a vast array of life arenas, from jobs with management position, to parenting, relationships, romance, etc.

In several psychological tests of thousands of people, the benefits of being able to read feelings in others included more popular, outgoing and sensitive persons. Concurrently, the lack of empathy, the failure to register another's feelings is a tragic failing in what it means to be human.

Yet, isn't too much empathy a handicap? Isn't being hyper alert to the emotions of those around us a curse rather than a blessing? Too much empathy does get in the way of emotional stability and decision making; Can you feel empathy with a person that is too empathic?!?

Jouzour el Amar

Cosa Sia, by Maalesh

Un vieux bijou donné...

"Dans les paniers d'osier de la salle des ventes
Une gloire déchue des folles années trente
Avait mis aux enchères, parmi quelques brocantes
Un vieux bijou donné par quel amour d'antan

Elle était là, figée, superbe et déchirante
Ses mains qui se nouaient, se dénouaient tremblantes
Des mains belles encore, déformées, les doigts nus
Comme sont nus, parfois, les arbres en Novembre

Comme tous les matins, dans la salle des ventes
Bourdonnait une foule, fiévreuse et impatiente
Ceux qui, pour quelques sous, rachètent pour les vendre
Les trésors fabuleux d'un passé qui n'est plus

Dans ce vieux lit cassé, en bois de palissandre
Que d'ombres enlacées, ont rêvé à s'attendre
Les choses ont leurs secrets, les choses ont leurs légendes
Mais les choses nous parlent si nous savons entendre

Près des paniers d'osier, dans la salle des ventes
Une femme pleurait ses folles années trente
Et revoyait soudain défiler son passé
Défiler son passé, défiler son passé

Car venait de surgir, du fond de sa mémoire
Du fond de sa mémoire, un visage oublié
Une image chérie, du fond de sa mémoire
Son seul amour de femme, son seul amour de femme

..."

Poetry and Soul

Isnt he great?!?

Thank you

Thank you for making me your sweetie, before I even knew what a sweetie was.
Thank you for having been my backbone, my confident and my friend.
Thank you for the long phone discussions that made me discover and think.
Thank you for showing me how a gentleman behaves and what being noble is about.
Thank you for having fought for me, when I did not even deserve it.
Thank you for the cool and the birth of the cool.
Thank you for Leonard Cohen, for Phish, for Blue Note, for Black Rose, for Desperate Housewives.
Thank you for making me love me.

Just like my mother gave birth to the baby me some 32 years ago, u gave birth to the adult me 16 years ago. And for that, on each birthday that passes by, I will be thankful.



Dance me till the end of love, Leonard Cohen

Of Life, Drama and Happiness

A thought, an idea, a concept, has been laying at the back of my mind for some time now: happiness. What is happiness? What drives happiness? What is the state of mind called happiness? I could have dived into the wealth of literature on the subject. I could have brainstormed with well rounded intellectuals. Yet I did not feel like dwelling on philosophical concepts about the human condition, but more thinking about what makes people around me happy. Simply. Simplistically even.

I came up with three possibilities that can explain the state of mind of a person when he/she says “I am happy”:

1. Happiness can be the compliance with a pre-defined image of our lives that we‘ve built since childhood. It can be that a child develops the idea that happiness is having a husband, kids and home she calls her own. Happiness for her would be achieving that dream.
2. Happiness can also be the state of no-unhappiness. So for example, unhappiness for a person is being alone, having a money problem, being divorced, or any number of other unfortunate events. Whenever any of these unfortunate events does not occur, a person can call herself happy. This option is most commonly mentioned by wiser adults: “you have everything, you are healthy, have a loving family, a job, of course you are happy”
3. Happiness can be the achievement of loved one’s happiness. The person forgets her own philosophical considerations about “happiness” and her sole aim is the achievement of one goal: make a loved one happy. I have noticed that parents are too busy providing for their kids’ needs and “happiness”, and the accomplishment of that purpose is just enough for them to assert that they are happy. I am sure kids provide a conceptual continuity to us human beings. In that sense, I am almost sure that readers who have children or dependants do not relate to this post. This option goes hand in hand with Voltaire’s “cultiver son jardin” idea that struck me at school. In a sense, thinking about life’s purpose and goals is an ingredient to unhappiness. Getting busy providing for loved one’s life can drive to happiness.

Each of the above options can be applied to one or many of our acquaintances. Yet, more often than not, we notice exceptions. Persons that were actually able to achieve the image they drew for themselves since childhood are not happy. People, who have it all, are not happy. Parents who have a well cared for family, are unhappy. And conversely, some people who do not fall into any of the above categories radiate happiness.

So what is wrong with the sea of life? Is each and every person swimming in a different direction? Nothing is wrong, really. Except that, whatever the direction in which you swim, this sea has an end: death. From that observation on, there is one step to acknowledging that Life IS a Drama: The fact that a loved one dies. That we are broken hearted. That we miss someone insanely. That we are waiting for someone irrationally and against all odds. That there is unfairness. That an innocent is accused. That a child is lonely. That a little kid is abused. That a good kid is suffering from a disease. That it’s too late for something precious. That we regret. That we mourn. That we hurt someone we love. That we are deceived. That we are rejected. That we have a mental illness. That we know we are going to die but don’t want to …yet. All the pain that comes with being alive can’t but make life itself a drama, a tragedy.

In that context, with that observation in my mind, happiness can’t be but a choice. Yes, against all odds, against suffering, hurting, mourning, a person can make the choice to be happy. Happiness cannot be a state of mind that is undergone passively. It is a proactive, conscious choice. It’s a perspective on things that do not accept putting one’s self down. I choose to be happy, therefore I am happy.

And why isn’t everyone happy then, you might ask. Because some people are not convinced that they deserve to be happy; Because for some others, being happy means that they are moving on from a drama they are not ready to let go of. But that is another story…

A twitt on Twitter

International press has been "twitting" about the social networking website, Twitter. Below is a fun video about this phenomenon. I’m quite impressed the hype hasn’t reached Lebanon yet. I guess we Lebanese are quite loyal to our exhibitionistic-voyeuristic-gossipistic outlet (a.k.a Facebook). Makes me wonder: Is the human's exhibitionist tendencies at the forefront of the success of these websites? or is communication drastically changing?

صلاة عمان

هذه الصلاة سكنت قلبي منذ العام ٢٠٠٥ حيث سائق أجرة في الأردن أملاها علي. كنت أرددها معه كل صباح وأنا استكشف شوارع عمان. عمان الهادئة، عمان النائمة ولكن عمان المليئة بالمشاعر والامال والتمني ... والصلاة


بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيمِ

الْحَمْدُ للّهِ رَبِّ الْعَالَمِينَ

الرَّحْمـنِ الرَّحِيمِ

مَـالِكِ يَوْمِ الدِّينِ

إِيَّاكَ نَعْبُدُ وإِيَّاكَ نَسْتَعِينُ

اهدِنَــــا الصِّرَاطَ المُستَقِيمَ

صِرَاطَ الَّذِينَ أَنعَمتَ عَلَيهِمْ غَيرِ المَغضُوبِ عَلَيهِمْ وَلاَ الضَّالِّينَ

آمين

Abusive Relationships

Lately, the story/saga of Chris Brown and Rihana abounded the People press: a glamorous couple, a fight whereby Chris hit Rihana, a police report, a picture of injured Rihana leaked to the press, a highly publicized break-up, and an even more publicized reconciliation. This story has fueled a lot gossip but also a wave of awareness campaigns on abusive relationships: What are the warning signs of abusive relationships, how to help the victim, etc. Abuse is not only physical; it also can be emotional or verbal. It is apparently known that abuse typically starts during teenage years. Emotional abuse is malicious and teens who become involved in abusive relationships may be entering a cycle of violence that can continue into adulthood. What teens learn about respect and how to treat/be treated by others will affect the choices they make in future relationships.

I know that the human psyche is quite complicated; that such situations are hard to analyze, but I can’t help but wonder what keeps a person - that apparently has it all - going back to an abusive partner? Some would say that the victim has “no personality”, “is weak”. But beyond any judgmental opinion, what can drive a woman to return to an abusive relationship?

Closed Zone

The animator of the Israeli movie "Waltz with Bashir", made a short movie, "Closed Zone", about the life in besieged Gaza. Powerful.
While I approve of the work of those Israeli anti-war militants, I cant help but wonder why, we, Arabs dont produce such equally effective communication channels.

The West Bank Archipelago

While reading a blog of le monde.fr, I came accross the below map. It is a map published by the Atlas 2009 of Le Monde Diplomatique, that depicts the reality of life in the West Bank: cities and villages, seperated by the "Wall", by Israeli colonies, by army check-points. A West Bank that looks more like an archipelago of isolated islands rather than a land where people can decently live.

Childhood Memories from the 80s*

* Courtesy of G

Salwa Katrib - Khidni Ma3ak

خدني معك على درب بعيدي
مطرح ما كنا ولاد صغار
وغفي ربيعي بشمس جديدي
نسيني يوم ال صرنا كبار

خدني معك يا حبيبي يا حبيبي
مطرح ما لون الازرق غاب
نمشي سوا يا حبيبي يا حبيبي
على ارض الرمل الي فيها عتاب
بعز الهوا خبيني خبيني
وتركني ضيع بقلبو نهار
ئول للهوا يا هوا ينسيني ينسيني اليوم ال صرنا كبار

خدني معك....

قول للهوا يودينا يودينا
فوق جبال ال مالها حدود
بكرة الزمن رح يمحي اسامينا

On men, women and body image

A boy and a girl (or a boy and boy, or a girl and girl for that matter) like each other, they get together. And then you hear about the great effect they had on each other: “oh, have you seen how positive she is now?”, “yi, she gave him a sense of stability”.

I often hear about a girl that stopped smoking or a guy that resumed studying, thanks to the aura of their significant others.

How does that happen really? Does he tell her: “I want you to stop smoking”, does she tell him “I want you to start studying”… and they execute swiftly?

All this “nurturing each other”, and “getting the best out of each other” concept is praised by all....until he asks her to lose weight. In the same line as “I want you to stop smoking because it’s bad for your health”, he asks her to lose weight because “you would look much better without those 5 kilos” and “you’d feel much better about yourself if you toned your thighs”. And then he starts monitoring her food intake. Staring weirdly at her when she gets desert, getting upset if she doesn’t go to the gym. She obviously reacts. It’s her body, her health. “oh well”, he replies, “ your body also concerns me”. And then he throws in the killer argument “watching you eat is like watching my sick father smoke”. Hmm, hmm.

Even if a man is not satisfied with his woman’s body, how legitimate or acceptable is it to let her know about it? Isn’t it common knowledge that women dread remarks about their weight? And if he doesn’t speak up his mind, wouldn’t he be hiding things from her? In couples, can we share everything? When it comes to relationship management, where do boundaries stand?

Homage to Salwa Katrib

This is an homage to Salwa Katrib, Lebanese singer and TV icon, who passed away yesterday. The video is an excerpt from her play "Ben el Jabal", a remake of "My Fair Lady".

Zi Favorite

Biya el Khawatem

When a movie tells more than a story. Tells emotions. Tells moments. Labneh eaten next to the fire in the beautiful village of a handsome human being with a lovely grandma. Arak drunk on the terrace of a handsome human being with a wise grandpa. Moments you miss. ta3a wla tiji... w kzob 3layi... el kezbi mech khatiyyi...w3idni enno rah tiji...w ta3a...wla tiji. eza bta3mol ma3rouf...J'ai une larme dans mes yeux.

Tic Toc

Tic Toc, Tic Toc
I could hear the ticking clock

In 24 hours he is going away
And my being will melt like clay

Do something!, says my head
Yet, my body can barely get out of bed

I cant recognise the person within
It hurts like I am shedding my own skin

New-Disco, Cool Disco

Veronicas Veil, by Fan Death

Freedom of Choice

... What if one doesn’t want it?

Listen to this legend:

There was a donkey, Buridan's donkey, that stood between a pile of hay and a pot of water. The donkey was hungry but it was equally thirsty too. The donkey could not make its mind whether to start by eating or by drinking. He stood there while the earth turned around itself. Nights went by and days followed. Other donkeys were eating, drinking, jumping in the woods. Yet, Buridan's donkey stood there, unable to make any rational decision to start eating hay or drinking water; it is as hungry as it is thirsty and is positioned exactly between food and drink. What happened at the end? well, Buridan's donkey died from hunger and thirst.

Can a person who sees two options as truly equally compelling be fully rational? Could a man die, between two equally plausible routes of action?

I leave you to ponder on this song, "Freedom of Choice", by Devo:

"A victim of collision on the open sea
Nobody ever said that life was free
Sank, swam, go down with the ship
But use your freedom of choice

Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Your freedom of choice

In ancient rome there was a poem
About a dog who found two bones
He picked at one
He licked the other
He went in circles
He dropped dead

Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!

Then if you got it you dont want it
Seems to be the rule of thumb
Dont be tricked by what you see
You got two ways to go

Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Freedom of choice

Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!"

Zappa Plays Zappa - "Peaches En Regalia (Live)"

My Daughter in Gaza

La Tasse de Café

Il y a une image qui me hante. Une séquence d'images plutôt. J'étais assise avec le joli petit garçon a la table de la cuisine. Nous étions entrain de faire de la peinture: La table était maculée de petites taches de peinture, encombrée de papiers, de pinceaux, d'une palette, d'un verre d'eau, d'assiettes en carton. Le petit garçon est incroyablement doué. Alors que je dessinais la classique petite maison dans la prairie (le toit rouge, la cheminée fumante, la lampe suspendue a l'entrée), le petit garçon peignait des traits fous, créant des mouvements insolites. Des images dansantes, qu'il montrait fièrement a sa maman.

Minuit sonné, nous nous sommes souhaités une bonne année. La maman du petit garçon nous a conté une vieille tradition selon laquelle il faut faire un vœu pour l'année qui vient, tout en jetant une tasse de café sur l'asphalte. Si la tasse se casse, le vœu sera exaucé.

Nous nous sommes rués sur les tasses de café. J'ai choisi une tasse blanche, avec des motifs verts et rouges. J'ai fait un vœu et lancé la tasse dans le vide. Crac, elle s'est brisée en milliers de morceaux. Applaudissements. Au tour du petit garçon. Sa maman lui donne une tasse. Il ferme les yeux, fait un vœu et lance la tasse dans le vide. J'étais tendue, je voulais, je voulais tellement qu'elle se fracasse. Mais je savais…. Je savais. La tasse s'est reposée, intacte sur l'asphalte. Bredouille, le petit garçon s'en va ramasser la tasse de café. Sa maman l'encourage a la relancer. Jai souhaité de tout mon être que la tasse se brise mais je savais, je savais... La tasse a traversé le jardin, et s'est reposée, encore une fois sur l'asphalte, sans aucun crissement. En voyant ses yeux déçus, ses grands yeux d'amour, j'ai entendu mon être se briser. Jusqu'a ce jour, j'en rassemble les morceaux.