Playing piano in his running shoes…


He left the party late that night. He doesn’t like it when they come back home with him. He doesn’t know what to do with them, or himself after the sex is over… they sit in her bed. He pretends to be sleeping…
Tonight, he left alone. He didn’t even flirt with anyone there. It was one of those nights when one feels invisible. uninvited…
Home. alone. at dawn… he plays.
Chopin. Prelude numero 2.
Pam. rest. pa pam pam. rest. paam.
And he stopped. He closed the piano, and stared at his reflection on the shiny wood, his face slightly distorted by the words ‘Steinway & Sons’… he carefully dropped back the crochet throw over the keyboard cover, and silently muttered something about these ridiculous things that’d upset her if not done the way she wants. He didn’t mind though. not then. not since she left. he even centered the dried flowers on the body and smiled, knowing how this would please her… but thinking how much he hates to put something on the lid, and how much he likes to open his concert grand while playing…
He’s put on his jogging gear. but came back to the piano. he continued the Prelude. he played it again. then again.
Pam. rest. pa pam pam. rest. paam.
And again he stopped. He closed the piano and saw her reflection on the shiny wood, her face distorted by the words ‘Steinway & Sons’… she’s here. she’s back. But only to take her dried flowers, her crochet throw. to pack them with her things and leave… He felt a twinge of guilt for he was happy for a second… yes, a trace of happiness. because now he could play his piano open. But he immediately understood his pain, his loss… he would have no one to listen to him playing.
Silence. a pause. his running shoes squeaked on the pedal. she left.
he continued the prelude.
Pam. rest.
he thought about how much goes on during a note of silence between two lovers.
pa pam pam. rest.
he thought about how much was said during two notes in a prelude.
paam.

From a mother to her son: I WAIT.


I wait for you…
I wait for you my love.
I wait for you to come back.
for your brother to come back.
I wait..
I talk to a picture. I cry to a wall.
I sob in silence. Wait for the call.
And I wait… more and more.
I count the days. I count the hours.
the seconds for your call…
love,
no matter how long you go
how far away,
know
you will always stay
right here in my arms
near to my side
in my heart..
know
I wait for you
My heart with you
I wait for you
With all the longing
of all the lovers
put together…
I wait for you
wistful. drained.
alone and aged..

To this extent I don’t matter?!
and my tears don’t matter?
and my love doesn’t matter?
I am afraid
this distance will take
a bite of my love
every day
you longer stay
away…
why did you stop..
asking about me?
why did you stop..
calling me?
all this while you plan to stay?!
to stay away
from where hearts sing your name?
from where tears wash your pain?
for how long would I live?
and you are..
still very far..
Come back.
‘Come back!?!’ I cry
My love calls you
My heart calls you
Come back!
Come back my son.
I wait for you
I wait for you
I wait for you every day…

(pic: El-Mama; Rawsheh, Beyrouth 2003)

PS: this post is inspired by Azzeza Jallal’s song ‘Mistaniyak’, which Mar’s latest post reminded me off. The story goes that my parents were out on one of their usual, long Sunday road trips, and my father put on this song in the car (Mistaniyak) for my mother to listen to it. She burst into tears, and was so embarrassed when my father relayed the story to me on the phone.

ROACH BROOCH!?!
(for fz...)
Science 19 May 2006:
Vol. 312. no. 5776, p. 979




Madagascar giant hissing cockroaches make fun pets, as some bug aficionados know. But Salt Lake City, Utah-based fashion designer Jared Gold has taken cockroach appreciation to a new level. He recently released a line of live, bejeweled hissing cockroaches, complete with several leashes that can be attached to a pin on a person's clothes. Austrian Swarovski crystals are embedded in the roaches' "hoods."
The glittering insects go for $80 online at blackchandelier.com, and Gold reports receiving about 25 orders a week. With proper care--the cockroaches come with instructions, which include cleaning their aquarium regularly, ensuring they receive a fruit-filled diet, and keeping them warm and moist--the insects can live about a year.

Not everyone is gung ho about the latest trend. Michael McGraw, spokesperson for the animal-rights group PETA, observes that "Mr. Gold is essentially mutilating [the animals] to sell them." Entomologist Shripat Kamble of the University of Nebraska, Lincoln, adds that they may not be the ideal accessory: "Hissing cockroaches secrete certain irritants a lot of people are allergic to."
Credit: Maendi Brooks

Isn’t Pyrex supposed to be heat resistant?!?!
(complaints)

The week started.
Monday.
I walked into the lab.
“hey, what’s up?”
“I’m waiting.”
“waiting for what?”
“For Friday.”
“good one.” (But I know what he means!)
The day progressed with phone calls from the international office, saying that my visa application is missing a document. delays. crap. more carp. a $1000 fee (WHAT??)
Manuscript. more revisions. more revisions. (just more! I’ll be dead before publishing it – postmortem publication, how avant-garde!)
Work. I don’t have cells. (didn’t I ask for cells?!)
American Express. another bill. (didn’t they receive my last – this change-of-address thing is so bogus.)
Fedex. They lost my shipment. (insurance? are you serious?)

Alright then. The best way to deal with a bad day is to end it. period. no more. I am going home.
“I am not leaving the house again!”… not even to get dinner. I’ll prepare something. I only have some frozen vegetables. Well, that’ll do. not leaving the house.
I put the frozen stuff in a Pyrex tray. Now that tray has been in the oven a few times before at pretty elevated temperatures. So I thought, “well, I’ll put it on the stove to melt the stuff a bit, then transfer it to the oven”… “ah, let me shake it a little”.. so I hold the tray in both hands, wiggle it for a second, and then.. and then… the whole thing EXPLODES IN MY FACE (thank goodness I had my glasses on). I got cuts all over (small cuts.. but still they hurt), and glass shrapnel and my pathetic vegetables all over the kitchen and me.
I examined running down the street screaming and flapping my arms (like one does), but judged against it and got take-out…

And it didn’t stop today!!
The pain from one of the cuts on my left foot turned to numbness. I got my first cell culture contamination. My experiment is delayed. and…
OK. I’ll go work at home now…

(thanks for listening)

MY OUTER CRUST:


I am not obsessive compulsive, but I am appalled when people use different ‘random’ fonts in their presentations, shocked beyond belief when they do it in a manuscript, and dissolve in tears if published unnoticed.
I have a bizarre sense of humor, and would like to live a caricature of my own life.
I enjoy editing my friends’ papers.
I use black for ‘control’ in a graph while everyone else uses white.
I don’t understand why people put the flap of the toilet paper roll facing the wall, while it clearly should be facing away form it.
I am an atheist, but I like to listen to prayers sometimes for the emotional experience.
I am eccentric.
I don’t like babies.
I love old people, and always think about how much history they’ve made.
I never cry, and wish I could. The only thing that could make me cry is self-pity.
I hate overly plaintive people.
I have a really bad memory (I once forgot the pin number for my ATM card).
I hate the subway.
I think I have agoraphobia. I love big parties though.
My ultimate most severe phobia is from cockroaches (writing the word makes me wince).
My elementary school teacher envisioned that I would become a movie director when I grow up. I became a scientist, and I never did grow up…
I have a huge metal brace with 12 screws implanted in my back. It makes metal detectors go off in airports.
I hate the vulgar. and I think people should always be polite and proper even in a casual atmosphere among friends.. even during an argument.
I am embarrassed if I am spoken to in a language I don’t understand, and I didn’t understand.
My parents are a couple of good friends to me, I love visiting them to catch up and gossip.
My brother is my parent.
My cousin is my brother.
I live out my fantasies and think that it’s good to do so.
I have absolutely no sense of direction and get lost all the time.
I am romantic, but not sensitive, and people have difficulty understanding that.
I love the ocean, and believe that I directly evolved from a fish.
I get severe lower back pain and I learned to ignore it.
I think I am developing some sort of manic depression because of the weather in Boston.
I love to check the etymology of words. a lot.
I truly abhor celery, but when my friends secretly add it to something they cooked for me I don’t usually take notice.
I wake up everyday at 3 in the morning to eat then go back to sleep.
I don’t have a TV. and can’t stand watching it. I love to watch movies though.
I can’t drive a car, and don’t think that it’s a necessity.
I am maniacally obsessed with balconies, yet I didn’t have one for the last 5 years.
I love rooftops, and get so thrilled when I go out on one.
The cello is my favorite instrument.
I paint while listening to music.
I love going to solo recitals.
I think my sense of smell is more advanced than the average person.
I want to retire in Montevideo, or Buenos Aires when I am old. I started learning Spanish.
I love modesty yet some people think I am arrogant.
It’s extremely difficult to offend me. And I usually have to consult with a third person to know if what had been said is actually considered ‘offensive’.
I am not confrontational, yet I always have to speak my mind even if it killed me, and one day it will.
I hate having fights with people, and never understand the reason why people should. yet I have enough fights on my hands to prove that I do instigate them sometimes.
Edith Piaf was my favorite singer during my early teen years.
My violin teacher, when I was a kid, told me that I suck. My parents used to beg me to stop playing when I was practicing. So I guess my music was painful. I wish I could play though.
I do not own a single piece of clothing with anything written or drawn on it. this is completely unintentional (I just noticed it few days ago).
I hate propaganda even when constructive.
I hate revolving doors, they make me nervous, especially when there're a lot of people and you have to synchronize your pace with theirs otherwise you'll get squished.
I used to think it’s extremely difficult to talk about one’s self, but I guess it’s not… hehehe.

Meet me at Mulberry street...


(having fun at photoshop)

Since last time you saw me...


She was saying that she misses me…
-yeah, me too.
-No I still miss you right now.
-but I am right here!
-you don’t understand. I miss you even when you are here next to me.
-…
-I remembered now how I always missed you, even when we were together.

She always bewilders me with a new concept… still manages to feed me a new impression whenever I see her… a new notion of us. separately and together.
A new longing that we concealed since that conversation, has been growing within me. within us. a restored desire. a revived lust. and how strong lust is when starting anew!

Auburn...


Hysterical laughter
Louder than thunder
Broke the silence in the room…

When his gaze wondered outside the window, he noticed that he could only see the people in the building in front.
He wanted more.
He wanted to see a tree, a sea… a horizon.
He had no horizon looking out of his window.
He could see the sky, but that doesn’t thrill him anymore.
Not since he cruelly discovered that he cannot fly. He still makes flying noises flapping his hands, running across the room or jumping on the bed, but he knows that it would only hurt if he jumped out of the window again.

He heard from the warden that the woman in front has burnt her entire apartment building one night, before coming to live here.
There was no moon at all, and she wanted some light that night.
She was so provoked by the gloom of her apartment, that she’s put fire to the curtains.
Since then he knows how fascinated she is by the glaze of a flame.
He knows and he understands. After all aren’t we all willing to pay any price for a good fire when we really want one?
He wanted her. Although he never met her.
He pictures her with flowing red hair… ‘burning with desire’.
But she was very loud today.
Usually she doesn’t say much. But when she incarnates her persona, as he likes to say, she wouldn’t stop singing. A shrieking soprano that wouldn’t stop until tranquilized by some dose of morphine.
He also heard that she used to be a house wife, from aristocratic origin. That she killed her two children before setting fire to the house.
She was performing Medea today. Again.

He gazes listlessly out of the window, staring at the people in the building in front.
He feels he knows them by now. He does. He doesn’t know their names, or what they do during the day. But he knows their nighttime habits. He feels their feelings and watches their fights. He knows them.

He pictures himself in their apartments. As his apartment. With his red hair woman. Bickering over the dinner table, then pushing the dishes aside and having the most meaningless feelingless sex…

He jerked off at the window, engrossed in his reverie.

Club des fatigues de naissance...


Growing up I had (along with my cousins) a list of things to do or to be to belong to the ‘Club des fatigues de naissance’. I don’t remember all of the rules, but here’re some that I do:
- Never do today, what you could postpone for tomorrow.
- If you get the urge to work, sit down, take a deep breath, and it’ll pass.
- If you see someone resting, help him/her.
- We are born tired and we live to rest.
- A lot of resting never killed anyone.
- Love your bed like you love yourself.
- Rest during the day to sleep well at night.

(pic: The Siesta, Paul Gauguin - The Met)

My favorite columnist talked of Beirut in her last article...

Of war and... tango


Since I was a child I equate tango with war. the civil war in Lebanon. the events (al ahdess) to be specific.
The reason I guess is that we had some records that we used to play during the evenings back in the days. James Last I believe. and now I feel that the similarity is more justified than that. It’s this emotional… staccato! the lost nostalgia. the brusque change. the strength…
It’s this strange happiness that reaches you through a cloud of melancholy.
I could hear the guests’ laughter. dinner parties… people dressed up, playing cards, oblivious to the roar of the war on the streets outside… the longer they bomb the longer we party, till dawn, till we wear them down by our dancing, till they can’t shoot another bullet.
“No, don’t leave yet, it’s still hot and heavy outside…”
Have another drink, and let's dance… a faux pas and you’re dead. That was the war after all. A tango.

I wait...


I wait for my neighbors to move out
my cat to die. My plants to wilt…
I wait for the rain to darken my sky
high tide to reach my door
for the winter snow
wearing a melancholic smile
an alcoholic grin
like a maniac
I wait for something to happen
something apocalyptic…
apprehensive of what will become
of tomorrow when today dies
without a choreographed finish
like an arm falling to a chair
no one to care
or garnish
its end by a dance
like you did on the day
I left…
and I wait for you
by the evening lamp
desolate and damp
holding my knees under my chin
like a fetus waiting to be born
waiting to see the light
scream the scream
swim the swim
and leave the water
of the damp womb of my room…
How many cords have I cut before
births did I lead
wrists did I slit
how many arms did I watch
dropping silently to a chair
without any final
choreographed gesture
to celebrate the ending of a life
before reliving another
like a pilgrim always coming back
to relive the sorrows of life
like no one else did before

Hyperalgesia


Hyperalgesia. This is where I started with science. I was young, and thought that this is a good subject to examine… I never thought I would become the subject one day. I looked at pain sensitivity induced by inflammation. I never thought I would understand it like today. Today, I think about all the mice and rats that I’ve put through what I am going through today. At the time I did become a vegetarian. I never wanted to feed on anything that felt pain to become food. My work heightened my sensitivity. Today, I lost my sympathy but regained my sensitivity. My sensitivity to pain. Maybe I am closing a loop here. Checking out with my bad back. Checking out to a better horizon… brighter… vistas.
'When it rains outside, know my friends that it’s raining inside my walls…

A Times Square side walk at different colors of the day:
tapisserie du jour moderne...


ps: click picture for better viewing.

Je t’aime (moi non plus)…


I love it when I discover that a music has been ‘inspired’ by another. And a very famous song no less. it's like catching someone in the act of stealing. I wish I could point fingers. check it out:
‘Je t’aime, moi non plus’ (Gainsbourg) and Chopin’s bolero… the two are almost identical!
Particularly: 'Je vais et je viens, entre tes reins' is directly out of the Bolero!
Am I the first one to see it? I wonder.

A la Fibonacci:
Homage for a NYC little bird...



far

gone

for rough

journeys, tough

on my frail plumage

I become desperate for a cage

on city roads like this, no one could hear my anger

without skies to fly, winds to tease, suns to kiss my cheeks, no one understands my stupor.

Love ad nauseam...

Don't smoke in bed...














I left a note on his dresser
And my old wedding ring
With these few goodbye words
How can I sing
Goodbye old sleepy head
I’m packing you in like I said

Take care of everything
I’m leaving my wedding ring
Don’t look for me
I’ll get a hand
Remember darling
Don’t smoke in bed

Don’t look for me
I’ll get a hand
Remember darling
Don’t smoke in bed

*Nina Simone*

(pic: bedroom - Van Gogh)

Bonsoir mon amour...


Tu sais je m'ennuie sans toi
Je pense à toi
Je t'aime et n'aime que toi
Je rêve à toi
Bonsoir mon amour
Mon seul amour
Bonsoir

*Bonsoir mon amour*

(pic: gabbiano)

Fine with me my dear…
Now it’s all clear
still you must know
the end is no way near
our love will only grow
and always I’ll be here
sit with that for now

Am I bipolar in love?


Am I bipolarly in love with you?
Well, I hope to never get through
this present mania with you.
But what about the others
in your life.. the lovers?
would you denounce them for me?
and then come away with me,
against all odds, we might be…
happy!
We’ll get together by next spring
Without any bluebirds to sing,
no lemonades to drink in July
nor rivers to cross in style
without tears to waste
ships to sail, or plays to play
we've done all this before
and anyway
It has always been our way
to forever stay…
les enfants terribles!
Now what do you say?

Moon river...


Two drifters off to see the world.
There's such a lot of world to see.
We're after the same rainbow's end--
waiting 'round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.

I thought you knew what it meant...
Tawq al yasamin!

Le Carnaval des Animaux: Le Coucou Au Fond Des Bois...

Sail on silver girl


When you're weary, feeling small,
when tears are in your eyes,
I’ll dry them all.
I'm on your side, oh,
when times get rough and friends just can't be found,
like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

When you're down and out,
when you're on the street,
when evening falls so hard,
I’ll comfort you.
I'll take your part, oh,
when darkness comes and pain is all around,
like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

Sail on silver girl, sail on by.
Your time has come to shine,
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine, oh and
when you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.

What am I to you?

What am I to you
Tell me darling true
To me you are the sea
Vast as you can be
And deep the shade of blue

When you're feeling low
To whom else do you go
See I cry if you hurt
I'd give you my last shirt
Because I love you so

If my sky should fall
Would you even call
I Opened up my heart
I never want to part
I'm giving you the ball

(what am I to you?)



We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate

So why do you fill my sorrow
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place (that) you've known
And why do you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why do you sing with me at all?

(delicate)

C'est fini la comédie...



C'est fini la comédie
Tout avait commencé
Comme une pièce à succès
Dans le décor tout bleu
D'un théâtre de banlieue
Nous n'étions que nous deux
On s'est aimé longtemps
Au point d'oublier le temps
Qui tout au long des scènes
Transformait les joies en peine
Il a gagné le temps
Il est content
Quand il nous voit chacun de son côté
Comme des étrangers
Nous n'avons plus en commun
Que les mots quotidiens
Le décor n'a pas changé
Mais les acteurs n'ont rien à jouer
Il faut baisser le rideau

(I bet you expected this one...)

(pic)

Our first song, on the green oval night...











How do I get through one night without you?
If I had to live without you, What kind of life would that be?
Oh I, I need you in my arms. Need you to hold...
You're my world, my heart, my soul...
If you ever leave,
Baby you would take away everything good in my life.
And tell me now,
How do I live without you? I want to know
How do I breathe without you? If you ever go
How do I ever, ever survive? How do I?
Without you, there'd be no sun in my sky
There would be no love in my life
There'd be no world left for me
And I, oh Baby, I don't know what I would do
I'd be lost if I lost you If you ever leave
Baby you would take away everything real in my life
If you ever leave
Baby you would take away everything
Need you with me
Baby don't you know that you're everything good in my life

Don't you know?

Quand?



"Quand as tu oublie son sourire?
et les mots tendres, et le desir?
quand as tu vu la distance? la nonchalance?!
et les cris de rire?!
n'as tu point entendu sa voix?
Encore une fois, le voila, pret a venir..
tu ne l'as pas vu au coin?
Pas loin, seul a fremir?
tu n'as pas pu le voire,
encore le croire
quand il t'a dit
qu'il restera toujours
ton tendre amour
pour la vie?"

(in 2006... big jump?)

RADIANTE...

… La table de ma vie est devenue vide;
il n’y a que ta chaise, vide de toi,
vide de ta voix
..de tes gestes, de tes sourires…

..Si tu étais partie.

Maintenant que tu es seule,
peut être tu saurais comprendre ma solitude,
mes gestes agiles en te parlant…
Las je suis à suivre tes pas.. là, tu n’es pas!!
Moche la vie sans toi, tendre la mort entre tes bras…

Ton âme radie dans le sombre de mes jours…
Chère amie, croises tes mains et regardes mes larmes.
Reposes-toi sur un meuble de mes jours,
tes pieds sur une chaise,
tes soucis sur mon cœur…
Regardes-moi chère amie,
dégoûtes la peine amère de mes souvenirs.
Dédaignes-toi de moi!
Craches sur mon caractère…
Toi, femme d’un rêve perdu,
ombre d’une soirée froide,
entre les coussins glacials d’une chambre perdue dans la neige…
Chère amie, n’essuies jamais mes larmes,
ne prends plus ma main,
ne m’emmènes plus sous le soleil…
Tout est parti maintenant,
tout est libre et écarté, semé entre le vide et l’absolu…
Tu deviens mon enfer…
Tu es l’autre qui me cache du monde.
Tu es le monde qui me prive de la vie…
Tu es la vie même, sans monde, sans peuples,
personne que toi et cette neige!!!
Cette neige blanche, noire par notre nuit!
Cette neige sans couleurs,
cette nuit perpétuelle,
cette âme radiante,
et moi mort!!

(what I wrote for you in 1996)

(pic: adapted from Wilfrid Hoffacker)

La donna è mobile



La donna è mobile, qual piùma al vento,
muta d'accento, e di pensiero.
Sempre un amabile, leggiadro viso,
in pianto o in riso, è menzognero.
La donna è mobile, qual piùma al vento,
muta d'accento, e di pensier
e di pensier, e di pensier

È sempre misero, chi a lei s'affida,
chi le confida, mal cauto il core!
Pur mai non sentesi felice appieno
chi su quel seno non liba amore!
La donna è mobil, qual piùma al vento,
muta d'accento e di pensier,
e di pensier, e e di pensier!

(pic: woman with a book, Picasso 1932)

Même si je sais que tout s'efface...















Je vais t'attendre au coin d'la rue
À l'heure où les lumières s'éteignent
Quand tu auras trop dansé, trop bu

A l'heure où ne restera plus
Que mon bras pour poser ta peine,
On partira ensemble une fois de plus

Tu m'embrasseras comme je déteste,
Avec cette tendresse que tu mets si bien
Entre toi et moi

Bien sûr que le temps a passé,
Que notre histoire est terminée...
Peut-être, mais peut-être pas pour moi

Même si je sais que tout s'efface
Tu reste là et rien ne passe...
Tu m'aimes bien, je t'aime tout court
La différence s'appelle l'amour

Trois tours d'périph, fenêtre ouverte
J'vois passer c'qu'on aurait pu être
Oui, je t'en veux, mais moins qu'à moi

Et puis pourquoi m'avoir rappelé
Pourquoi revenir me chercher
Pour te voir rire, te voir pleurer sans moi...

Tu veux pas d'moi, tu veux pas m'perdre,
Alors ce choix, j'le fais pour toi
C'est moi qui pars

Même si je sais que tout s'efface
Tu reste là et rien ne passe...
Tu m'aimes bien, je t'aime tout court
La différence s'appelle l'amour

Laisse-moi venir de temps en temps
Laisse-moi me dire qu'c'est comme avant...
Laisse-moi partir, même si je ments,
Laisse-moi me dire qu'avec le temps...

Même si je sais...

*PATRICK BRUEL*

Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye...



I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

*LEONARD COHEN*

(pic: Wilfrid Hoffacker)