rehashing? Nostalgia
ordinary? Or just
latent maladjustment syndrome, according to analysts assume expensive Sunday?
matter.
greater than in the two photos that follow, it is not difficult to see, would own there be a degree of discernment not exceeding that of a linnet or not, the dramatic contrast between grace elegant small seraglio who sat al'ancienne up guns, (all, disappeared from under the tracks of cannibalism sociocultural), and the sinister current alignment black sickles of ignorance and vulgarity, with their sharp beaks silhouetted against the sunset blazing at Ain-el-Mraisseh locality like birds of the nightmare created by a whimsical pencil Philippe Druillet.
But the irreparable loss of old places and old stones, causing the gradual dissipation of any inherent memory, remain a relatively minor disaster at the prospect of a future whose beginnings herald the inevitable descent of a new Medellin instead of what was once the legendary capital of Switzerland of the Levant.
Cornered between two aberrations denatured and survivors of prehistory, one of which is a huge Stalinist Gulag and the other a replica of what was Biblical enclave Rhodesian of Ian Smith, Lebanon, distressed surplus of a regime which banditry and corruption are the real constitution, and a population comprised mainly of pitiful beasts fanatics and underdeveloped, was finally swallowed up in the narrow corridor that can lead to only one door, that of public toilets.
But it would be unfair to burden excessively Lebanon and the Lebanese when it is found that the''elite''that makes up about one fifth of the world population, and continues to monopolize willingly or forcing 4 / 5 of global resources, persists in his arrogance capitalist as'injecter frantically Trillion Trillion on absurd in an attempt to bail out a hopelessly crippled economy, rather than have the courage to use it once to drastic solutions and inevitable that they would save (and elsewhere) of an impending disaster widespread, though they might stifle their greed for that colonialism has barely concealed under a chandelier made so thin that it only serves to fool some gullible Bedouins.
And voila.
buffet of populist demagoguery is reopened, for the fans ...
* * * * A sickle
interposed between my black stone bench Ain el Mraisseh locality and the Mediterranean appears to taunt me its wicked hooked beak.
By what mysterious through the unconscious, this urban ugliness brought me back to''Les Caves du Vatican,''the farcical tale of Andre Gide? Go know!
Stitches in my mind wandered from Gide to Raskolnikov, the central character in "Crime and Punishment" by Dostoyevsky, before focusing on the dialogue between the two brothers, Glaucon and Adeimantus, of Book III of'' Plato's''Republic.
I owe to the illustrious Athenian discourse on autonomy or heteronomy of the act, the trigger that ended my brain nomadism. Sprung from the depths
like Moby Dick to Ahab face, the decision was there before me sudden and brutal.
While in principle I have never voted in my life, I'd leave my lair Metn-North in the morning of Sunday, June 7, 2009, and would make me in Achrafieh to slip into the ballot box the list of Tayyar , Zai my hiyé .
If for Meursault in''the Foreigner''by Camus, "It was because of the sun" for me it was because sickles.
There were too many.
Ibrahim Tyan.
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