Saturday, May 30, 2009

apolitical poliyum

so, yesterday - as i got back from beirut, there was something much more bling bling to my not so hip street in tripoli -everyone was working together, to the sounds of roaring music, to untangle mr khaldoun el sharif, his head to be specific, from the airbourne cables (cable tv, cable internet, electricity, phonelines, decorations, etc...)
and for the sake of being fair to this man, i decided that his parade will not go unnoticed.





*not all pictures were taken in tripoli, just some, some yesterday

fulfill noone, nothing, not even - you






يا راوي حكي حكاية
مادابك تكون رواية
حكي لي على ناس الزمان
حكي لي على ألف ليلة وليلة
وعلى لنجة بنت الغولة
وعلى ولد السلطان

حانجيتك مانجيتك
دنا بعيد من هادي دنيا

حاجيتك ماجيتك
كل واحد منا في قلبه حكاية

حكي وانسى بلي احنا كبار
في بالك رانا صغار
حكي لنا على الجنة حكي لنا على النار
على طير عمره ما طار
فهمنا معانى الدنيا

يا راوي حكي كما حكوا لك
ما تزيد ما نقص من عندك
كاين نشفوا على بالك
حكي لنسينا في هاد زمان
خلينا في كان يا ما كان









Thursday, May 28, 2009

C:\Documents and Settings\Administrator\My Documents\Downloads\Tori Amos - Abnormally Attracted To Sin (2009)

















C:\Documents and Settings\Administrator\My Documents\Downloads\Tori Amos - Abnormally Attracted To Sin (2009)\to self

SANAYEH sit-in في جنينة الصنايع


i got this email just now...

Dear Colleagues, Friends, and Concerned Citizens,

After the atrocious decision of the Municipality of Beirut to implement parking lots in Beirut under the historical Sanayeh Garden in Ras Beirut and the Sioufi Garden in Ashrafieh, every concerned citizen of Beirut is urged to object the strategies of the municipality and join the sit down in Sanayeh Garden at 10:00 AM this Saturday 30 May 2009.

The sit down is a civil action initiated by the Sanayeh neighborhood residents, which we hope it grows to encompass influential individuals, NGOs, and private sector enterprises. Please find attached the sit down poster and invitation for your reference and to circulate as widely as possible.

I will be helping Mrs. Randa Zaiter (a Sanayeh resident and active mobilizer, copied herein) in coordinating this event; so, please contact me for any inquiries. I hope we can lobby as many stakeholders so we can advocate green areas, open spaces, public spaces, heritage, and most importantly citizenship in Beirut.

Best Regards,
Fadi Shayya
Urban Designer & Architect
[fadishayya.wordpress.com]

i have just one ...like one thing to ..ok
who decides things around here??

101


yas,
this is blogging
1
2
3

would you like to say anything? change font and type

i have a fetish, i would like to be a photoslave, please make my dream come true
photocredit: george salameh

ommak nerd*

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

PROFILE saam.keshmiri - design iran







saam.keshmiri -22- is an artist / graphic designer studying and working in iran
it has been a while since i have been enjoying his work - childish, for it's raw - yet sophisticated to accept this raw attitude to extrovert itself as design communication

i am not entirely interested in what he particularly has to say, with this and that, but with his work, especially the clay models, the presence of the maker is very staged - finger prints, in the limelight - in his sketch works, it looks like the son of a persian carpet found himself some colored pencils and attempted to make a sentence

all in all, there is an enjoyable vocabulary that is clearly being played throughout - an exciting process of pushing forward -

click on the pictures for links to his work online



:)

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

in MY room


*in the mood for an interlude_


In your room
Where time stands still
Or moves at your will
Will you let the morning come soon
Or will you leave me lying here
In your favourite darkness
Your favourite half-light
Your favourite consciousness
Your favourite slave

In your room
Where souls disappear
Only you exist here
Will you lead me to your armchair
Or leave me lying here
Your favourite innocence
Your favourite prize
Your favourite smile
Your favourite slave

Im hanging on your words
Living on your breath
Feeling with your skin
Will I always be here

In your room
Your burning eyes
Cause flames to arise
Will you let the fire die down soon
Or will I always be here
Your favourite passion
Your favourite game
Your favourite mirror
Your favourite slave

Im hanging on your words
Living on your breath
Feeling with your skin
Will I always be here

depeche mode in your room

Monday, May 25, 2009

"جت ات رايت"

ياس تلعب بطابة مادونا - مادونا تلعب بطابة ياس

Sunday, May 24, 2009

a night's work


never done
never close to wrapping up - fangs of metal cuts in my flesh - my finger flesh

never done
a night's work - for morning lays retarded, exposed - whilst sun records a swirl

i am done
of being done - to be done is not - to finish is not - to wrap is to to belittle

i am
doing

LENNY KRAVITZ - Believe In Me

...I will sacrifice to find paradise but I need to know..

Friday, May 22, 2009

El Croquis 53 - Rem Koolhaas

It has been some time now, that I have been thinking of things, that I took for granted - people understanding my oral stimulation(s) audible vibrations. It has been, almost that same time that I have been lost in translation, this thing, this me and telling things - to me, from me.

It has been within this time, that I decided that I want to be an architect. To me, architects had the luxury to say things, and put people in things, and put things in people, and people in cities, and cities in people, and buildings in cities, and toys in buildings, and playgrounds in people, and many other things in other things that are many, with one sheer point in mind...saying things.

But, context is god, hello context...and I do not want to be an architect anymore. Oral stimulation(s) audible vibrations in double line perceptions define this by my disintegration, my proliferation into the oh-so-holy channels to the underground rest...but \ no.

When architecture decides that it can be defined by anything other than itself, in a scale of 1:1, then I denounce it, or denounce myself from it, either way...I would make sure we would not be together. So "do you want to be an architect?" is not a question. Question marks are not sufficient to ask.



I was flipping through El Croquis 53 - Rem Koolhaas today, and - I like this fellow. I am ending this post with some coffee, dark chocolate and a little something from that issue,

" What almost nobody really understands about architecture is that it is a paradoxical mixture of power and powerlessness." -Rem



Thursday, May 21, 2009

*sense in pretense in helium

i am to try things - that relate to nothing
but i am liable to things - rooted things

so little things say
kill us from the inside

master us to kill us
its harder
its harder

it is - harder

(chorus)

so i am able of things - in my head
because they have no doing
of things

there

(chorus)

so on the brink
between here and there
me and them
and for some reason, it sounds usual for me to base me on their not-ness
and i hate this, i hate this, but this is a blog - so i will be more scientific

_

In biology, evolution is change in the genetic material of a population of organisms from one generation to the next. Though the changes produced in any one generation are small, differences accumulate with each generation and can, over time, cause substantial changes in the organisms. This process can culminate in the emergence of new species.[1] Indeed, the similarities between organisms suggest that all known species are descended from a common ancestor (or ancestral gene pool) through this process of gradual divergence.[2]

The basis of evolution is the genes that are passed on from generation to generation; these produce an organism's inherited traits. These traits vary within populations, with organisms showing heritable differences (variation) in their traits. Evolution itself is the product of two opposing forces: processes that constantly introduce variation, and processes that make variants become more common or rare. New variation arises in two main ways: either from mutations in genes, or from the transfer of genes between populations and between species. In species that reproduce sexually, new combinations of genes are also produced by genetic recombination, which can increase variation between organisms.

Two major mechanisms determine which variants will become more common or rare in a population. The first is natural selection, a process that causes helpful traits (those that increase the chance of survival and reproduction) to become more common in a population and causes harmful traits to become more rare. This occurs because individuals with advantageous traits are more likely to reproduce, meaning that more individuals in the next generation will inherit these traits.[2][3] Over many generations, adaptations occur through a combination of successive, small, random changes in traits, and natural selection of the variants best-suited for their environment.[4] The second major mechanism driving evolution is genetic drift, an independent process that produces random changes in the frequency of traits in a population. Genetic drift results from the role that chance plays in whether a given trait will be passed on as individuals survive and reproduce.

Evolutionary biologists document the fact that evolution occurs, and also develop and test theories that explain its causes. The study of evolutionary biology began in the mid-nineteenth century, when studies of the fossil record and the diversity of living organisms convinced most scientists that species changed over time.[5][6] However, the mechanism driving these changes remained unclear until the theories of natural selection independently discovered by Charles Darwin and Alfred Wallace. Darwin's landmark work On the Origin of Species of 1859 brought the new theories of evolution by natural selection to a wide audience.[7] Darwin's work soon led to overwhelming acceptance of evolution among scientists.[8][9][10][11] In the 1930s, Darwinian natural selection was combined with Mendelian inheritance to form the modern evolutionary synthesis,[12] which connected the units of evolution (genes) and the mechanism of evolution (natural selection). This powerful explanatory and predictive theory directs research by constantly raising new questions, and it has become the central organizing principle of modern biology, providing a unifying explanation for the diversity of life on Earth.[9][10][13]

_

some people miss mice

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

haig told me


http://www.byblosfestival.org/YAS.html


BYBLOS BYBLOS BYBLOS here i cum...

for - to make, they would hit


so they told me i am trash, with a problem, supposed potential - i sip my coffee, she says i shouldnt sip my coffee as i talk to them - so they told me i need to go back and redo, go back and rethink - i sip my coffee, she says i shouldnt sip my coffee as i talk to them -and they illustrate my nonsense, some sense i had on paper, as i looked at her, and in my coffee..but in my head - they mute, and some parts of me giggled, all in all - not enjoying, but sipping my coffee...i tried to remember how her hair blew - as i told her about what i thought of, and our memories in playgrounds - for everyone to see

Monday, May 18, 2009

intro to pause

intro

It’s a really tough time when you realize that after twenty one years in this life, you don’t know what you are, or what you want from this oxygen abuse, we all like to call life. It is only harder when you figure out your father knows nothing about life either, yet he lived it beautifully. Well, here is the easy part of it all. Human ignorance is not age dependent. Aha, not to self, I am not stupid.

This point taken, I will try to molecularize life and take it to its basic sense, and I will know what life is all about. It seems very simple. Its not like you are bombarded with weird things like social values and religion by psycho-paths daily. I mean, how much of life, is defined, outside the walls of brainwash?

None

Believe me, I thought of that for a really long time. I mean, I know that I’m alive, I know I will die, but there is no proof yet that death is not simply social placebo. Think of it this way… you are born, with your death on your forehead, no? people look at you, smiling as you cry, knowing they might not see you die, but you will see them die and meet them in heaven one day. Don’t be sad, you will die too, everybody dies. What if no one really has to die, except that a law has been created some few centuries ago, to limit a seemingly increasing population.

Death is inevitable. The afterlife is the promised land. Go there. Do good.

This takes me to a whole new dimension, being good. I am glad I brought that up. Are you being good? Santa Clause asked you when you were nine. But you never heard his voice or saw him except in the form of your dad, wearing some red clothes. But you also remember how you slept way before your bedtime, and brushed your teeth, cleaned your room, and said goodnight politely to everyone in the neighbourhood. This was your mother’s version of being good, that goodness that would make santa love you, and give you a doggy treat for little children, or there is no such thing.

Anyways, it’s really nice you have been good all this time, who would have guesses what might have happened, you know?

Anyways, it is all about how you think, and why you think in a certain manner. Personally, I am trying to figure out why I was born and where I am going and why. Tell me I am crazy, but you are if you are not. I mean, why not? What better do we have to do? Nothing. It is as simple as that. Choices by elimination of the worst answers, the best way to go.

Many people seek happiness, but don’t know what happiness is in the first place. Happiness is not instantaneous adrenaline, or is it? I am not in a position to decide. Everyone decides according to personal statements and background. You will not argue with a refugee, that the homeland is bliss, even though you might know that’s his bliss no longer exists. He might know it too, but happiness is the blinding opium. Still, people enjoy being blind, enjoy being deaf, but never mute. There is this sense of incredible starvation for ignorance, that stretches beyond wanting to live a peaceful secluded life, but an ignorance that demands guidance in every which way. This ignorance is proportional to the gibberish syndrome, that refuses to coagulate despite its lack of material. Our world today is somehow built with nothing. I look around and try to appreciate the legacy that might be linked to us in a couple hundred years. We will be ruins of nothing; an era of civilization, only alive by faith, a faith that is bound by an ultimate fate of death, after a very interesting trajectory of consumption. Allow me to demonstrate your grandchildren’s legacy.

It is not a blank page, it is a deleted page. A page that has been decided upon, as a banal. The contemporary rules, and individualism is the way to go. I am totally okay with that, but not okay with my mother on the dinner table, roasted beside the potato. It is not okay to dispose of something, claiming that you have the answer to the problem. You are not the upcoming. The upcoming comes by itself. You can be a catalyst or a parasite. Now, you are a parasite. I breath the air of an old stone house as I walk to buy my salad. I smell it. I smell millions of seconds. I can almost smell the sweat of the family that built it, to live in it, to keep it, for the generations to come. I am not saying that keeping the old is the way to go, but it is not enough to try to cherish what you are supposed to cherish. No one asks you to stand a moment of silence for your grandfather. But I do. You should. It is not that now, you are an adult and are suddenly allowed to act upon your roots. A tree would die. Use the water properly.

Every revolution that should happen should be a revolution where the act happens by the self on the self. Any revolution that refuses to be bound by so, is an act of war. It is only when you can use logic to make someone believe in something by himself that a revolution has happened.

Now, revolutions need not be revolutions of mass destruction, and mental holocaust. Revolutions happen on the 1:1 scale. They are as clear as the light of day. As clear as dreams, and sitting down after a treat of fatigue. You are a revolution alone, because you are a person, living in the now. Now is the time to be, reflected from the past, and converging towards the unknown, commonly called the future.

How will I defend my country? My country is at war with itself more than everything. It is not at war with an enemy, because any enemy is nothing in front of the dimension of the self. It is not easy to acknowledge what I am, but I can only promise myself that I will not die, except if I feel I need to.



Raafat Majzoub

ANOREXITECTURE

1.04 pm Beirut Time is not our side anymore. The representation of our functions with respect to our habitat is becoming by itself a metaphor for our mental anorexia, that has been going on for years now. We calculate in terms of approximation, our necessities on a trajectory, exploring nothing but block-result. At least this is what could be said about the mainstream commercial architecture.

Commercialism is not only a way of doing things in such a stage of reversial evolution, but in fact, it has become a lead player in the game of survival. We, as humans now, more than ever know that we have a clear view of our oblivion. We know what is going to happen to us, and we know who is doing it, us.

It is only when we confront ourselves with our 1.14 pm Beirut. facts, that we will build.


But where are we going to learn about ourselves? By admitting our malfunction in designing, we fall down from our sketchbooks, off our keyboards, to hit what we would normally think of as rock bottom. We reach the usual starting point of what is the essence of our being, the “offset”.

The offset is physically nothing. It is only the expression of our personal context. This is what would define architecture as a contextual tissue, and not a sidewalk parasite. There are a lot of ways to re think our contemporary state of urban nuclear waste.

No one can complain. It is a matter of regeneration from a base-point that is both empty, yet different from one place to another. What would that give us? A transparent, empty bucket. This bucket should be crammed with temporary, precise, milieu data including narratives, dirt, people, voices, images, brothers and sisters, accumulating until each physical entity by itself loses its independent identity. The narrative should smell like images, the same way dirt will become the sister of people’s voices. This melange of essential “un-approximate” values, will create the antagonist of a tabula-rasa, a sketchbook, with a crooked grid, keyboards with distinct keys. The starting point becomes the energy-breakfast of a hearty, healthy shelter, shelters that would define architecture as 1.26 pm Beirut a processed reflection of us.



Raafat Majzoub

cleaning*

FOR SOME REASON, IM FINDING MYSELF CLEANING OUT MY ME - IT IS A BIT WEIRD, BUT THINGS...THINGS I LOST ALONG REFUTALS AND REJECTIONS, THINGS OF NOTHING, THAT MEANT A LOT TO ME, NOW FORGOTTEN - HERE IS A PIECE I WROTE A WHILE BACK



Patriotism / not

Prologue /



as brutal as this may sound at first, I am now convinced that I am no longer a civilian in the country I was born in; the place of my childhood till my now-ness.

It makes no sense to me, to relate to a bulk that I no longer intersect with. I am wasting my time. I am a holder of a passport, that I no longer respect.

Yet, I recall that my country needs me for some reason, and that defending it should be one of my priorities.

I would like my country to get a life.



1 /

Patriotism is one word I am without any regret or remorse, eradicating from my near-fetched vocabulary. I will not deal with myself as a person with a main cause to feel for my country. It is an anchor I will release myself of. It is an opium, I am substituting with apples.

You would think you are selfish if you would reconsider your understanding of how the world works; you being the average human, you are the bottom of the food-chain.

It might just be me, but I am not happy with how things work.

I wake up in the morning to the morning news, a collective storage of national bile, smelling my coffee. I don’t drink my coffee, at least not all of it. Wearing my shorts already, I throw on my t-shirt and carry my laptop to work.

My job now is in Achrafieh, formerly pen-named as East Beirut. I am living in the West. Some taxis refuse to take me to my workplace. It is too far. In reality, it is just one straight line from where I would be standing. Yes, a maximum of twenty minutes by car. Twenty minutes of polluted pleasure.

Anyways, an extra fee would take you anywhere. Yesterday, it took me to work.


It started out as a quiet ride. Then the driver looked at me, and said,

“are you going to the road going up or down to Achrafieh?”

Of course, this was a trick question… it is the same road.

Only five minutes later, a lady dressed in fluffy summer clothes called out a name of a place that was on our way. The driver agreed, and asked her to hop on.

For some reason, the guy was on turbo mode. He harassed the woman, telling her that he would take her to where I was going for free. She refused. He insisted. She refused. He agreed. I put my headphones on.


In some time, I could feel the slight wind fluff on my left cheek. I looked to my left, and I was bombarded with hand signals and lip-talking in attempt to cross the hearing barrier due to my sudden musical infatuation. I released myself of my music, to hear his babbling about how he wants to protect our country, even without the help of the army.

To any normal person, this would have been illogical and very questionable. To me, I didn’t care. Anymore.

That day, like every other day in Beirut, was a day of traffic hell. Simple oblivion. He was so happy; bringing out his pipe, and filling it up with live tobacco ammunition, lighting it later with optimum joy. He was ecstatic.

The smell of pipe ran through my nostrils and reminded me of my aunt’s husband. Late afternoons with thick pipe smoke.

Its funny how your nervous perplexion plays dumb sometimes. You can smell the same thing, see the same thing, smile..then remember you were supposed to get rid of excess water from your eyes.

Tears…yes, poison.